Page 17 of The Oyabun's Boy

"I'd prefer to see her now."

He stopped walking, turning to face me fully. His eyes, dark as midnight but somehow filled with fire, locked onto mine. "You'll see her tomorrow," he repeated, no inflection in his tone.

I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "Fine, but if she's not okay—"

"She's safe," he cut me off. "Which is more than either of you would be if you weren't here."

I wanted to argue, but the memory of those men in my mother's house, the gun pressed to her temple, silenced my protest. I settled for glaring at him instead.

His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but wasn't not a smile either. "Your defiance is... refreshing."

"My defiance is all I've got right now," I admitted. "That and my devastating wit."

This time, the almost-smile reached his eyes for the briefest moment. It transformed his face from beautiful but cold to something that made my stomach do a complicated gymnastics routine.

Oh no. No, no, no. Do NOT find the dangerous man who abducted you attractive when he smiles.

Too late. I already did. I was so screwed, in all the worst ways—and none of the fun ones.

"Come," Kenji said, resuming our walk down the endless hallway. "There's more to see."

I followed, telling myself it was because I had no choice, but the truth, which I wasn't ready to admit even to myself, was that I would have followed him regardless. Something about Kenji pulled at me, like gravity, like inevitability.

Like fate, if I believed in such things.

I didn't. But standing in this tower of glass and stone and danger, with this man who killed without remorse, but looked at me like I was something precious and wild he needed to possess, I was beginning to wonder if fate believed in me.

Kenji led me through his fortress with the precision of a military commander who'd memorized every inch of enemy territory. Each step measured, each turn calculated, his hand never leaving the small of my back.

The warmth of his palm seeped through my shirt, a constant reminder of his presence—as if the armed guards stationed at regular intervals weren't reminder enough.

"The main living quarters are on this floor," he explained, gesturing to a series of doors we passed. "Kitchen, dining room, common areas."

I nodded, trying to memorize the layout. The place was a maze of identical hallways and unmarked doors. Whoever designed this place clearly wasn't big on helpful "you are here" maps or emergency exit signs.

We approached an elevator different from the one we'd arrived in—smaller, with a biometric scanner beside it.

"This elevator requires authorization," Kenji said, his tone leaving no room for questions. "It leads to the private floors—myoffice, the security center, and the business operations. You are not to attempt access without me."

Translation: first place I'm exploring tomorrow.

I must have telegraphed my thoughts because Kenji's eyes narrowed slightly, and his grip on my back tightened.

"I mean it, Princess. Some areas of this tower are dangerous for you."

"Dangerous how?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Like, booby traps? Laser beams? Sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads?"

He didn't smile, but something in his eyes softened almost imperceptibly. "Some of my associates are not as... patient as I am."

"Setting a pretty low bar there," I muttered.

We continued our tour, passing what looked like a high-tech gym, a traditional Japanese tea room complete with tatami mats, and a massive home theater.

Each room was immaculate, expensive, and utterly devoid of personal touches. No family photos, no souvenirs, nothing that indicated an actual human being lived here rather than some sentient AI programmed to appreciate minimalist design.

"The west wing," Kenji gestured toward another long corridor, "is strictly off-limits. Security measures are activated after midnight. Attempting to enter will trigger alarms."

So I have until midnight. Good to know.