"Whispers of desire"

February 4th, 2026

In a four-star restaurant in Minato City - 8:20 PM

The evening skyline of Tokyo glistened as the city buzzed with life, lights shimmering in the distance like stars fallen to earth. At the rooftop of a lavish, members-only restaurant towering above Minato City, Sakura Himura sat poised with elegance.

Clad in a crimson silk dress that flowed like liquid fire, she exuded grace and quiet dominance. Her polished presence commanded the round marble table, yet tonight, her mind was elsewhere.

Around her sat the city's most elite: a fashion mogul from Osaka, a defense contractor from Kyoto, the heiress of a tech empire, and a CEO known for making enemies disappear as much as making profits.

Together, they were untouchable - Japan's real shadow court. Crystal wine glasses clinked as they reminisced, laughed, and spoke of investments and scandals with playful cruelty.

"And how was your trip to Los Angeles, Sakura? The States treat you well?" asked one woman, an heiress, raising an arched brow over her diamond-encrusted lenses.

Sakura gave a small, polite smile. "Pleasant. We toured Hollywood, Malibu... some business meetings, of course. The usual." She sipped her cabernet sauvignon, the taste rich but unsatisfying.

"And Shinjo?" chimed in the defense contractor. "Still kicking?"

"Barely. He's sick. Terminal," she said, her voice flat but composed.

"Ah... that's unfortunate." There was a moment of genuine sympathy, quickly masked by the chattering of another story. The conversation carried on, yet Sakura grew quieter.

She stared into the wine glass like it held the answers to the storm in her mind. The heiress noticed the silence.

"You're far too quiet tonight, Sakura," she teased. "What's got you so tangled? Your husband's illness? Or something else?"

Sakura remained still. The glint in her dark hazelnut eyes shifted slightly, like the reflection of firelight dancing. She swirled the wine in her glass, the color catching the light like blood.

"I was surprised this morning," she said finally.

"Surprised? How so?" The heiress leaned in, curiosity piqued.

"I didn't know Shinjo had a son."

The table hushed. The words fell with a quiet finality.

"A son?" The defense contractor blinked. "You mean a child you never met? How old is he?"

"He looked around mid-twenties."

"And what's he like?" The heiress pressed, her gossip senses tingling.

Sakura took another sip before she continued. Her voice grew distant, like she was speaking to the air instead of the people in front of her.

"He's... not what I expected. He doesn't look Japanese. Tall, Light blonde hair, eyes like pale silver fire. A soldier's posture, but his presence… magnetic. He walked into the house, and for a second, I forgot where I was."

There was laughter around the table.

"Sakura! You're not serious. You sound like a schoolgirl."

"That's literally not right," said the heiress, half-joking, half-worried. "He could be your stepson."

"I know," Sakura replied quietly.

"You sure Shinjo didn't tell you because he knew you'd think this way?" The defense contractor teased, trying to keep it light. "Come on, we all know you have a thing for dangerous men."

Sakura said nothing more. The teasing faded, replaced by awkward laughter and quickly changed topics. But the mood had shifted.

Dinner dragged. Time crawled like syrup. An hour later, dessert was served, but Sakura barely touched her delicate crème brûlée. Her mind was replaying a single image on loop: Ray Shigeyoshi. His cold eyes, his calm demeanor, the slight edge of trauma and strength that shaped his soul.

Eventually, the dinner concluded. With practiced grace, Sakura excused herself, bowing politely. Outside, the chill Tokyo air greeted her. Her Rolls Royce Phantom waited, and her driver, a poised woman in a dark suit, opened the door for her.

"Where to, Himura-sama?"

"Not home. To the hospital."

"Understood."

Sakura stepped into the luxurious leather interior and pulled out her diamond-studded phone. She stared at the screen for a moment before tapping a secure number.

The call connected, a distorted voice answered. A shadow broker.

"Well, well. This is rare. What can I do for you, Ms. Himura?"

"I want everything you can find on a man. I don't know his full name. But he's the son of my husband. Shinjo Shigeyoshi. Photos, military records, associates, blood type, past lovers, family ties. All of it."

The distorted voice chuckled darkly. "That's unusual of you. Normally, you don't need to pay to learn about someone."

"Just get it done. I don't care how much it costs."

"Very well. You'll have a file by sunrise."

The line went dead. Sakura put her phone down and let her head lean back against the seat.

Outside, the city passed in a blur of color and noise. But inside the car, it was silent.

She closed her eyes. Ray's voice echoed in her mind. The way he looked at her with suspicion but no fear. The way he carried himself, like a man who had seen too much and yet still stood straight.

He was a mystery. And Sakura had always been drawn to mysteries.

"Who are you really, my husband's son?" she whispered to herself.

The car cruised through the streets, headlights carving a path into the night.

Something had been awoken in her. Something dangerous.

Something worse than love and lust.

She didn't know what would come of this new feeling - but she was no stranger to forbidden cravings. The real question was how far she would go.

The chauffeur glanced in the rearview mirror. "Everything alright, Himura-sama?"

Sakura slowly opened her eyes.

"Yes. Just... thinking."

The car sped toward the hospital, the night deepening, as somewhere in the shadows, the first ripples of a storm began to form.