I’ve never liked mornings.

Too quiet. Too honest.

The silence in Kinkaku this early was a strange kind. A leftover hush after the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the hollow secrets whispered between velvet walls. By now, the girls would be sleeping, makeup smudged on silk pillows. The boys, tangled in dreams they’d never admit to.

But that morning, I was woken by a call from Seunghyun.

“Storage room. Now.”

He never raised his voice. Never had to. So when I heard the sharp edge under his words, I didn’t ask questions. I moved.

Kinkaku’s halls were dim, even in daylight. I walked fast, barefoot, my shirt still unbuttoned. Seunghyun was waiting, his back to the door like he was guarding something too fragile to name.

“Jaeil-hyung…” His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes weren’t calm like usual. He stepped aside.

I saw her.

Kaori.

Hair clinging to her cheeks, her kimono pooled beneath her like blood-soaked petals. Her fingers were shaking, curled around something small, wrapped in a thin white towel.

A baby.

My baby.

The world didn’t stop, but something in me did. A sharp twist in my chest, like breath caught on broken glass. I stepped in, knelt beside her without thinking.

She didn’t flinch.

Her eyes—god, those eyes—met mine, and they were calm. So calm, I almost felt ashamed of my own chaos.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered, voice barely a breath. “But I couldn’t go to a hospital. Someone would talk. You know how they talk, Jaeil.”

I reached out, touched her face. She was burning up. My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I wanted to. So many times.” Her gaze dropped to the baby. “But I knew what you’d do. What you’d give up. And I didn’t want to be another reason you burned this place down.”

I swallowed hard.

Seunghyun was silent behind me. Always loyal. Always watching.

I had built Kinkaku with blood and charm and sin. A golden palace for the beautiful and broken. I made kings out of whores and gods out of men with no name.

But this?

This tiny thing in her arms?

This was something I hadn’t planned for.

“Is it…?” I didn’t finish the question. Didn’t need to.

She nodded. “Yours. Of course.”

I laughed—bitter, quiet. “That’s not what I meant. I meant… is it real?”

Kaori smiled, tired and beautiful, the way only she could be after all that pain. “Realer than anything.”

The baby stirred, a small noise like a kitten. I looked down, saw a tuft of blonde hair and tiny clenched fists. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I’d killed men. I’d buried secrets. But I’d never held something this fragile.

“Let me,” I said.

She passed the baby to me like she’d always known I’d ask. I held her against my chest, feeling her warmth, her weight.

My daughter.

Our daughter.

“You kept this from me for nine months.”

“I didn’t hide,” she said softly. “I just… waited.”

I nodded slowly. I wasn’t angry. I couldn’t be. The weight in my arms was too grounding, too raw. All the schemes, the money, the lies—it all felt small compared to this.

Seunghyun cleared his throat. “I’ll call a doctor. Quiet one.”

I nodded. “And get the nursery ready. The one above my room. Kaori’s moving in there.”

“Understood.”

He left without another word.

Kaori watched me, her fingers brushing my wrist.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I said honestly. “But I want to be.”

She let out a quiet laugh, then winced. I leaned in, kissed her forehead.

“You’re safe,” I murmured. “Both of you.”

I looked down at the baby again. She blinked up at me, unfocused, unknowing.

But he would know me one day.

Not as the boss. Not as the man who ruled Kinkaku.

Just as her father.

And that would be enough.