A Silent Surrender (Omegaverse)

The only Idea

Yoko couldn't shake the thrill of her earlier discovery. The date—September 14th—swirled in her mind, each recollection bringing a renewed sense of curiosity and intrigue. She replayed the moment over and over, dissecting every nuance of Faye's expressions, the flicker of tension, the way her jaw had set just a little too tightly. There was something in it, something hidden that she was convinced held more weight than Faye would ever willingly reveal. And now, it had become her mystery to unravel.

The hours that followed saw Yoko pacing through the mansion with purpose. She moved from room to room, her gaze keen, fingertips brushing against surfaces as though a single touch might reveal the secrets she sought. Every glance, every turn seemed to feed her curiosity, though each room lay before her in polished, impenetrable stillness. Books were perfectly aligned on their shelves, drawers shut with a finality that implied only their owner had the right to access them, and nothing appeared out of place—not a single, unplanned detail for her to latch onto.

Yoko's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with frustration. Faye's life was so carefully arranged, every aspect of her existence guarded behind an invisible wall. The pristine order of the mansion left no trace of the emotional turmoil she'd sensed beneath Faye's carefully crafted exterior. It felt almost impossible, the way Faye had managed to shield every fragment of vulnerability, even within her own space. Yoko's frustration grew, and yet with it came a thrill—a challenge. The more she failed to find, the more she felt compelled to uncover.

She stopped by the large windows, watching the night settle over the gardens outside, the faint glow of city lights in the distance. The air was thick with silence, as though the mansion itself held its breath, unwilling to yield any clues. Yoko clenched her jaw, her mind churning with determination. She couldn't shake the feeling that this date—September 14th—was the key to understanding something crucial about Faye. It wasn't just a random memory; it was a part of her story, one that Faye kept buried beneath her effortless charm and unyielding presence.

Biting her lip, Yoko leaned against the doorframe, fingers tapping in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Her initial frustration gave way to a smirk as an idea began to form, subtle and quiet, in the back of her mind. If she couldn't uncover anything here, there were other ways to get closer to what she wanted to know.

---

Elsewhere, at the Malisorn office, Faye sat at a sleek table, flanked by Freen and her father. They were knee-deep in a review of their latest business strategies, the tension from her morning slipping from her mind as she focused on the figures and updates in front of her.

"The distribution strategy for the next quarter needs refining," Faye noted, sliding a document across to Freen. "If we can get this in place, our delivery times should improve without impacting costs."

Freen leaned in, her expression thoughtful. "I'll follow up on this with our suppliers, see what leverage we can use to keep things tight."

Their father listened intently, nodding as he absorbed their updates. "Good," he said, his tone even and authoritative. "This quarter is critical—make sure nothing falls behind schedule."

Faye nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face as she closed the file and moved to her next notes. But as she flipped the page, her eyes fell on a date printed neatly in the corner: September 14th.

For a split second, her expression faltered. Her gaze lingered, the room around her seeming to close in as a long-buried ache tightened in her chest. The date, a painful reminder of a lost, was one she dreaded every year—an annual confrontation with the memory of betrayal that had left her wounded in ways she had never admitted.

A shift in the air signaled her discomfort, an intensity in her pheromones that pulsed quietly, filling the room with an underlying tension. Freen's sharp gaze flickered to her sister, catching the brief flicker in Faye's expression. Their father, usually a pillar of resolve, seemed to notice it too.