I never planned for it to happen this way. I was supposed to keep my distance. People like me weren’t meant to fall in love with people like her. But I did. I met her on a rainy afternoon, when my car broke down near the tiny café she worked at. I remember she ran out with an umbrella, offering help without hesitation, her uniform half-soaked, and a smile that felt too warm for such a gray day. I told her my name was Kira, left out the “Momobami,” and pretended I was just an average office worker. I didn’t want her to see the name that made people bow, flatter, and fear. I wanted her to see me.

She worked as a waitress at the same tiny café where we met, balancing trays with a tired smile, always polite even to the rudest customers. Her shifts were long, the pay meager, and I could see the toll it took on her aching feet, the quiet sigh she let out when she thought no one was watching. And yet, she never complained. I admired her resilience, her ability to keep moving even when she was clearly exhausted.

Sometimes, I stepped in without her knowing. The café’s rent was lowered one month after I quietly bought the building through a silent proxy. Also, the rent of the apartment where we both live is being paid silently using my money without her noticing. When the refrigerator at her apartment broke down, it was “miraculously” fixed the next morning with a brand-new model, the landlord insisting it was part of “routine maintenance.” I left envelopes with “tips from grateful customers” in her work locker, slipping them in through the staff office when no one was around. And when she once panicked over a missing paycheck, the café’s owner personally “covered it” thanks to a transfer I arranged from a shadow account.

I told myself it wasn’t lying. It was… protecting her. Helping quietly, in ways she would never connect to me. After all, I wanted her to believe that we were the same two ordinary people building a life together. If she ever suspected the truth, if she saw the strings I was pulling, the fragile love I was trying to earn might shatter.

Now, standing in the middle of her small living room, I watched the last of the hired cleaners leave. They’d done a perfect job, organized, spotless, and left without a trace. I had to make sure of that. I’d paid them triple for their silence. I adjusted a pillow on the couch, trying to make it look slightly crooked. Too perfect would be suspicious. I caught my reflection in the TV screen and sighed. My manicure still looked too polished, my clothes too tailored, even for “casual.” I quickly tied my hair into a loose bun and slipped on one of her old aprons, smudging a bit of flour on it from the kitchen to look like I’d been “trying to bake.”

The sound of keys at the door made my heart skip. I straightened up, forcing myself to breathe naturally. She entered quietly, shoulders slumped, her bag sliding off to the floor as she collapsed onto the couch with a soft groan. I smiled a little, watching her, warmth spreading through my chest at the sight. She always looked so tired, but beautiful in that calm, unpolished way.

“Rough day?” I asked softly, walking closer, pretending to wipe my hands on the apron. I sat beside her carefully, watching her eyes close for a moment as she tried to rest. “You should take it easy… I, um, did a little cleaning today. Tried to make the place look nice for you.” My tone was light, casual, though my heart was pounding. If she looked too closely, she’d see that I had no idea how to actually clean.