Chapter 182: Eyewitness (Part 2)

There are fifty-three days left until your boyfriend, Kaoru Hoshitani, is completely taken from you.

Three in the afternoon, Osaka.

The office building of the Izumori Osaka Branch stood tall in the bustling commercial district, its glass curtain walls reflecting the pale winter sunlight.

The office of the Vice Manager of Marketing was located on the seventeenth floor.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched Osaka’s layered skyline, with the faint outline of Tsutenkaku visible in the distance.

The office was decorated in a simple, modern style: a dark desk, a leather swivel chair, and several green plants in the corner.

At that moment, a striking figure sat in the large chair—long golden hair draped loosely over her shoulders, wheat-toned skin, gray eyes, and an aura that kept others at a distance.

Rika Kawasaki.

She wore a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing toned forearms.

The view of Osaka outside seemed nonexistent to her. Her gaze rested on the documents in her hands, yet none of the densely packed text seemed to register in her mind.

Her brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed tight. She resembled a volcano on the verge of eruption, suppressing lava ready to burst at any moment.

A soft knock came at the office door.

“Come in.”

Her voice was cold and sharp, tinged with impatience.

A female secretary in a business suit stepped in, holding a document. She approached the desk and spoke carefully.

As someone personally assigned by the president to assist the eldest daughter, she knew very well how volatile the woman in front of her could be.

“Miss, your flight back to Tokyo this afternoon has been booked. However—”

She paused, choosing her words with difficulty.

“The president instructed that you must return by Sunday night.”

“Tch—”

Rika clicked her tongue in annoyance.

A flicker of irritation passed through her gray eyes as she waved her hand dismissively.

“I got it.”

Her tone was cold and firm, leaving no room for discussion.

She didn’t even glance at the secretary. Her eyes remained on the document, though her fingers tightened around its edge, her knuckles turning pale.

For nearly a month, Rika had been pouring her energy into that young man almost every day.

Now, after being forced into five days of restraint, she felt like a volcano about to erupt, radiating a suffocating pressure.

The atmosphere in the office grew heavy, as if the air itself had thickened.

The secretary nodded quickly, knowing better than to provoke her.

“Understood, Miss. I will remind you one and a half hours before departure.”

After speaking, she quietly left and gently closed the door.

The moment the door shut, Rika finally put down the document.

She leaned back in her chair, raised a hand to rub her temples, and let out a low sigh.

The secretary had been sent by her mother, Hana Kawasaki, to help her get familiar with the business—and to monitor her.

Her daily schedule, movements, and work were all reported back to Tokyo.

Surprisingly, Rika seemed to have genuinely started taking things seriously. Over the past five days, she had stayed at the company during the day.

Although she still lost her temper over trivial matters, and although the reports and documents gave her a headache, she was indeed learning the work.

The head of the Osaka branch’s marketing department had clearly been instructed in advance.

In the evenings, whenever there were banquets or social gatherings, he brought Rika along and introduced her to various influential figures.

Despite her dyed yellow hair giving her an unconventional look, when she wore a fitted dark evening dress, her well-trained physique was perfectly outlined.

Combined with her cold expression and natural presence, she actually appeared quite striking.

Many men at the banquets noticed her.

From men in their thirties to younger sons brought along by their parents, their gazes subtly drifted toward her, each finding excuses to approach.

By the champagne tower, beside the buffet, even in the corridor near the restroom—someone would always “happen” to run into her.

Especially the men in their thirties. Their eyes lingered on the defined muscles of her arms and the strong physique beneath her dress, nearly glowing with interest.

Some approached under the pretense of toasting, some deliberately brushed against her hand, and others directly asked for her contact information.

But without exception, Rika brushed them all off.

The scent they carried—their forced flattery mixed with calculation—made her feel disgusted.

Compared to the clean, refreshing presence of that young man, these people were unbearable.

At first, Rika thought she could endure five days.

By the second night, she realized how wrong she was.

That night, she lay in bed, unable to sleep no matter how much she tossed and turned.

The night view of Osaka filtered through the curtains, casting mottled shadows on the ceiling.

She stared at those shadows, but her mind was filled entirely with that young man’s face.

A heat burned deep within her, spreading through her body, making her restless.

She turned over, burying her face in the pillow, but the heat only grew stronger.

