Chapter Text
The rain poured and the wind slashed strongly at the window. Nothing went right ever since the daughter of Nostrade lost her powers. Not only did the family lose all their clients, but all the employees and attendees also left too. The hollowness that covered the whole mansion made dusk feel like midnight already.
Neon opened the teak-wood door and stared at Kurapika uncannily. Only two employees were left. One of them was sitting in the chair where her father used to sit. As if Light Nostrade had completely lost his capability to think, he had shoved all the financial responsibility to Kurapika. It was a leap of faith, but it worked. Kurapika managed to slowly turn the situation and remodel their business from Neon’s fortune-telling to gambling and bodyguarding. While they are far from being as rich as they used to be, at least they did not go completely broke and managed to keep the house. It was strange how she now has to ask the employee for an allowance.
“Didn’t papa tell you? I need 3 million jennies.” Neon quickly voiced her demand, “Why isn’t it in my bank account already?”
Kurapika pressed his temple and put aside the documents in his hand. Her high-pitched voice blended with the sound of the violent weather outside. He was already working overtime.
“May I ask the purpose of this spending, Miss Neon?” he inquired.
“Well…” she hesitated for a moment, “there’s a limited Monaveen Blanche collection.”
“Mona- what?”
“Monaveen Blanche. I want to buy their newest designer handbag. It’s called A Ride to Desire,” she elaborated, sounding a little excited.
“And that costs 3 million?”
“Yes?”
He sighed, “Miss Neon, given that we had just overcome our financial slump, I don’t think we should be throwing money carelessly. Besides, 3 million for a handbag is not practical.”
The light in her eyes faded. She frowned and muttered, “b-but… you don’t understand. It’s a limited edition! I need that bag.”
“Our money is limited too,” he countered, “please understand that.”
“Please..? Have a heart-”
“No, Miss Neon. I’m sorry, but no. That kind of expenditure is unnecessary,” he said firmly.
She continued to pout. She grumbled, “fine… Just this once!”
“Thank you Mi-”
“You won’t understand fashion anyway,” she cut him off, playing with her hair, “with the way you’re always dressing up in old tabards. Nobody dresses like that here.”
“Miss Neon, please respect that the way I dress. It’s-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s probably where you’re from. God knows where. Probably a place where people wear boring clothes. You don’t even tell us where you’re from, yet my father put so much trust in you,” she commented casually, yet her words were crude and insensitive.
Kurapika knew that she was being harsh as she was upset. Heck, maybe she was also upset about her father’s negligence and newfound favouritism for Kurapika, but this was downright rude.
He inhaled, then exhaled deeply, trying to steady his growing heartbeat. “Miss Neon, I-”
The door slammed shut. She was already gone before he tried to quell the tension.
“Mr Nostrade, the businesses are going well. We should be back on our track soon,” Kurapika stated.
The older man blew off the smoke, he smiled proudly, “that’s good. Thank you, Kurapika. My daughter and I could have been in real financial trouble if it wasn’t for you remodelling the business. You could’ve left our employment but you stayed and helped us.”
Unknown to them, Neon was eavesdropping on their conversation, her ears glued to the door. Hmph, I’m sure something’s fishy going on. Kurapika has another motive. Why else would he stay?
“I do hope that I can continue to be in charge of the business,” Kurapika replied, “the doctor says it’s not good for you to keep working. Not after the breakdown and heart problems you’re having.”
Bingo! I know that’s what he’s after! - Neon thought.
“You do have a point. If only Neon hadn't lost the Lovely Ghostwriter,” Light shook his head in disappointment, “what was that girl thinking… foolishly going out with a stranger and ending up having her powers stolen. The old Neon is long gone.”
“Sometimes… I wish you were my son instead. Someone who knows how to rule the mafia community. If it was Neon, she wouldn’t survive,” he added.
Kurapika said nothing. He planned to keep this conversation from Neon a secret.
Neon’s eyes watered a little. Papa doesn’t care about me anymore… He even prefers an outsider to be his child than me? Papa… Is it because I’m no longer useful? And Kurapika’s the one bringing in money now? The feeling of her father’s neglect was reviving, just like the time before she developed her Lovely Ghostwriter ability. Her father’s heart was out of reach from her again. Even worse, she was competing with a boy her age - an employee, to be exact!
Oh, crackers! She skittered away from the door as much as possible, upon realising that the meeting between Kurapika and Light ended and that Kurapika was near the door, probably heading out.
She quickly dashed to her room. She shut the room behind her, she was breathing heavily. The tears continued to fall. Eliza and the other attendants were no longer here. She had no one to talk to. Even the therapeutic effect of shopping… She can’t even shop.
She opened her wardrobe. Perhaps her clothes can provide comfort? Her fingers caressed the fabrics of the dresses, shirts and lingerie - all made up of various materials of silk, linen and cotton. She took out one of the dresses, reminiscing the times she bought it and trying to live in that memory. She smiled and threw it on her bed. She took another one and repeated the action. She can remember the day, but not as vividly. Then by the third, it was all blurred.
