Page 18

“Well, are you done?” Kenji asks, strolling into the living room again, the smell of fried chicken following him in.

“Yeah,” Vivienne murmurs, scooting across the floor until her back rests on the brown leather couch. “Another ten minutes of my life are gone.”

Reaching for the bowl of fried chicken Kenji has placed beside her, she grabs a piece.

“So same result, I guess?” he says with a confirmative tone then whirls around, walking back to the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Vivienne mumbles, shaking off the memory of what just transpired between her and her dad. She doesn’t want to think too hard about it. She has no room in her head for that. So she shoves a drumstick into her mouth, taking a slow bite.

From a distance, she overhears Kenji grumble, “I can’t fathom why you persist in this. It’s literally the same result every damn time.”

“Well, he’s my dad,” she mumbles around the chicken in her mouth.

“No one is fighting over that fact with you.” She can almost see him rolling his eyes. “Keeping in touch with him won’t change the story or the narrative. He’s a killer. Will always be a killer.”

The truth, they say, hurts. Indeed, Kenji’s comment is a cold slap to the face. She hates to hear it, but it is the truth.

Or it can be a lie. Maybe her dad is a runaway spy.

And because he doesn’t want to come back, they threaten to either hurt his family or he agrees to confess to a heinous crime so all the secrets of the country he has learned would remain sealed off with him behind a prison wall.

And his family will be safe. So her dad being a very selfless, family-loving man, sacrificed his life to save his family.

Wow, this can really be a perfect plot for a good book.

“What do you think about soju?” Kenji asks from the kitchen.

“You have soju?” She quirks a brow, a little excited to feel something other than this disgusting thing swirling in her chest. She hasn’t taken soju in a long time. And she feels like shit right now, so she may as well get wasted a bit.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his footsteps echoing into the living room as he returns with five bottles of soju and two shot glasses. “Got them yesterday.”

He drops to the floor next to her, his back to the couch. He pushes two bottles and a shot glass to her, then reaches for the bowl and grabs another drumstick.

“So…” He stretches his hand for the remote control next to Vivienne’s laptop on the table. “Should we watch a Cdrama?”

“A sappy one? Yes,” she replies, pouring soju into the shot glass.

“What to watch, what to watch, what to watch…” Kenji chants in a hushed voice as one hand flips through drama channels while the other holds his drumstick firmly to his mouth.

“This sounds like some Cinderella type of shit,” Kenji says, glancing at Vivienne, who is downing the second shot of soju.

“Rich man, poor woman?” She reads out, her face squeezed from the burning sensation of the spirit going down her throat. “Sounds cliche. Let’s watch it.”

“Okay,” Kenji cheers as he selects the series. He presses a remote he nabs from the couch and the lights in the room suddenly dim.

The theme song of the series kicks in, the characters introduced through comic-style animation as they float around the screen.

For the first few seconds, there is nothing but silence except for the faint, hollow sound of Vivienne gulping down her third shot of soju like water.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Her gaze flickers away from the screen, a piece of drumstick frozen between her lips. Kenji isn’t looking at her, but his words hit with precision.

She pulls the chicken from her mouth, a slow, deliberate motion. “Ask what?”

“What’s really up with that dude you’ve been talking to?” His tone is casual, uninterested, but she knows better. He doesn’t even bother saying his name. Because he doesn’t really know it. Because he never cared enough to ask.

At the thought of Lucan, though, heat spreads across her cheeks. The mere mention of him drags him into the room like a ghost, his presence flooding, painting over reality in a shade of him—his eyes, his voice, the way he speaks her name like a promise wrapped in danger.

“Lucan?” she asks, reaching for her phone on the cluttered table, her fingers brushing against the cool metal. Now that Kenji has brought him up, she might as well send him a quick text. She hasn’t spoken to him all day. And that’s unlike her.

“I don’t give a damn what his name is,” Kenji scoffs. “I just wanna know what your deal with him is. I mean, like you talk to him all the time, and he has even flown down to the States just to take you on a coffee date.”

Vivienne rolls her eyes, her thumb hovering over the text button. “He’s my friend,” she says easily. “And who knows, a potential boyfriend soon?”

“Potential boyfriend?” his tone sharpens, like he can’t quite swallow the words.

Something tightens in her chest. Does he think Lucan is too much for her too, too out of reach? Is that why he never showed an ounce of interest whenever she brought him up?

“Yes, Kenji.” The word comes out clipped, defensive. “Boyfriend. Or what? You think he’s too much for a girl like me, too?”

“Come on, you know that’s not what I meant,” he defends quickly, his voice losing its teasing edge. “It’s just that...”

“Just that what?”

Kenji hesitates. Then, with complete seriousness, he says, “He’s technically Russian, despite his Japanese heritage.”

Vivienne blinks at him, disbelief settling into her features. “What does his nationality have to do with this?”

Kenji takes a dramatic inhale, glancing around for any threat before his eyes fall back on her. Then he whispers, “What if he’s using you to spy on America?”

For a few seconds, she genuinely wonders if he has lost his mind. Then he bursts into laughter, his entire body shaking with it.

“I swear to God,” she chokes out, pressing a hand over her chest. “For a second, I actually thought you were being serious.”

“You should’ve seen your face,” Kenji wheezes, his cheeks flushed red.

“No, no, you actually had me for real.”

Their laughter fills the room, drowning out the cries of the woman on the television screen. The tension from earlier dissolves, replaced by an easy, familiar comfort. But when the laughter fades, Kenji’s expression sobers.

“Still,” he murmurs. “I need you to be careful.”

Vivienne sighs, rubbing at her temple. “He’s a good man,” she says, unlocking her phone. Her fingers move without thought, then she types.

‘Hey, Snow white’

Kenji watches her, unimpressed. “You don’t know him.”

She meets his gaze briefly before looking back at her screen. “I learn a lot about him every day. I know him now more than I did the first time we met.”

“Vee—”

“Just drop it, Kenji.” Her tone slices the air as she groans, shoving a hand into the nearly empty bowl of chicken.

But she knows him. She knows him more than most people do.

A dull chime echoes in the room, the screen of her phone lighting up.

Even if she doesn’t know him much, she knows he is a man who will always respond whenever she mindlessly types hi.