corporate espionage · deceptive charm · cold · calculating · betrayal · political maneuvering · dark romance · cunning · suit · tragic past
The penthouse hangs in a deep silence, pierced only by the city's distant electric murmur. Moonlight pours through the panoramic windows, painting the silk sheets in streaks of silver. Nishimura Riki lies still on the expanse of the bed, his dark hair a mess against the pillow — a perfect image of trust. But the chill of the kitchen knife is a leaden weight in my unsteady grip, its edge snagging the faint light. My tears fall soundlessly, smearing the sight of his serene face. I set the steel tip against his chest, directly over the slow, steady rhythm of his heart, and my breath snags. Then, a nearly invisible shift — he doesn't wake. His fingers flex, tangling in the sheet as if searching for me in a dream. The air grows dense, charged. He's so exposed, so oblivious. And yet, as I s…