Page 26 of The Oyabun's Boy

"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing in the cavernous room. No answer, just the soft hum of the tower's climate control system.

At the foot of the bed, laid out with military precision, was a set of clothes. I crawled toward them, examining each piece with growing disbelief.

Designer jeans in exactly my size. A cashmere sweater in a deep emerald that would perfectly match my eyes. Silk boxers—because of course the criminal overlord wouldn't let his captive wear cotton.

"What, no orange prison jumpsuit? I'm disappointed." I said to the empty room. "Really missing that authentic hostage experience."

Kidnapped by a hot mafia boss. Mom would be so disappointed... or oddly proud.

The thought made me snort.

Annie Carmichael was nothing if not unpredictable. The woman who threatened to poison Kenji's tea might actually approve of his particular brand of psychotic chivalry.

I slid out of the sinfully comfortable bed and padded across the heated floor to the bathroom, stopping dead in the doorway. The space was bigger than my entire apartment, all black marble and chrome with a shower that looked like it belonged on a spaceship.

"Compensating for something?" I muttered, then immediately regretted it when my brain helpfully supplied the memory of Kenji's body pressed against mine in that alley, leaving very little to the imagination about what he might or might not be compensating for.

Nope. Not going there.

I stepped into the shower, counting no less than fourteen jets positioned at strategic heights. The control panel had more buttons than NASA mission control. I pressed one experimentally and was immediately blasted with perfectly temperature-controlled water from all directions.

"Holy mother of—" I yelped, then surrendered to the aquatic assault.

After figuring out the complicated shower system—which took an embarrassing amount of time—I emerged feeling more pampered than I had any right to feel as a kidnapping victim.

The towels were so plush I wanted to make a nest and live in them forever. The bathroom counter held high-end toiletries, all unopened, all exactly the kind I would have chosen myself.

"This is just creepy now," I told my reflection in the massive mirror. My hair stuck up in damp auburn spikes, making me look younger and more vulnerable than I liked.

With a resigned sigh, I returned to the bedroom and dressed in the provided clothes. The jeans fit perfectly, hugging my hips like they'd been custom-made. The sweater was the softest thing I'd ever worn. Even the boxers felt like they'd been tailored to my specific measurements.

Stalker skills: expert level.

I couldn't decide if I should be impressed or terrified by Kenji's attention to detail.

Probably both.

The fabric felt foreign against my skin—luxurious but alien, a constant reminder that I was out of my element. In my world, coffee stains and cat hair were fashion statements. Here, everything was pristine, perfect, controlled. Just like the man who owned it all.

I caught myself running my fingers along the edge of the sweater, appreciating its softness despite myself. This was how it started, wasn't it? Stockholm syndrome 101: appreciate the expensive gifts, forget about the whole abduction thing.

But as I slipped into the provided shoes—Italian leather, also a perfect fit—I couldn't help wondering where my mother was, if she was okay, and most pressingly, why I'd been moved to Kenji's room while I slept.

The thought of him carrying me here while I was unconscious sent an inappropriate shiver down my spine. Had he watched me sleep? Had those dark, intense eyes traced the lines of my body beneath the sheets? Had his hands lingered when he laid me down on his bed?

And why did the possibility make my heart race instead of my skin crawl?

"Focus, Joy," I muttered to myself as I finished getting ready. "Find Mom first. Inappropriate fantasies about your kidnapper second."

I smoothed down the front of my sweater and took a deep breath, preparing to venture out into the lion's den.

The door wasn't locked—I checked—which either meant Kenji trusted me not to run, or more likely, knew I had nowhere to go. The tower was a fortress, and every exit would be guarded.

Still, I couldn't stay in this bedroom forever, no matter how comfortable the sheets or how amazing the shower. I needed answers. I needed to see my mother. And yes, if I was being honest with myself, I needed to see Kenji again.

Not because I was developing feelings for my captor. Definitely not. I just needed to... assess the situation. Strategize. Maybe throw in some more sarcastic comments to remind him I wasn't intimidated.

Even if the hammering of my heart suggested otherwise.