PAIGE
The car was a silent, temperature-controlled bubble, a world away from the chaos of the last twenty-four hours. Sunlight, bright and bold for a noon in late fall, stread through the tinted windows, painting warm stripes across the butter-soft leather seats.
I was curled in my corner, my phone pressed to my ear, listening to the one familiar sound that could still make feel normal.
"So, let get this straight," Leon’s voice ca through, his humor intact but laced with a concern I knew all too well. "You went to war with a billionaire, declared a truce, and then just... never ca ho? I was two seconds away from filing a missing person’s report, P. I had a whole speech prepared for the cops about your weird obsession with organizing my spice rack."
A real, genuine laugh bubbled out of . It felt foreign and wonderful. "Consider the spice rack safe. For now."
"Okay, but seriously. Are you okay? The radio silence was... loud."
I took a deep breath. Where did I even begin? How did you sum up the earthquake that had reshaped your entire world?
"I’m... more than okay, Leon," I started, my voice softer than I intended. "I’m... a lot of things." I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cool glass. "Rember the shopping trip with Suzu? It was an ambush. A brilliantly executed, designer-clad intervention. She dragged right to the gates of Daki Tech and shoved through."
I could almost hear his eyebrows shooting up. "No."
"Yes. I walked into his office, ready to... I don’t know, throw a stapler at his head. And he... he just..." The words felt too big, too sacred for the inside of a car. But this was Leon. He deserved the truth. "He told he loved . That he’d loved since we were kids in Tokyo. That all of this... the empire, everything... it was all for ."
The line was so quiet I thought we’d been disconnected. "Leon?"
"I’m here," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I’m just... processing. The great Reon Daki has a heart. And it belongs to my best friend. Holy shit, Paige."
"That’s not all," I whispered, the mory sending a fresh wave of dizzying warmth through . "He... he asked to marry him."
This ti, the silence was absolute. Then, a low, drawn-out whistle. "Okay. Now you’re just ssing with . He proposed? When? How? Was there a ring? Was there a flash mob? Don’t tell there was a flash mob, I’ll vomit."
I smiled, a watery, overwheld smile. "No flash mob. It was just us. In his office. Right after he told he loved for the first ti. It was... it was perfect."
I was so lost in the mory, in the sound of Leon’s stunned but happy sputtering, that I didn’t notice the car door opening. The world outside rushed in for a second—the sound of traffic, a distant siren—and then he was there.
Reon.
He slid into the seat beside , a solid, calming presence that imdiately changed the atmosphere in the car. He was all effortless power in a simple black sweater and dark jeans, his sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the slight, possessive tilt of his head as he looked at . He didn’t say a word, just reached over and took my free hand, lacing his fingers through mine. His grip was firm, warm, a silent I’m here.
"Leon, I have to go," I said, my eyes locked with Reon’s hidden ones. "We’re... we’re heading to the airport."
"The airport? Where the hell are you going? Is this so kind of billionaire impromptu revenge-moon?"
"Japan," I said, the word feeling heavy and significant on my tongue. Ho. Not ho. The heart of the beast. "We have business to finish. I’ll explain everything when I get back. I promise."
"You better. And Paige?" His voice turned serious. "Be careful. And... congratulations. Seriously. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy."
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. "Thanks, Leon. For everything."
I ended the call and let the phone drop into my lap. The silence in the car was different now. It was full. His thumb was stroking slow, absent circles on the back of my hand, a rhythm that was quickly becoming my new heartbeat.
I watched as his driver finished loading our suitcases into the trunk—a matched set of sleek, dark Tumi luggage that had appeared this morning as if by magic. My whole life, condensed into a few bags, heading to Japan. The surrealness of it all was a physical hum under my skin.
As the car pulled away from the curb, rging seamlessly into the flow of midday Manhattan, Reon finally spoke, his voice a low rumble.
"We’re eting Kenji at the airport," he said, his tone all business, but his thumb never stopping its gentle motion. "We’re taking his jet."
I just nodded, my throat tight. Of course we were. We weren’t flying comrcial. We were flying on the private jet of the man who was part guardian angel, part ruthless strategist.
The man who had seen the broken boy in Reon and helped forge him into the king he was. It felt right. This entire journey was because of the family we’d built, not the one I was born into. We were going to war surrounded by our own.
I looked out the window, watching my city—the city I had fought so hard to claim as my own—slide past. The bustling streets, the familiar landmarks, all blurring into a stream of light and motion.
I wasn’t leaving as a runaway this ti. I wasn’t scared and alone. I was leaving as Paige Isumi Daki, fiancée. I was leaving with my king, to reclaim a kingdom.
Reon’s hand tightened on mine, as if he could read the whirlwind in my mind. I turned my head from the window to look at him. He had taken his sunglasses off, and his dark eyes were steady on , full of a fierce, unshakable certainty.
There were no more words. None were needed. The car sped on, carrying us toward the airport, toward Japan, toward the final, terrifying, and exhilarating Chapter of our story. And for the first ti, I wasn’t just ready. I was eager.
– – –
AUTHOR
The private hangar was a cathedral of wealth and silence, a vast, echoing space that slled of jet fuel and polished concrete. In the center of it all, bathed in a sharp beam of midday light from the high windows, stood a Gulfstream G700, a sleek, white predator poised for flight.
