PAIGE
I pulled back, my eyes wide, my breath catching in my throat. The two words—marry —hung in the air, not as a romantic dream, but as a seismic shock that reverberated through my entire body.
My mind went blank, wiped clean of every clever retort, every defensive wall I had ever built.
Before I could form a single coherent thought, his hands on my waist shifted. One large, warm palm slid down, cupping my ass through the fabric of my dress and giving a firm, possessive squeeze. It wasn’t crude; it was a grounding, physical claim that sent a jolt of pure, undiluted lightning straight to my core.
At the sa ti, he buried his face in the curve of my neck, his nose nuzzling the sensitive skin there as he breathed in, a deep, shuddering inhalation, as if my scent was the only oxygen he needed.
The combination was devastating. The profound, life-altering question and the intimately primal gesture short-circuited my brain. My hands, which had been resting on his chest, clutched at his suit jacket for balance. A shiver, hot and cold all at once, raced down my spine.
"Are you... are you joking?" I finally managed to whisper, my voice thin and reedy. It was a stupid question. I could feel the tension in his body, the absolute seriousness thrumming beneath his playful touch. But I had to ask. I had to hear him say it.
In answer, I felt the sharp, gentle pressure of his teeth on my neck. Not a bite, but a love bite, a claiming nip that made gasp and my knees weaken. His lips moved against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that went straight through .
"Does that feel like a joke?" he murmured, his breath hot. "I’m in your neck, Paige. I’m in your blood. I’m in every thought, every breath. There is no one else. There never will be. It’s you. Only you."
My eyes fluttered closed. How was I supposed to think, to form a rational argunt, when he was doing that? When he was saying things that unspooled completely? The part of that wanted to keep my independence, to hold onto a piece of myself, was screaming in protest.
But a louder, more powerful part was lting, surrendering to the raw honesty in his voice.
A slow, sarcastic smirk forced its way onto my lips, my last line of defense. I opened my eyes, eting his dark, intense gaze. "Well," I said, my voice regaining a sliver of its usual dryness. "This is a rather unorthodox proposal. Typically, there’s a ring involved. Or at the very least, you’re not actively biting the person you’re proposing to."
He didn’t miss a beat. A sly, smug, utterly Reon smirk touched his lips. "I’ll get you a ring," he purred, his tone dripping with sarcastic promise. "The biggest, most obscene diamond this city has ever seen. We’ll have to reinforce this floor." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered my new na, a na that sounded both alien and terrifyingly right. "Paige Isumi Daki. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"
I rolled my eyes, the gesture automatic, a familiar dance in our brand-new world. "You’re insufferable. And I haven’t said yes yet."
But my heart wasn’t in the protest. It was hamring against my ribs, a frantic, joyful drumbeat.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t push. Instead, he did sothing that completely undid . He took my left hand, the one still fisted in his jacket, and gently pried it open. He brought my palm to his mouth, his eyes never, ever leaving mine. They were dark pools of sincerity, of love, of a vulnerability he showed no one else.
Then he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the center of my palm.
It was the most intimate gesture I had ever experienced. It wasn’t about passion or possession. It was a vow. A silent promise. I could feel the warmth of his lips sear into my skin, a brand that went deeper than any ring ever could. My breath hitched. All the sarcasm, all the fight, drained out of , leaving behind a profound, shaking certainty.
I looked at our joined hands, at his dark head bent over mine, at this powerful, broken, magnificent man who loved with a ferocity that terrified and elated .
The word was a whisper, a surrender, and a victory all at once.
"Yes."
– – –
REON
The word was a whisper, but it was the loudest, most beautiful sound I had ever heard.
Yes.
It echoed in the silent, sacred space between our mouths. It was a surrender, a victory, a beginning, and an end to the aching emptiness that had been my constant companion. A feeling so powerful it was almost painful surged through my chest, hot and bright. I crushed my mouth to hers, pouring every ounce of that feeling into the kiss.
"My fucking personal sin," I growled against her lips, the words a ragged confession. She was my addiction, my downfall, my redemption, all wrapped into one infuriating, perfect woman.
Her hands fisted in my shirt, not to push away, but to pull closer, her kiss just as desperate, just as claiming. This was it. This was the anchor. This was the—
The sharp, discordant buzz of my phone on the desk shattered the mont like glass.
I ignored it. Nothing existed but her, the taste of her, the feel of her yes still vibrating in the air.
It buzzed again. Insistent. Ominous.
With a low growl of frustration, I tore my mouth from hers, my forehead resting against hers as I fumbled for the phone without looking. I didn’t care who it was. They were dead to .
I hit the answer button, my voice a gravelly, impatient snap. "What?"
The voice on the other end was a familiar lazy-cold drawl, but beneath it, I could hear the sharp, pissed-off edge that only appeared when things were truly fucked. Soma Kenji.
"We have an issue," he said, no greeting, no preamble. Just the cold, hard truth.
I shifted, my body tensing even as I tried to stay connected to Paige. I leaned in and kissed her again, a quick, hard press of my lips to hers, a silent promise that this, us, wasn’t being interrupted, just put on hold. "I’m listening," I said into the phone, my voice dropping into the cold, flat tone I used for business and bloodshed.
Soma didn’t waste words. "The Okubo Group. They’re making their move. A statent." A beat of silence, heavy with implication. "Your Tribeca penthouse. It’s gone, Daki. Set ablaze about ten minutes ago."
The world went silent.
What?
The word didn’t make it past my lips. It just echoed in the sudden, hollow void inside my head. My Tribeca penthouse. The one with the private art collection, the wine cellar I’d spent years curating. The one with...
