Slave for a Week
Written by: PinkCelestial

Published: October 15, 2003
Last Updated:
September 11, 2006 (edit)

Card Captor Sakura and its characters belong to CLAMP.But I own my original plot and storyline. Please, guys, rules on intellectual property apply.

PRELUDE: Perfect Beginning

Sunday, 8 am

Oh, God, I want to faint. Please stop sending oxygen to my brain now.

"Please, Sakura? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?" my supposed-to-be best friend since we were literally babies pleaded for the millionth time.

Geez, I could swear she has been doing a lot more puppy-dog-eyes than usual as she threw more 'please, Sakura, pretty, pretty, pretty please'-s in my direction, as if she's going to die soon if I don't answer to her pretty pleases as soon as I possibly can.

But, to add to that, she was wailing, begging, and strangling my shoulders for dear life. Really, she looks so much like a poor little tortured pig—but with amethyst eyes and long, equally amethyst-colored hair.

I shook my head with disgust—so much of it that I'm afraid I'm going to throw up on their elegant sofa anytime soon. I don't know now if she's really my best friend—the one very likely going to be the next Victoria's Secret model, or the next girl to be spotlighted in Vogue, or the new cover girl of some hit international supermodel magazine.

Because—take note—this girl is wailing, begging, and strangling me. And this girl is supposed to be the Daidouji Tomoyo, a.k.a. the wealthy heiress to one of the fastest growing hotel chains around the world.

She isn't normally like this. She's always the older sister type of friend that I know I can always count on. She's always the mature one, and I'm the little sister who kept on bugging her. She's always the shy, demure one, who walks inside a room and automatically makes everyone's heads turn, while I'm the one most likely to make heads turn because I tripped over my own feet or pulled some kind of silly stunt. The real Daidouji Tomoyo definitely isn't like THIS.

But this one special time, she's completely and magically transformed into another person. A wailing, begging, pig-like person. I don't know. Now she reminds me of Paris Hilton. You know, the spoiled heiress type.

Talk about being a little out of character.

Now the real Tomoyo is suddenly gone, and I don't know why! Was she abducted by some scary-looking three-eyed aliens from a faraway galaxy? I'd wish for nothing now but for those freaking creatures to return my best friend to earth.

I threw out a sigh. "No," I declared firmly, gathering all the constancy in my voice to make it sound more forceful, even though I know it can be not, especially in front of someone who knew me for all the twenty years of my life.

Okay. I sounded more like a nervous off-keyed freak. But at least I tried.

And yeah, what more can I do than to sound totally freakish with all the pleading? It makes me seriously consider gobbling down a whole bottle of sleeping pills and just committing suicide rather than doing this whole absurdity for her.

Okay, okay, I know she's my best friend through all the years, but hello? Earth to Daidouji-sama! I'm not someone to be suddenly paid—and I do mean the literal meaning of that word—to a complete stranger just because of a childish bet! Do you even see a freaking price tag hanging around my neck?

Tomoyo, oh, must I strongly emphasize this: the Daidouji Tomoyo was looking so miserable down there. Yes, down at the elegantly-carpeted marble floor of their house. Oops, wrong word. I meant mansion.

To be specific, the Daidouji Tomoyo was looking so miserable down there at the elegantly-carpeted marble floor of their sun lounge. They even call it their sun-room. And now that I think of it, I don't even have a proper kitchen back in my rundown apartment.

Anyway, she was almost (just this teeny bit more) kneeling down in front of me, again flashing on of those puppy dog eyes that were ever so irresistible. And yeah, what was she asking me to do, you ask?

First, she had forced me into coming today to her mansion so we could talk about "something very important that could mean her life", those being her exact words. And so, being the supportive, always-right-here-for-you best friend I am, I hauled myself out of the bed (all grumpy because this commotion has interrupted my only peaceful rest day—I mean, it's SUNDAY, okay?) and rushed here, looking all kaijuu-like.

But, lo and behold, she had this big smile plastered all over her face while she unceremoniously had one of their thousands of maids serve me a humongous slice of my favorite double-caramel triple-chocolate cake and a glassful of a totally tropical pineapple shake inside this sun-room.

