AUTHOR
Reon led Paige through the main estate’s bustling atrium, but instead of mingling, he steered her down a quieter, more traditional hallway.
The modern art and chro gave way to dark polished wood and the subtle scent of hinoki cypress.
He slid open a heavy shoji screen door, revealing a separate, serene Japanese-style mansion nestled within the larger estate, a private sanctuary of calm.
He didn’t pause in the genkan or head toward the main living area. His path was deliberate, taking them straight up a flight of stairs with silent, sure steps.
Paige followed, her confusion mounting with each step away from the party’s noise. This felt private, intimate.
Without knocking, Reon slid another door open. The room within was a master bedroom, sparsely furnished in the wabi-sabi style, with tatami mats and a low platform bed.
On the bed, a man in his mid-thirties, his back to the door, was deeply engrossed in kissing a woman who was very clearly not just a casual acquaintance. The scene was one of intimate, private passion.
Reon cleared his throat, a sharp, dry sound in the quiet room.
The man on the bed didn’t startle. He simply, slowly, broke the kiss. He said sothing low and soothing to the woman, then turned his head to look over his shoulder, a flicker of mild annoyance in his dark eyes that instantly transford into warm amusent when he saw who it was.
He was strikingly handso, with a lazy, confident grace that seed to radiate from him. He dismissed the woman with a gentle pat and a whispered word.
She slipped out from the other side of the bed, adjusting her dress, and left through a side door with a practiced ease that suggested this was a common occurrence.
The man stood, completely unselfconscious, and grabbed a sleek black yukata robe from a nearby stand, tying it loosely around his waist. He ran a hand through his already ssy hair and turned to face them fully, a wide, irreverent grin spreading across his face.
"Reo-chan," he said, his voice a warm, teasing baritone. "You never could learn to knock."
He stepped forward and, to Paige’s utter astonishnt, reached out and ruffled Reon’s perfectly styled hair like he was a teenager. It was a gesture of pure, familial affection and blatant disrespect for the formidable persona of Reon Daki.
And Reon... let him.
He didn’t pull away. He didn’t scowl. He just endured it with a long-suffering sigh, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was the look of a younger brother tolerating an older sibling’s teasing.
Paige could only stare, her mind completely short-circuiting. She had never seen anyone treat Reon with such casual familiarity. She had never seen Reon allow it.
The man’s gaze then shifted to her, his eyes—sharp, intelligent, and deeply perceptive—sweeping over her from head to toe. His grin softened into sothing more thoughtful, more appraising.
"And you," he said, his tone shifting from teasing to one of genuine, curious interest. "You must be the reason my little brother has been so... distracted lately."
Paige stood frozen, her mind a roaring static of conflicting information. The possessive, jealous man from the driveway. The vulnerable confession from Suzu. And now this—a version of Reon she never knew existed, allowing himself to be treated with a fond, almost brotherly irreverence. It was too much.
Reon, seemingly oblivious to her internal ltdown—or perhaps, more likely, acutely aware of it and enjoying the effect—made the introduction. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual mocking lilt. "This is Paige," he said, then added, with deliberate weight, "Paige Isumi Ristone."
The effect on the man—Kenji—was instant and electric, though masterfully concealed. To anyone else, it would have been invisible. But to Paige, who had been trained since birth to read the micro-expressions of powerful n, it was as clear as a shout.
His relaxed posture didn’t so much as stiffen as it simply... solidified. The lazy grace turned to stone for a fraction of a second.
The warmth in his eyes iced over, replaced by a flicker of sothing cold and ancient—a recognition that was not friendly. It was the look of a man hearing the na of an old, hated enemy.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He rearranged his features into a mask of smooth composure, the ice lting back into a look of wry amusent.
His gaze cut from Paige to Reon, and a slow, familiar smirk spread across his face. It was uncanny.
It was the exact sa expression Reon used when he was about to say sothing deeply sarcastic and knowing.
"Reo-chan," Kenji said, his voice dripping with a feigned, long-suffering sigh. "I’ll et you in the living room. I need to change into sothing more... appropriate for receiving such... illustrious guests."
The way he said "illustrious" was a masterpiece of sarcasm. It wasn’t a complint. It was a blade, finely honed and carefully sheathed in politeness.
He didn’t wait for a reply. With a final, unreadable glance at Paige that seed to take her asure and find her both fascinating and infuriating, he turned and padded back toward his bedroom, sliding the door shut behind him with a soft, definitive click.
The sound seed to break Reon from his own thoughts. He placed a hand on the small of Paige’s back again, the touch firr now, more insistent. He guided her back down the stairs, leaving the charged silence of the upper floor behind.
He led her not back toward the main party, but deeper into the quiet, traditional heart of the mansion, toward a room where the air was thick with the past and the promise of a conversation that would change everything.
Reon watched her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the slight frown on her face as she processed Kenji’s reaction and their bizarrely familiar dynamic. The air was thick with unasked questions.
