The table stretched nearly the full length of the room, gleaming dark wood that could probably seat forty people.
A single bowl of perfect persimmons sat at the center like an offering.
Above it, a chandelier dripped with red crystals.
“This is where the Dragon dines. You will too. Of course.” He turned again, and I followed him down a hallway with walls the color of moonlight, until we reached a tall door etched with silver kanji.
“The Dragon’s office,” Sako said simply.
I peeked in through the slightly open door and caught a glimpse of black marble, thick books, and a massive desk.
Then he motioned for me to follow again, and I assumed we were going to yet another endless room for some equally ominous purpose—but when he opened the next door, my breath caught.
“This isyourwriting room.”
I blinked. “Mine?”
“Yes.”
The room was warm, sunlit through high windows, and there was a thick rug beneath a wide writing desk made of raw, pale wood. A new laptop was on top with a stack of empty notebooks and a large bowl of pens.
A reading nook hugged one corner with velvet cushions and a tray for tea or wine.
A shelf lined one wall—blank but waiting.
He didn’t say anything.
I just stood there, stunned.
Not by the luxury.
But by what it meant.
Kenji had made sure there was space forme.
For my work.
For my passion.
No one I’d ever been with had done that. I’d had men buy me earrings and book trips. They all said they supported me, but they nevermade spacefor me.
“I’m to find out what books you may need to fill the shelves.”
My throat went tight. “Thank you. . .I’ll have a list tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
We moved on, but I was still reeling from my writing room when we reached a corridor guarded by four men in matching suits. They stood like statues, barely blinking.
“What’s this room?”
Sako glanced at them, then at me. “That is the Dragon’s War Room.”
“Oh. . .” I lingered as we passed the War Room, my steps slowing just enough to earn a glance from one of the guards.
The air outside that door felt heavier. Whatever went on behind those walls wasn’t just business. It was vengeance. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help imagining what the room looked like—was it screens and maps, or guns and bullets?
Did Kenji pace when he planned?
