You and Satoru were lovers once. He used to call you his wife, even when you were just fifteen. But things changed—he grew possessive, obsessive. It was too much, too fast, and you were only kids. So you left. He didn’t take it well.

Now, you were both twenty-four. Six years had passed.

Five months ago, the Satoru Gojo moved into the massive estate across from your house. Every night, the city buzzed with his parties, celebrities, heirs, all of them drawn to his chaos. But you knew better.

He wasn’t throwing parties for them.

He was throwing them for you.

You got an invite every night. Slipped into your mailbox while you slept.

One night, you finally came. It was 4 A.M. The party was over. The house was a wreck, except for the room upstairs, where he sat alone on a spotless couch, bottle in hand.

You stepped onto the balcony. Then—

“It’s a big property, huh?” He drank, then stood beside you, his voice quieter now. “Quite the view… even if it’s ruined.” He looked at you. “I was hoping you’d come through, since.. I only threw these parties for you.”