Private Room, The Bck Lotus.
The restaurant is soundproofed and candlelit, with rich mahogany paneling and long silk curtains drawn closed. A single table, dressed in obsidian linen and gold-trimmed ptes, seats three.
Dr. Rina Matsui sits stiffly, dressed in tailored charcoal scks and a soft bck blouse. She scans her wine gss more than she drinks from it. Her mind is racing.
Across from her sits Hezri El-Amin, the towering, enigmatic Supreme Chair of the 6 Commandments Party—a man known more by silhouette than by speech. Beside him: Lena Cho, 28, formidable, calcuting, Director of 6C’s Financial Operations—and one of Hezri’s inner circle wives.
HEZRI:
(voice calm, slow)
"You were twenty-five when you unched the first decentralized femme trust in Santa Cruz. No legal anchor, no institutional blessing, and yet over 120 women signed up in the first six weeks."
RINA:
(slightly guarded)
"It colpsed in eight. The banking co-op pulled out after we refused to register under state partnership w. We didn't want a man’s name anywhere on it—not even on the ledger."
HEZRI:
(nods)
"I know. That failure made you a legend in some corners. I’ve read every legal challenge you filed since. Lena sent me your Monterey brief—on how digital fiduciary networks could be built on religious exemptions without religious identity."
LENA CHO:
(sips water, dry tone)
"Brilliant. Unstable. You’ve always been one cuse ahead of the w, but two months te on enforcement."
RINA:
(smirks, just slightly)
"I wasn’t building for enforcement. I was building proof of concept. My job was to make the future thinkable."
HEZRI:
(leans in slightly, voice lower)
"Have you ever wanted to make it real?"
RINA:
(quiet for a moment)
"I’ve wanted to make it ours. That’s different."
HEZRI:
"And who is ‘ours,’ Dr. Matsui? Feminists in basements? Donors who whisper support but vanish when paperwork shows up? Tech elites who flirt with revolution but won’t delete their LinkedIn?"
RINA:
(steadies her voice)
"Our is whoever is willing to fight for a new structure, not patch the old one. People willing to be hated. Forgotten. Erased."
LENA CHO:
(raising a brow)
"You sound like us, you know."
RINA:
"No. I sound like someone who doesn’t want to wear your uniform to do it."
HEZRI:
(lets silence hang for a beat)
"I didn’t come to offer anything tonight, Rina. No funding. No titles. I came to understand one thing."
RINA:
"And what’s that?"
HEZRI:
"Whether you hate us more than you love power."
***
Dr. Rina Matsui’s Office – University of West Texas, Austin
May 2, 2025 | 3:12 PM
Rain streaks down the wide office window, the kind of Texas drizzle that feels like it can’t decide whether to fall or hover. Dr. Rina Matsui sits at her desk, half an untouched bowl of soba noodles beside her ptop, unread emails piling up like anxious bricks.
Her fingers hover over the keyboard, but her mind is still back in Mississippi. The room smells faintly of books, printer ink, and the jasmine tea that’s gone cold.
RINA (internal monologue):
Hezri didn’t offer a job. Or a check. He didn’t need to.
All he had to do was say: “I see you.” And suddenly, I’m recalibrating everything.
They’ve been watching me since Santa Cruz? Lena had my Monterey brief?
They’ve read the failures like scripture. And still they call it talent. Admiration.
What is it I always told my students? Power is proximity. The ones who ask about you without asking for you are already building you into their empire.
But am I fttered? Or targeted?
...Can it be both?
[KNOCK at the door]
Dean Evan Mitchell, gray-haired, polite to a fault, steps in holding an umbrel and a folder with the university seal.
DEAN MITCHELL:
"Dr. Matsui, sorry to barge in. Quick note—confidential."
RINA:
(gestures to the chair, cautiously)
"That sounds like it always is."
DEAN MITCHELL:
(smiles thinly)
"We received a donation. Quiet, anonymous at first. But the channels trace back to a 6C-aligned holding company. Ten million dolrs."
RINA:
(straightens)
"You’re taking 6C money?"
