Chapter 3: The Weight of Watching

The party was still going when I went back inside.

Crystal. Strings. People in suits that cost more than cars.

“Young master Y/N!”

“Welcome home!”

Hands on my shoulders. Glasses in my face.

I nodded. I smiled. I did everything I was trained to do.

I didn’t look for him.

I didn’t have to.

I felt him the second I stepped into the main hall.

Like heat. Like pressure.

Like the room had tilted two degrees and everyone else just hadn’t noticed yet.

Izana was by the bar.

Black shirt. Sleeves rolled up. No jacket.

He wasn’t drinking. He was just watching.

Not the room. Not the speeches.

Me.

Every time I turned, he was already looking.

When I talked to my father’s business partner, his eyes tracked my hands.

When I laughed at something my mother said, his jaw ticked.

When I reached for water, he was already holding out a glass.

One of his men placed it in my hand.

“From Kurokawa-sama,” he murmured, and walked away.

I didn’t drink it.

Dinner was worse.

Long table. White tablecloth. Twenty people.

My seat was at the head, next to my father.

Izana’s seat was at the other end.

He didn’t speak once.

But his eyes never left me.

Not when the servers came.

Not when my father toasted “to the future of Y/N Holdings.”

Not when someone asked if I was seeing anyone.

“Y/N is focused on work,” my mother answered quickly.

Across the table, Izana set his glass down.

The sound was small. The room went quiet anyway.

After dinner, people lingered.

I tried to.

“Walk with me,” a voice said behind me.

Izana.

He wasn’t asking.

He was already walking toward the terrace doors.

And I was already following.

The terrace was cold.

Tokyo lights below us. No one else out here.

He leaned against the railing. Hands in his pockets again.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

“You look tired,” he said finally.

“I am.”

“Seven years is a long time to be tired.”

I looked at him. “You look different.”

“I am different.”

A beat.

“Do you like it?”

The question was soft. Dangerous.

I didn’t answer.

He turned to face me fully then.

Close. Too close.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “But I’m not waiting another seven years to hear it.”

My breath caught.

“Iz—”

“White moon.”

He said it like he was testing it. Like he was afraid I’d flinch.

I didn’t.

His hand came up. Hovered near my cheek. Didn’t touch.

“You can go back inside,” he said quietly. “To your party. To your company.”

A pause.

“Or you can stay out here. With me.”

The door behind us opened.

One of my father’s aides. “Young master. They’re asking for you.”

I looked at Izana.

He didn’t move. Didn’t push.

Just waited.

I stepped back inside.

But I could still feel his eyes on me.

And I knew, with a certainty that scared me, that the night wasn’t over.

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