Paper-Thin Disguise

Chapter 7: I'm Not As Strong As You Think I Am

Through his wet bangs, he could survey the pandemonium he caused.

The whole party was in complete disarray with the crowd directing their full, unadulterated attention at his display. From his peripheral vision, he could see the auction managers in the corner of the room, not even disguising their shock at his boldness. In front of him, the socialite was seething. Her nostrils were flared, and her fists were clenched so tightly that he thought her hands would bleed from the sharpness of her manicured nails.

But unfortunately for them, none of that mattered right now. All he could see was red.

Someone hurt ____. Someone hurt her because of him. If he wasn't completely concerned with social protocol, blood would have spilled—and it definitely wouldn't be his.

"How dare you, Eisuke Ichinomiya!" she screamed. "Don't think that I'll ever do business with you again in this lifetime!"

"Good. I don't need connections with a bitch who doesn't know her place. Now get out of my sight before I call security."

Get out before I do something you'll regret.

Eisuke believed she understood his unspoken message, otherwise, she wouldn't have taken a step back at the ice in his voice. After he gave her one last scathing glare, she stomped off in a flustered huff, not even bothering to acknowledge the stunned crowd. If she planned on staying any longer, he wouldn't have been able to keep his composure. His blood was still boiling, and fuck, was this what Soryu felt whenever he pulled his gun out—

"Mr. Ichinomiya?" ____'s voice shook him out of his trance, bringing him back to reality.

He was suddenly hyperaware of the piercing stares from the crowd that formed around them. He could hear all the murmurs thrown at them, both overwhelmed and critical. Next to him, she wrapped her arms around herself, trembling slightly from the onlookers' obvious disapproval.

Whether or not she did it on purpose, she took a step closer to him. It didn't take long for his protective instincts to flare at the sight of her unconsciously pleading for help.

Ah, screw everything—

Taking ___ by the hand, he made a beeline for the exit. Eisuke didn't even bother keeping up his polite pretenses anymore. He didn't pay any mind to the gasps of the other hotel employees seeing their champagne-drenched CEO with a dark look on his face. Not even his phone's incessant buzzing—Soryu, no doubt—could distract him. All he could do to keep himself from throttling everyone that stared at them was focus on the warmth of her hand.

And well, not that he'd never admit it, but he missed holding that small, yet unmistakably warm hand.

Despite both of them being sticky with the remnants of champagne, despite the incoming public humiliation he might face, and despite the day being an utter fucking disaster, he didn't mind.

Everything was going to hell, but the fall into the inferno made him feel alive for the first time in a while.

The silence of his penthouse suite was a welcome respite to them both. The buzz and chatter of the riffraff took a toll on him, and despite her lack of any complaint, he knew she probably needed peace after today, too.

They both sat on his couch, but he could tell she was still in a daze. There was something heartbreaking about the way she looked; her earlier updo Ota worked hard to style was now a mess of unruly curls, and the gown she wore—which must have eaten a ton of her paycheck—was wet with the champagne from earlier. Her eyes were probably the worst of them all—they were unfocused and glassy, completely different from the fire they had shown to him during their fight.