PAIGE
Two days of non-stop studying flew by. I read everything I could find about Daki Tech until my head hurt. Now, it was time. I put on my best interview clothes—a black blazer and pants I'd found second-hand but made look new. I fixed my hair and did my makeup carefully. I had to look like I belonged there.
Leon handed me a coffee to-go and smiled. "You got this," he said. I tried to smile back, but my stomach was full of nervous butterflies.
I left my apartment in Hell's Kitchen and walked to the bus stop. The morning air was cool. I got on the bus, paid my fare, and found a seat. I held my folder of resumes tight on my lap. My hands were a little shaky.
I stared out the window as the bus moved through the city, down towards the Financial District. Buildings, people, traffic—all passing by in a blur. My mind was racing. This job was my only chance. My sister was here now, watching. I couldn't fail.
Too soon, my stop arrived. I got off the bus and looked up.
And there it was.
The Daki Tech building was a monolithic tower of steel and glass, a giant mirror shooting up into the sky. It looked powerful. Important. Everything I needed to be.
For a second, I felt small. Was I really good enough to walk in there?
But then I remembered my sister's boasting online. My family's smug faces. No. I had to do this.
I took a deep breath, stood up straight, and walked toward the big glass doors. They slid open silently.
Inside, the lobby was a vast, silent cathedral of wealth. The floor was polished Calacatta Gold marble. Well-dressed people in Brunello Cucinelli and Tom Ford walked quickly, talking softly into headsets. I felt everyone's eyes on me, assessing my off-the-rack outfit.
I walked to the front desk where a woman with a perfectly curated smile sat behind a computer.
"Hi," I said, trying to sound calm. "My name is Paige Isumi. I'm here for the ten o'clock interview. For the Financial Consultant job."
The woman typed on her keyboard. She looked at her screen. Then her smile faded.
She picked up the phone and turned away. I couldn't hear what she was saying.
My heart dropped. I knew this feeling. That phone call. That look.
It was happening again.
She hung up and turned back to me. Her polite face was gone. Now she just looked sorry.
I stopped breathing. The whole world felt like it was waiting.
What was she going to say?
The woman's face wasn't saying Sorry, you have to leave. It was saying sorry for what's about to happen.
She leaned forward a little, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Ms. Isumi? There's been a change. Mr. Daki… the CEO… he will be conducting the final interview himself today. In his office on the penthouse floor."
My mind went completely blank. Mr. Daki. The CEO. The man I'd read about but never seen. The one who never did initial interviews.
Why? Why would he do this?
Before I could even form a question, she was giving me directions. "Please, take the private elevator to the top floor. His assistant will meet you there."
I just nodded, my legs moving on their own. The private elevator was all shining bronze and smoky glass. It felt like a trap. The ride up was silent and too fast. My reflection looked pale and scared.
The doors opened directly into a quiet, carpeted anteroom. A serious-looking man in a severe black suit was waiting. "Ms. Isumi. Right this way."
He led me to a huge panel of dark figured walnut doors and knocked once.
A voice from inside said, "Enter."
The man opened the door for me and stepped aside.
I walked in.
The office was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows showing a breathtaking panorama of Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. But I didn't look at the view.
My eyes went straight to the man standing behind a giant, minimalist desk made of a single slab of black slate. He was tall. Impeccably dressed in a dark Kiton suit that probably cost more than my entire year's rent.
And then I really saw his face.
My heart stopped. The air left my lungs.
It was him.
The man from the club. The one I'd spilled my drink all over. The one with the cold, intense eyes.
He was Reomen Daki.
He looked up from a paper on his desk. His eyes locked on mine. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips. He recognized me immediately.
He leaned back in his leather chair, never breaking eye contact.
"Ms. Rimestone," he said, his voice cool and smooth. "We meet again."
The interview was a blur. He asked sharp, difficult questions, and I answered every single one, my voice growing steadier with each reply. My Tokyo University degree was my shield, my intelligence–my sword. I refused to let this man, this situation, rattle me. Even if my heart was pounding against my ribs.
He listened, his expression unreadable, those dark eyes missing nothing. Finally, he gave a single, slow nod. "The position is yours. You'll start tomorrow. HR will send the details."
Relief, sharp and sweet, washed over me. I'd done it. I'd actually done it. I stood up, my legs feeling weak. "Thank you, Mr. Daki. I won't let you down."
I turned to leave, my mind already racing toward the future.
"Until tomorrow then… Black Cat."
The name hit me like a physical blow. I froze, my hand on the door handle. My blood ran cold.
Black Cat.
No one called me that. No one knew that name. Except…
My head snapped around. I squinted, my eyes straining behind my glasses. I leaned forward slightly, as if closing the distance could somehow make the impossible possible.
The smirk on his face was different now. It wasn't the cool, corporate smirk of a billionaire CEO. It was older. Cockier. It was a ghost from a life I'd left behind.
The messy black hair of a poor boy from Roppongi seemed to superimpose itself over his perfectly styled cut. The arrogant tilt of his chin was exactly the same.
My mouth fell open. The pieces crashed together in a dizzying, terrifying wave.
"No…" I whispered, the word barely audible. "It can't be…"
His smirk deepened. He said nothing, just watched the realization destroy my composure.
And in a voice choked with pure shock, I said the name I hadn't spoken in over a decade.
"…Haruto?"