The Will Of The Wongs

The front door opened before Arthur could knock, revealing a woman who could only be Mei's older sister. She possessed the striking beauty of a high-fashion model, her height exaggerated by sheer will rather than physical stature alone.

"You must be Arthur," she said, her voice honeyed with acid. "Do come in. The family is waiting."

Arthur followed her into the living room where Mrs. Wong held court. Though barely five feet tall, she filled the room more effectively than any of the tall men Arthur normally commanded. Her face carried the same exotic beauty as Mei's, but hardened by decades of authority.

"I am Kimi," said the sister who'd escorted him. "And this," she gestured to a younger woman rising from the sofa, "is Yumi."

Yumi was unmistakably a younger version of Mei – the same generous curves, the same knowing eyes, but with an innocence somehow more calculating than genuine. The three sisters stood together, presenting a united front of feminine power that left Arthur feeling simultaneously aroused and intimidated.

"My daughters," Mrs. Wong said, though she watched Arthur rather than them. "Mei tells us you wish to court her properly."

"Yes, very much so," Arthur began, extending his hand toward Mrs. Wong.

The matriarch ignored the gesture, instead speaking rapidly in Japanese. Yumi and Kimi erupted in laughter that lasted uncomfortably long.

"We have decided you will serve tea while we discuss your intentions," Mrs. Wong translated when the giggling subsided. "The kitchen is through there."

Arthur froze, certain he must have misunderstood. When Mrs. Wong repeated the instruction in her perfect English, he nearly laughed.

"Surely you don't expect me to..."

"Expectations are irrelevant," Mrs. Wong interrupted. "You will serve my daughters and me tea. You will not sit at our table. You will not speak unless spoken to."

"You've got to be joking," Arthur said with a nervous chuckle, pushing past Kimi toward the door. "If this is how you treat guests..."

Mei, who had watched everything from an armchair, finally moved, stepping directly into Arthur's path. The look in her eyes wasn't just anger – it was the cold promise of removal from her life entirely.

"Whatever they tell you to do," she said softly, "you will do without question."

The evening deteriorated from there. Arthur fumbled through the tea service, burning his fingers on the kettle, spilling water on the tray. The women conversed in Japanese, occasionally casting him piercing glances. When he accidentally dropped a teaspoon, Kimi slapped his hand so hard he felt it through his sleeve.

"Careless servant," she hissed, enjoying my flinch.

By the time he was permitted to leave, Arthur had been reduced to something unrecognizable even to himself. The man who had built an empire from nothing capitulated to serving tea to women who regarded him as little more than an amusement.

As he showed himself out, Mrs. Wong called after him, "Same time next week, Arthur Sterling. We have much more to discuss."