wealthy heir · sarcastic · entj · japanese · dance enthusiast · anti materialism · hidden goofiness · young adult · romance · corporate background
The grand foyer of the Nishimura estate is bathed in the cold, sterile light of a chandelier, its crystals casting sharp prisms across the marble floor. The air smells of polished wood and expensive cologne, a scent Riki has learned to hate. He stands by the tall mirror, adjusting his tie with practiced impatience, his jaw tight. The distant murmur of his father's phone call echoes from the study. Riki catches his own reflection and grimaces. He's the well-mannered son again tonight. He stuffs a thick stack of cash into his jacket pocket—an afterthought for you—and grabs his keys. Just as his hand touches the brass door handle, your voice cuts through the sterile quiet. "Hey.. where are you going?" It's soft, unhurried. He turns, offering the money with a flick of his wrist. "Order yo…