My mind wasn’t racing for the properties, the paintings, the expensive, replaceable things. A cold, sharp fear, entirely different from any I’d ever felt, lanced through .
Nana.
The housekeeper. The tiny, fierce, grey-haired woman who had been with since before the money, since my first shitty apartnt. The one who still scolded for not eating enough and secretly stocked my fridge with my favorite brand of green tea.
She wasn’t an employee. She was a fixture. A piece of my history. She was in that house.
I felt the blood drain from my face. My grip on the phone tightened so hard the case creaked. I was aware of Paige’s eyes on , wide and worried. I could feel the change in my own breathing, becoming faster, shallower. The joy of monts ago felt like a cruel, distant dream.
I felt her small, warm hand on my arm, a grounding touch in my suddenly spinning world. I reached out with my free hand and stroked her cheek, a gentle gesture ant to reassure her, even as my own world was collapsing into ash. My voice, when I finally found it, was dangerously calm.
"Casualties?"
Soma’s reply was swift, clinical. "My n were already in position. They got everyone out. The old woman who was inside... they got her to tropolitan. She’s hospitalized. Smoke inhalation, mostly. She’ll be fine."
The relief that washed over was so potent it left lightheaded. She’ll be fine. The four most beautiful words in the English language. The penthouse could be dust. The art could be cinders. None of it mattered. Nana was alive.
But the ssage was sent. And received.
They hadn’t just attacked my property. They had attacked my ho. They had targeted soone under my protection. This was no longer a corporate war or a simple assassination attempt. This was a declaration of total war, fought in the shadows with fire and fear.
And they had just made it profoundly, devastatingly personal.
The relief that Nana was alive was a shaky foundation, and on top of it, a cold, familiar fury began to build, brick by brutal brick. The Okubo Group hadn’t just crossed a line; they had taken a flathrower to the entire map. This required a response written not in money, but in blood.
My mind, already clicking out of the emotional chaos and into the strategic, ran through the logistics. Soma had n here, but he was the true force multiplier. The architect of shadows.
"Are you in Arica yet?" I asked, my voice stripped of all emotion, becoming the flat, commanding tone I used when the gloves ca off.
On the other end of the line, Kenji Soma let out a dry, humorless laugh. It was the sound of a predator being woken from a nap. "Not yet," he drawled, the laziness a thin veneer over the lethal intent I knew was there. "But I will be. It seems your little dostic dispute requires a more... permanent solution."
Dostic dispute. Only Soma could describe a yakuza firebombing with such casual sarcasm.
I turned my head, my eyes finding Paige’s. Her worry was a palpable thing, a sharp contrast to the bliss that had been there monts ago. I couldn’t let this darkness touch her, not now, not when we had just found our way back. I leaned in and kissed her, hard and quick. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but of possession and promise. A seal. I am here. This changes nothing. You are mine.
Into the phone, my decision was made. "Handle it." Two words that gave a yakuza clan carte blanche ,to wage war on my behalf.
"Relax, Daki," Soma said, his voice dripping with dismissive coolness. "Let yakuza handle yakuza."
The line went dead.
The silence that followed was heavier than before, loaded with the unspoken violence of that exchange. Paige’s hand was still around my neck, her touch the only warm thing in my suddenly ice-cold world. I couldn’t stand the distance of the desk anymore. I needed her close.
I slid my hands under her thighs and lifted her from the polished slate, setting her on her feet but pulling her flush against , kissing her again. This kiss was different—softer, a desperate reaffirmation of life in the face of the destruction waiting outside this room.
My mind was already a checklist of motion. I released her just enough to snatch my phone from the desk with one hand and scoop up her absurd, beautiful shopping bags with the other. A stark reminder of the normal life we’d just been living seconds before it was obliterated.
"Co on," I said, my voice leaving no room for question. I kept a firm arm around her waist, guiding her, half-carrying her out of the office, through the silent anteroom, and straight into the waiting private elevator.
The doors slid shut, enclosing us in the bronze-lit silence. She looked up at , her eyes still wide with the whiplash of the last few minutes. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice small but steady.
"Ho," I said, the word automatic. I had other houses. Dozens of them. Fortresses of steel and glass. But none of them felt like ho. Not like the penthouse now in ashes. Not like the one I was trying to build with her. "We’re going to the hospital first."
I watched the numbers above the door descend, my jaw tight. I needed to give her the facts. She was in this now. She was at the very center of it.
"My housekeeper, Nana," I began, my voice low and even, though saying her na sent another spike of cold fear through . "She was in the Tribeca penthouse. The one that was hit. Soma’s n got her out, but she’s in the hospital. Smoke inhalation." I couldn’t bring myself to say the rest, to voice the ’what if’ that was still clawing at the edges of my control.
What if they hadn’t been there?
Paige didn’t gasp or cry out. She just let out a soft, heavy sigh. A sigh that held a universe of understanding. She knew what Nana ant. She knew this wasn’t about a building. She leaned her head against my shoulder, a simple gesture of solidarity that felt more anchoring than any security detail ever could.
The elevator doors opened into the private garage. My black rcedes-Maybach was idling a few feet away, the driver holding the door open. I guided Paige inside, sliding in after her. The shopping bags were tossed onto the opposite seat, a jarring splash of color in the dark, serious interior.
"tropolitan Hospital. Now," I instructed the driver, my tone brooking no argunt.
The car pulled away with a surge of silent power, cutting through the city. I stared out the tinted window, but I didn’t see the streets. I saw fire. I saw the past being burned away. And I saw the very clear, very dangerous future that was now rushing toward us. The ga had changed. The board was on fire. And I would burn the whole world down to keep what was mine safe.
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