CHAPTER 7
ZANE
I’m getting my ass kicked.
It’s official, I’m really grateful to be on the side of the people Mia doesn’t consider killing.
My hand’s aching like a bitch from the punch I threw, but it was worth it. No one touches my wife.
Even though I’m paying for it now.
We’ve been at this for days now, and my progress feels like it's stuck in neutral. Every punch I throw, every move I try to make, it’s like I’m in a constant loop of failure.
My muscles ache from the strain, and the bruises are starting to pile up, but the worst part? It feels like I'm not getting any better. Mia's quick—so damn quick—and no matter how many times she takes me down, I can’t seem to figure out the rhythm.
I throw a half-hearted jab, and Mia sidesteps effortlessly, her smirk as sharp as ever. She’s been relentless, and maybe that’s part of the problem.
She’s already been through hell, learned to fight like it’s second nature, and I’m just... fumbling through it all.
Each time I get up, it feels like I’m pushing against a wall that’s not going to budge. I’m trying—really trying—but it’s hard not to feel like I’m just not cut out for this. I know I need to be better for her, for us, but damn it, this isn’t easy. Especially when I look at her—how she moves, how she fights like someone who’s had to claw her way through hell just to breathe. Someone must’ve taught her that. Or maybe no one did, and she figured it out alone. Either way, she makes surviving look effortless. And here I am, struggling just to stay upright.
My body is exhausted, and every move feels like I’m one step behind.
The thump of my body hitting the grass echoes for the third time in five minutes. I just lay there, staring at the blue sky above me, trying to steady my breathing.
Maybe this is where I should stay.
The clouds look like little pigs today. Weird, right? But honestly, it’s worse than the last time I stared at the sky. Back then, I was looking at clouds to figure out which ones looked like dragons or castles, not because I just got my ass handed to me by a girl half my size with the energy of a freaking superpowered squirrel on espresso.
"Zane," I hear her voice cut through the fog of my pain, and I look up, squinting as she looms over me, hands on her hips. “This is ridiculous. You need to take it seriously.”
“Seriously?” I groan, sitting up, my chest heaving. "You're the one taking it super easy."
"Me?" She snorts, raising an eyebrow. "Do you want me to train you like I was trained?"
The silence falls hard, and I’m hit with memories that I can’t seem to shake—those nights when she would casually tell me about how she was raised, as if it wasn’t messed up enough to send someone into a full-on panic. Broken bones. Punches that hit like sledgehammers, leaving bruises that didn’t fade. Almost drowning because "it was important to know how to survive." Abuse. Torture. I shudder, the weight of it crawling up my spine. It's like I can still feel the ghost of it all, even though she’s here now, all light and fire in front of me, and that shit doesn’t belong to her anymore.
But somehow, it still clings to her, to me.
If I don’t fight this, she will be back in their clutches. Back in that cage they built for her, the one she can never quite escape.
I can’t let that happen. Not again. But that doesn’t mean I have to do it the painful way.
“…No, thank you very much,” I manage to say, a little too quickly.
Mia rolls her eyes and offers me her hand, her lips curling into a smirk. “Okay, then at least fight back, love.” The last word is dripping with sarcasm, and even though I know I’m probably about to get knocked down again, I try to get my bearings, getting into position. But before I can even blink, Mia’s already behind me, knocking me to the ground again with barely any effort.
She climbs on top of me, and then a completely different memory floods my mind—of her riding me, her tight pussy making my cock spasm inside her, and I cum like the pathetic person I am when I’m around her.
Fuck, I want her.
I can still feel it, even now—her breath on my skin, the way she’d sigh when I touched her in that certain way, like I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. God , how her hands would trace the lines of my body, like she was memorizing every inch of me. I’d get lost in her, in the sound of her voice, in the way she’d look at me—so raw, so real. Like nothing in the world mattered except that moment, that connection.
I remember the way she would whisper my name, so breathless, so desperate... as if she needed me the way I needed her. And when we touched, when she gave herself to me, it was like we were the only two people alive. That warmth, that heat—it’s all gone now.
It should’ve been enough. It should’ve been everything. But now? Now I can’t even think about it without feeling this sharp, bitter emptiness eating me from the inside.
She betrayed me. She fucking betrayed me, and all that was between us, all that connection, it’s lost. I’ll never get that back. And I hate her for it. I hate her for making me feel like she was the only thing that mattered—only to tear it all away.
I want to forget the way she felt beneath me, the way she looked at me like I was home. But it’s burned into me now, and it’ll never stop hurting.