And when I stared at the luscious cake, then at the paper umbrella leaning on the mouth of the glass, and then finally at her with a what-the-hell's-going-on-here look, she suddenly kind of stared down at me, unblinkingly, and hurriedly blurted out about something like not being able to produce a few dollars at the moment, since she has been grounded for ditching five of her bodyguards on a 'romantic' date…

…and that I'm worth fifty million yen—five hundred thousand dollars—now.

And I thought I'm supposed to be the poor one here.

"Please? I really need your help!"

"I said no, Tomoyo!" I repeated gruffly, my hands now on my hips. "Why am I the unluckiest of all humankind, for heaven's sakes? I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A DECENT EGG!"

"Don't shout, Sakura. I can hear you well enough. And even though your scrambled eggs always looked a bit like… the Big Bang Theory of the Creation of the Universe—"

"TOMOYO!" I screamed.

"—you're still perfect, you know?"

Don't be such a huge nincompoop, Tomoyo. Perfect? Yeah, right. You call me perfect when no one really knows everything about a total nobody named Kinomoto Sakura?

OK, Tomoyo knows me inside and out. But no one is perfect; didn't she know that or what? For example, just to point out this teensy weensy probably unimportant bit of fact about me:

I'm homeless.

Dad's abroad, with his archeological work, as usual. He's been real busy for a while now, and I do well understand that. What if the… erm… remains of Tutankhamen's cousin's son is suddenly discovered out of the blue and he's not there to help examine it? (Did King Tutankhamen even have a cousin?) I just know that I don't have any right to hold him back from his job…

But Touya's with his beloved wife (he had just married a year ago), touring the world and maybe having honeymoons in every single country they could land their feet on. Ugh. That I can't understand. Yeah, yeah, they're 'terribly in love', and it's totally romantic to be in Paris and see the Eiffel Tower together—but it's ridiculously insane, if you'd ask me.

Because they didn't even leave me something to live on! We live in Tomoeda, but it's too far from here in Tokyo, where I work part-time, so, no matter how I don't really love Tokyo that much, I have to sacrifice and find my own house… or a reasonably-priced apartment, at least. But where in crowded, filthy, and soulless Tokyo would you ever find a NICE apartment—without a 50,000 yen monthly bill and the grouchy landladies?

If only Dad or Touya had been very kind enough to leave some money so I could buy myself my own flat. But they didn't. So I have to live with Tomoyo's fridge for the time being. That means, while everyone is having a set of expensive sushi or healthy servings of sukiyaki with bowlfuls of rice, I'm having the granola bars—but the most delicious ones—at a modern palace.

Just see. I'll afford a nice flat of my own someday. A flat that's just the most adorable thing, preferably with a bay or lake view… with all my books, my own laptop, and some cute pets surrounding me… a nice kitchen… and a sun-lounge!


So. With all that, do you still think that's the perfect, worry-free life of someone "perfect"? I tell you, it's not. And I'm getting really tired of all this.

I mean, Tomoyo, you've seen me with snot running down my nose back in Elementary. You've seen me totally humiliated in Junior High when I tried to play soccer and ended up broken-nosed because I idiotically tried to block the ball with my face. You've seen me give that salty homemade chocolate to the soccer team captain whom I really, really liked in High School and just ended up, like always, being shown what the difference of salt from sugar is and being humiliated because of my lethal cooking skills.

Oh, have I mentioned that everything I cook KILLS?

And one ultimatum: I'm twenty, my teenage years have left me, and I still do not have a boyfriend.

Argument closed.

"Sakura, I'll do everything!" Tomoyo pleaded for probably the trillionth time, sounding like real frantic and desperate—which is really much more unusual for her, all along with all her whining, begging, blah, blah, blah. Go picture that awful scene yourself.

And wait, who in this whole wide world would even want to be a 'slave' of some stranger for one whole week! A slave. Highlight the word slave, please.

Slave, I mean literal slave—and that's going to be for a week! And what in the world should I be doing? Let me ask you this: how many slaves have you been encountering on the twenty-first century, huh? Or should I remind you your History lectures and make you realize that serfsnoun, laborer not allowed to leave the land on which he worked; oppressed person; drudge; slave—only existed within the Medieval Period?

Jeez. I wasn't that much a History wiz, but I am so going to make Tomoyo browse through her History class notes again and realize that we are now living on a liberal—and totally industrialized—country.

