𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄{Ran H.}

Spilled Drinks & Sparks

Chapter: one

SPILLED DRINKS & SPARKS

As Lana Minatozaki walks down the deserted corridors of Haneda Airport, the heels echo off the walls as she presses her mobile to her ear: her father's familiar distance and condescension on the other end.

"Lana, we talked about this. The Minatozaki name brings a lot of responsibility attached to it; you shouldn't be behaving like a brat anymore.".

Lana's fingers closed around her phone in a viselike grip. Responsibilities. The word, the same one she had heard her whole life. It choked the passion right out of modeling. She could hear judgment dripping in his tone, as if all her achievements were for nothing.

Her performance in the last fashion week was criticized by the media, and that was all her father cared about: perfection.

You don't understand, do you?" he broke out. "This is the reputation of the family. You are a part of it, so you must uphold it. We cannot have a failure among our ranks.".

Lana pulled her phone back, cutting the call without a word. She couldn't listen to his voice tonight. Not tonight. She jerked her phone deep into her bag, chest tight with frustration. Here she'd come back to Tokyo for the peace in her head, yet it seems impossible to outrun it.

Layla Minatozaki let her mobile phone fall onto the passenger seat of the sleek black car, her father's harsh words ringing in her ears. The argument had left her drained—yet another clash over her career and the pressures of being a Minatozaki. She leaned back, eyes shut, the car pulling away from Haneda Airport.

Too much on her head: anxiety over her recent runway performance at Fashion Week, the constant obsession with maintaining her image, and also the unrelenting pressure from fans and critics alike. She was exhausted, mentally and physically.

She managed to make it inside the penthouse only just before she fell full-length on her bed. She fell asleep almost immediately. However, it didn't last. She sprang up in fright, feeling a glance at the clock on her bedside table: 12:00 a.m.

Groaning, she sat up. She had dozed off for hours and was now wide awake. The penthouse was stiflingly silent, the weight of her thoughts looming over her from all directions.

She had to get out of there—had to breathe.

An hour passed, and Layla was standing in front of her full-length mirror. She dabbed the final touches of her makeup on. She had put on an outfit that she felt was like a form of armor: dark, sleek satin dress that clung to all the proper places, its deep cut revealing just enough to keep eyes glued on her. She finishes off the look with silver heels, and her hair cascaded down over her shoulders like waves of ink.

If she was leaving, she was going to keep telling herself who she was-Layla, world-famous supermodel, unreachable to most.

She entered one of Tokyo's most exclusive clubs-only a haven for the rich and influential. She would not have to put up with the paralysing adoration of fans nor the inquisitive eyes of the photographers here. She could just be.

Or so she thought.

Ran Haitani had already established his evening location; he lounged against the bar as if he owned the place. His gaze idly ran over the room, viewing the familiar faces of the elite in Tokyo, when something-new rather, someone-stuck out tonight.