Page 48 of The Oyabun's Boy

My stomach dropped. So it wasn't just me he wasn't communicating with.

"Thank you," I managed, backing out of the room before my expression could betray the growing panic I felt.

Back in the corridor, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. My fingers found the scars on my forearm—thin, white lines from a childhood accident involving a bicycle and too much confidence on a steep hill.

The memory triggered a more recent one—Kenji's body in the morning light, covered in scars far more deliberate than mine. Bullet wounds. Knife slashes. Each one a testament to someone who had tried to kill him and failed.

Someone who had tried to kill him.

My eyes snapped open as a cold wave of fear washed over me. Kenji's enemies weren't street thugs or petty criminals. They were powerful, dangerous people—people like his uncle, who had already sent assassins after him. People who wouldn't hesitate to kill him if given the chance.

Chairman Meow meowed loudly, pressing against my legs as if sensing my distress.

"He's fine," I repeated, the mantra less convincing each time. "He has to be fine." I pulled out my phone again. 12:01 AM. Officially tomorrow, and Kenji was nowhere to be found.

My mind began constructing scenarios, each more horrific than the last. Kenji ambushed after his meeting. Kenji bleeding out in some warehouse. Kenji being tortured for information. Kenji's body dumped in the harbor, weighted down with concrete...

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the images. This wasn't helping. I needed to be rational. Maybe his meeting had run long. Maybe his phone had died. Maybe he was in a place with no signal.

But Kenji wasn't the type to let his phone die. He wasn't careless or forgetful. He was methodical, precise, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. If he wasn't answering, it was because he couldn't.

I pushed off from the wall and resumed walking, faster now, with no destination in mind. Just movement to combat the helplessness threatening to overwhelm me.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I nearly dropped it in my haste to check it. But it wasn't Kenji—it was a weather alert warning of overnight thunderstorms. I swore under my breath, shoving it back into my pocket.

By the time I circled back to Kenji's quarters, Chairman Meow was practically running to keep up with my increasingly agitated pace. The clock on my phone now read 12:23 AM.

I tried calling again. Straight to voicemail.

"Kenji, it's me. Look, I'm really worried now. It's been hours. No one's heard from you. If you get this, please call me back. Please." My voice cracked on the last word, betraying the fear I was trying so hard to control.

I sank onto the edge of Kenji's bed, Chairman Meow immediately jumping up to curl in my lap. His purring provided small comfort against the growing dread in my chest.

What was I supposed to do? I wasn't one of Kenji's men. I had no authority in this tower of killers and criminals. I was just... what? His prisoner? His lover? Both?

Whatever I was, sitting here doing nothing wasn't helping Kenji if he was in trouble.

I checked the time again. 12:37 AM.

Three more calls. Three more trips to voicemail.

Chairman Meow kneaded my thigh with his paws, his own anxiety manifesting in the rhythmic pushing and pulling of his claws through my jeans.

"What do I do, Chairman?" I whispered, scratching under his chin. "What do I do if he doesn't come back?"

The cat offered no answers, just continued purring and kneading.

I thought about Kenji's scars again—the map of violence written across his skin. Each one represented a time he'd survived, a time he'd fought back against death and won, but how many times could someone cheat death before it finally caught up to them?

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me. I stood up abruptly, causing Chairman Meow to leap off my lap with an indignant meow.

"Sorry," I murmured, but my mind was elsewhere.

1:15 AM.

Almost twelve hours since Kenji had left for his meeting. Twelve hours without a word. I couldn't sit here anymore. I needed to do something. Anything.

With trembling fingers, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Chen's number—programmed into my phone by Kenji himself "for emergencies."