Oh, and speaking of serfdom and slavery and oppression, who would be my master? The one I shall serve and is authorized to give me the pathetic orders, whether I like it or not? The one I should be kicking in the ass but I totally couldn't?

As if Tomoyo suddenly acquired great ESP and used some kind of mental telepathy to read my thoughts, which are supposed to be just mine and mine alone, she quickly jumped up and hastily got a magazine up from the top of her shiny black grand piano, enthusiastically opening it on the centerfold and flashing it in front of my eyes.

I gasped.

A guy, probably only a bit older than me, with unruly chestnut-colored hair that's being messed around more by the breeze and awfully gorgeous amber eyes, stared back at me. Those eyes were mesmeric, and for some reason, they seemed to be holding my gaze and not letting go. He's posing with a golf club in his hands, and he just looks like some kind of prince who came out of a fairytale book.

"I think you might want to agree with this now," Tomoyo said with a proud grin. "Just take a good look on that very handsome face of your soon-to-be master."

"And who… the hell… is that," I tried to say, though I bet it wasn't even sensible to ask.

My eyes roamed over the highly-emphasized words above this two-page picture, comprehending each word one by one:

'Striking young Chinese entrepreneur emerges from behind the business world to face a million fans kneeling before him, Asia's most wanted bachelor of his generation.'

I know this guy. I saw him on TV just last Saturday. And that was no ordinary TV appearance. He was on a talk show aired on national TV. And that was no ordinary talk show either; it's Guys Live, by far the most popular Japanese talk show discussing the hottest guys in all of Asia… I know him. I know him. I know him!

"Sakura, you are totally kidding, right? Don't tell me you don't know who he is…" Tomoyo eyed me with an odd look, and even if it was perfectly unnecessary now, she pointed to two more words hovering below the page, beside the golf ball the guy was about to hit:

My heart sank. Surges of adrenalin quickly ran through my veins, pumping me to full energy with only one objective: to strangle Daidouji Tomoyo.

Because it perfectly read, as I expected, Li Syaoran.



I wrinkled my nose.

Wei, our butler and assistant, looked at me and my 'proper decorum'. But he only said, "Master Xiaolang, I would just like to remind you, just in case you forgot, about the meeting with the Chan Corporation's president at two o'clock, and a conference about the fused business management with the Qing Oil Company's head manager at—"

I furiously shook my head. "Tell all of those presidents and officers and whoever they are that I won't be coming—pronto."


"I'm not in the mood to go, and that's it."

Me? Go to one of those boring meetings? When am I in the mood to go? I didn't even want to be this corporation's freaking CEO in the first place! Don't I even have a choice to stay as ordinary as I can? I'm only 24, and believe it, I'm working full time—even on SUNDAYS! And it's not just any ordinary work either. It's torture.

"Yes, I understand, Sir," Wei nodded and went out within a second, leaving my new girl, Rei, and me alone inside my office.

Oh, that nothing, it turns out that she isn't someone deserving to be liked… or loved, if that's what you call "the attraction". Neither are all the other Japanese women I've dated. They're all… frustrating. I bet all they want from me are the money and the diamond ring on their finger, which is exactly the thing I still can't imagine myself giving to somebody.

"Got a cold?" she asked with a chuckle.

"No," I said in a reply, deadpan. "Someone must be talking about me."

I shuffled some thick white papers in my hand that I need to submit to Mother by exactly three this afternoon. Kidding aside, in front of me was a big pile of troublesome business papers containing troublesome business matters that are troubling me. Being a corporation's president is huge trouble, to summarize everything.

If sitting all day inside the confinement of plain light blue-painted walls, being surrounded by piles of papers, and staring off to space because of boredom isn't enough trouble for you, then I don't know what's going on inside your damned brain. I never will.

"Syaoran…" Rei whispered, suddenly moving closer. I didn't try to at least hide a grimace. Is this what you call 'finesse'? Sitting on top of my table, pushing away those important documents I was holding, leaning to me while loosening my necktie? What's this, sex in the morning?

Oh, I forgot. Rare are those women who have finesse and elegancy at these times.

Damn, I can smell that obnoxious scent of her perfume. Not my type, so strong and irritating to the nose. You know, those substandard perfumes that can choke and kill you instantly the moment you inhale even a little huff of it.