“You know what?” I exhale, letting my body stay on the grass for a second longer. “I give up.”
“You can’t give up!” Mia crosses her arms, irritation flashing in her eyes. “What if my father wants to put you in a fight?”
“I’ll run,” I answer without hesitation. The words feel too easy, but I mean them. I’m not dying today.
Mia looks at me like she’s weighing her options—whether to hit me harder or leave me to my fate. I’m not sure which would be worse, honestly.
"Okay, let's do something you like," she says suddenly, and her voice lifts with excitement. "I'm going to put on Blackpink."
The beat starts, and for a moment, I think something’s going to change. I feel that little spark of energy inside me. But then Mia kicks me in the ribs, and I gasp.
"Are you dancing or fighting?" she laughs, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Both," I mumble weakly, trying to shake off the pain as I struggle to stand again.
"I'm an artist, not a fighter. This is tough."
"Apologies are for losers!" she says in a commanding tone that doesn’t sound quite as threatening as she thinks. She steps back, waves her hands in the air. "Come on, try to hit me."
Does she even realize how unthreatening she sounds?
Don’t get me wrong, I know what Mia’s capable of. I’ve seen it firsthand. But it’s hard to remember that when she speaks like that, with that sweet voice and that height difference between us, it’s almost like I can forget—just for a second—that she’s the one who can knock me on my ass in two seconds.
Focus. Focus.
This girl betrayed you. She killed your friend.
I try. I swear I try.
But Mia moves like she’s dancing too, slipping behind me, spinning, and before I can even react, she shoves me by the shoulders. My foot slips on the mat, and I’m face-first on the floor again.
Silence.
“Okay,” she says, sitting down next to me, her voice soft. “Maybe fighting isn’t your thing.”
“Really?” I croak, still catching my breath.
She nudges me with her elbow, a teasing grin on her lips. “At least you have good taste in music.”
Is it ironic that the same song that played the day I accidentally ran her over is the one playing now, as she beats the shit out of me? I don’t know, but I can’t shake the thought. I roll my head to the side, staring at the ceiling, the rhythm pulsing in my veins as the song keeps playing.
Fighting isn’t for me. I’m sure of it now.
Mia finally calls it quits for the day, but I know deep down it’s because she’s tired of kicking my ass. She flashes me a smile, and even though I’ve been nothing but a pain in her ass, she gives me two thumbs up, her eyes still full of that mischievous glint.
"You'll get the hang of it," she says, rubbing my shoulder gently as she hands me a water bottle. She sits down beside me, like nothing’s happened, like everything’s just fine.
“We know I won’t,” I reply flatly, my voice tinged with bitterness.
“You killed that man.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, remembering it with a strange, detached calm. “But I wasn’t really seeing reason at the time. I acted on pure instinct and feeling.”
“So your instinct is to protect me, huh?” she teases, but I don’t find it funny.
I don’t laugh.
“I’d die trying to protect you,” I say, the words coming out so seriously that it almost shocks me. Even now, with everything between us, with the anger and confusion, I’d still die trying. Even without knowing how to fight, I’d do everything in my power to keep her safe.
Mia goes quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the edge of the bottle in her hands.
“I miss Tokyo,” she says softly, almost like she’s not entirely sure if what she’s saying is real.
“I miss it too,” I reply with conviction, meeting her gaze. And then, a soft smile forms on her lips, one that’s bittersweet but real.
“It sucks that we can’t just kill my father like I did with your mother and leave the country,” she says, her voice light and almost playful—until she covers her mouth in sudden realization. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk about your mother like that.”
“It’s okay. She was a bitch anyway,” I say, almost too easily, and then Mia glances at me for a long moment before we both start laughing, the tension between us finally breaking.
Some people believe in sanctifying the dead and forgiving. Me? I don’t need to forgive my mother to move on. I need to forgive myself for all the years I treated myself like a victim. For not burning them all when I had the chance.
"Shall we try again?" she asks, her eyes gleaming with mischief, and I can't help but smile.
Yeah. Maybe we will.
The sun's out , the grass is green, and I’m seriously starting to wonder if I’ve just been outclassed by a girl who makes fighting look like a dance move. Sweat is dripping down my face as I throw another punch, but Mia's already sidestepping it, the smirk never leaving her lips. This has been going on for way too long.
"Okay, Zane, enough of this," she suddenly says, raising her hand like she's the boss. I freeze mid-punch, blinking at her in confusion.
