Beneath His Control [Chapter 3]

Akiko sat quietly on the edge of the unfamiliar room. Her suitcase sat unopened on the floor beside her, the expensive apartment around her pristine and cold. This wasn't her home. It never would be.

Glen had brought her here the night before—not to work, not yet—but to settle her in, like a pet being shown its new cage. Her first day wouldn't be spent in the office; it would be spent unpacking, adjusting, understanding exactly how much of her freedom she'd lost.

She knew Glen would be the one controlling her life from now on. There was no point continuing her treatment. Even if, by some miracle, the cancer didn't kill her… her future no longer belonged to her.

And how could she afford it anyway? Glen had said he'd cover her living expenses in that cold, expensive apartment—but that was only to keep her trapped. That wasn't real freedom. That wasn't the future.

It was survival. On his terms.

So what was the point? The endless medication… the hospital bills… the constant reminder that her body was broken. It all felt… meaningless now.

Thankfully, Glen had agreed—grudgingly—to let her leave the apartment that morning. She had promised to return by noon. Time was tight, but it was her only window.

With Kouma by her side, Akiko slipped out quietly, weaving through the city streets toward the hospital.

At the reception, the nurse handed her a familiar file.

Akiko didn’t need to open it, she already knew what was inside. But still, her fingers flipped the cover absentmindedly, her empty gaze landing on the same words she’d seen countless times these past few months.

Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

The diagnosis stared back at her — cold, clinical, inescapable. But it no longer hit her like it used to.

She exhaled softly, her shoulders slumping under the invisible weight that had clung to her for years. The years of abuse. The loneliness. The nights she curled up on the floor, thinking maybe, maybe tomorrow she wouldn’t wake up at all. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

"Akiko," a familiar voice, broke through her spiraling thoughts.

She looked up as Dr. Vian approached, his usual quiet concern etched across his face. The young oncologist had been there from the start — explaining, guiding, offering hope she never truly believed in.

They sat down across from each other, the sterile consultation room suffocatingly familiar.

"I need to cancel everything," Akiko said quietly, her eyes drifting back to the file.

Vian's eyes darkened. "Your treatment—"

"I know," she interrupted gently. "But… it doesn’t matter anymore."

"Akiko…" Vian exhaled slowly, his brows furrowing.

"I’m tired," she whispered, her voice low, but firm. "I’m not fighting it, not anymore."

Vian studied her for a long moment, the bruises on her wrists, the shadows under her eyes. He saw the signs — not just of illness, but of a life that had been stripped bare.

"Even so… I’ll keep hoping," he finally said, sliding the file back toward her. "Whenever you’re ready… I’ll be here."

Akiko forced a nod, the weight of it all pressing down on her. They exchanged no more words. Akiko stood, thanked him quietly, and stepped outside.

The cool air hit her face as she exited the hospital. The streets were already busy, the city bustling with people who looked alive — so different from how she felt.

Her time was running short. She checked the clock. If she didn’t hurry back, Glen would be furious.

She adjusted Kouma's leash and headed down a side street, cutting through narrow alleys to get home faster.

But angry shouts stopped her in her tracks.

Up ahead, a red-faced man grabbed a small boy by the arm — yelling and cursing before striking him across the face. The boy — thin, bruised, clothes torn — collapsed to the ground, shielding his head as a woman, likely his mother, spat insults beside them.

Akiko froze.

The image tore through her like glass. Memories of her own childhood slammed into her — her father's rage, the bruises she had hidden, the endless nights curled up wishing someone, anyone, would help.

The boy's terrified eyes met hers.

"Please," he mouthed silently, too afraid to speak. Akiko's body moved before her mind could stop it.

"Stop!" Her voice cracked through the alley, sharp and desperate.

The couple turned — angry, defensive — but Akiko's glare didn't falter.

"He's not your punching bag," she snapped, shielding the boy with her body. They cursed, threatened — but Kouma's low growl beside her, and her unwavering stare, forced them to retreat.

Once they were gone, Akiko knelt beside the boy, gently brushing his messy hair back.

"Are you okay? What’s your name?" she asked softly.