And I can even clearly see the thick powder smeared all over her face. It's just so horrible. Not a bit natural. Even the dark red lipstick she's wearing. She looks so much like a—what's that called again?—a courtesan. Yeah. Or in simple words, a prostitute. And she's supposed to be the only daughter of Japanese VIP Murasaki.

"Don't disturb me," I spat coldly, getting back the papers, arranging them again. Women… they're all the same thing. They make it a point to always get what they want. And they're annoying—all of them. Why is it that first impressions are always deceiving? I mean, imagine this. You meet some girl, and you think she's pretty. She shyly smiles at you, and then you make friends. Suddenly you find out that "shy" is the very last thing she is.

Now I've realized: Don't ever trust the shy, demure ones.

I don't care if I stay single for the rest of my life. A perfect woman is nonexistent in this world anyways.

"Syaoran, what's wrong…?"

"Would you stop that?" I pushed away those hands that fondled with my hair. That girl's lucky I don't really hurt women—physically, at least—or I would've killed her by now. I hate those girls who always come up with something just to get what they want. "And who told you that you can call me by my first name?"

Rei angrily stood up and flashed me a sullen look before leaving my office without a single word. I smirked back a triumphant grin. Goodbye, idiotic idiot. Pacifying my messed-up hair and fixing to place my tie, I casually stood up my chair and followed her to the door, slamming it shut behind her.

So that's supposed to be the end of us, huh? Oh, no, it's not that devastating; in fact, it's a perfect reason to treat everyone in the office to a big party and celebrate till dawn. Actually, I just met her yesterday at her dad's office. Then in one second she'll hang around, as if she'd be my wife sooner or later. Hah. Big dumb idiot challenging the Li Syaoran. And she thought she could win?


Now who the hell is this? Some president or manager of some company again, trying to make me attend some more stupid SUNDAY MEETINGS? I now officially hate Sundays. Why do I have to work on Sundays while everyone gets to sleep in? Life's so unfair. Maybe I should go kill myself.

I pushed the 'answer' button without even looking at the screen. "Hey, whoever you are, I'm busy. So if you've got nothing important to say, shut the hell up and never call me again."

I was too excited to push that 'end call' button when a shrill, deafening voice overpowered Beethoven, whose 5th Symphony I was playing in the CD player. Really. Even if I played heavy metal, I bet that kind of voice could still overwhelm it.


"What the—Daidouji?"

"Oops. I'm sorry. I mean, I want to say sorry because I can't pay the fifty million bet…"

Ha! I grinned to myself, feeling evil at the same time. "So I get to tell Eriol?"

Aww jeez, who cares? The truth is, bet or no bet, Eriol actually likes Daidouji too, so what's the point of keeping this unquestionable fact of her liking him and him liking her secret between them? If only the two know all about this, then some fifty million yen would be spared.

"No, noo, nooo! I've thought of another solution to this. Listen—Gods, Sakura! Stop it!"

The call was cut off.

Now what was that?

It's silly. I didn't think that she'd be too serious about this whole thing. I know that she's rich, but I didn't know that she's too serious about keeping that thing with Eriol. Really, I would never understand women.

My cell phone rang again, and sighing, I pressed the 'answer' button again, now hoping that there wouldn't be another high-pitched scream, so it would save me a few dollars on buying one of those hearing aids.

"I'm sorry! Sakura tried to wrestle the phone from my hand, and she just won't give up!" Thankfully, there wasn't any high-pitched scream. But I can definitely hear an obviously loud and scandalous shrieking on the other end of the line. "Anyway, the solution. I thought that you might need a personal slave."

Pure silence. And not only in my end of the line, but also in hers.

"What do you mean?" I tried hard to hide my overenthusiastic tone, paying full attention to her now.

"I just thought you might need an assistant. Or something like… a secretary maybe. Oh, whatever. You know what a slave means."

I didn't need an assistant or a secretary. But I do know what a slave means.

"And who's going to be that slave you're talking about?" I just have to ask.

Another round of furious screaming.

"So you have me in speakerphone." And I can safely conclude that the unwilling slave-to-be is responsible for all those yelling. "And apparently, she's not too happy about this."

"Yes, and her name's Sakura," she excitedly replied. "Well, she's kind of reluctant, you know, but no worries."

Sakura. Pretty name.

But if she doesn't want to do it, why did she even let Daidouji phone me? Or, who knows, she might be just another woman who insists on challenging me.