She went to the bathroom and took a cold shower. The icy water washed over her skin, barely suppressing the heat.

But less than ten minutes after returning to bed, it flared up again, even more intensely.

She couldn’t sleep.

After hesitating, she finally sat up, took her mobile phone from the bedside table, and returned to the bathroom.

Only the exhaust fan was on. Dim light seeped through the door.

She sat on the closed toilet lid, holding the phone in her left hand, the brightness turned to the lowest setting, playing the recordings she had taken earlier.

The screen flickered across her face.

That young man’s face, his body, those intimate scenes—all vividly displayed.

His breathing, his trembling, the tears at the corners of his eyes, the way he bit his lip to endure…

She closed her eyes, letting the images replay in her mind.

An hour later.

Lying in bed again, Rika felt a deep frustration.

She stared at the ceiling, a complicated emotion flickering in her gray eyes—something even she couldn’t fully understand.

This was the first time in her life she had done something like this.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t find other men. With her conditions, she could have as many as she wanted.

The men at those banquets would come at the slightest gesture.

But the problem was the same as always—other men repulsed her.

They made her uncomfortable, instinctively pushing her away.

Only Kaoru Hoshitani was different.

Only that young man could stir desire in her, make her lose control, make her do things she herself could hardly believe.

She raised her arm, looking at the defined muscles of her forearm, feeling the restless strength within her body.

This body responded to only one person.

What was this? Karma?

“It’s fine…”

Sitting at her desk, Rika unscrewed a bottle and took a large gulp.

The cold water slid down her throat, bringing a faint chill to her stomach.

She drank a few more times before barely suppressing the heat within her.

‘In three or four hours, I’ll see him.’

She imagined the moment she would meet Kaoru—he would probably be afraid, would avoid her, would look at her with those moist, deer-like eyes.

But so what? She had plenty of ways to make him obey.

‘Tonight… I just won’t let him go back.’

She set down the bottle, wiped the water from her lips, and returned to her desk.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on the documents again.

But her heart had already flown five hundred kilometers away—to Tokyo.

Four hours later, Tokyo.

At the top floor of Izumori Headquarters, inside the president’s office.

On the sofa, Kaoru Hoshitani and Chinatsu Ayase sat with some distance between them.

Over the past few days, Chinatsu had come almost every day to chat with him.

Today was no exception.

She sat there casually, holding a cup of coffee Kaoru had made.

Kaoru sat beside her, a faint smile on his face as he spoke.

He was talking about something that had happened that morning when suddenly, the phone on the table vibrated.

Chinatsu glanced down.

The moment the screen lit up, her expression didn’t change, but a subtle glint flashed in her gray eyes.

It was fleeting—almost impossible to catch—but undeniably there.

She then looked at Kaoru.

Her face still carried that familiar gentle smile, but her tone was deliberately casual.

“Oh? My sister has already arrived in Tokyo.”

Her voice was soft, yet it was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirring massive waves in Kaoru’s heart.

His body stiffened.

He had thought he was prepared.

He told himself those photos and videos no longer mattered.

He told himself he was now the president’s secretary, that she couldn’t control him like before.

He told himself he could refuse her, resist her, say no.

But the moment he heard ‘my sister has arrived in Tokyo,’ all of that collapsed.

He lowered his head.

His long bangs fell forward, hiding his face and expression.

But his trembling body could not be concealed.

His shoulders shook, his fingers trembled, even his breathing became uneven.

He could hear his heartbeat pounding wildly in his chest, as if it might burst out.

Her face appeared in his mind—the gray eyes, the powerful body, the scorching breath, the suffocating pressure.

All the memories, fear, and humiliation surged like a flood, drowning him completely.

Chinatsu watched quietly.

She didn’t rush him, didn’t speak.

She simply sat there, her gaze resting on his lowered head and trembling shoulders.

In her gray eyes flickered something complex—calculation, observation, and a faint, hidden anticipation even she hadn’t noticed.

The room was filled only with the soft hum of the air conditioner and the gentle sound of water flowing in the aquarium.

Seconds passed, each one feeling like an eternity.

Finally, a voice as faint as a whisper came from the trembling figure.

Hoarse, broken, carrying a trace of tears, each word forced out with all his strength:

‘P-please… help me, Miss Ayase…’