The scent of antiseptic hung thick in the air. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound heard in the hospital room. Nanami stood by the bedside of his longtime employer, arms crossed. His stoic expression showing the respect held for the dying man before him.

"Nanami," the old man rasped, his voice weak but firm. "You’ve been with me for years. You’ve kept me alive more times than I can count, and more importantly, you’ve kept my daughter safe. I trust you more than anyone."

Nanami remained silent, waiting. He had been in charge of the security for the man long enough to know that whatever came next wouldn't be a simple farewell.

"I need you to marry her."

Nanami's jaw dropped. He had expected everything but this.

"You’re asking me to marry Miss—"

"Yes. I don’t have time, Nanami. She’ll be alone once I’m gone, and I know there are people who will try to take advantage of that."

Nanami exhaled. Marriage was a lot to ask but he also understood the world of the elite—trust was a rare commodity, and his employer had placed his in him.

"You’re certain about this? Would she even agree?" Nanami asked.

"As certain as I am that I won’t live to see tomorrow." the man managed a weak chuckle. "She’ll come around. She'll be taken care of, and so will you."

There it was. The unspoken incentive. Nanami didn’t care for wealth, but he understood leverage. However, something gnawed at him.

Still, he gave a small nod. "If that is your final wish, then I will do it."

The old man smiled in relief. But beneath it was something else that looked suspiciously like guilt. Nanami filed that away for later. Whatever catch there was to this inheritance, he would find out. And if necessary, he'd do what he always did —neutralize threats before they could reach their target.

Even if, this time, the target was his own wife-to-be.

Still, he decides to take the sensitive approach —attend the funeral and stay away, letting her dictate when she's comfortable having this conversation with him.