Chapter 48: Choosing Her

POV: Kaito Minami

By morning, the penthouse felt like a foreign country.

Not because anything had changed—everything was immaculate, controlled, in its proper place—but because Hana wasn’t there to soften the edges. No quiet footsteps. No faint clink of cleaning tools. No presence that made the air feel… breathable.

I sat at the dining table with a cup of tea gone cold in my hands and read the reports Sato had compiled overnight.

Photos. Online threads. A map of sightings.

Hana, entering a corner store. Hana, leaving Minami Tower. Hana, waiting at a crosswalk.

The captions were worse than the images.

Who is she?

Mistress? Employee?

How long has this been going on?

Someone had followed her.

Not paparazzi—too careless, too bold. Civilians emboldened by rumor and entitlement.

My jaw tightened until it ached.

“Pull the security request again,” I said quietly.

Sato hesitated. “Sir… we’ve already—”

“Again.”

He did. The answer didn’t change.

Because she was not family. Because she was not officially affiliated. Because providing protection would be interpreted as an admission.

An admission my father was already circling like a blade.

“He’s forcing your hand.”

The voice cut through the room without warning.

I didn’t look up.

“You can’t protect her,” my father continued calmly, as if discussing a market correction. “Not without confirming the narrative. The board won’t allow it. I won’t allow it.”

“I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“You never do.” He stepped closer, gaze sharp. “And that’s the problem.”

I finally met his eyes.

“You’re distracted,” he said. “You’re reckless. And now you’ve involved a civilian in corporate fallout.”

“She didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No,” he agreed. “You did.”

The words landed exactly where he intended them to.

“You will sever contact,” he continued. “Publicly and privately. This ends now.”

“And if I don’t?”

His expression cooled. “Then you will step down from operational control until the situation stabilizes.”

A pause.

“Voluntarily,” he added. “Or otherwise.”

The message was clear.

Choose the company. Or choose her.

I left the building an hour later—not in disgrace, not escorted, but stripped of access in the quiet way that hurt more. Temporary, they called it. Optics. Stability.

I didn’t argue.

Because I already knew the answer.

---

I found her name in my phone without meaning to.

One tap and I could warn her. Tell her to stay inside. Tell her to quit. Tell her to disappear for her own safety.

Tell her I was sorry.

I locked the screen instead.

Every option I had left only put her closer to the fire.

So I did the only thing I could still control.

I sent a message to the agency that employed her.

Please terminate her assignment effective immediately.

Ensure she is compensated fully.

Do not disclose reasons.

It was cruel. Abrupt. Unforgivable.

But it would pull her out of my orbit.

Out of reach of my father. Out of reach of the media. Out of reach of men like Ren Kurosawa.

Out of reach of me.

By evening, confirmation arrived.

Assignment ended. Access revoked.

Clean. Efficient.

I sat alone in the quiet that followed, hands folded, breathing measured, and accepted the truth I had been avoiding since the night I stood beneath a lamppost in her hometown:

Wanting her near me was dangerous.

Loving her—if that was what this was—was worse.

Because everything I touched turned gray.

And Hana deserved color.

Even if it meant I had to disappear from her world entirely.