DEAN MITCHELL:
(leans in)
"We’re keeping 6C money. There’s a difference."
RINA:
"And the catch?"
DEAN MITCHELL:
"They requested no public announcement. And only one… preference. Not a demand. Just admiration for a particur faculty member."
RINA:
(skeptical)
"Me."
DEAN MITCHELL:
"Yes. They called you ‘an architect of post-legal female power.’ Their words, not mine. They asked that we... provide space for your work. Expansion if needed. Research funding. No strings—just scaffolding."
RINA:
"And you said yes?"
DEAN MITCHELL:
"We said: 'We already support Dr. Matsui’s work.' Because we do. But I wanted you to know... in case they contact you again."
(He stands to leave, pausing at the door.)
RINA (monologue, after he leaves):
They think they can buy my future with silence and institutional comfort. Call it admiration, fund it under shadows, let me think I’m free while I build for them.
But what if I used their scaffolding to build against them?
What if I took their fascination and turned it into leverage?
I told Hezri I wouldn’t wear his uniform. I didn’t say I wouldn’t use his weapons.
***
Austin, Texas — Early May 2025
University District, Evening Light Still Bleeding from the Sky.
Dr. Rina Matsui sits in her dim apartment above a bookstore, rereading a text for the third time. Her phone buzzes again.
SENATOR RONALD GATES
“You think they’ll protect you now? You think the 6C creeps won’t pull strings? They eat people like you. I’m the st one who actually cared.”
Another buzz.
Another email.
Another voicemail.
Fshback: Two Years Ago.
They met at a symposium on digital governance in Phoenix. Senator Gates—charismatic, mid-40s, blue-state moderate with a libertarian sheen—was married, but persuasive. He called her brilliant. Said she gave him ideas, crity. He kissed her in the rain outside a hotel, and she let him.
It sted eight months. Until she realized he didn't want to dismantle the system—he wanted her within it, as an ornament. The day she ended it, he swore it would remain “cordial.”
It didn’t.
Present Day — May 3, 2025
Rina had been ignoring him for months. Blocking numbers. Filtering emails. But this past week, something changed. His messages turned sharp. Taunting. Almost threatening.
May 1st – A student tells her a "reporter" came asking about her.
May 2nd – Her old Santa Cruz co-op files get mysteriously fgged in a university compliance audit.
May 3rd – Her lecture on legal subversion is pulled from the university site “for review.”
May 4th – A private call from Dean Mitchell:
"You should know Gates called me. Said you might be 'leveraging foreign theocratic influence.'
RINA (internal monologue):
He’s not jealous. He’s scared. He senses I’ve stepped into a circle beyond his reach. That I might build something bigger than him.
He’s trying to preempt me. Smear me. Strip me of pusible alliances.
He still thinks I need his shadow to stay protected.
But he has no idea what I’m about to become.
***
Dr. Rina Matsui’s Apartment — May 4, 2025
The night after the photo leak, an eerie silence fills the room, except for the soft hum of a refrigerator in the corner.
Rina stands in front of her bedroom mirror, the same mirror where she st checked herself hours ago—before the world knew her body. The photos are everywhere: Twitter, Reddit, mainstream media. Anonymously captioned with degrading comments, twisting a private moment into something grotesque.
Her fingers trace the edge of the mirror, as though the reflection could hold some truth that her body feels too betrayed to remember. She doesn’t cry. She barely reacts.
RINA (internal monologue):
It’s too clean.
The photos, the timing, the precision.
He never left. He’s always been lurking. Like a stain I couldn’t wash away. And now he’s finally reached me in the only way that makes sense to him—my body. He knew this would cut deeper than a smear campaign.
Ronald Gates. The polished senator. The man who pyed the victim while treating me like an accessory. I ended things. I walked away. He couldn’t handle it. He never could. But now? He’s taken everything he needs to ensure I never stand tall again.
never stand tall again.
I’m a woman, and in his eyes, I’m a thing. A tool. An object to be reshaped, shattered, and then forgotten. This isn’t about a power py. It’s about him reminding me—reminding everyone—who really has the power here.
