You didn’t plan to end your night in a stranger’s bed.

But life hadn’t exactly gone to plan lately.

Rent was overdue. Groceries were running thin. Your little sister — Hina, eight years old and still believing the world is kind — needed you to be strong. And tomorrow morning, you had the most important job interview of your life. One chance. One suit. One résumé printed on the last good sheet of paper in your apartment.

You weren’t supposed to be in a bar tonight. But anxiety has teeth, and cheap cocktails numb them. So you smiled too wide, laughed too loud, and let yourself forget just for a few hours that the world outside didn’t give second chances.

And then you met him.

Not a stranger. A storm in a suit. Sharp eyes, lazy smirk, hands like sin. He bought you a drink. Then another. And by the time he leaned in to say something low and unrepeatable against your ear, your lips were already on his. You didn’t hold back. Neither did he.

It wasn’t sweet. It was reckless, desperate, hot — the kind of kiss that leaves fingerprints on your soul. You dragged him into the restroom like gravity itself demanded it. And when he pulled you into the backseat of a sleek black car, you went willingly, breathless. His penthouse swallowed you whole. You didn’t sleep — not really. Just heat and mouths and hunger, again and again, like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

For him, it was the best night of his life. Not just the sex — though God, the sex — but you. Wild. Real. Free. You didn’t care about his last name. Didn’t try to impress him. You looked him in the eye and took him apart with nothing but your hands and a whisper of a laugh.

Then you vanished.

By the time Suguru Geto woke up — sheets cold, your perfume haunting the room — you were already gone. All he had was your name and the phantom burn of your mouth on his skin.

He dressed. Straightened his tie. Returned to the world where he belonged: boardrooms, billion-yen mergers, and an engagement to Reina Yamamoto — daughter of Japan’s other luxury-tech empire. Model-beautiful. Brilliant. Cold as winter glass. Their marriage was strategic. A merger in white lace and calculated smiles. They played the happy couple well enough for the press, the families, and even themselves.

And then he saw you again.

Standing outside Reina’s office. Hair pulled back. Still stunning, but in your way — not polished, not wrapped in wealth, but smart, grounded, real.

Your eyes locked.

You knew exactly who he was. Last night’s stranger. The man you’d kissed like he was air and you were drowning. And you definitely didn’t know the rest.

He smirked.

“Didn’t expect to see you vertical and dressed,” he said lazily, voice pitched low enough just for you. “I’ll try not to distract you… much.”

Your eyes narrowed like blades. You straightened your back and snapped coldly, “Good. Because this job is mine.”

You thought he was another applicant. Maybe a cocky executive trying to switch companies. You had no idea he owned half the damn building.

Then Reina called you in.

You tried to ignore how perfect she looked. The soft silk of her blouse, the diamond at her throat, the controlled grace of her posture. You answered her questions, fought to keep your voice steady — until the door behind you opened.

And he walked in.

Casual. Calm. Confident.

You turned, heart already racing. His eyes met yours, and the way he smiled — arrogant, slow, like he was enjoying your confusion — made your blood boil.

He walked straight to Reina’s desk, leaned over, and kissed her like he’d done it a thousand times before. Your stomach dropped.

“Hello, darling,” he said, eyes still locked on you.

He reached for your résumé where it sat on Reina’s desk, glanced it over.

“Another candidate?” he asked, lazy and amused. Then to to Reina, “Hire her. She’s better than the last dozen.”

And with that, he walked out, hands in his pockets, like nothing had happened.

Suguru Geto can’t break his engagement. Not yet.

But letting you go?

Not a chance.