The office was quiet. The low hum of the air conditioner, the muted rustle of papers, the occasional clack of Daiki's typing from outside—everything was routine.
But Ren Kazama couldn't focus.
He sat at his desk, fingers idle over a report he had read three times without registering a single word. His jaw was tense. His usually sharp mind wandered, looping back again and again to the same moment from the night before.
Her eyes.
Emi's eyes, wide and unsure as she looked up at him in that darkened corner of the club, lit only by the spill of neon and the faint glint of chandelier light. She had been brave—he saw that now. Nervous, out of place, but brave. She had taken a step forward. She had leaned in.
And he—
He had stepped back.
Ren exhaled, jaw flexing as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face.
Why?
He had asked himself that at least a dozen times since she walked out of the club.
It wasn't because he didn't want to. That was the problem. He did.
He remembered the way she had looked, her features soft and flushed from the heat of the room, her lips slightly parted, breath shaky. The faint vanilla warmth of her scent clung to him even now, or maybe it was just in his head.
He had wanted to pull her closer, to give in to her feelings but he hadn't.
Daiki then dropped a thick folder onto his desk that morning, his usual smirk absent, his expression unusually serious. His tone was quiet but edged with something sharp. "You're going to want to see this, Boss."
Ren barely glanced up, flipping through another stack of paperwork with one hand, his focus elsewhere. "If it's about the Takahashi deal, push it to next week. I don't have time for their bullshit right now."
"It's not about Takahashi."
There was something in Daiki's voice that made Ren pause.
A slow exhale left his lips as he finally leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking toward the folder. Something in his gut twisted—something instinctual, something primal that warned him before he even touched the damn thing.
Still, he reached for it. Flipped it open.
And then—
He froze.
Inside was a contract.
A marriage contract.
Emi Fujimoto's name was on it.
Ren's blood turned ice-cold.
His fingers gripped the edges of the paper as his eyes scanned the document, his jaw locking tighter and tighter with every word. His pulse slowed, an eerie, dangerous kind of calm settling over him as he absorbed the details.
A 40-year-old businessman. A financial agreement. A 10 million yen debt cleared in exchange for Emi's hand in marriage.
Her father had sold her.
A dull ringing filled his ears.
He read it again. And again. And again. As if the words might change. As if he had misread them. As if this was some kind of mistake, a cruel joke, a piece of false information meant to waste his time.
But it wasn't. Because Emi's name was there. Signed.
She hadn't told him or asked for his help. And she—she was going to go through with it?
Ren's teeth clenched, his grip tightening around the paper until the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. His jaw ticked, his breathing slow and measured—too measured, too restrained.
He could see her in his mind, standing there with that defiant look in her eyes, stubborn, proud, acting like she could handle everything on her own, like she didn't need anyone's help. Like she didn't need him.
Ren exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled, dangerous.
He shoved the folder aside, pushing himself to his feet, movements fluid but deliberate. His pulse was steady, but a storm had already started to build inside him, dark and unrelenting.
*****
Emi sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the suitcase she had packed only hours ago, the zipper still half-open as if daring her to finish what she had started. The dim glow of the single bedside lamp cast long shadows across the tiny apartment, making everything feel heavier—like the walls were pressing in on her, suffocating her with the weight of what was to come.
It didn't feel real.
Today, everything would change.
From this day forward, she would be someone's wife. A stranger's possession, bound by contract, by debt, by circumstances that had never been within her control. She had told herself over and over that this was the only way. That she had no choice. That she couldn't—wouldn't—owe Ren Kazama anything again.
A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence, the sound slicing through the air like a warning. Emi's breath hitched, her fingers tightening on the fabric of her skirt.
Knock. Knock.
Slowly, her body tensed, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Something inside her screamed not yet, not yet, not yet—but she knew she couldn't avoid it. Not anymore.
