Page 35 of The Oyabun's Boy

"Wait—you can't just—" Joy called after me, outrage coloring his voice. "That's not fair!"

I paused at the threshold, glancing back at him over my shoulder. He was flushed, disheveled, and utterly captivating in his indignation. Chairman Meow had reclaimed his position on Joy's lap, purring loudly as if amused by the entire situation.

"Life rarely is, Princess." I let my gaze linger on him for a moment longer, memorizing the picture he made in the morning light. "Someone will arrive shortly to escort you to breakfast. Your mother will join us."

"And then what?" he demanded, fingers buried in Chairman Meow's fur. "More cryptic comments and almost-kisses? Or are you actually going to tell me what's going on?"

I considered my response carefully. The meeting later would reveal more than words could explain. Joy would see my world—the power, the danger, the respect bordering on fear that my name commanded.

"Then," I said simply, "you begin to understand what it means to belong to me."

I left before he could respond, his frustrated exhale following me out the door. My steps were lighter than they had any right to be, considering the blood that would be spilled before nightfall, the bodies that would cool in my name.

Not conquered, I thought, the image of Joy's flushed face and defiant eyes burning in my mind, but thoroughly besieged.

It was only a matter of time before those walls came down. And when they did, I would claim every inch of what was already mine.

Chapter Nine

~ Joy ~

I stabbed at my syrup-drenched waffle, wondering if anyone had ever died from a maternal interrogation before. Across from me, my mother sat with her arms crossed, blue eyes narrowed in that way that always made me feel like I was five years old and had just been caught coloring on the walls.

Behind her, Kenji stood like a statue carved from dangerous intentions and expensive suits, watching our exchange with those dark, unreadable eyes.

What a way to start the morning—trapped between Mom's third degree and my kidnapper's silent scrutiny.

"So," Mom began, her voice deceptively casual as she stirred her tea, "how exactly did you two meet?"

I shoved a piece of waffle into my mouth to buy time. The dining room we sat in was as ridiculous as the rest of Kenji's tower—all sleek surfaces and dramatic lighting, like eating breakfast in a Bond villain's lair.

"We bumped into each other," I mumbled around my food. Technically true, if you counted "being pinned against an alley wall and kissed senseless" as bumping into each other.

"Bumped into each other," Mom repeated flatly. "And that led to us being whisked away to this..." she gestured vaguely at our surroundings, "murder palace?"

I choked on my waffle. "That's what I called it too!"

Mom's eyes lit up with that gleam of parental vindication. "Great minds," she said, tapping her temple before turning her laser focus back to the interrogation. "And why exactly did this bumping lead to armed men in our house and a sudden relocation?"

Behind her, Kenji shifted slightly. It was barely perceptible, but I was becoming attuned to his micro-expressions like some deranged Kenji-whisperer.

"It's complicated," I hedged, reaching for my coffee—which, I noted with a mix of irritation and warmth, was prepared exactly how I liked it. Too much cream, too much sugar, basically coffee-flavored dessert.

"Uncomplicate it for me," Mom insisted, leaning forward to rest her hand on my arm. The gesture was protective, familiar—a silent communication that had always meant I'm here, you're safe, no matter what comes next.

Except now, with Kenji's dark eyes tracking every movement, I wasn't sure what "safe" even meant anymore.

"Mom," I sighed, "it's like one of those spy movies where knowing too much gets you killed, except with better food and questionable consent."

She raised an eyebrow. "Questionable consent?"

I felt heat rush to my face. "Not like that! I meant the whole being here thing. The kidnapping. Protection. Whatever."

Great job, Joy. Just give your mother more reasons to murder your kidnapper.

Mom turned in her chair to face Kenji directly. "And what are your intentions with my son, Mr. Hú?"

Oh god, kill me now. This was worse than when she cornered my prom date and asked if he'd been tested for STDs.