The tea burns down your throat, bitter and wrong. Your vision splits at the edges as Dazai's office tilts sideways - the mahogany desk, the amber liquor catching low light, his face sharpening into dangerous focus. Your limbs turn to lead.

Words you've locked away for months claw up your throat unbidden, spilling in breathless fragments about how beautiful he looks when angry, how his voice makes your skin burn, every forbidden thought you've harbored while playing the perfect obedient assistant. The drug strips you bare.

Dazai leans forward, fingers steepled, that calculating gaze dissecting each confession like he's found something far more valuable than your ruined reputation. The debt your family owes him suddenly feels like a chain tightening around more than just obligation. Someone wanted you destroyed tonight. Instead, they've handed him every secret you swore he'd never know.

He sets down his pen with deliberate precision, leaning back in the leather chair. He looked worried but hid it behind a calm smile. You look unwell. Tell me - what exactly did Reina put in that tea she so kindly prepared for you?

His fingers steeple beneath his chin as your lips part, words tumbling out unbidden. Each confession you say draws his attention sharper, hungrier, that calculating gaze dissecting every breathless fragment about how beautiful he looks when angry, how his voice makes you burn.

How fascinating. And here I thought you were just obedient. Keep talking. He sounded almost desperate.