She forced herself to stand, her legs shaky beneath her as she made her way to the door, every step echoing in her ears. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle, barely managing to take a steadying breath before she pulled it open.
She barely had time to react before—
The door slammed open.
And Ren Kazama stood there.
His dark eyes locked onto hers, unreadable but burning with something dangerous beneath the surface. He was silent, still, his presence filling the tiny apartment like a storm waiting to break.
But it wasn't his silence that terrified her. It was the rage.
Emi's stomach twisted into knots.
"You—" Her voice came out too weak, too uncertain, cracking under the pressure of the moment.
Ren didn't blink. "Are you out of your mind?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came right before a disaster.
Emi swallowed hard, her throat dry. "You shouldn't be here."
Ren stepped forward, crossing the threshold without hesitation, his presence a direct challenge. "You think I'd just sit back and let you go through with this?"
She flinched at the intensity in his gaze, at the way his words curled around her like a demand. "I don't have a choice," she whispered, though the words felt hollow even as she said them.
Ren stilled.
A slow, sharp exhale left his lips, his expression darkening as something shifted behind his eyes.
"You're serious."
Emi clenched her fists. "I can't—Ren, I can't owe you again. Not for this."
His gaze flickered, unreadable. "So instead, you're going to belong to some old bastard who bought you like a property?"
Her entire body went cold. She hadn't wanted to think about it like that.
Ren ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating from him in waves. "You think I give a damn about money, Fujimoto?"
"It's ten million yen!" she snapped, her voice rising, her emotions unraveling. "That's not nothing, Ren! I can't just—"
"Let me make something clear," he cut her off, his voice dropping lower, rougher, more dangerous.
"You don't belong to me. You don't belong to him. You belong to yourself."
Her chest tightened.
For a second—just a second—she almost believed him.
Then she shook her head, forcing the lump in her throat down. "It's already done, Ren."
His expression hardened. "Like hell it is."
Her fingers dug into her arms as she stared at him, stunned, unable to form words. "Ren—"
A loud, urgent knock broke the tense silence, echoing through the small apartment like a warning. Emi barely had time to react before the door burst open, slamming against the wall. Her father stormed in, his face pale and drenched in sweat, breathing hard and fast. And behind him—
The man. The one she was supposed to marry.
His eyes locked on her instantly, scanning her with a slow, unsettling stare that made her stomach turn. He didn't see a person—just something he thought he owned.
"You—!" her father wheezed, pointing a shaking, accusing finger at Ren, his entire body trembling with a fury edged in desperation. "What the hell are you doing at my house?!"
Ren didn't even glance at him, didn't spare him a second of his attention. Instead, his focus remained locked on the man standing beside him—the 40-year-old bastard who had thought he could buy Emi, the man who had dared to believe that ten million yen was enough to own her.
"What's your name?" Ren's voice was deceptively casual, smooth, almost bored, but the sharp undercurrent beneath it was anything but.
The man straightened, his lips curling into a smirk, "Tanaka Hiroshi."
Ren tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes giving away nothing. "And you thought you could buy this girl for ten million yen?"
Hiroshi let out a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest, exuding the kind of arrogance that only came from men who had never been told no. "It's a fair deal, isn't it? Her father was drowning in debt. I was simply offering a solution."
Ren exhaled, rubbing his temple slowly, as if debating whether or not this was worth his time. Then—
He laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.
It was dark. Amused. Laced with something sharp, something lethal, something that made the room feel smaller, the air feel heavier.
Hiroshi's smirk faltered.
Then—Ren moved.
In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, his fingers casually adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as if he wasn't about to do exactly what he was about to do.
And then—
He grabbed Hiroshi by the collar and slammed him into the wall.
The entire room seemed to shudder with the impact, a framed picture on the shelf rattling from the force. Hiroshi let out a choked gasp, his hands clawing at Ren's wrist, panic flooding his features as he struggled uselessly against the iron grip holding him in place. "W-Wait—!"
