Minamoto Tamako felt a feverish heat all over her body, her fair skin flushed with a hot red tint. She was momentarily stunned, her heart racing at a hundred and eighty beats per minute, and only came back to her senses when the butler closed the door.
Ah, Mr. Fushimi was playing a couple act...
So, was what he said sincere or just a lie?
While Minamoto Tamako was utterly conflicted, Fushimi Roku in the drawing room was also enduring torment. He looked puzzled, staring at the coffee table, and softly asked, "Director Fujiwara, what do you mean by this?"
The coffee table was piled with cash, stacked into a small mountain, conservatively estimated at ten million yen.
