CHAPTER 23: THE INVITATION
ANYA'S POV
The door opened.
And just like that—my prediction came true.
Because apparently, my life had decided to stop being a struggle and start being a perfectly scripted disaster.
A man stepped inside. Not one of the regular guards with their stiff suits and "I'm-just-doing-my-job" expressions.
No. This one was different.
Older. Sharper. He was dressed in a way that didn't scream power, but didn't need to. He moved with the quiet, lethal grace of someone who had spent decades burying secrets.
He brought the kind of presence that didn't belong to Kenji. Which meant only one thing.
Oh, great. Upper management has entered the chat.
He didn't look at me first. He looked at Kenji. But this wasn't loyalty or respect. It was assessment—the way a farmer looks at a prize bull to see if it's still worth the feed.
"Young Master Kenji," the man said with a slight, mocking bow. "I bring a message from your father."
The air shifted instantly. Like the atmospheric pressure dropping seconds before a hurricane.
"Speak," Kenji said.
Flat. Controlled. If he was bothered by this intrusion into his sanctuary, he wasn't letting a single spark show.
"Chairman Kaito Tanaka is hosting his birthday gala next weekend," the man said. "At the ancestral estate."
A gala. At the ancestral estate.
Because nothing says "healthy family dynamics" like gathering a bunch of powerful, slightly homicidal relatives in one place to drink wine that costs more than my life.
"A formal gathering," the messenger continued. "Attendance is expected."
Of course it is. "…Chairman Tanaka is also aware of the situation with Young Master Ren."
My fingers paused over my keyboard. Just for a second. Then I forced them to continue.
Typing equals invisible. Invisible equals safe.
"Young Master Ren will be present at the gala," the man added, his voice dropping an octave. "A directive has been issued. There will be no conflict between heirs during the event."
Right. No fighting. Just a bunch of sharks in tuxedos pretending they aren't trying to eat each other under the table.
Then—the man turned.
Toward me.
Oh. No. Absolutely not. I stared so hard at my screen I thought I might actually burn a hole through the pixels. If I don't move, maybe I'll blend into the expensive wood paneling. I am a desk. I am a chair. I am not a person.
"Chairman Tanaka also gave a personal instruction."
Abort. Abort everything.
"'You may bring the girl,'" the man said calmly. "'The one who helped you defeat your older brother.'"
I froze.
I didn't defeat anyone. I was just used as a chess piece by Kenji! I was the pawn he threw onto the board to see which way the wind was blowing. That's not a victory; that's just being a well-positioned sacrifice.
"Chairman Tanaka says he has been meaning to meet her."
That's worse. That is significantly worse. Being "seen" by the head of the Tanaka Syndicate is like being noticed by a Great White Shark while you're bleeding in the water.
"'It would be… disappointing,'" the man finished, "'if you chose not to bring her next weekend.'"
Disappointing. In this world, that word didn't mean a sad face. It meant a shallow grave.
The man stepped forward and handed Kenji a sealed letter. Heavy paper. Blood-red wax. The kind of mail that probably comes with its own body count.
Kenji took it. No reaction. But the temperature in the room plummeted. His jaw tightened—just enough that I saw the corded muscle leap beneath his skin.
The man bowed once more—and left.
The door sealed. Silence returned. Heavy. Sharp.
I looked at Kenji—and immediately regretted it.
His expression wasn't calm anymore. It wasn't loud, but it was focused. Like a hunter who had just realized he wasn't the only one in the woods with a rifle.
"…Are you okay, Kenji?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. My survival instinct clearly has a catastrophic delay.
He didn't look at me immediately. And when he did… it wasn't the same.
Colder. Distant. The man who had just branded my neck was gone, replaced by the Silent Blade.
"Go back to your desk, Anya."
Right. Concern rejected. Emotional support denied.
I stood, clutching his coat around me—the coat that now felt like a target instead of a shield. I turned and walked out of the office, my legs feeling like lead.
Great. I'm being invited to meet the Big Boss. I should probably start preparing my last will and testament. Or at least find out if "Gala" is code for "Sacrificial Altar."
I sat at my desk and opened the system. Because that was safe. Because code didn't try to play god with my life.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I am absolutely not walking into a house full of wolves next weekend.
KENJI'S POV
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned, sharper and more precise than before. I unfolded the letter slowly. Not because I needed time to read it, but because nothing my father sent was ever a mere invitation.
My father didn't send invitations. He sent sentences.
The paper was heavy. Intentional. Every word placed with the cold precision of a blueprint for a burial.
"She helped you defeat your older brother."
Not an assumption. A confirmation.
Information had reached the ancestral estate faster than I had anticipated. My father's spies were deep within my own walls, and they had already reported the scent of a new variable.
I stepped away from the desk. The one-way glass reflected nothing—contained, controlled. But beyond it, Anya was visible. She was typing, her shoulders hunched, trying to shrink into the shadows.
She doesn't realize that in my world, the shadows are where the teeth are.
The ancestral estate is a mausoleum of debts that haven't been paid yet. And Ren? My brother is a shark in shallow water, and he's looking for a reason to bite.
Bringing her is exposure.
Not bringing her is a confession of weakness.
If I refuse, my father will dig until he finds the nerve I'm trying to protect. I have to bring her—but I cannot bring her as she is.
If she is to walk through those gates, I have to strip away the girl from the North District and leave something the Tanaka wolves won't recognize as prey. I don't protect what I can't control, and by next weekend, I will make her a constant that even my father can't solve.
I watched her through the glass. She thinks the office was a war.
She has no idea that at the ancestral estate, survival isn't a victory. It's a delay.