The taxi ride to the Hayashi estate felt like a journey to her own execution.
Sharon had chosen her simple, elegant navy dress carefully; it was modest and unlike the severe suits she wore at Nakamura Corp.
It was a different kind of armor, designed to help her blend in and hide the fact that she was a fraud.
He was already waiting for her at the edge of the clean gravel driveway, standing under the soft light of a traditional lantern.
He had his hands shoved into the pockets of a dark, perfect coat.
The sight of Kenzo, so familiar yet so distant, made her gasp.
He looked more like the man from the boardroom than the relaxed man she remembered, all sharp edges and tightly controlled tension.
The taxi pulled away, its tires crunching on the gravel, leaving them in a thick, uncomfortable silence.
The cool evening air did nothing to cool the heat of the unsaid words hanging between them.
"You didn't have to do this," he said finally, his voice low and flat.
He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the main house.
"We do," she replied, her own voice surprisingly steady.
She walked toward him, her heels sinking slightly into the gravel. "For her."
She stopped in front of him. Up close, she could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tight set of his jaw.
Without thinking, driven by years of habit, she reached up and straightened his tie.
It was a simple, intimate gesture she'd performed a hundred times before important meetings.
Her fingers quickly brushed the warm skin of his neck.
It felt like a spark igniting a fire.
A sharp, electric shock passed between them. His breath caught loudly.
Her own hand trembled, and she snatched it back, clenching it at her side.
His eyes, dark and unreadable, finally focused on hers.
For one heart-stopping second, his indifferent mask vanished, showing a flash of raw, confused pain.
"Let's just get this over with," he muttered, turning sharply and leading the way toward the house.
The dinner was a perfectly planned show.
They were seated side-by-side at the long, low tablenwhile Obaasan beamed happily at them.
The air was filled with the comforting smells of home-cooked food and the gentle murmur of family conversation.
And they performed flawlessly.
When Kenzo's aunt asked about work, Sharon laughed lightly.
"Oh, he works too hard! I have to drag him away from his desk." She felt Kenzo's body go rigid beside her.
When his uncle mentioned a recent business trip, Kenzo smoothly interjected,
"Sharon handled everything back at the office, as always. I don't know what I'd do without her."
His voice sounded warm, but the knee pressed against hers under the table was cold, like ice.
They were a perfect, unbroken pair. He automatically passed her a dish before she could ask for it.
She finished a story he started about a difficult client.
They shared a small, private smile when his younger cousin said something silly.
It was a devastating show of their intimate past, a heartbreaking reminder of the relationship they used to have.
The family watched them, their faces filled with warmth and approval.
Every one of their forced smiles felt like a knife wound. Every laugh felt like a betrayal.
The tension between them was like a live wire in the room.
It wasn't the sweet excitement from their fake dating days.
This was different, angrier, more desperate, charged with all the hurt and longing and unsaid accusations.
Every accidental brush of his sleeve against her arm, every time he leaned close to whisper something for the family's benefit, sent a wave of heat through her.
She could feel the weight of his gaze when she wasn't looking, a physical pressure that made it hard to breathe.
"Sharon-chan, help me bring in the dessert, please?" Grand ma asked, her eyes twinkling happily .
"Of course," Sharon said, grateful for the chance to leave the table.
She stood, her legs feeling weak.
In the warm, steamy, private kitchen, away from the watching eyes, she leaned against the counter, trying to calm her racing heart.
The door swung open a moment later. It was Kenzo.
He closed the door behind him, and the small space suddenly shrank. The sounds of the family were muffled, replaced by the frantic beating of her own heart.
"Why are you really doing this?" he demanded, his voice a low, rough whisper.
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. "The lies. This… this performance. Is it guilt?"
She couldn't look at him, focusing instead on a bowl of shiny persimmons. "I told you. For her."
"For her?" He took another step, until he was right in front of her.
She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the familiar, clean scent of his soap mixed with the aroma of food. It was the scent of her old life.
"Or is it for you? To make yourself feel better before you try to ruin my company?"
Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his.
The anger she saw in his eyes was a relief; it was better than the cold emptiness from his office.
"I'm not trying to destroy you."
"Aren't you?" he hissed, his face very close to hers.
"Working for Nakamura? On the Goldlight deal? Don't insult my intelligence, Sharon. You know that's a declaration of war."
His gaze dropped to her lips, and for one terrifying, wild moment, she thought he was going to kiss her or shake her.
She wasn't sure which she wanted more.
The air crackled. Her lips parted slightly.
She could see the same desperate conflict raging in his eyes, the man who loved her battling with the CEO who saw a traitor.
The kitchen door swung open with a cheerful bang.
"Ah! There you two are!" It was Uncle Hiroshi, Kenzo's loud, kind uncle, his face flushed with sake and happiness.
"Hiding away from the rest of us, eh? Can't blame you!"
He winked, completely misreading the charged atmosphere. He clapped Kenzo on the back.
"That patent system you two built, Kenzo! Brilliant work. Sharon, you are a marvel! A true asset to this family."
The uncle's kind words felt like a dagger twisting in her gut.
Kenzo's posture, which had been tense and ready to explode, suddenly relaxed.
The intense moment was broken. They both had to put their masks back on.
"Thank you, Uncle," Sharon managed, her voice a strained whisper.
Kenzo didn't say a word. He just stared at her, the anger in his eyes now replaced by deep, tired resignation.
The performance wasn't over. It had just become much more agonizing.