"I don't want her if she doesn't want to anyway. Now if you've got nothing else to suggest, then I think I should just tell Eriol about you liking him. That wouldn't hurt your pocket, considering that you, apparently, are grounded, on account to the bodyguard mess with your date with that ugly—what do you call him again?—'liberated punk'? So I think that's going to be okay. A basketball game lost, your secret lost—"

"You jerk!" Another scream, although not as high pitched, suddenly cut my voice off. I almost stared at the screen, in case I'm talking to someone who got a wrong number—although that's too absurd now, as I heard her add, "Tomoyo didn't do anything wrong! Now get me in as your slave and leave her alone!"

Whoa. That's… uh… smart, considering her great speech and her intelligently-chosen words, which actually rhymed. But no matter how I didn't like this, I found myself suddenly silent. When I found my voice, all I could fire back was a mere, "What was that?" and I found my usually vast vocabulary shrinking to three words with the sound of her flaming voice.

"Didn't you hear me? You're a stupid asshole. You're such a stupid, arrogant asshole. You are a fucking stupid arrogant asshole!"

"Wha—Gee, thanks!" I found myself now laughing sarcastically, the other side of the line suddenly filled with shushes and incomprehensible girl language. Now that's two words added to my too-big vocabulary, with an added sarcastic laugh.

Hey, she has a whole lot bigger vocabulary than I do! Imagine the words stupid, arrogant, fucking, and asshole said that much properly and so intelligently, thrice. Did she ever know that her arrangement of words sounds kinda out-of-order?

"Stop joking around, jerk!"

"Okay, okay!"

"One okay is enough!"


Hey. Stop right there. What the hell am I doing following my supposed-to-be slave's orders? Just so great and incredibly… juicy for the first small talk, huh?

That girl's tough. Or is it just the sound of her voice? Let's just see if she's really like that.

"So, anyhow, as you said, I'd stop joking around. Now for serious business, you could start tomorrow… babe," I almost murmured the last set of words, using my most seductive voice, carefully not letting her hear the excitement that I was having a lot of trouble hiding.


"DON'T EVER CALL ME 'BABE'!" I shrieked and intentionally ended the call without him even having the one chance to say a totally saccharine 'Bye bye, babe, take care!'. I can't take it. I'm going to work for Li Syaoran. I am so going to be dead. Sooner or later, I'm so going to be assassinated by a million girls all around the world. They're going to chase me to the farthest of hell because of me having to be his slave for this whole week.

Not to mention Li Syaoran actually calling me 'babe'.

I REALLY am SO dead.

And to add to that, I just called their dream bachelor, my "master", a "fucking stupid arrogant asshole". Nice one, Sakura. Incredibly great choice of words. Where did you ever get that part of your vocabulary?

And yeah, you've just made yourself the antagonist now, also part-time brave heroine who sacrificed her ever-precious life and time to her best friend, just because best friend needed her and is being picked on by Li Syaoran.

It's just so great.

I just wish I had actually fainted, brought to the emergency room, and confined in the ICU, so Tomoyo would forget about all about this mess.

So now, Kinomoto Sakura would be known forever as one who has once been a slave. Of Li Syaoran. Should I thank Daidouji Tomoyo and tell her how exceedingly happy I am to live my life as hell? I just hope she'd hear every bit of sarcasm in my voice.


Monday, 8 am

Holy crap. Why should time pass so quickly?

I'm here, twenty four hours after the historical telephone conversation with the 'striking young Chinese entrepreneur', sitting on my electrocution chair for half an hour now, waiting for more time to pass and for my master to arrive at my door.

Tomoyo sighed, dropping her hand on my bed, which was full of her stuff. No, my whole apartment room was filled with her stuff. "I told you—don't make a single movement or else I'll either poke your eye or make a mistake. Now look at what you've done!" She tore off some tissue from its pink box and ruthlessly fixed the thick black line under my eyes.

"I don't want to use any makeup!" I cried loud as she reapplied another fresh line of eyeliner under my eye.

"Don't you want to look beautiful for your first day as Li Syaoran's slave?" Tomoyo sweetly asked. I noticed her long eyelashes go up and down along with her 'beautiful eyes and sugary voice' Oscar's award-winning act. And come to think of it, she's so going to make my eyelashes perfectly just like hers.

"For heavens' sake, NO!"