“Enough?” I huff, still winded. “Are you kidding? You’ve barely broken a sweat while I—” I gesture wildly at my body, which is pretty much on the verge of collapse.
She shakes her head like I'm the most amusing thing she's ever seen. “You look ridiculous. This is never going to work. I’m way ahead of you, and I’m bored.”
I stare at her, mouth agape. "What do you mean bored? I’m over here trying to keep up with your insane speed and you’re telling me you’re bored?”
Mia rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh and throws her hands up. “Zane, you’re cute—but not in the ‘I can fight and be cool’ kind of way. It’s like watching a sad puppy trying to bite a stick. The effort is adorable, but it’s just not working.”
She pauses, eyes lighting up like she’s just had the most brilliant idea. “What if we... just skip the whole ‘learning to fight’ thing for today?”
I blink, taking a step back. “What are you talking about?”
“Wait here,” she says, already turning on her heel, leaving me confused as hell.
She disappears for what feels like an eternity. Just when I start wondering if she’s bailed on whatever plan she had, she comes back—now wearing a dress like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and carrying an oversized picnic basket clearly meant for two.
“We’re gonna have a picnic!” she announces, her voice high with excitement, like I’ve just discovered the meaning of life.
“A picnic?” I repeat, incredulity oozing from my words. "Are you serious? After everything? You want me to... sit on the grass with a sandwich and—what, some grapes or something?"
She ignores my sarcasm, already walking away towards the car like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Yes! I’ve never had a picnic before! And it’s criminal that I’ve missed out on this basic joy of life. The fresh air, the sun, the cute little blanket—oh, and the sandwiches! We’re doing it.”
I stand there for a second, arms crossed, mentally tallying up all the reasons this is ridiculous.
Then I look over at her, already jumping around the trunk like an over-caffeinated squirrel. And, goddammit, she’s smiling like she’s about to save the world with a blanket and a couple of snack packs. It’s impossible to stay mad at her when she’s like this.
"You're so weird," I mutter, mostly to myself, but she hears me and gives me an exaggerated gasp.
“I am weird,” she says dramatically, raising an eyebrow and striking a pose. "Yeah, said the ex who's trying to disguise himself as a crime leader with zero criminal attitude. So there's no point in continuing with this. We can get frustrated another day. Right now, I’m hungry," Mia declares, giving me a dramatic sigh as if she's solving world peace.
"Husband," I correct, a smirk tugging at my lips.
"Husband," she echoes back, her voice high-pitched and playful, like a child teasing.
I narrow my eyes at her. "You are an annoying and ill-mannered brat."
She smirks. "You are a complete idiot."
I roll my eyes. "Maybe, but at least I'm trying."
"Well then, stop," she says with a tone that sounds like she’s giving me permission to stop being such a mess.
"No," I reply, my chin raised. "Because I made you a promise, I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone in this, and unlike you, I keep my promises."
She squints at me like she’s deciding whether to throw something at my face or give me a high five. Then, in a move that’s surprisingly sweet, she takes a white bracelet from her hand and slips it onto my wrist.
"This is our peace bracelet," Mia says, her voice soft. "You bought it for me when we were in Tokyo."
I instantly remember that moment—her face lighting up when she saw the white dahlia on it. She'd been so happy, and I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. It’s funny, how something so small could feel so big.
"Can we have a truce? Just for today?" she asks, her tone changing to something a little softer.
I look at her, considering the option. It’s hard to stay mad at her, especially with her giving me that look.
"Fine," I say, and before I can add anything, she grins, all mischievous energy coming back full force.
"Yesss!" she exclaims, jumping up and down. "Picnic time!"
I can’t help but let out a laugh. The idea of sitting on the grass and actually enjoying a moment instead of trying to beat each other into submission starts to sound… well, kinda nice.
Mia just grins, already pulling out a ridiculous picnic blanket covered in pastel flowers.
And that’s when I notice them. A small pile of ridiculous animal hats sitting on the picnic blanket like they’ve been waiting for us this whole time. There’s a frog, a panda, something that looks like a very confused duck. I stare.
“I’m not wearing one of those stupid hats.”
Mia beams, already grabbing the frog one and jamming it on her head. “It’s tradition now,” she declares like this is some ancient rite passed down through generations. “No picnic is complete without questionable fashion choices.”
I shake my head, but a smile tugs at my lips anyway. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, here you are,” she says, tossing me the duck.
I follow her reluctantly, knowing damn well that despite all the chaos, moments like this might just be the reason I can’t pull away from her.