She really did go to the office.
The high-rise belonged to her entirely, a tower of glass and steel that cut cleanly into the sky. Every floor served a different division, each one managing a fragment of her empire. Investments, acquisitions, laundering fronts disguised as legitimate enterprises.
Countless projects stacked upon one another, all funnelling upward.
To the highest floor.
Her presence was immediately followed by guards, guns tucked neatly at their waists, footsteps falling into formation behind her.
They escorted her into the glass elevator. As it ascended, the city stretched beneath her feet, shrinking into something distant and insignificant.
When the doors opened, the highest floor was already waiting.
Men in black lined the hallway from end to end, heads lowered the instant she stepped forward.
A long red carpet ran through the corridor. The walls were white, deliberately styled to look pure. The decor glittered with real diamonds embedded subtly into the surface. Every piece of metal hardware was crafted from white gold. Luxury without warmth. Wealth without life.
A perfect reflection of her.
Her office sat at the very end of the hallway. Beside it was another, its glass walls clear and open. Lewis's office. From where she stood, she could already see him inside, papers stacked neatly on his desk, the lights dim.
Lewis stepped out immediately, straightening as he approached.
"Princess." He bowed. "Have you felt better?"
"No." She swallowed everything she felt before it could surface. "Work awaits nonetheless. It was just a bad fever that subsided."
A lie.
They both knew it.
The men opened the grand entrance to her office. Lewis followed her inside.
"Please take care of yourself, Princess," he sighed. "We need you."
"Got it."
"I need you."
"I know."
Her heels carried her straight to the centre of the room, to the gold-accented chair that sat like a throne behind her desk. She took her seat and began sorting through urgent emails before touching the physical reports stacked in front of her.
Daily. Weekly. Endless.
"What is it," she asked without lifting her eyes.
Lewis had not moved. She could feel it. The hesitation clung to the air between them. They had grown up together. She always knew when he wanted to speak.
"Princess," he began carefully. "The boss asked about Toji Fushiguro."
The words hit like a gunshot.
For a long second, all she could hear was the hum of the air conditioning.
Her mouth went dry.
Her father never asked about trivialities. He had never cared who she spent her time with, what she bought, or how she entertained herself, as long as it did not interfere with the organisation.
If he asked, he wanted something changed.
"Why?" Her voice came out steadier than she felt, though fear crept into its edges.
Lewis reached into his pocket and placed a small printed photograph on her desk.
Right in front of her.
It was her and Toji, walking side by side. Hands intertwined. The clothes were from today. And her expression: A bright, open smile tilted toward him, eyes lifted, unguarded.
Something that should not exist.
Lewis continued. "Boss ordered a background check on Mr Fushiguro."
Her father usually let her impulses pass, as long as everything ran smoothly. But this photograph did not look like an impulse. Not to him. Especially not after Ellie.
"Is he suspicious?" she asked.
"If he requested a file, I'd assume yes," Lewis affirmed.
"What else did he ask."
"Your recent activities. When and why you made your purchase."
"And you said?"
"The truth," Lewis replied. "That you wanted a pet. A recent hobby."
"Right."
Silence stretched.
"Has he instructed anything?"
"Spies."
Her fingers curled into her palms until her nails bit into skin.
If her father decided Toji was a problem, there would be men with sharper knives and cleaner aims than any assassin Toji had ever faced. Strength meant nothing against an order issued from the top.
One command could buy a corpse. One she was too afraid to imagine.
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, they were quiet. Empty.
"I don't have much time," she said.
Lewis stepped closer. He could see it, the strain she worked so hard to conceal.
She rose from her seat and turned toward the glass wall overlooking the city. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth. Her eyes were red, though she kept her breathing even.
"Lewis," she called.
"Yes."
He understood immediately.
His arms wrapped around her, gentle, as if she might shatter if not careful. His palm rested against the back of her head, grounding her, shielding her from the weight pressing down.
"I don't want to go home," she whispered.
Lewis's fingers slid through her hair, slow and careful. "I'll have them bring blankets and dinner."
"Mm." She hummed softly, eyes half closed.
She knew that no matter how hard Toji fought, no matter how loudly she screamed against the order, the shape of what came next was already decided.
She would lose him.
Soon.
That, paired with the incident and the words he had said earlier that day, left her hollow. She could not face him. Not now. There was too much noise inside her chest, too many thoughts clawing at her ribs. She needed space to think through everything properly.
More than all that. If there are spies around them right now, she should minimise contact with him to prove to her dad that she doesn't "care".
Night came quietly.
Toji had left the mall shortly after she did, booking a taxi and heading home the moment she disappeared from view. The guilt sat heavily on his shoulders. He had replayed the argument over and over in his head, each time sounding worse than the last.
He should have done his job better. Should have been a better husband etcs.
He expected her to come home late, late, he would have waited because he wanted to apologise. Wash her up, eat something together, talk it out.
Not knowing she wouldn't come home at all.
Her office had been transformed.
The large couch by the windows had been unfolded into a bed by the maids stationed in the building around the clock. Soft blankets layered neatly over white sheets. Warm lighting replaced the harsh overhead glow. Her office had been turned into something almost livable.
Lewis had ordered clothes brought in. Private chefs prepared dinner and arranged it carefully on the coffee table.
She sat at her desk, working through reports, posture straight, expression calm.
"Princess," Lewis called, stepping closer. "Please eat something."
She looked up.
The table was filled with carefully prepared dishes.
She nodded once and rose from her seat, moving to the other. She ate quietly, mechanically, as if following instructions rather than hunger.
Toji waited.
He sat on the couch at home, television flickering in front of him, volume low. He barely registered what was playing until voices rose sharply from the screen.
A talk show. People laughing.
"…men really need to be more considerate when they speak," a woman on the screen said. "Women internalise things deeply, so words matter a lot more."
He scoffed softly and took a drink.
Another voice followed. "It's always about their pride and their fragile egos. They don't even know how to apologise when they're wrong."
He sighed and checked the time.
Still no message.
He debated texting. Calling. He hated this part. Waiting.
The TV went on. "…and instead of owning up to it, they retreat. Cowardice, really."
"Fuck off," he muttered, grabbing his phone.
He called her.
Back in the office, she was still eating. A bit of sauce lingered at the corner of her lips. Lewis noticed before she did, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping it gently away.
The phone vibrated on the table.
She froze.
Her eyes dropped to the screen.
Toji.
She hesitated.
Then she picked up.