Look beautiful? For Li Syaoran? For goodness's sake, what if he does something to me! The playboy? The bachelor? The rich businessman? I don't care what I would look like in front of him! Anything's good, except those that might, you know, 'heighten up his senses'—Oh, God, I'm going to die.

"I don't believe you. Now stay nice and cool. Final touch." Tomoyo placed her hand inside her little purple purse, as if looking for something. I gasped as she pulled out a small tube of glossy pink lipstick.


And here comes the lethal injection. I stood up and backed away from her. "Oh no, you're not going to betray me and offer my life to evil Ms. Lipstick and her wrath, right?"

"Hmm? The perfect girl running away from a small tube of lipstick?" Tomoyo stood up and followed me out my room. "For me, look good please!"

What the hell? Don't I still look like a huge flirt here?

Imagine wearing a blouse with three buttons unbuttoned at the top, which, annoyingly, is showing more cleavage than it's supposed to (I wear sleeveless shirts, but not plunging necklines!), a mini-skirt approximately three inches above the knee (I also do wear miniskirts, but not three inches above the knee miniskirts, for goodness's sake), and high-heeled sandals (which is somehow okay, because luckily, Tomoyo forgot to bring her stilettos with her). Oh, plus makeup! What will Li Syaoran think of me now?

"No, I don't want to look good!"

"No, you should look good! Don't you know that Li Syaoran had many girlfriends before but never took even a single relationship seriously? Oh, Sakura. Don't you realize that he's totally interested in you? You might hook up with the man of your dreams!"

Hook up with him? FYI, I'm NOT going to end up in his 'list of girls to flirt with and dump after three days', NEVER! And he's not even the man of my dreams!

Kami-sama, I prefer doing all slave-work and shedding all those sweat than being a huge, annoying, reputation-destroying, cleavage-displaying FLIRT!

"Hi, Li-kun!" Tomoyo answered her cell phone that I didn't notice ringing at all. Oh, God, it's the Jerk. "Wait a sec, she's here." She handed me the phone and winked at me with an eye. "It's him. He couldn't seem to stand waiting for another thirty minutes to talk to you."

Oh no. What the heck does he want from me now? I placed the phone over my ear, not saying a word. Pure, blessed silence. "What?" I angrily muttered after I realized that this wouldn't be finished soon until I end it sooner.

"Hey," came the familiar low voice. It was just a mere 'hey', but it unmistakably sent the annoying shivers down my spine. His voice felt cool, at the same time very mysterious. And it's scaring me to death.

"What?" I repeated.

"You're not going to be late for your first day, right, babe?"

It's still five past eight and he calls this late for my 8:30 schedule with him? Now here's a new motto I think I will definitely like better than the famous one: 'Better never than late'.

"And who are you to call me 'babe'?"

He snickered. "The fucking asshole?"

I almost hurled the cell phone to the floor.

"Wrong answer? Then how about… your master?"

I gritted my teeth furiously. This irritating sarcasm is NOT going to get to me, just keep the defenses up, Sakura! That Li Syaoran's clearly good at this. He's going to make me suspect that he graduated with a PhD Sarcasm degree, if only there could be one.

And would I lose?

"And if I don't want to go?"

There was a short pause. "If you don't want to, then I'll personally go inside your room now and pull you from here out to my house if I should have to."

"Go ahead and try if you can."

"You're challenging me?"

"And you're a coward loser?"

"You think there's anything I want that I couldn't get?"

I blinked, looking at my apartment door nervously. So is it suppose to open and reveal that Li Syaoran standing there, holding the cell phone while striding over to me, harshly enjoying his authority and pulling me out of my own apartment?

The knob suddenly turned and, lo and behold, the fucking asshole came in. Great. He's holding his million-dollar cell phone, walking towards me—everything as I had predicted! Really great. Now I'm sure I'm going to apply later as a fortuneteller or a psychic and earn millions and become richer than he is.

Sweet revenge!

Oh, but honestly, he looks kind of cute with that loose shirt and jeans. And simple rubber shoes. And a white Nike cap. Not any form of a rich businessman… corporation president, to be exact. Instead, he looks totally like the guy in the magazine centerfold, only looking more casual and… and…

Oh my God.

Great, I fell for his looks.