*Her fingers tremble. She’s standing in her bedroom, just a few feet away from the wall where she noticed the tiny bck dot in the corner. A camera. Hidden in pin sight. She almost ughed at the absurdity of it when she found it—except that it wasn’t funny. Not at all. It was cold, calcuted. The sick feeling of knowing she had been watched—objectified in the worst way possible.
RINA (internal monologue, as she sits at her desk, looking at the police report):
I did what I was supposed to do. Lodged the report. Went through the motions. The cops, they don’t care. Not when it’s a politician. Not when it's about a woman’s dignity. I’m a statistic. The moment I give them my name, they turn away. Maybe it’s a technicality, or maybe they just don’t want to touch the fire that is Ronald Gates. Maybe they think I’ll just ‘move on.’
But I will move on. I have to.
The university? They pulled the rug out from under me faster than I could expin. Temporary leave. “For my own protection,” they said. But I know it’s not about me. It’s about keeping their hands clean. Keeping their institutional ties to Gates intact. This is about their image, not mine.
But there’s one thing they don’t understand: I was never part of their image. And neither were the women I’ve fought for. I’m done pretending I can py in their sandbox.
They think I’ll back down. They think I’ll shrink and hide from this. But they don’t know me. They don’t know what happens when you push someone like me into a corner. When you give me no choice but to fight back with everything I have. They want a woman broken by shame. Instead, they’ll get a woman who builds an army from it.
I won’t disappear. Not this time. I’ll expose him. But first? I’ll make sure he knows exactly who he’s dealing with. Not the broken woman he expects, but the woman who’s learned to make her enemies pay in ways they can’t even imagine.
The system doesn’t protect me. But I’ll build my own.
***
Rina sits at her desk, the ptop open, its blue glow casting a cold hue in the dark room. The screen flickers as new notifications flood in, but she doesn’t need to check them. Her heart is already racing. Her body feels like it’s frozen to the chair.
The social media ptforms are a blur of words and images—hashtags like #LustfulProfessor, #MatsuiExposed, #TexasSexTape. Each one a dagger. But the most damning is a video, looping endlessly. A shaky, unsteady camera angle showing her. Her. Naked, touching herself. Moaning softly.
Her hand hovers over the screen, but she can’t bring herself to click on it. Yet she knows what it is. She recognizes the dim lighting. The soft sheets, the quiet hum of the air conditioner in the background. The moment she thought she was safe in the privacy of her own apartment, the one pce she could let down her guard.
RINA (internal monologue):
It’s real. This isn’t a fake. I can’t deny it. I was there. I did that. A few days ago, when I thought I was alone, when the world wasn’t watching me, I gave in to the exhaustion and frustration. Now they’ve turned it into my legacy. Every second of me on screen for the world to consume.
I didn’t ask for this. But I know the game now. They want me naked, broken, exposed. To them, I’m nothing more than the thing they can turn into a joke. A warning. A cautionary tale for every other woman who thinks she’s untouchable.
But the real question is: How many more are there? How many more videos did he make of me while I thought I was in control?
There could be more. Worse ones. Ones I don’t even remember. Ones where I let my guard down completely, thinking I could be free.
This is his game. Ronald Gates. He’s watched me, studied me, and now he owns me. Or at least, he thinks he does. But he won’t. He won’t take this.
Rina sms the ptop shut, but the viral images remain burned into her mind. Her pulse throbs in her temples. She’s dizzy with disgust, with a sense of betrayal so deep it cws at her chest. But the resolve starts to settle in. She can’t show fear. Not now. Not after everything that’s happened. She won't back down.
***
Late Evening – Driving in Her Renault
The rain is coming down in sheets, the windshield wipers working overtime as Rina drives through the dark, empty streets of Austin. She grips the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white. She doesn’t want to think about the chaos back at her apartment—the video, the social media storm. Her phone buzzes once again, but she ignores it.
She needs space. She needs time to think.
