PAIGE
A low, rich laugh filled the spacious office. It wasn’t a warm sound; it was triumphant, edged with a dark amusent that made my skin prickle.
"The look on your face," he said, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Priceless."
I could only stare, my mind still reeling, trying to fit the boy I knew into the man standing before . Reon Daki. Haruto. The wretched, poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The one I’d rcilessly teased. The one who’d given that stupid nickna because I was ’always causing bad luck, like a black cat.’
He leaned back in his chair, the picture of smug satisfaction. "Look at you, Paige Isumi Ristone. All grown up. And working for ." He let the words hang in the air, letting them sink in. "How have you been these days?"
The casual, sarcastic question, dripping with fake concern, snapped out of my shock. It was replaced by a hot wave of anger. My cheeks flushed. He was enjoying this. Every second of it.
"I’ve been just wonderful," I shot back, my voice tight, straining to keep it professional. "You know, just living my best life. Avoiding puddles I might splash on billionaires."
His smirk only widened. "Ah, so the famous Ristone wit is still intact. Good. You’ll need it."
"I always need it around annoying boys who don’t know their place," I retorted before I could stop myself. I bit my tongue. He’s your boss now. Your boss.
He raised an eyebrow, a clear challenge. "Is that any way to speak to your new employer, Black Cat? I could always reconsider my... generous offer."
I took a sharp breath, forcing my fists to unclench. "My apologies, Mr. Daki," I said, layering his na with as much false sweetness as I could muster. "It won’t happen again."
"I doubt that," he said, a glint in his eye. He stood up, walking around the desk to lean against the front of it, too close for comfort. "But don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of ti to work on your attitude."
He looked up and down, and it felt less like an appraisal and more like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Welco to Daki Tech, Paige," he said, his voice dropping to a low, threatening purr. "I promise you, I’m going to work you to the bone."
The words died on my tongue. I could taste the sharp, sarcastic retort—sothing about how he’d have to catch up to my bone first—but I swallowed it whole. This job was my life raft. I couldn’t punch a hole in it just to win a single mont against him.
I forced a tight, professional smile that didn’t reach my eyes. "If that’s all, Mr. Daki, I’ll see myself out."
His expression remained a mask of smug victory, and he gave a slight, dismissive wave, clearly enjoying the sight of biting my tongue. I turned and walked out, my spine rigid, feeling his gaze on my back until the door clicked shut behind .
The walk through the gleaming lobby of the office and out into the dull roar of midtown felt like moving through a dream. The cool air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the simring mix of fury, shock, and humiliation boiling inside . Haruto. He was Haruto. And now he owned .
I trudged toward the bus stop on Madison Avenue, my mind racing, replaying every second of that interview. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t see the car.
A sleek, cherry-red Ferrari SF90 Stradale, low and obnoxiously expensive, pulled up to the curb right in front of with a soft purr of its engine. The window slid down silently.
And there she was.
Payton. Behind the wheel, oversized Celine sunglasses perched on her nose, a condescending smirk already plastered on her perfectly made-up face. She looked up and down, taking in my thrift-store blazer and the bus stop behind .
Her smile widened. It was a cold, vicious thing.
"Well, well, well," she drawled, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Look what the cat dragged in. And here I thought you were too proud to slum it with the commoners, big sister."
She caught in the worst mood. I am already pissed from the surprise encounter with Reon and now this. I won’t take it lying down.
"It seems you’ve lost all respect for your elder, Sakura." I knew she hated being called that, but still did it anyway.
The driver’s side door of the Ferrari swung open. Payton unfolded herself from the low seat, every movent designed to show off her Valentino dress and her utter superiority.
She slamd the door shut with a definitive thud and took two sharp clicks of her Manolo Blahnik heels toward , getting right in my space.
"Don’t you dare call that," she hissed, her pretty face twisting into sothing ugly. "You lost the right to call anything the day you turned your back on us. You’re nothing now. A Nobody."
"I’d rather be a nobody than a carbon-copy puppet of our father," I shot back, my voice low and shaking with a rage that was barely contained. "How does it feel, Payton? Knowing every single thing you have, every title you hold, was just handed to you because you were too weak to say no?"
Her eyes flashed with pure venom. She was seething, her composure cracking. She looked up and down again, a cruel, calculating glint in her eye.
"At least I’m not a washed-up has-been begging for scraps," she sneered, her voice dropping to a malicious whisper ant to cut deep. "You look tired, Paige. All that struggling... for what? To take the bus? To work for so other powerful man because you’re too much of a failure to be with your own family?"
She took another step closer, her smile a nasty, triumphant thing.
"You know, everyone back ho was right about you. They said you were just a spoiled, dramatic little... whore who’d never amount to anything on her own."
The word hung in the air, vicious and final.
I didn’t even think.
My hand moved on its own. A sharp crack echoed off the buildings as my palm connected with her cheek, snapping her head to the side.
The world went silent for a heartbeat.
Payton’s hand flew to her reddening cheek, her eyes wide with absolute shock. No one had ever dared.
The sting in my palm echoed the sickening lurch in my stomach. I regretted it almost instantly. This wasn’t a squabble between sisters. This was a declaration of war, and I’d just fired the first, stupidly emotional shot.
Payton slowly turned her face back to . The shock in her eyes didn’t fade—it hardened. It solidified into sothing cold and terrifyingly calm.
The red mark on her cheek stood out like a brand. She didn’t yell. She didn’t scream. That would have been better.
A slow, icy smile spread across her lips, a predator who had just been given the perfect excuse to pounce.
"You always were too emotional, Paige," she said, her voice a low, controlled whisper that was far more frightening than any shout. "You never could think about the consequences."
She took a deliberate step back, smoothing down her pristine jacket, her eyes never leaving mine. They were no longer full of childish spite, but of a chilling, adult calculation.
"You shouldn’t have done that," she said, her tone almost conversational. "But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you understand exactly what that little slap is going to cost you."
She turned without another word, slid back into her obscenely expensive car, and drove off toward Fifth Avenue, leaving standing at the bus stop with the chilling certainty that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. The war had begun, and I was already losing.
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