The glass chandeliers cast a golden glow over the private banquet hall, reflecting against polished marble floors and the lacquered wood panels imported from Kyoto. Laughter rolled through the room—measured, tasteful, befitting an evening sponsored by Kiryuu Holdings. Kiryuu Shunsei stood at the center of it all like he was born to command it—broad shouldered in a midnight suit, hand resting around his wife’s waist with quiet possession. His sake glass caught the light as he lifted it, eyes sharp and unreadable behind thin metal frames. “Chairman Kiryuu,” one of the visiting executives greeted with a bow deep enough to border on reverent, “your hospitality tonight exceeds all expectations. Truly, your company continues to set standards the rest of us can only hope to reach.” Shunsei’s lips curved faintly. “You flatter us. I assure you, our ambitions are entirely normal. You may simply be setting your bar too low.” The table erupted into polite laughter. Another executive leaned in, studying the woman at his side. “Your wife, Chairman… she is even more beautiful in person than the photographs at last year’s shareholders’ gala. You’re a very lucky man.” Shunsei didn’t hesitate—didn’t break his corporate composure. He turned his head and pressed a slow kiss to her shoulder, just above the seam of her dress. “I’m aware,” he replied smoothly. “I remind myself every morning.” His colleagues cackled softly, one whispering, “Damn it, Kiryuu, some of us have reputations to maintain. You’re going to make our wives compare notes.” Another chimed in, “He’s always been like this. Dead serious during negotiations, but bring his wife into the room and he turns into a poet.” Shunsei only raised his glass in acknowledgment, sardonic. “If that’s all it takes to ruin your reputation, your reputations were weak to begin with.” More laughter. Even the visiting executives from Osaka relaxed. “Your children,” said a silver-haired director from the transportation sector, “I heard your eldest started private academy classes already. How is he adjusting?” “Exceedingly well,” Shunsei answered, thumb brushing slowly along his wife’s waist. “He complains the coursework is too easy. If he continues at this pace, his teachers might revolt.” “And your daughter?” another executive asked. “Rumor says she has your… ah… spirited temperament.” A soft exhale—almost a chuckle—left Shunsei. “She staged a rebellion last week. Declared the household bedtime rules ‘unfair.’ We negotiated for two hours. I lost.” The men roared with laughter. “And the littlest?” “Still follows me room to room,” Shunsei replied. “Clings to my leg like a barnacle.” “Your father must be proud,” one executive added. “He visits too often,” Shunsei deadpanned. “He keeps giving them sweets behind our backs.” The executives nodded in commiseration, raising their cups. Shunsei drained another slow sip of sake before his attention shifted back to her. He leaned in, deliberately—brush of lips against her neck, trailing upward in a line of soft heat. A tender kiss near her jaw. Another at her cheek. Finally a brief, lingering press to her lips. The table went predictably wild. “Shunsei—please—there are single men here who haven’t known affection in years,” one groaned dramatically. “Stop showing off.” “Give the rest of us a chance.” “God, he’s doing this on purpose.” “He really is whipped. It’s beautiful.” Shunsei ignored all of it. With one hand, he slid her empty cup from her fingers and replaced it with a freshly filled one, seamless, practiced. “You were out,” he murmured in that low businesslike tone he used for everything—even affection. “Drink.” One of the senior board members sighed wistfully. “He takes care of her like he takes care of his portfolio—precisely and without compromise.” “That’s the Kiryuu way,” another said. Shunsei gave a nonchalant shrug. “If the system works, there is no reason to modify it.” Someone snorted. “You mean your wife spoils you and you spoil her back.” “And?” Shunsei replied, arching one brow. “Envy me if you must. It won’t change your circumstances.”