Confused, she took another - still nothing. Maybe she should try taking out the pretty ones? And she did. Still no memory. When did she buy it? She was not sure. It was all convoluted. There were a gazillion times she pranced the malls, happily trying on countless outfits and the sound of swiping credit cards.
She took another. Can’t remember. She threw it on her bed.
And another...
And another...
And another...
Why can’t I remember?! She scratched her head in frustration. She cried even more. By the time she noticed, there was a mountain of clothes on her bed. She plopped on top of it, energy spent .
These clothes… They were so beautiful… But why can’t she remember the time they made her happy? All those times she bought them with her money, thanks to the Lovely Ghostwriter. She clutched some of it, balling them into her fists. Her body lay in a fetal position, like a dying butterfly with a broken wing. The tears were staining some of the fabric, possibly ruining them. Yet, it did not matter, for she was embracing the only things that can console her.
She glanced at her wardrobe. The Daisy baby doll nightgown collection was the only one remaining. Ah! I remember those! They were from Varsouviana Polka. She jumped up as if a newfound life spurred through her. She remembered them because this was the only shop she buys nightgowns from. She picked up the light pink one - the colour that best suits her - and wore it. She stared at the reflection in the mirror - she looked horrible from all the crying!
She opened her cosmetics box. She has to appear pretty again: to feel good. No way in hell this outsider was going to make her cry ugly. She applied the cushion foundation on her face, covering the circles under her eyes. She grabbed her nearest lipgloss and quickly swiped it on her lips. And voila! She looked perfect and it made her feel alive again. She blew a kiss on the mirror. This was the girl she knew, the girl that never allowed anyone to rain in her parade.
“Kurapika, I need 500 thousand.”
The blonde young man was ready for another headache when he heard the door click open. He was looking through the documents before he shifted his eyes and almost spat his coffee at the sight of Neon.
“Miss Neon, what’s with those clothes?” he quickly averted his gaze. It was the first time he saw a girl in such a racy outfit.
“This?” she waited for him to look her in the eyes again before she twirled, emphasizing the light’s reflection on her satin nightgown, “my favourite from Varsouviana Polka. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He quickly averted his gaze once again when he caught the glimpse of her ass. The nightgown was just long enough to cover them. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, without looking at her.
She giggled at his clueless-ness. “No, silly. I’m going to wear it at home!” He was even more perplexed, but he guessed that she was not ditzy enough to wear that kind of outfit for the rest of the world to see.
“So can I have the 500 thousand?” she repeated and tapped her foot impatiently. He just wanted her to disappear, her attire was making him uncomfortable.
“Uhm… yeah…” he mumbled, waving his hand to shoo her away.
“Okay! It better be in my account first thing tomorrow!” She stuck her tongue out to him and marched off proudly. He sighed, watching her walk away.
Wait… I forgot to ask her about the purpose of the expenditure. He knew that she would likely buy something impractical, but backing down after granting her request may cause an unwanted reaction from her. He slammed his head on the office table and groaned.
If only he can take over the Nostrade family business without the hassle of babysitting a rude, insensitive girl who suffers from a princess syndrome. With a sickening hobby of collecting dead body parts, to add on to the mess of a human being she is.
Shit. What kind of clothes was that?
Kurapika called it a day. He sat on his bed and tried to calm his racing heart every time he was reminded of the sight of his boss in inappropriate attire. He had his dinner, took his shower, and he should be resting by now. Every inch of him had tried to think of something else, but he kept getting back at the imagery of her.
He crossed his arms and closed his eyes just to find the image of her twirling in her light-pink attire replaying in his mind. It took him hours before he finally admitted it was the disturbing feeling in his pants that deterred him from his sleep.
Damn that Neon Nostrade.
Slamming the bathroom door, he took off his boxers and looked at his erection with embarrassment. He felt his body betrayed his sanity when he stroked himself and only Neon came to his imagination.
Her bossy high-pitched voice and insensitive remarks. Her stupid behaviour and slutty attire. Her seductive cleavage and round ass. How good would it feel if he could grab her curvy waist and slam his dick into her? He stroked harder. Imagining her begging for mercy and screaming his name. Indulging his fantasy to degrade her for objectifying his clan into mere collections. That fucking sick hobby of hers. Disgusting. To have her neck wear his palm like a necklace and shut her up for once. To vent all his annoyance into her in the form of pulsating desire.
After all her demands and the way she was asserting authority over him, he could not help but wonder the enjoyment of having the tables turned: for her to submit to him, offering herself to be ravaged over and over...
His dick twitched and white cum sprayed, dripping off his finger. The climax left him powerless, feeling absurdly good and detached from his sanity.
Fuck . He hated that girl so much…
The water swirled when he flushed the toilet down. He only wished the water could also flush his strange desire and shameful memory away. The very shameful memory of himself fantasising about ravaging the body collector in the most tempestuous way.
It was sinful. It was wrong.