NICOLE
The morning light feels different today. It doesn't just highlight the dust in the air; it feels like it's shining on me, on my skin. I'm dressed in my armor—a pair of tailored black Theory trousers and a simple ivory silk blouse.
My feet are in my classic Christian Louboutin pumps. It's the first time I've worn real clothes in two weeks. It feels strange. Like I'm playing dress-up as the person I used to be.
My internship package includes a mandatory seminar today at the university—some corporate ethics thing. I have to go. If I don't, it feels like Shuya wins. It feels like he successfully locked me in that warehouse forever.
Kenji is across the living room, his back to me, talking in low, sharp Japanese on the phone. I catch words like "merger," "hostile," and "board approval." His posture is rigid, all business. He's wearing a charcoal Brioni suit that probably costs more than a car, and he looks every inch the ruthless CEO.
