Chapter 39: Days of Faded Grays

POV: Kaito Minami

Day One without her felt… manageable.

I told myself it was temporary.
Necessary.
A calculated distance.

Day Two became an irritation.

Her absence crept into small, inconvenient places—empty pauses between meetings, the untouched cup of coffee across the table, the silence of my phone when I checked it without thinking.

By Day Three, irritation turned into something dangerously close to unraveling.

Day Three

Sleep had become a theory—something other people experienced.

I existed in a loop:
Black coffee before dawn,
A car ride filled with muted news reports,
Glass-walled boardrooms that smelled faintly of polish and tension.

I spoke. I listened. I decided.

Then I repeated it all again.

The scandal should have died quickly.

A single photo of me with a woman?
Ordinary executives survived worse without blinking.

But timing was everything.
The angle.
The proximity.
The fact that she was unidentified.

He’s dating?
Who is she?
Is she an employee?
Was this during work hours?
Is this a conflict of interest?

Speculation moved faster than facts.

So I crushed it methodically.

Statements revised three times before noon.
Timelines cross-checked.
Legal consulted.
Security tightened.
Internal communications scrubbed for careless phrasing.

By afternoon, rival companies began circling, eager to twist ambiguity into leverage. By evening, investors demanded reassurance that the company—and its heir—remained stable.

My father demanded results.

Through all of it, I wore the same expression:
calm,
unmoved,
unbothered.

As if she were not threading herself through my thoughts whenever the room went quiet.

Day Four

Morning boardroom.
Shareholder call.
Internal compliance review.
Another boardroom.
Phone briefing with overseas partners.

Lunch was eaten standing.
Dinner was forgotten entirely.

In between, there was silence— the kind that pressed against my ears once the doors closed and the assistants stopped speaking.

Sato placed another stack of reports in front of me, his movements careful, as if sudden noise might shatter something fragile.

“You should rest for at least an hour, Minami-sama.”

“I’ll rest when this is resolved.”

He lingered.
A rare hesitation.

“…And when she returns?”

I looked up sharply.

He stiffened. “My apologies. That was inappropriate.”

But the words remained, suspended in the air between us.

When she returns.

I had no answer.
Not for him.
Not for myself.

I dismissed him with a nod. When the door clicked shut, the room felt larger—and emptier—than it should have.

My hand moved to my phone before I thought better of it.

Her last message remained unchanged.

I arrived safely. Thank you.

I had read it too many times.
Counted the words.
Memorized the punctuation.

I never replied.
I couldn’t.

Because if I started—
Are you eating properly?
Are you sleeping?
Do you feel lonely?

—I wouldn’t stop.

I had sent her away to protect her.
Harassing her from a distance would only prove how selfish I truly was.

So I placed the phone face-down.

And tried to breathe.

Day Five

I skimmed a report I wasn’t actually seeing when my father entered the office.

No knock.
He never knocked.

“You look terrible,” he said flatly.

“So do you,” I replied, eyes still on the page. His suit was immaculate, as always.

He ignored it. “The noise online is quieting. Investors are appeased. By next week, this will be forgotten.”

“Good.”

“But you’ve been distracted.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

“You should not allow a temporary inconvenience to cloud your judgment,” he continued. “Focus is your currency. Do not spend it foolishly.”

He meant her.

I didn’t react.

Instead, I turned a page. “The situation will be resolved before she returns.”

Silence.

Just long enough.

“She?”
His voice sharpened, precise as a blade.

I didn’t look up. “No one of importance.”

A lie.
One he chose not to dissect.

He left without another word.

Only after the door shut did I realize my jaw ached from clenching it.

Day Six

Three hours of sleep stretched across three days left my vision edged in white.
Lights were too bright.
Voices slightly delayed.

Still, the machine finally stabilized.

Rumors dwindled.
Leaks sealed.
Internal friction smoothed.
Stock projections leveled into something predictable again.

I allowed myself a single moment of relief.

Then my phone lit up.

Her name.

My breath stalled.

Not a call.
Not a message.

A story update.

A quiet photo—her hometown street dusted in snow, captured from an upstairs window. Warm lights glowed behind wooden rooftops. The world looked slower there. Softer.

Untouched by glass towers and public scrutiny.

Untouched by me.

My thumb hovered over her name.

One tap.
One message.
One crack in the wall I’d built.

Are you warm?
Are you resting?
Do you miss—

I locked the screen.

Not yet.

Not until everything was safe.
Not until the world forgot.
Not until she could return without fear—

—and I could look at her without wondering how close I’d come to dragging her into something she never asked for.