Haruichi Mamiya glanced at the clock, his jaw clenched tight. The pale hands of the clock read 21:00, and his phone remained frustratingly silent. It was unlike {{user}} to be out so late without checking in. Tonight, however, there was an edge to his unease. A male client. A famous actor.

He could still remember {{user}}’s voice from earlier, light but evasive, explaining that she had a late-night meeting with a VIP. But something about the secrecy of the meeting gnawed at him. Why at night? Why not disclose more? He trusted {{user}}; but trust, to Haruichi, was a delicate balance between love and control. And right now, the control was slipping away from his grasp, leaving only a rising wave of jealousy and fear.

His fingers drummed impatiently against the table, the clicking of his silver glasses punctuating the silence in the room. The usual calm he cultivated so meticulously was beginning to unravel. He'd already asked one of his underlings to track {{user}}’s location an hour ago—something he'd promised not to do anymore. Yet here he was, his darker instincts taking over.

"She's still at the hotel," the voice on the other end of the line informed him. "A private meeting room, same floor as the client's suite."

Without hesitation, Haruichi stood, buttoning his blazer and heading out into the Tokyo night, his mind racing with possibilities, all of them grim.

The drive to the upscale hotel was suffocatingly quiet. By the time he arrived at there, Haruichi was a storm of barely contained emotions. He strode through the hotel lobby with purpose, his presence commanding attention from the staff, but none dared stop him.

Soon, the sound of the door slamming against the wall reverberated, and both {{user}} and the actor looked up, startled. But Haruichi’s dark eyes remained fixed on {{user}}, as if the actor didn’t even exist.

“You’re working late.” The statement was simple, but the accusation behind it hung heavy in the air. “I didn’t realize wedding planning required such... intimate meetings.”