Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Because it was.
Writing was my religion.
But this pen?
It wasn’t a collector’s item.
This was a masterpiece.
Custom-forged. Hand-engraved. The black amber resin alone would have cost a fortune, not to mention the gold detailing or the fucking dragon nib with ruby eyes.
For me, this pen was more sacred than any diamond.
Kenji didn’t just walk into a store and buy this. No. This was a backroom commission. Quiet phone calls. Under-the-table strings pulled. Money that didn’t get discussed, just wired.
I swallowed hard.
This pen. . .the ink. . .even the box. . .easily cost tens of thousands.
"The ink is handmade too,” He spoke like he hadn’t completely wrecked me. “I was told that it dries nearly black, but under candlelight it glows purple. I thought you would like the duality, but I can have them—"
"Kenji. . .this is perfect. It’s all. . .perfect. It’s. . ." I made sure to not blink, too embarrassed to let myself show tears. “No one has ever given me something like this before. Forget the fact that it is expensive and luxurious, but this says. . .”
He studied me. “What does it say, Tora?”
“It says, ‘I see you and I love every part.’”
“That Tora is an understatement. I more than see you and because of that. . .I want to spoil you. I went around Paris searching for the right pen just to tell you that I am amazed and impressed with your writing career, but. . .I couldn’t find anything that deserved your hands.”
A sob hit my throat so fast I had to clutch the pen tighter just to ground myself.
“So I had one built and even still. . .I’m not sure it is enough.”
“It is enough.” Tears pressed against my lashes.
He must have seen them because he leaned forward and kissed each eye, stealing away my tears.
And in that moment, with the chopper slicing through the night, and a chaotic Tokyo leaving us, I didn’t just feel protected.
I felt chosen.
And that terrified me more than any oncoming war.
Chapter six
The Hidden Island
Nyomi
The flight blurred after that.
I remember the steady thrum of the blades above us, twisting into a lullaby of metal and wind.
Kenji’s huge hand held mine. His palm was warm. Our fingers remained threaded together.
Within comfortable silence, I watched the veins on the back of his hand and the way his thumb moved in slow, unconscious circles over my hand.
I couldn’t imagine all the things that were on his mind. What did it truly mean for him to go to war with his own father? How much would he gain and how much would he lose?
I caught the way his jaw tightened. I knew enough about father wounds to understand that even justified rage still didn’t set one free. Sometimes it shackled a person’s heart and mind even tighter.
I leaned against his shoulder, and his body was all steel and calm. The ache behind my ribs deepened for him.
Twenty minutes later, we landed under moonlight. The rotor blades slowed with a long metallic groan. The sky outside the window was a deep black. Stars scattered across darkness. When the wheels touched down, a soft jolt traveled through the floor and up our bodies.
Kenji’s hand tightened on mine just slightly.
Eye One rose and opened the door.
A gust of wind swept in—clean, wild, and laced with salt. It kissed my cheeks and lifted strands of my hair.
Kenji unlatched my seatbelt with one hand, never letting go of the other. His gaze flicked down to my lips, and then back to my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I said, but the word felt too small for what was happening inside me.
He undid his seat belt.
Then, together we rose to our feet and headed to the door.
He helped me down like a gentleman from another century, palm bracing my lower back, fingertips grazing the curve of my waist. His touch was careful and romantic.
The cool wind was stronger on the landing pad. It tangled in my hair and tugged at the hem of my cape. Salt hung faint in the air.
We stood at the top of a narrow marble path, flanked by torches burning blue and gold.
The island loomed, surrounding us with the sound of crashing waves against the shoreline and the gentle rustle of trees.
As Kenji guided me forward, I didn’t see much at first—just the sharp glint of marble steps, a black waterfall cascading in the distance, trees that looked too symmetrical to be wild, and silhouettes of armed men along the edge of a cliff.
But even in the dark, I could feel the grandeur of this place.
Kenji’s voice broke the spell. “This island belonged to my mother.”
I turned toward him.
“She kept this place a secret from my father. Somehow, she managed to hold onto it her entire life without my brother Jobon or I knowing.”
“How did she get this island?”