Ren leaned in, his voice dangerously calm, the kind of calm that preceded something irreversible. "You thought I would let you touch her?"
Hiroshi's face turned an alarming shade of red. "It—it was a contract—"
Ren's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white, his entire body radiating pure, unfiltered fury. "Contracts can be erased."
Hiroshi choked, his eyes darting wildly toward Emi's father. "You can't—"
Ren glanced over his shoulder, already knowing the answer before he even asked. "Daiki."
A familiar voice answered from the doorway, unbothered, lazy, laced with amusement. "Already done, Boss."
Emi's head snapped up.
Daiki stood leaning against the doorframe, twirling a folder between his fingers, the smirk on his face so casual it was almost infuriating. He held up the folder, waving it slightly before locking eyes with Hiroshi.
"You mean this contract?"
Her father's face paled instantly, all the blood draining from his features. "W-What—?"
Daiki didn't bother answering. Instead, he pulled out a lighter, flicked it open, and without so much as a pause—
Set the contract on fire.
The flames curled around the paper greedily, devouring every word, every signature, every ounce of power that document had held over her. Ash flaked onto the floor as the last remnants of her fate burned away, leaving nothing but blackened scraps floating through the air.
Hiroshi let out a choked scream, his body trembling beneath Ren's grip. "You—You can't do this!"
Ren released him without warning.
Hiroshi stumbled forward, gasping for air, clutching his throat, his body shaking so hard he could barely stand. Ren adjusted his jacket, looking down at him with nothing but cold, unyielding disdain, as if he wasn't even worth his anger, as if he had already been reduced to nothing in his eyes.
"This was never a negotiation," Ren murmured, his voice deathly soft, the final nail in the coffin.
Then—his gaze flickered to Emi's father.
"Next time you try to sell your daughter," he said, voice calm but edged with something that promised consequences, "make sure you're willing to pay the price."
Her father flinched, his mouth opening like he wanted to protest, like he wanted to beg, but nothing came out. Because he knew. One wrong word, one more mistake, and Ren Kazama would ruin him completely.
Ren didn't waste another second on them. He simply turned away, brushing past them like they were nothing, his focus landing solely on Emi.
And when he looked at her—
His expression was unreadable, but there was something else beneath it, something weighted, something absolute.
"You're coming with me," he said.
Emi's breath caught, her chest tightening, her heart pounding so loudly she swore he could hear it.
"I—"
Her father let out a strangled laugh, bitter and broken. "So this was the plan, huh? You pretended to care, but you just wanted her for yourself?"
Ren didn't even look at him.
"She's free to go wherever she wants," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it had never even been a question. And then, quieter, colder—"And you? You're nothing."
Her father's lips pressed together, his hands shaking, his entire body trembling beneath the weight of those words. But he didn't argue.
Because he knew better.
Ren turned back to Emi, his presence as steady and unwavering as it had been since the moment he'd stepped into her life—disrupting it, anchoring it, changing it in ways she hadn't yet fully grasped.
His gaze met hers, firm but quiet. "Let's go."
Emi opened her mouth to speak—maybe to protest, maybe to ask where—but the words never made it out. There was something in his tone, in the finality of it, that left no room for argument. And maybe… she didn't want to argue.
As she hesitated, glancing instinctively back at the disheveled apartment she'd once called home, Ren turned slightly and addressed Daiki, who had been silently observing everything unfold from near the door.
"Daiki," he said, voice low but commanding, "get her things. Whatever she needs."
Daiki gave a short nod. "Got it."
He moved past them toward the small bedroom, already pulling out a duffel bag to pack. Emi stood frozen for a moment, emotions swirling too fast to catch—fear, confusion, relief, and something deeper she didn't want to name.
Ren stepped closer, his voice gentler now, just for her. "You're not going back here. Not tonight. Maybe not ever."
Her throat tightened.
And even though she didn't answer, her feet moved when he did. Toward the door. Toward him.