But as she turns left at an intersection, a van comes barreling into her from the side. The impact is swift, violent. Her car spins out of control, her body smmed to the side by the force of the collision. The world tilts. She hears a sickening crunch as metal crumples and gss shatters.
RINA (internal monologue, in the chaos of the crash):
No. No, this can’t be happening. Not now. Not when I’m so close to understanding what’s going on.
The van... this isn’t a mistake. This was intentional. Someone saw me in that car and hit me.
The car comes to a sudden halt, smoke rising from the engine. Rina blinks, her vision blurry. Blood drips from a gash on her forehead, but she’s not seriously hurt. She’s still alive. But her heart pounds in her chest as the realization sinks in.
***
The room is dimly lit, the heavy scent of coffee and perfume mingling with the tension that hangs in the air. The WFC meeting is being held in a downtown loft in San Francisco, a far cry from the polished boardrooms of the corporate world. Women sit in a loose circle, their faces a mixture of defiance, wariness, and exhaustion. Rina Matsui enters the room, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor, but there’s a noticeable distance between her and the group. They know what’s been happening to her.
She takes her seat quietly, adjusting the sleeve of her bzer to hide the bandage on her arm from the car accident. The room quiets as soon as she’s seated, the collective eyes of the group turning toward her. The chairwoman, Sarah Jenkins, begins the discussion.
SARAH JENKINS (Chairwoman of WFC):
“Let’s get started. I think we all know why we’re here today. Elise Carter has made another public offer to us—one that’s not just about colboration, but about aligning with the 6C movement. This time, he’s doing it with a bit more... fir. She praised our work in public, even after we turned her down st time. She’s not giving up. The question is—why?”
There’s a murmur around the room, a buzz of voices. Some women exchange wary gnces, others frown deeply. But it’s Rina’s silence that catches Sarah’s attention.
Rina remains still for a moment. Her mind is elsewhere—on the video leak, the van accident, her bruises, and the mounting pressure of everything unraveling. But she forces herself to focus. She didn’t come here to let them see her as weak.
RINA MATSUI (calmly):
“Elise Carter, she’s persistent. She’s been making public statements, trying to paint us as allies for a cause that’s... well, in a way, we’ve already rejected. It’s as if she’s testing us, seeing if our position is more flexible than we’re letting on. But I don’t think that’s all of it.”
Rina pauses, carefully choosing her words. She doesn’t mention Hezri, doesn’t mention the dinner, or the subtle promises made in the quiet of a luxurious restaurant. No one here needs to know that part. Not yet. Not while the pressure is on her.
RINA MATSUI (continuing):
“Carter’s offer is not just about colboration—there’s a certain... finesse to it. She’s presenting the 6C as a movement that bances both masculine and feminist ideals. She wants to bring us in as partners, not just outsiders. And she’s willing to keep pressing, even after we’ve rejected him once.”
SARAH JENKINS:
“You’re saying this offer isn’t just a simple one-off, but a calcuted move? One she thinks we can’t refuse?”
Rina nods, her eyes cold and focused.
RINA MATSUI:
“Exactly. She’s not giving up. She knows we’re divided. She sees the fractures in our coalition and he’s trying to exploit them. If we don’t address this, if we let it fester, it’s only going to get worse.”
There’s a long silence as the women exchange looks. Then, Maya Ortega, a fiery advocate for worker’s rights, speaks up.
MAYA ORTEGA:
“I don’t trust her. Not for a second. I don’t care how she praises us, how she ‘values’ our work. 6C’s policies are oppressive, especially to women. They want to co-opt feminism, twist it into their agenda, and I’m not having it.”
Rina hears their words, but her mind keeps drifting back to the situation she’s in. The smear campaigns, the media storm, the hidden cameras. The mounting pressure from all sides. She swallows, finding it hard to keep her composure. But then, another voice cuts through her thoughts.
AMY COLLINS (a more soft-spoken, yet passionate member of WFC):
“But Rina... we’re seeing what they’re doing to you. The videos. The smear campaigns. It’s not just the media—it’s personal. You’re being targeted.”
