“You don’t have to explain anything,” I whisper. “Just please kiss—”
The rest of my words melts into his kiss, and all I can do is cry as I kiss him back.
His will, not mine.
And this...this is His will.
One Year Later
Kazeyuki
"THE MEETING WENT INTOovertime. It should've ended six minutes ago. That means I was robbed of six minutes of my wife's company. Dammit."
Anastase delivered the words in perfect copy of his friend's accent before turning to Kazeyuki, asking seriously, "Did I get it right? The thoughts currently running through your mind?"
"No."
Anastase smirked.
"Because you should really know better by now,” Kazeyuki said mildly. “I no longer swear.” It was tempting to take his turn at smirking when Anastase grimaced, but he chose to take the higher road by settling for a shrug, and, well, this only had his friend looking at him like he was a lost cause.
"You don't even bother denying it now," Anastase said in disgust.
Kazeyuki didn’t bother with an answer this time, only adjusting his cuffs as they pushed through the glass doors of the government building and stepped out into the cold.
The wind cut across the plaza, sharp enough to warrant a coat neither of them had bothered to bring, and Kazeyuki noted with mild interest that Anastase's hair, usually immaculate, had started to rebel against whatever product was meant to be taming it.
Click, click, click.
Meanwhile, the photographers were already hard at work. They had been waiting outside since early morning, and the shutters fired in rapid succession as Kazeyuki and Anastase descended the steps. If one were to look closely—at the photographers, not the two men—it would be easy to see the dollar signs in their eyes. They already knew they would rack up views by the millions, the moment they had photos and reels of Stanhope’s Sexiest up on their socials.
In a world where most billionaires were either great-and-taken or available-but-not-great (and that was putting it nicely), last year's wedding of Kazeyuki Collington had been an unexpected goldmine for the press. There they walked as part of the entourage, one billionaire after another, all of them the kind that the public loved to be obsessed with. Movie-star looks. Power and authority that they wielded either like a king or a warrior. And the kind of self-assurance that countless "influencers" tried so hard to fake but never could.
Anastase's car was the first that the valet brought up, and Kazeyuki's lips twitched at how the media reacted to its sight. Regular black BMW, five years old, more than a few nicks and scratches on the hood. Not a bad ride, but when its owner was someone who had billions at his disposal?
It was a mystery, and one that Kazeyuki happened to know the answer to. But that was Anastase's story to tell, and not his.
"Before I forget, Anastase—I need a favor."
His friend raised a brow. "Are you certain about that? The last time you asked me a favor—"
"I fell in love."
Anastase's gaze narrowed. Was this favor to pay him back? Was Kazeyuki about to—
"So about that favor..."
"Apologies, my friend," Anastase drawled, already reaching for his car door, "but I've changed my mind. You'd do better to find someone else."
Kazeyuki was still amused at the way his friend had practically thrown himself behind the wheel and raced off like a man outrunning a divine calling.
One could always try, but the outcome never changed.
But in the meantime...
Kazeyuki took his phone out as soon as he was in the comfortable backseat of his limo.I didn’t get to tell Anastase. Apologies.He hitSendafterwards and then checked his email—
Inori's parents.
