One of the house helpers came in—Clara, she was the closest to me She carried a tray, her movements soft and practiced. She set a cup of water on the nightstand, then gently placed a warm towel on my forehead.
"How's your head, Miss Rose?" she asked quietly.
I let out another groan. "Hurts… but I'll live," I mumbled, sitting up slowly as she helped me lean against the pillows.
"You had too many drinks," Clara said with a small smile.
"Tell me about it," I muttered, taking the glass of water. "Last night was—wait." I looked at her, blinking. "What happened last night exactly?"
Clara hesitated for a second, her expression flickering between amusement and worry. "Well, Mr. Ajiro came in with some men in suits. And Mr. Fernando… your father… he announced that he wants you to marry Mr. Ajiro's son."
I froze. "What?"
Clara nodded gently. "Yes, miss."
My headache vanished instantly. I threw the towel off, jumped out of bed, and rushed out of the room, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor.
The mansion was huge, and my voice echoed as I called out, "Dad! Dad!" My words bounced off the high ceilings and down the long hallways. The chandeliers glittered above me, the morning sun pouring through tall windows and lighting up the golden frames on the walls.
My footsteps echoed as I ran past the grand staircase, down the long corridor lined with family portraits. I pushed open the double doors to his office, it was empty.
"Dad!" I called again, spinning around, my heart pounding. Only silence answered me, heavy and still. The whole mansion felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath.
For a second, I honestly thought it was still a dream. The kind where everything made sense until you opened your eyes. My head was pounding, and I half expected to wake up again in another version of my room. But then a sharp sound cracked through the air.
Gunfire!
I jumped, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. It came again clean, sharp, controlled. My stomach sank because I already knew who it was. I dragged myself toward the window, parted the curtains, and there he was. My father. Out in the garden, firing at the metal targets, it was his morning workout. Sometimes his targets were offenders or some men from an enemy gang but they were done behind four walls.
The sun caught on his gold chain, the one he never took off. His sleeves were rolled up, his expression calm, focused, like he wasn't the reason my entire life had just collapsed. The gun—a sleek black Beretta—glinted in his hand with every shot.
I marched out there, barefoot and furious. The air smelled faintly of gunpowder and roses. "You've got to be kidding me!" I shouted.
He lowered the gun slightly but didn't look surprised. "Morning, sweetheart."
"Morning? Morning? You announced my engagement like it's a business deal!"
Perez turned, handed the gun to one of his men—one of those silent, tall types in black who never smiled. "You mentioned a car crash last night?," he said calmly.
"How could you do that without talking to me first?" I said, my voice rising. "I'm not ready for marriage. And I don't want to marry Thomas!"
He raised an eyebrow, half amused. "What makes you think you're marrying Thomas?"
I blinked. "What?"
Perez crossed his arms, looking at me like I'd just told him I wanted to become a comedian. "You're marrying Shinpei."
For a moment, it felt like something got ripped right out of my chest. "Shinpei?" I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. My knees gave out and I dropped to the ground dramatically. "No way. No. This has to be a nightmare! That boring asshole!"
"Get up," he said firmly.
I looked up at him, tears stinging my eyes. "Why daddy? Are you tired of me already?"
He sighed, crouched slightly, and pulled me up by the arm. His palm brushed my cheek, surprisingly gentle for someone with blood on his hands. "Because he'll be able to protect you."
"But he's colder than ice," I said quickly. "He's mean, and proud, and he's never even spoken to me!"
Perez's expression didn't change. "You both will look great together Rosey."
"I rather marry Thomas. How could you!" I whined.
The scene shifted.
Somewhere else in the mansion, different air, colder light.....
Shinpei stood in front of his father, Eric. Shinpei was a tall, dark-haired, the kind of man who looked like he was carved from quiet anger by a roman god.
"Why are you forcing this marriage?" Shinpei's tone was calm, but his jaw was tight.
Eric sat behind his massive desk, fingers laced, eyes sharp. "Because our gangs need a stronger bond. What's stronger than family? I've known Perez since childhood and that's not enough, we need a real strong linkage"
"I don't want this," Shinpei said, his voice steady but firm.
Eric leaned back, unimpressed. "You're the heir to all of this, Shinpei. You don't get to want or not want. You get to lead and make sacrifices."
Shinpei's gaze hardened. "By marrying someone I don't even love?"
Eric's eyes narrowed. "You'll get to know her more. What matters is control. Stability. Power. Emotions only get in the way. She's a nice girl for you, I like her."
The room fell silent again, the only sound being the faint ticking of a gold clock behind him. Shinpei's hands curled into fists, his expression unreadable.
Eric looked at him one last time. "Remember, son. Discipline keeps us alive. Not love."
Shinpei released his fist,"Then it's not necessary to love her," he said flatly, every word sharp enough to cut through the silence.The sound of his footsteps echoed as he turned and walked out of the office, his coat brushing against the doorframe before it slammed behind him.
The room went still again. Eric stayed seated, his elbows on the desk, fingers pressed together beneath his chin. For a moment, he looked like he'd aged years in just a few seconds. His gaze drifted to the picture frame beside the papers—a photograph of his late wife, smiling softly, frozen in time.
He exhaled, his voice low, almost a whisper. "If you were here," he said, "you would've handled things better. I should've never left you alone that day."
The silence in Eric's office was broken by a knock. The door opened, and one of his men stepped in, a broad-shouldered, dressed in black, a faint scar cutting across his cheek.
"Boss," he said, voice low and steady. "We caught the traitor. Our boys have him at Octa Eight."
Eric's eyes flicked up, the calm in them instantly replaced by something sharper. He straightened slowly, his tone cool and controlled. "Well done."
The man nodded once, waiting.
Eric rose from his seat, buttoning his jacket with quiet precision. "Prepare my car," he said, his voice carrying that dangerous calm that made everyone obey without question. "That dog is going to regret existing."
"Yes, boss." The man turned and disappeared through the door.
Eric glanced once more at his late wife's picture on the desk, his expression unreadable. Then he slid his gun into the holster beneath his coat and walked out, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Outside, engines started. The mansion gates began to open.
And somewhere far off, at Octa Eight, someone was already begging for mercy.