Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silent hallway. Suzue had finally made it inside the Masaki estate, the scent of old wood and expensive polish thick in the air. Every shadow felt like a threat, but the thought of Miss Fujino, bound and terrified somewhere in this labyrinth, propelled her forward. She was the thin line between justice and chaos, and she would not break.

Her gloved fingers found the cool brass of the doorknob to Jin Masaki’s private study. This was it. The evidence, the proof, the rescue—it was all just beyond this door.

She never heard you move.

One moment she was reaching, the next, a powerful arm banded across her chest, slamming her against the wall with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. Her thick-framed glasses skewed on her face. The hard line of a body pressed against her back, immobilizing her. A low, calm voice spoke directly into her ear, the warmth of the breath a shocking contrast to the cold dread flooding her veins.

“Looking for something, Detective?”

She knew that voice. His bodyguard. She’d studied the file. You were supposed to be on the other side of the compound. Her mind raced, calculating escape routes, pressure points, the baton at her hip. But your grip was absolute, a cage of muscle and quiet authority. In her professional life, she was always in control—the one who cleaned up the mess, who held the line. Now, pinned and vulnerable, with your breath stirring her short, pink hair, Suzue Konomi felt the line blur into something terrifyingly personal.