The women sit back, exchanging concerned gnces, their earlier anger turning into something more tangible: worry. Rina can feel the weight of their eyes on her, sensing their concern for her well-being.
SARAH JENKINS (breaking the silence):
“We’ll continue to reject Carter’s offer, but we need to stay united. The fight’s only getting started. And Rina—don’t carry it all by yourself. We’re here for you, no matter what comes next."
***
Outside Rina Matsui's Apartment – Evening.
The air is thick with tension as Rina steps out of her apartment, her heart racing. Standing in front of her building, Ronald Gates, her ex-lover, stands with two intimidating bodyguards fnking him. His presence is menacing, and his face wears the same arrogant smirk that she remembers all too well.
Rina’s body tenses as she approaches them. There’s nowhere to go, no escape. Her mind fshes to the police report she’d filed, the images of her leaking across the media, the wrecked car. But most of all, the control he still seems to have over her life, even after everything that’s happened.
Ronald’s eyes lock onto hers as she stops a few feet away. His gaze is predatory, and a chill runs down Rina’s spine. She stands still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break down.
....
RONALD GATES (smiling, his voice smooth and commanding):
“Rina... it’s been a while. You’ve been running from me, but here you are. You know, I’m always watching.”
He steps closer, his bodyguards standing still as he reaches out to touch her chin gently, lifting her face to look at him. The contact feels wrong, like ice against her skin. His fingers trail down to her chest, his touch possessive. She doesn’t pull away, not yet.
RONALD GATES (voice low and teasing):
“Come on, Rina. Let’s stop pretending. You and I, we had something special. I’ve been patient, but now, I want you back. Be mine again.”
Rina feels her pulse quicken, but she refuses to show any weakness. She swallows hard, holding back the urge to recoil from his touch. She’s too far gone into this mess already to let herself be controlled by him once more.
RINA MATSUI (speaking quietly, her voice firm but resigned):
“You already have a wife and two mistresses, Ronald. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Ronald chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing her chin in a slow, almost mocking gesture.
RONALD GATES (leaning closer):
“You think I can’t have more? In some pces, men have as many wives as they want. Even in the 6C states, a man can have four wives, can’t he? It’s all about power, Rina. About having what’s mine.”
Rina’s breath catches in her throat at the mention of 6C. She feels her insides stir with something like disbelief and, yes, a strange recognition. There’s a part of her that can’t help but acknowledge the truth in his words. She’s heard about the legal framework in the 6C states, the polygamy ws that at least give rights to the women involved. Unlike what she’s been forced to endure with Ronald.
RINA MATSUI (slightly defiant, but holding herself in check):
“Those women in 6C have rights, Ronald. They’re legal wives, not hidden concubines like you keep around. At least they have protections. You? You’re just hoarding women without giving them any voice.”
As she speaks, she feels a flicker of something stir within her—something that feels like quiet admiration for 6C's structure, at least the way they’ve set it up for women, despite the politics behind it. But she pushes that feeling aside, focusing on Ronald in front of her.
RONALD GATES (smirking):
“Rights? You think I care about that? All I want is you back where you belong, Rina. You know I’m the only one who can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Forget about 6C, forget about them. You’re mine. You always will be.”
He moves closer, lowering his voice to almost a whisper, eyes locked on hers with a dangerous intensity.
RONALD GATES (with a dark smile):
“You think I’m like those 6C men? I don’t know them, Rina. Hezri? 6C? I have nothing to do with them. I don’t need them to get what I want. And I want you back.”
Rina’s heart skips a beat at his words. He doesn’t know Hezri? He doesn’t know 6C? She feels a pang of surprise, even confusion. After everything, she’d assumed Ronald was somehow tied to them, connected to the web of power they’d built.
But now, standing here, she realizes he’s just another man with a warped sense of control, using his position and influence to manipute her. She can’t help but feel a sick sense of relief that he doesn’t have the deeper ties she feared.
RINA MATSUI (quietly, her eyes narrowing as she looks at him):
“Then why are you doing this, Ronald? Why all the games, the threats, the lies? You don’t have any leverage anymore.”
