Chapter 47: When the Noise Finds You

POV: Hana Fujimoto

The morning light felt wrong.

Too sharp. Too exposed.

I noticed it the moment I stepped out of the elevator—how the hallway outside the penthouse felt louder than usual, even though it was silent. How my shoulders tightened before anything had actually happened.

I told myself I was being paranoid.

I had slept lightly on the guest sofa, waking every hour to check on Kaito. His fever had eased by dawn, but he was still pale, still exhausted, still stubbornly insisting he would be fine once he “handled a few things.”

That should have reassured me.

It didn’t.

I tied my apron on with practiced movements and opened my phone to check the time—

—and froze.

My notifications were exploding.

Unknown mentions. Tagged photos. Message requests from people I didn’t know.

My name.

My face.

A headline thumbnail loaded slowly, cruelly:

MINAMI CEO’S “MYSTERY WOMAN” SPOTTED AGAIN — EMPLOYEE OR MORE?

My breath left me in a sharp, shallow exhale.

They had new photos.

Not just the café. Not just the outing.

Photos of me entering Minami Tower. Photos of me leaving late. Photos taken from angles that made my skin crawl—too close, too intentional.

Someone had followed me.

My hands trembled as I locked the screen.

“Hana.”

I flinched at his voice.

Kaito stood in the doorway to the living room, hair still damp from a rushed shower, sleeves rolled but posture rigid. He looked better than last night—but only just. His eyes moved from my face to my phone, and something in his expression hardened instantly.

“They found you,” he said quietly.

I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.

He crossed the room in long strides and took the phone from my hands—not roughly, but decisively. His jaw tightened as he scrolled.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” he said.

“I—I was careful,” I whispered. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t—”

“I know.” His tone softened immediately. “This isn’t your fault.”

But the way his shoulders were set told me something else was wrong.

Before I could ask, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

And for the first time since I’d met him, I saw hesitation flicker across Kaito Minami’s face.

“…I have to take this,” he said.

He stepped away, voice lowering.

I didn’t mean to listen.

I didn’t have to.

His father’s voice carried anyway—cold, sharp, perfectly controlled.

“You’ve allowed this to escalate,” Minami senior said. “Your judgment is compromised.”

“I’m handling it,” Kaito replied evenly.

“No. You’re not.” A pause. “The board agrees.”

My stomach dropped.

“You will distance yourself immediately,” his father continued. “From the woman. From the optics. From the liability.”

“She is not a liability,” Kaito said.

“She is now.”

Silence.

Then, quieter—but somehow worse:

“You are stepping down from active leadership until this resolves.”

I pressed my hand to my mouth.

Kaito didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue.

“…Understood,” he said.

The call ended.

He stood there for a moment longer, phone still to his ear, like he hadn’t quite accepted the weight of what had just happened.

When he turned back to me, his face was calm.

Too calm.

“They’re assigning security to the tower,” he said. “Not to you.”

My chest tightened. “What… what does that mean?”

“It means,” he said carefully, “I no longer have the authority to protect you the way I should.”

The words landed heavier than any headline.

As if the universe wanted to prove his point, my phone buzzed again.

A message from an unknown number.

> You should be careful walking alone.

Another.

> We saw you this morning.

I felt suddenly very small.

Very visible.

“Kaito-san…” My voice shook despite my effort. “People are watching.”

“I know.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“And until this settles,” he continued, voice low, controlled to the point of strain, “any proximity to me will make it worse.”

I stared at him, heart pounding.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t be here.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

That was answer enough.

Outside the windows, I noticed movement—someone across the street, phone raised just a little too deliberately.

I took a step back without thinking.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said. “Or your company. Or—”

“I don’t care about the company right now,” he interrupted.

Our eyes met.

Something fierce, frustrated, and helpless burned behind his composure.

“But I care that you’re safe,” he said. “And right now… I can’t guarantee that.”

The words hurt more than I expected.

Not because they were cruel.

But because they were honest.

“I’ll leave,” I said quietly.

He inhaled sharply.

“Hana—”

“I understand,” I said, forcing myself to stand straighter. “Really. I do.”

I untied my apron slowly, folding it with hands that didn’t quite feel like mine.

This place—this quiet, fragile space we’d shared—already felt like it was slipping out from under my feet.

As I headed for the door, my phone buzzed again.

Another photo.

This one from just seconds ago.

My back. This hallway. This moment.

The noise had found me.

And no matter how close he stood—

I was suddenly very, painfully alone.