When History Repeats Itself

Closed Ranks

** Aoki - Ai Tominaga **

It was time to leave for the Chase residence.

I didn't bother changing out of my black dress or slippers. My mother sat beside me on the bed and gently styled my hair while my father waited in the car.

The drive was quiet. Heavy. My mum and Sumaya flanked me in the back seat like silent sentries. No one said it, but we were all bracing for whatever came next.

Mrs. Chase opened the front door before we even knocked. Her face looked more drawn than usual, the stress etched deep in her features. She gave me a soft nod and ushered us in.

In the living room, the Chase family sat in uneasy silence. Chris was hunched forward, brow furrowed, fury radiating off him in waves.

I glanced at him in confusion. Why had Aoki gone after him too? Hadn't Almara been close to her? Or maybe that had all been for show.

Then I saw him—Dom.

He looked up the second I walked in. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, time slowed. I could see everything in them: worry, anger, exhaustion... but mostly, an aching tenderness.

He rose and crossed the room in a few swift steps.

"Give us a minute," he said to the room, already reaching for my hand.

He led me through the house and out to the back garden. The air was cool, scented faintly with wet earth and old flowers. Without a word, he pulled me into a hug—tight, desperate, grounding.

""I'm so sorry you had to go through all that," he murmured into my hair, his voice breaking at the edges.

I stood quietly in his arms, hollowed out, emptied of tears. There was nothing left to spill—only the ache, sitting heavy and still in my chest.

"We need each other right now," he said, barely above a whisper.

I didn't reply. I just wrapped my arms around him and held on.

We stayed like that for a long time—breathing through the silence, letting our stillness speak for us, because words would only break what was holding us together.

Eventually, we went back inside. Dom and I settled on the carpet—there were no seats left, and the floor somehow felt truer to where we were emotionally anyway. Beneath it all.

Chris had let Sumaya close in on him. She and Almara flanked him on either side like guardian angels, their presence more of a barricade than a comfort. Whatever rage was simmering under his skin, he wasn't alone in it.

Across the room, a woman in a structured maroon dress sat cross-legged, tablet balanced on one knee, Bluetooth headset tucked neatly into her ear. She looked like someone who could spin a scandal into a brand deal. Cool. Sharp. Efficient. Crisis Management, not Counseling.

She clapped once. "Okay. I'm Zynelle. Fixer. Cleaner. Navigator. I manage disasters for a living. But if I'm going to help you, there's one rule: don't lie to me. I can only bury the truth properly if I know where the bodies are."

My stomach flipped. I didn't look at my parents. I couldn't. I'd already made us all into liars.

"I'll ask uncomfortable questions," she continued. "If you want me to be good at this, I need honesty. Do either family require confidentiality agreements signed before we start?"

"No," Mrs. Chase said immediately.

"No," my father echoed.

Zynelle swiped the NDA templates off her screen and tapped open what looked like an organisational chart from where I sat. "Let's begin. Starting with the couple at the centre of the storm."