And leaning against its retractable stairs, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed and onto the most expensive aircraft in the world, was Kenji Araki.
He was a study in deliberate nonchalance. While Reon was the picture of dark, tailored elegance, Kenji was his polar opposite in faded board shorts and a thin, grey cotton t-shirt that had seen better days. A single, worn leather duffel bag sat at his feet like an afterthought.
He sipped from a paper cup of coffee, looking more like a surf instructor waiting for his students than a genius billionaire-ntor about to embark on a corporate war.
Reon’s sharp eyes swept over him as they approached, a slow, deeply unimpressed smirk curling his lips.
"I see you dressed for the occasion," Reon drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Tell , did you have to fight your way through a swarm of paparazzi, or was the walk from your car particularly taxing for that... ensemble?"
Kenji didn’t even look up from his coffee. He took a slow, deliberate sip before his lazy gaze flicked from Reon to Paige and back again.
"Unlike so people, Reo-chan, I don’t need a five-thousand-dollar suit to feel powerful," he retorted, his voice a lazy counterpoint to Reon’s sharpness. "My genius travels light. But you... you look different." His eyes, sharp and perceptive, lingered on Paige for a mont, a genuine, knowing smile touching his lips. It wasn’t the smirk he reserved for Reon. This was softer. Acknowledging. "Less like a storm cloud about to rain on everyone’s parade. It seems having your favorite accessory back has improved your general ambiance."
The comnt was barbed, but the aning was clear. Kenji saw it. The rigid tension that had been a permanent part of Reon’s posture for weeks was gone. The cold, empty fury in his eyes had been replaced by a focused, living intensity.
He wasn’t just surviving the days anymore, grinding through them with grim determination. He was living again. Planning, breathing, feeling. And it was all because the woman standing beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm, had co back.
Reon rolled his eyes, a familiar, long-suffering gesture. "My ’ambiance’ was just fine. And she’s not an accessory."
"Semantics," Kenji waved a dismissive hand. "The point is, the world’s most insufferable man is slightly less insufferable today. It’s a public service, really. I should be thanked."
Paige watched the exchange, a small, incredulous smile playing on her own lips. This was their language. A bizarre, coded dance of insults that was, in its own twisted way, a testant to a bond thicker than blood. It was comforting, this normalcy amidst the insanity.
Yet, after several minutes of this back-and-forth, with the pilot visibly waiting in the cockpit and the ground crew standing by, no one had moved toward the plane.
She finally broke the rhythm. "Not that this isn’t a fascinating display of masculine bonding," she interjected, her voice dry, "but is there a reason we’re just standing here admiring the tarmac? I thought we were in a hurry."
Reon let out a short, exasperated sigh, the sound laced with fond annoyance. He shot a glare at Kenji. "Our resident blabbermouth here," he said, jerking his head toward his ntor, "told Suzu about our ’little trip.’ She insisted on tagging along."
Kenji had the decency to look only mildly chastised, his expression shifting to one of pure, unadulterated appreciation as he looked past them. "In my defense," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur, "I didn’t think she’d take it as a personal invitation. And I certainly didn’t expect... this."
This was Suzu Yokimura, cutting a path across the hangar floor like a supermodel late for her own cover shoot. She was a vision in a short, sleeveless black gown that hugged every one of her curves, the fabric so sleek it seed to drink the light.
Her heels clicked a sharp, decisive rhythm on the concrete, and a small, elegant suitcase trailed behind her. Her arrival was an event.
Kenji’s casual posture solidified into sothing more focused. His gaze, usually so full of lazy amusent, was now fixed, tracking her with an intensity that went far beyond polite interest. He was staring, and he wasn’t trying very hard to hide it.
Suzu ignored him, for the mont, her eyes landing on Paige and Reon. A brilliant, knowing smile spread across her perfectly painted lips.
"Don’t look so thrilled, Reon," she said, her voice a silken purr. "I was itching for a travel, and Japan wasn’t my first choice, but..." She shrugged one elegant shoulder, her gaze sweeping over the private jet with approval. "How do they say it? ’There’s no place like ho,’ right?" Her eyes then t Paige’s, and the smile softened, becoming a shared, secret look. I told you so. Look at you now. She was taking in the way Paige stood with Reon—not behind him, not in front of him, but with him. A united front.
She finally deigned to acknowledge Kenji, her eyes sliding to him with theatrical slowness. "Kenji. I see you dressed for the occasion." She delivered the line with the exact sa sarcastic inflection Reon had used monts before.
Kenji, for his part, just grinned, utterly unrepentant. He pushed off the stairs, his eyes still locked on her. "Soone has to bring the casual elegance to this party. You’ve clearly got the ’elegance’ covered. I’m handling the ’casual’."
The party was now complete. The strategist, the king, the queen, and the wildcard. The final piece had slid into place, and as they stood there in the humming silence of the hangar, the air crackled not just with the tension of the mission ahead, but with the complicated, vibrant energy of the four of them together.
The ga was moving to its ho turf, and they were all, for their own reasons, ready to play.
Reviews
All reviews (0)