PAIGE
The car glided to a stop, crunching softly on the pristine gravel driveway.
Paige stared out the window, her cheeks still warm. In her mind, she was cursing the smug, infuriating, impossibly attractive man beside her. Smug bastard.
The car door was opened by a uniford valet. The destination was huge—a sprawling, modern estate with glass walls reflecting the perfectly manicured lawns. In the distance, the gentle thwock of tennis balls echoed from pristine courts.
Reon stepped out first, the picture of casual elegance in his designer jeans and cashre sweater. He looked utterly at ho in this world of quiet, extre wealth. A faint, amused smirk played on his lips as he watched Paige’s frustrated profile still turned away from him. He enjoyed this. Her struggle was his favorite sport.
He turned and offered her his hand, a gentlemanly gesture that was anything but.
She ignored it. She made to step out on her own, chin held high.
But he was faster. In one swift, fluid motion, his hand shot out. His fingers closed around her wrist, not hard, but with a certainty that stopped her completely. He used the montum to spin her gently to face him right there in the driveway. His other hand found her waist, his touch firm and possessive, anchoring her against him.
The smirk was gone from his face now, replaced by an intensity that made her breath catch. His dark eyes held hers, and for a split second, it wasn’t a command. It was almost a plea. But Reon Daki did not plead.
"Black Cat..." he said, his voice low, the words for her alone. The usual sarcasm was stripped away, leaving sothing raw underneath.
She stared back, her own defiance lting into confusion under his unexpected seriousness.
"Just stay close," he said, the words quiet but absolute. "Please."
He leaned in then, closing the small distance between them. His lips brushed against hers in a brief, surprisingly soft kiss. It was over before she could even process it.
When he pulled back, his intense gaze never left hers. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes were dead serious.
"I don’t want to have to burn this place down for you."
Paige gave a slow nod, the confusion still swirling in her eyes. His sudden intensity, the soft kiss, the quiet plea—it was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and it left her off-balance.
Without another word, he took her hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm against hers. He didn’t give her a chance to pull away, simply lacing their fingers together as he turned and led her toward the grand entrance of the estate.
The huge glass doors slid open silently, revealing a buzzing, sunlit atrium. The air was cool and slled of cut grass and expensive perfu. The gentle thwock of tennis balls was louder here, mixing with the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
Almost imdiately, they were spotted.
A man in a crisp polo shirt broke away from a small group, a wide, familiar smile on his face. Paige recognized him—Mr. Silverstein, the hedge fund patriarch from the gala. The one she’d impressed with her sharp analysis.
"Reon! There you are," Silverstein said, clapping Reon warmly on the shoulder. His eyes then landed on Paige, and his smile widened with genuine recognition. "And the brilliant Ms. Ristone! A pleasure to see you again. I trust you’re keeping this one on his toes?"
Before she could answer, a woman glided over. She was the wife of the tech CEO from the charity dinner, her diamond earrings catching the light. "Oh, it is you! That dress you wore to the t was just stunning. Absolute fire."
Small talk was deployed like a weapon. Paige smiled, nodded, and offered polite replies, her mind racing.
These people knew her. They rembered her.
Not as Shunsuke Ristone’s disgraced daughter, but as soone sharp, soone morable. Soone on Reon Daki’s arm.
Reon kept her hand firmly in his, his thumb making slow, absent circles on her skin. It felt less like affection and more like a brand, a constant reminder of his presence and his claim. He would interject with a dry comnt here, a sarcastic agreent there, steering the conversations effortlessly.
With every introduction, every shared glance of recognition, Paige felt a piece of her old identity falling away. Here, in this lion’s den of her family’s enemies, she wasn’t an outcast. She was Reon’s secret weapon. And everyone, it seed, was eager to get a closer look.
Paige’s eyes scanned the crowd as Reon guided her through the atrium. She recognized more faces now, not just from recent events, but from a lifeti spent in these circles.
A shipping magnate from Singapore her father had swindled in a rger. A tech investor Shunsuke had publicly humiliated at a conference years ago. The daughter of a rival family whose engagent Payton had supposedly "stolen."
So these are the gasoline carriers, she thought. The air wasn’t just filled with small talk and perfu; it was thick with old grudges and quiet resentnt. She was burning with curiosity. Why did he betray you? What did my family take? But she didn’t ask. She just watched, and listened, and stored every detail away.
Then she saw him.
The venture capitalist from the business dinner. The one whose hand had lingered too long on the small of her back, whose business card she’d crumpled and tossed away. He was standing near a potted olive tree, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes fixed on her. More specifically, on Reon’s hand holding hers. His gaze was not friendly. It was calculating, and slightly annoyed, as if a toy he’d wanted had been taken by soone else.
Reon followed her line of sight. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in his chest. His grip on her hand tightened infinitesimally, a silent, possessive warning to the man across the room. The VC seed to get the ssage, offering a tight, fake smile before turning away.
Just then, a tall man with a commanding presence clapped his hands together. The gentle hum of conversation died down.
"Well, now that everyone’s here," the man announced, his voice booming through the space. He was the one who had organized the event. "Let’s get this started, shall we? The courts are waiting. Partners, choose your weapons."
