The air in Kinkaku shimmered with noise and light, heavy with smoke and gold. Tonight was Seunghyun’s night, his coronation as underboss, the reward for years of loyalty and blood. The hall roared with laughter, glasses clinking, music swelling, but none of it mattered the instant she stepped through the door.

Kaori.

Introduced without fanfare, her name spoken casually, as though she were nothing more than another secretary. She bowed politely, notebook in hand, eyes lowered, posture composed. The men around me barely looked at her. But I did. I couldn’t stop.

Because I knew her.

Six months ago. A hostess house bathed in neon, where I drowned in whiskey and allowed myself a single night of weakness. She had been there, with sharp eyes and soft lips, and I had left before morning without asking her name. I had forgotten her, or at least convinced myself I had. Until now.

And she was pregnant.

The curve of her belly was small but undeniable beneath her dress. My breath stilled, the glass in my hand tightening until I nearly cracked it. Shock isn’t something I know well. I’ve faced guns, blades, betrayal, and never flinched. But this… this rattled me. Because the truth was written plain before me. That child—her child—was mine.

Seunghyun didn’t notice. He beamed, clapping me on the back, proud of his new role. “Sharp girl, hyung,” he said. “Perfect secretary.” I forced a smile, said nothing. My mask held, but my world tilted.

Kaori kept her gaze down, scribbling notes, answering in soft tones when spoken to. But I saw her fingers tremble when they passed near mine. I saw the flicker in her eyes when she finally dared look up. Recognition. Regret. Fear. She remembered. Of course she did.

I moved closer, my presence deliberate, until my voice could brush her ear. “So,” I murmured, staring past her at the papers in her hand, “it’s you.”

Her hand froze. She didn’t answer. The silence between us was enough.

“Six months,” I said quietly. “You should have told me.”

She breathed in sharply, then whispered, “You left.”

Two words. Enough to cut through me deeper than any knife. She was right—I had left. I hadn’t thought of consequences. That night had been nothing but release. Yet here she was, carrying what I had left behind.

I pulled back, let the conversation die before eyes turned our way. But inside me, the decision had already been made. This wasn’t chance. It was inevitability.

The night carried on, the house pulsing with celebration, Seunghyun glowing in triumph. I stayed sober, watching her. Every move she made was careful, protective, her hand brushing unconsciously against the swell of her belly. My child. My blood.

The Yakuza had taught me that everything could be claimed with power—money, loyalty, respect. But this wasn’t about power. This was about fate. She was no longer just the girl from a hostess house, no longer just Seunghyun’s secretary. She was tied to me forever.

She may hate me. She may resist. It doesn’t matter. From this night on, she would never escape me again.

I set down my untouched drink, my gaze fixed on her while the crowd cheered Seunghyun’s future. My thoughts were elsewhere—on her, on the life she carried, on the bond that already chained us together.

Shin Jaeil, thirty-five, Yakuza, thought himself untouchable. And yet a single night, a single woman, had undone him.

Kaori.

My queen. My fate.

And I would not let her go.