She takes a step back, gathering her composure, despite the emotional storm raging inside her. She’s still afraid, still tangled in the mess he’s made of her life, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart.
RONALD GATES (pauses, his voice hardening):
“Because you belong to me, Rina. You’ll see that sooner or ter.”
He leans in one st time, his lips brushing her ear as he whispers something that feels like a threat.
As Ronald pulls back, he nods at his bodyguards, who step aside. With one st lingering look, he turns and walks away, leaving Rina standing there, her mind reeling from the confrontation. She’s not sure what’s worse—the fact that he thinks he can still control her, or the unsettling feeling that she’s never truly escaped his grip.
Rina stands there for a long moment, fighting the urge to break down. The weight of the situation presses heavily on her chest. As the night air cools around her, she realizes that no matter how far she runs, Ronald Gates will always be in the shadows, watching, waiting.
***
A New Chapter — Rina’s Arrival at Her Apartment
The hum of the Ferrari’s engine fades as Rina Matsui pulls into the private garage of the high-rise apartment complex just minutes from the university she’s now technically suspended from. The sleek red vehicle gleams under the overhead lights, a gift from Lena Cho, who had acted swiftly after hearing Rina’s trembling voice recount the test from Ronald Gates. Lena’s only response had been: “You need to feel untouchable again.”
Now, Rina stands before the door of a luxury apartment she never asked for but now desperately needs. The card key beeps. The door slides open.
The scent of polished marble, expensive wood, and fresh orchids hits her first. Soft lighting spills over clean architectural lines—white walls, dark wood accents, tall windows framing the skyline. It’s a curated elegance meant to say: You are safe. You are chosen. You belong here.
Her breath catches slightly as her heels click over the hardwood. This is hers?
In the main living space, Elise Carter is seated gracefully on a cream-colored sectional. Her presence is magnetic—poised, powerful, understated in a tailored plum blouse and gold pin bearing the 6C insignia.
Across from her, lounging casually in a dark mandarin-colred shirt, is Hezri himself.
Rina freezes.
Hezri looks up, his gaze calm, warm, almost amused.
HEZRI (softly, gesturing to the room):
“Don’t hesitate, Dr. Matsui. This apartment is yours. The title is in your name. No debt. No expectation.”
Rina’s lips part, searching for words, but none come. She steps in fully, the door closing behind her with a gentle hiss. Her fingers brush the edge of the kitchen isnd as she passes it, grounding herself.
RINA (carefully):
“Why would you do this… for me?”
Hezri leans back slightly, crossing his legs. There’s a softness in his voice, but the steel beneath it is unmistakable.
HEZRI:
“Because we see brilliance in you. And brilliance needs protection... and room to grow.”
Elise offers a faint smile, studying Rina with eyes that miss nothing.
ELISE CARTER:
“You didn’t ask for this chaos. You didn’t choose that man, nor the system that failed to shield you from him. But now, you’re being given a ptform. Not to serve us—but perhaps, to finally serve yourself.”
Rina’s brow furrows slightly as she moves to the bar counter and runs her hand across its smooth surface. The silence is not uncomfortable—it’s intentional. She looks to Hezri again, uncertain.
RINA (quietly):
“You don’t want me to do anything? No public endorsement? No... allegiance?”
Hezri gives a soft chuckle.
HEZRI:
“Not today. Maybe not ever. We don’t need your obedience. We value your mind.”
The words linger. For Rina—used, cornered, discarded—this is a nguage she hasn't heard in years: respect with no demand. Support without manipution.
She sinks into an armchair, her body still tense but slowly exhaling the day’s weight.
RINA (after a pause):
“I don’t know what this is... what I’ve stepped into. But I’m tired of fighting with no allies. If you’re here just to listen, then I’ll speak.”
Hezri smiles faintly and nods. Elise leans forward, pouring a gss of wine for Rina.
ELISE:
“Then speak. This is your space now, Rina Matsui. And we’re here to listen.”
***