He decided to tackle the most obvious one first, with his usual weapon of choice: sarcasm.
"Don’t look so offended, Black Cat," he drawled, leading her into a serene, sparsely furnished living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a koi pond. "It’s not you, personally. Well, not entirely." He gestured for her to sit on a low, silk-cushioned sofa. "Kenji has... history with the Ristones. Hence the palpable wave of joy that washed over him at the sound of your na."
Paige nodded slowly, sinking onto the cushions. She understood that part. History with her family usually ant a reason for vengeance. That was a language she was becoming fluent in.
But that wasn’t what was plaguing her. Her confusion wasn’t about Kenji’s reaction to her; it was about Reon’s reaction to Kenji.
She watched Reon as he poured two glasses of water from a crystal carafe, his movents as efficient and controlled as ever. But she had just seen that control crack—or rather, willingly bend—for another person.
She took the glass he offered, her fingers brushing his. She didn’t let go imdiately, forcing him to et her gaze.
"Yeah, I got that," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. "But that’s not what I ant." She searched his face, looking for the man who had just allowed his hair to be ruffled. "What was that about? With you and him. I’ve never seen anyone... do that. Or talk to you like that."
She hesitated, then voiced the thought that was screaming in her head. "And you... you let him."
Reon held her gaze for a long mont, his expression unreadable. The smirk was gone, replaced by sothing more contemplative. He took a slow sip of his water, buying a fraction of a second.
When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its sarcastic edge. It was simpler. Truer.
"Kenji Araki," he said, as if that explained everything. When it clearly didn’t, he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "When my mother died, I was fifteen. Truly alone. The system had earmarked for a group ho. Kenji was... a young associate at the law firm handling my mother’s non-existent estate. He saw the paperwork. He saw ."
Reon’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "He didn’t see a charity case or a problem to be solved. He saw a reflection. He pulled strings that didn’t exist, called in favors from people who owed him nothing. He beca my legal guardian. He gave a room in his shitty apartnt. He made sure I finished school."
He looked out at the koi pond, his gaze distant. "He taught the first rule of the ga: if you can’t beat them with their rules, you burn the rulebook and build a better ga. He gave the seed money for my first company. Not a gift. An investnt. He’s the only person on this planet who has never wanted anything from except to see win."
He turned his dark eyes back to her, and the intensity in them was staggering. "So yes, I let him. He’s the only one who gets to."
AUTHOR
Reon led Paige through the main estate’s bustling atrium, but instead of mingling, he steered her down a quieter, more traditional hallway.
The modern art and chro gave way to dark polished wood and the subtle scent of hinoki cypress.
He slid open a heavy shoji screen door, revealing a separate, serene Japanese-style mansion nestled within the larger estate, a private sanctuary of calm.
He didn’t pause in the genkan or head toward the main living area. His path was deliberate, taking them straight up a flight of stairs with silent, sure steps.
Paige followed, her confusion mounting with each step away from the party’s noise. This felt private, intimate.
Without knocking, Reon slid another door open. The room within was a master bedroom, sparsely furnished in the wabi-sabi style, with tatami mats and a low platform bed.
On the bed, a man in his mid-thirties, his back to the door, was deeply engrossed in kissing a woman who was very clearly not just a casual acquaintance. The scene was one of intimate, private passion.
Reon cleared his throat, a sharp, dry sound in the quiet room.
The man on the bed didn’t startle. He simply, slowly, broke the kiss. He said sothing low and soothing to the woman, then turned his head to look over his shoulder, a flicker of mild annoyance in his dark eyes that instantly transford into warm amusent when he saw who it was.
He was strikingly handso, with a lazy, confident grace that seed to radiate from him. He dismissed the woman with a gentle pat and a whispered word.
She slipped out from the other side of the bed, adjusting her dress, and left through a side door with a practiced ease that suggested this was a common occurrence.
The man stood, completely unselfconscious, and grabbed a sleek black yukata robe from a nearby stand, tying it loosely around his waist. He ran a hand through his already ssy hair and turned to face them fully, a wide, irreverent grin spreading across his face.
"Reo-chan," he said, his voice a warm, teasing baritone. "You never could learn to knock."
He stepped forward and, to Paige’s utter astonishnt, reached out and ruffled Reon’s perfectly styled hair like he was a teenager. It was a gesture of pure, familial affection and blatant disrespect for the formidable persona of Reon Daki.
And Reon... let him.
He didn’t pull away. He didn’t scowl. He just endured it with a long-suffering sigh, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was the look of a younger brother tolerating an older sibling’s teasing.
Paige could only stare, her mind completely short-circuiting. She had never seen anyone treat Reon with such casual familiarity. She had never seen Reon allow it.
The man’s gaze then shifted to her, his eyes—sharp, intelligent, and deeply perceptive—sweeping over her from head to toe. His grin softened into sothing more thoughtful, more appraising.
