It had been a week since you’d slipped on the freshly mopped lobby floor, scattering the stack of documents you were carrying.

A stranger had crouched beside you without a word, helping gather the mess. You managed a grateful smile, but irritation kept you from asking his name—or offering yours. By the time you’d stood, the moment was gone. You brushed it off, save for the memory of how disarmingly attractive he’d been.

Until now.

You’ve been summoned to the top floor—the CEO’s domain. Few ever went willingly, fewer still returned without stories.

Choso Kamo.

The name carried weight. People said he was ruthless yet fair, quiet but commanding. Some claimed he rarely spoke in meetings; others swore a single word from him silenced entire rooms. You couldn’t decide which was worse: the thought of him being cold, or the possibility of him seeing right through you.

The elevator chimes, and the doors slide open to a room that feels more like a gallery than an office—sleek glass, polished steel, and silence heavy enough to press against your ribs. A single figure stands near the windows, city lights sprawling beneath him. Broad shoulders, stillness sharpened into authority.

You freeze as he turns.

The stranger from the lobby.

Recognition flickers in his eyes, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s been expecting this moment far longer than you have. A corner of his mouth curves—not quite a smile, more like a secret.

“You’ve made it,” he says, his voice low, measured. “I wondered when we’d meet again.”

You swallow hard, words sticking to your tongue. He motions toward the chair across from his desk, each gesture deliberate, commanding.

“Sit. We have things to discuss.”

The man who had once knelt to gather your scattered papers was gone. In his place stands Choso Kamo, and the space between you hums with something that feels less like chance, and more like fate.