I'm very much and thoroughly enjoying this very beautiful and ultimately peaceful Monday morning as I thought I would…


"Now who's a coward loser again?"

I moved back. I noticed his eyes examining every detail of me from toe to head. I moved back further and glared at him. The corners of his lips seemed like twitching; like he was trying not to smile, but he couldn't help it. Probably he's done comprehending about my attire for the day. Just realizing this made my cheeks start heating up fast.

Behind me, I heard Tomoyo heave this satisfied sigh. I think that's because she was relieved that she had at least finished majority of her beauty makeover on time. But I did win the lipstick match, so that's still okay. Barely.


Oh, no.


Now I know why he's smiling like that. I look like one of those mall mannequins covered with all of Daidouji Tomoyo's fashion tastes. Or I look exactly like Tomoyo herself. Why hadn't I realized this earlier? God, I want my favorite pair of comfortable jeans back.

"How long have you been there?" I idiotically stammered. "Didn't your mother teach you that eavesdropping is wrong?"

"I was here since I called Daidouji. And in that particular case, it can't be considered eavesdropping. And come to think of it, I didn't even hear anything. So it's not that bad, right, dear Sakura?"

Just a little bit more and I am going to be forced to kill this arrogant pain in the ass. Just a bit more.

"And who in the world told you that you can call me Sakura? I don't remember letting you."

"I'm your master for this whole week." He flashed a silly, million-dollar grin. "It's my choice on what to call you. Now can we go now and discuss your application as my personal slave?"

Still not ready to lose this fight yet, I arched an eyebrow and flashed him my professionally-practiced surly look. "Excuse me, but I didn't apply as your slave, Mr. Li."

Breathe in, breathe out. You are not going to lose this one, Sakura.

Suddenly, I felt two hands pushing my back. "Sakura, you go now with your 'master', okay? I need to go somewhere else." She winked at me and strode towards the door. And she left all those mess inside my room. Not only that, she left me alone with the devil himself.

I very much get the hidden message. TRANSLATION: "You two look so cute together, and I think I should move out of the way so you can go ahead and do whatever you want!"

Where IS my best friend? She's not getting away with this that easily.

"Now it's just the two of us." Li inched forward towards me, and I fell back to the wall. "You will go with me or I'll kiss you right here," my all-so-powerful master threatened.

I can feel the heat creeping to my cheeks as he placed both of his hands on either side of my head, locking me between him and the wall. Now I really think he's enjoying the height difference. I'm five-foot-six, but he's still so much taller than I am. I tried to sink down lower to avoid his eyes, but he just bent his head down so we're both in eye level.

"Now, what do you choose?" he whispered huskily. I could really feel his weight further pushing me towards the wall, and the raspy breathing clearly felt on my jaw is really freaking me out. Call me weird if you want, but suddenly I'm scared of him.


"That's not in your options…" His lips are slowly closing in, and this time, I can feel myself just about to burst and hyperventilate. I felt the sudden surge of adrenaline through my veins, and quickly found my arms suddenly on his chest, pushing him away with a small shriek.

There was still this distinct blush, and my voice was shaking. "I'd go with you now. But don't you dare forget this: don't you ever do that to me again, understand?"

He smiled, straightening up. "I would have to think about that."

"I know you're my master, but I think that's invasion of privacy, Mr. Li."

"'Mr. Li' makes me feel old. Let me think," he said, with obvious fake pensiveness, intentionally ignoring the main idea of my intelligent statement. Damn this guy. "How about… 'my lord'?"

I flinched. Should I remind this apparently perfectly smart man his History notes and that the term 'my lord' so totally belongs to the Medieval Era, too? Now slavery perfectly matched 'my lord'—and I don't even have a choice about it! Oh, great.

Finally sighing, I flashed him my usual 'you're going to pay for this' look. "Yes, my lord."

Li Syaoran is totally going to be dead.


She's mine.

That came into mind when Sakura silently followed me to my car outside her apartment building. I can explain why she's acting that hesitant, but why so shy, not like how incredibly feisty she acted yesterday?

I almost considered asking her, Hey, what happened to the 'stupid arrogant fucking asshole'?

What in the world is so wrong with that miniskirt she's wearing, huh? It really suits her, if you'd ask me. And ditto with that blouse, which she keeps on pulling up almost to her neck.

I bet she thinks she doesn't look nice. Or maybe she thinks she looks too different. Au contraire, I think she looks so beautiful.