"And you," he said, his tone shifting from teasing to one of genuine, curious interest. "You must be the reason my little brother has been so... distracted lately."
Paige stood frozen, her mind a roaring static of conflicting information. The possessive, jealous man from the driveway. The vulnerable confession from Suzu. And now this—a version of Reon she never knew existed, allowing himself to be treated with a fond, almost brotherly irreverence. It was too much.
Reon, seemingly oblivious to her internal ltdown—or perhaps, more likely, acutely aware of it and enjoying the effect—made the introduction. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual mocking lilt. "This is Paige," he said, then added, with deliberate weight, "Paige Isumi Ristone."
The effect on the man—Kenji—was instant and electric, though masterfully concealed. To anyone else, it would have been invisible. But to Paige, who had been trained since birth to read the micro-expressions of powerful n, it was as clear as a shout.
His relaxed posture didn’t so much as stiffen as it simply... solidified. The lazy grace turned to stone for a fraction of a second.
The warmth in his eyes iced over, replaced by a flicker of sothing cold and ancient—a recognition that was not friendly. It was the look of a man hearing the na of an old, hated enemy.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He rearranged his features into a mask of smooth composure, the ice lting back into a look of wry amusent.
His gaze cut from Paige to Reon, and a slow, familiar smirk spread across his face. It was uncanny.
It was the exact sa expression Reon used when he was about to say sothing deeply sarcastic and knowing.
"Reo-chan," Kenji said, his voice dripping with a feigned, long-suffering sigh. "I’ll et you in the living room. I need to change into sothing more... appropriate for receiving such... illustrious guests."
The way he said "illustrious" was a masterpiece of sarcasm. It wasn’t a complint. It was a blade, finely honed and carefully sheathed in politeness.
He didn’t wait for a reply. With a final, unreadable glance at Paige that seed to take her asure and find her both fascinating and infuriating, he turned and padded back toward his bedroom, sliding the door shut behind him with a soft, definitive click.
The sound seed to break Reon from his own thoughts. He placed a hand on the small of Paige’s back again, the touch firr now, more insistent. He guided her back down the stairs, leaving the charged silence of the upper floor behind.
He led her not back toward the main party, but deeper into the quiet, traditional heart of the mansion, toward a room where the air was thick with the past and the promise of a conversation that would change everything.
Reon watched her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the slight frown on her face as she processed Kenji’s reaction and their bizarrely familiar dynamic. The air was thick with unasked questions.
He decided to tackle the most obvious one first, with his usual weapon of choice: sarcasm.
"Don’t look so offended, Black Cat," he drawled, leading her into a serene, sparsely furnished living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a koi pond. "It’s not you, personally. Well, not entirely." He gestured for her to sit on a low, silk-cushioned sofa. "Kenji has... history with the Ristones. Hence the palpable wave of joy that washed over him at the sound of your na."
Paige nodded slowly, sinking onto the cushions. She understood that part. History with her family usually ant a reason for vengeance. That was a language she was becoming fluent in.
But that wasn’t what was plaguing her. Her confusion wasn’t about Kenji’s reaction to her; it was about Reon’s reaction to Kenji.
She watched Reon as he poured two glasses of water from a crystal carafe, his movents as efficient and controlled as ever. But she had just seen that control crack—or rather, willingly bend—for another person.
She took the glass he offered, her fingers brushing his. She didn’t let go imdiately, forcing him to et her gaze.
"Yeah, I got that," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. "But that’s not what I ant." She searched his face, looking for the man who had just allowed his hair to be ruffled. "What was that about? With you and him. I’ve never seen anyone... do that. Or talk to you like that."
She hesitated, then voiced the thought that was screaming in her head. "And you... you let him."
Reon held her gaze for a long mont, his expression unreadable. The smirk was gone, replaced by sothing more contemplative. He took a slow sip of his water, buying a fraction of a second.
When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its sarcastic edge. It was simpler. Truer.
"Kenji Araki," he said, as if that explained everything. When it clearly didn’t, he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "When my mother died, I was fifteen. Truly alone. The system had earmarked for a group ho. Kenji was... a young associate at the law firm handling my mother’s non-existent estate. He saw the paperwork. He saw ."
Reon’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "He didn’t see a charity case or a problem to be solved. He saw a reflection. He pulled strings that didn’t exist, called in favors from people who owed him nothing. He beca my legal guardian. He gave a room in his shitty apartnt. He made sure I finished school."
He looked out at the koi pond, his gaze distant. "He taught the first rule of the ga: if you can’t beat them with their rules, you burn the rulebook and build a better ga. He gave the seed money for my first company. Not a gift. An investnt. He’s the only person on this planet who has never wanted anything from except to see win."
He turned his dark eyes back to her, and the intensity in them was staggering. "So yes, I let him. He’s the only one who gets to."
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