REOMEN
Three days.
Seventy-two hours of living in a gilded cage of my own making. The Soma clan's protection was a silent, invisible net around me and my assets. Men I never saw, in cars I never noticed, were now a permanent part of my landscape.
It was necessary, logical. But it chafed. It was a constant, humiliating reminder that for all my power, I could be reduced to a target.
That Shunsuke Rimestone's impotent rage had finally sharpened into a blade, and now we were all just waiting for him to be stupid enough to swing it.
I was in my office, the usual fortress of calm and control. But the silence was different now. It wasn't the productive quiet of strategy; it was the tense, waiting silence before a storm. I was staring at a financial report, the numbers blurring into grey lines, when the intercom on my desk buzzed.
"Mr. Daki," my assistant's voice was carefully neutral. "You have a visitor. Ms. Yokimura is here."