"Ethan," he whispered, trembling. "They're… my parents."

Akiko's heart shattered.

"I know," she whispered. "I know that pain." She checked the time — panic twisting in her chest. She couldn't leave him here. But if she was late returning to the apartment… Glen.

"Come with me," she urged, helping Ethan to his feet. "Just for now."

Ethan clung to her hand, his small frame shaking as they hurried through the city. But as they approached a quiet street near Glen's apartment, another problem arose.

A large man stepped in front of her — Ethan's father.

"Running off with my boy, are you?" the man sneered, eyes filled with twisted rage.

Sensing danger, Kouma barked, his hackles raised. Akiko tightened her grip on Ethan, but her pulse was racing. The dog slipped from her grasp, and the man snatched the leash.

"Let go of my dog," Akiko demanded, her voice low but steady.

"Trade him for that pretty body of yours," the man smirked, yanking the leash so hard Kouma whimpered in pain.

Akiko's eyes darted around, desperate. That’s when she saw it — the sleek black car parked at the end of the alley.

Leaning casually against it was Glen Xander McKenzie. He had simply been heading home, but the sight of her—already in trouble again—stopped him in his tracks. Curious, he stayed to watch. Obviously, Akiko couldn’t recognize him. Half his face was hidden behind a mask and dark sunglasses.

"I'll give you money," Akiko pleaded, edging sideways. "Just let him go."

"I don't need money," the man sneered. "I need… a good time."

The distraction was enough. Akiko bolted toward the car.

"Hey! Don't run!" the man shouted, still holding the leash. She sprinted to Glen, desperation sharp in her voice.

"Please, sir, help me. My dog… he's—"

Glen's eyes flicked to her, amused. "No."

"What?" Akiko blinked in disbelief.

"Why would I bother? You got yourself into this mess," he said coldly, watching her with detached interest.

Shock rooted her to the spot. His posture, the effortless arrogance — he could help. He just wouldn’t. Her chest tightened painfully. But Kouma… losing him wasn’t an option. 

Determined, she snatched up a broken metal pipe and rushed back.

"Foolish," Glen muttered, watching. Gunshots cracked through the air. Hans, his assistant, barely flinched.

"She'll be dead, right?" Glen asked.

"No, sir," Hans replied.

Sure enough, Akiko emerged, Kouma limping beside her, Ethan clutching her hand.

Glen's eyes narrowed. She didn't even recognize him, but the fire in her eyes…

"Interesting," Glen muttered, surprised. "Not as weak as I thought."

By the time she reached the apartment, Glen was waiting. His expression darkened at the sight of Ethan.

"What is this, Aiko?"

Akiko's grip on Ethan tightened. "He’s—he needed help. I couldn’t—"

"You disobeyed me," Glen's voice sharpened.

The punishment was swift — her hair yanked, slammed against the wall, the harsh snap of a belt. Her body recoiled at each blow, the sting of leather biting into her skin. The sharp pull of her scalp, the ache in her back — familiar, yet every strike carried a cruel reminder that this life, this cage, was hers now.

But through it all, Akiko didn't cry. Her breathing was ragged, her frame trembling, but she clenched her jaw — silent. 

Later, when Glen left, she slipped out with Ethan. “You can't stay with me.”

At the orphanage, she ensured Ethan was safe, slipping the caretaker enough money to cover his needs.

"Make sure he's comfortable," she whispered.

Returning home, Glen was waiting, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

"Learned your lesson?" he asked, stepping closer.

“You still think you can win in this little game?” Glen's voice was low, almost amused, but the dangerous edge beneath it sent a chill down her spine.

Akiko forced herself to meet his gaze.

“I’m not playing your game,” she whispered.

Glen chuckled, leaning in so close she could feel his breath against her ear.

“Oh, but sweetheart…” His voice turned dark, silk laced with steel. “You were mine the second you stepped into my world. You just haven’t realized… there’s no exit.”

Akiko held his gaze—the bruises hidden beneath her clothes still throbbing—but her voice was steady. "You don't scare me."

Glen's grin deepened—dark, dangerous, entertained.

"Not yet," he whispered. "But you will."