Phei stepped out of the car the moment Melissa pulled away, the engine's low purr dissolving into the quiet hum of the Tanaka estate's private drive.
The car doors slid shut behind him with a soft hydraulic sigh, sealing him outside the compound like a predator willingly stepping into another predator's territory—polite, composed, and absolutely not here for anything innocent.
And there she was.
Yuki Tanaka stood at the top of the short marble steps, framed by the warm golden light spilling from the open double doors behind her.
She was small—barely cresting five feet—but carried herself with the effortless, lethal poise of someone who had been trained from childhood to be in a room without ever needing to raise her voice… or, apparently, her height.
Her face was devastating: delicate Japanese bone structure softened by the gentle American roundness of her mother's features.