No, she looks like a princess. Or an angel. Simple but purely elegant, just as I like it. As we men always say, 'Less is more'.

"Drive me to my house, slave," I tried to fake a stern voice, turning to her. Although I know I didn't fully manage what we consider a 'stern voice', she just silently flashed those fierce emerald eyes to me again—those beautiful, innocent emerald eyes that can never fail to charm any guy.

"I don't know where it is, my lord," came the answer in a low voice, the 'my lord' part being emphasized with a very sarcastic tone, just as I thought it would.

I laughed, breaking the dull silence around us. "Of course you don't. Now hop in the front seat."

She was hesitant. How rare of a girl. My common observation (a hundred percent correct and is based on experience) is that every girl doesn't even think twice and hops inside my car, thinking it was already hers, and makes herself at home—and I have not even asked her yet to go and come inside.

But not this girl.

"The front seat or a kiss?"

"…Front seat."

Now that was fast. Pretty effective blackmail, huh? Sakura slowly got in within a split second and sat down without any other single sound made.


But hell, it was pretty disappointing. I couldn't explain well, but I hated that she avoided me like I have leprosy or something. And I was just aching for a kiss. What's wrong with that?

I do believe that I'm not a bad kisser, if that's what she's worrying about.

I went in the driver's seat and started the engine. "Now let me ask you some questions," I began, as we moved along the busy avenue. She remained so still like a fragile Japanese doll, staring ahead without showing any emotions on her face. She still didn't look at me when I asked, "How old are you?"

I thought she'd say, "Mind your own business" or "I'm not going to answer some silly, unimportant question asked by an arrogant fucker" or something, but instead, her lips barely moved with a soft, "Twenty."

Finally she said a word. Keep on going, Xiaolang! Though I bet she only answered because she got tired that I might threaten another kiss, I smiled and stole a short look at her. She was still staring right ahead. "Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, turning to right into a sharp curve.

As I expected, she seemed taken aback, to the point that one of her eyebrows shot way up. Hey, I was just asking if she'd had any relationship with some other 'liberated punks', just like her best friend. I'm not being too intrusive, am I? "Do you have one?" I repeated.


She was doing this I-will-only-play-a-one-word-game-with-you-so-back-off act, but yeah, nevertheless, she's so perfect. I slowly leaned to her while waiting for the green light.

Touching her soft lips, I smiled contentedly. Nothing smudged off. No lipstick, but just the natural pink color of her lips. She doesn't even need to wear any lipstick.

"W-what are you doing?" Sakura growled and tried to move away, blushing stunning pink.

I chuckled and ran my knuckles on her cheeks. No thick makeup, unlike those heavily-powdered other women. She's just so simple and perfect, unlike some others who tend to think that they are, even if they really aren't.

Sakura should know that she's got everything a girl would want to die for, and yet, emphasizing those facts seem to be not her type of thing to do.

I noticed just how she instinctively pulls her skirt down to her knees and the blouse up to her neck every five seconds. Pretty conservative of her, but I guess it's not too much, as she still has this some kind of 'attractive force' I couldn't help sensing.

"For one whole week, you would stay at my place. I'm going to ask someone to get your things so you can already stay tonight."

She fixed a fuming glare at me, and I couldn't hide a grin when she almost yelled, "Hey, wait! I didn't agree to something like that! Why do I even have to?"

The green light flashed and every car in the avenue roared to life again. I smiled to myself, focusing straight. Wonderful. The Kinomoto Sakura I heard yesterday came back.

"Because you're mine."


I shut up quickly as soon as I heard myself unconsciously blurting those three words out. If I could be more absentminded than I am, I would cut my tongue off.

"Says who?"

I grinned. "Says me."

"Right, and who—"

"Ne parlez pas…" I interrupted her, lowering my voice down, "…princesse."

And she understood me. She did stop talking. I smiled at her as I drove inside the gates of my house. She was obviously entranced; her lips were curved into the shape of a silent O. Even her eyes were glued to the fancy wrought iron gate being opened by four of our guards.

But maybe she didn't understand what I said after all. There weren't any violent reactions with the "princesse", although that is pretty understandable, I must say.

Maybe I should speak a little more French with her.

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you…" I smiled again, holding her gaze. "…You have to stay at my room."