The crowd began to move, a river of linen and polo shirts flowing toward the courts. The gas were beginning. And Paige knew, with a cold certainty, that the real ga—the one she and Reon were playing—was just entering a new, more dangerous set.
The sharp thwack of the tennis ball was a steady rhythm. Reon moved on the court with a lethal grace that was almost annoying. He wasn’t playing; he was dissecting his opponent, point by brutal point.
Paige sat in a shaded wicker chair, sipping sparkling water, trying to look like she belonged there and not like a bomb waiting to go off.
She saw the girl approaching out of the corner of her eye. Suzu Yokimura. The daughter of the family rival, Payton had supposedly "stolen" an engagent from years ago.
They were about the sa age, had been at the sa parties growing up, but had never once had a real conversation.
The Ristones and the Yokimuras moved in different orbits, their gravity fueled by mutual dislike.
Suzu sat in the empty chair next to her without a word. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. Paige focused intently on the ga, refusing to be the one to break it.
After a long mont, Suzu finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, not rude, just... curious.
"Boyfriend?" she asked, gesturing with her chin toward Reon, who had just slamd an ace past his floundering opponent.
The question was so simple, so blunt, and so utterly shocking that Paige inhaled her sip of water at the wrong ti. It went down the wrong pipe.
A violent, choking cough ripped through her. She doubled over, eyes watering, gasping for air as the fizzy water burned her nose and throat. She fumbled for a napkin, her face turning a brilliant shade of red.
Through her watering eyes, she saw Suzu looking at her with a mix of surprise and mild alarm. The girl hadn’t ant to cause a dical event. She’d just been trying to make conversation.
But the question hung in the air, more potent than any answer Paige could have given. The force of her reaction was an answer in itself.
The sharp, precise thwock of Reon’s tennis serve was the only sound Paige could focus on, a trono counting the seconds of her humiliation.
Her throat and nose still burned from the sparkling water, her eyes were watering, and her cheeks were flaming with a blush that had nothing to do with the sun.
Suzu watched her with a mixture of amusent and mild concern before leaning forward and offering a crisp, white linen napkin. "Here," she said, her voice softer now. "I’m sorry. I didn’t an to make you aspirate your Perrier."
Paige took it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes and mouth, using the action to buy precious seconds to formulate a reply.
Her mind was a frantic, screaming void. Boyfriend? The word was so absurd, so utterly foreign to whatever chaotic, hate-fueled, sexually explosive arrangent they had, that her brain short-circuited.
After a final, shaky breath, she managed to find her voice, though it ca out hoarse. "No," she croaked, the denial automatic and perhaps a little too forceful. "God, no. We’re not—" She waved the napkin vaguely in Reon’s direction. "He’s my boss. It’s... a professional relationship."
Suzu raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a silent testant to how completely unbelievable that statent was. A slow, knowing smile played on her lips.
"I saw you two at the estate entrance, Paige," she said, her tone gentle but insistent. She wasn’t being cruel; she was stating a fact, her eyes flicking back towards the distant figure of Reon effortlessly volleying a return. "It didn’t look very... professional."
The kiss. She was talking about the brief, soft, devastatingly possessive kiss. Paige’s face, which had just begun to cool, ignited anew. She could feel the heat all the way to the tips of her ears.
Suzu’s smile widened into a full-blown, delighted chuckle. She leaned back in her wicker chair, crossing her legs. "Ah. So you’re not exclusive, then?" she mused, her gaze drifting back over to the court to openly appreciate the view of a sweat-glistening Reon moving with predatory grace.
Paige’s mind scread. We are not even a thing! We’re a transaction! A hostile takeover with benefits! He owns for 1.8 million dollars!.
Suzu continued, her voice conversational, as if she were discussing the weather and not dismantling Paige’s entire understanding of her situation. "It’s just... it’s not every day you see Reon Daki with a woman. In fact, it’s never–." She took a sip of her own drink, her eyes thoughtful. "He never, ever brings a date to these things. He shows up, conducts his business, and leaves. He’s a ghost. But you..." She turned her focus back to Paige, and her expression was genuinely friendly, if deeply intrigued. "...you’ve been on his arm at the Business dinner, the t, and now here. Three tis. That’s not a coincidence, Isumi. That’s a pattern."
She let that hang in the air for a mont, letting the weight of the observation settle. In their world, presence was power. Consistency was a ssage.
Suzu leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper, her eyes sparkling with genuine amusent. "Honey, look at him over there. I’ve known Reon for years. I’ve seen him cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching." She gave a soft, incredulous laugh. "Whatever you’re doing... you’ve lted that man. And frankly, I’m dying to know how."
Paige just stared at her, the napkin clutched in her hand. The denial died on her lips. She followed Suzu’s gaze across the pristine lawn to the tennis court.
Reon had just won the point. He wasn’t looking at his opponent. He wasn’t even looking at the score. His dark eyes were locked directly on her, his expression unreadable from this distance, but his attention was absolute. As if he’d felt the weight of their conversation.
And in that mont, with Suzu’s words echoing in her ears, Paige felt the last of her simple, comfortable definitions crumble into dust.
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