Chapter 2 The Uninvited Guess At Takeda Manor (Takeda family )
On the far edge of the city, where the skyline softened into clouds of mist and the air reeked faintly of privilege, the Takeda estate loomed a monument carved in old-world arrogance and cream-colored marble. A chateau, not merely a house. Its façade glistened like bone in moonlight, its windows tall and watching, shuttered in gold and polished silence.
The gates did not open for guests. They parted only for blood. For legacy. For the cold-bred children of dynasties who’d learned how to smile without moving their eyes.
Inside, the scent of jasmine and polished stone clung to the air like perfume over something long decayed.
In the dining hall, the chandeliers wept soft golden light across the table, where the Takeda family gathered like fashion editorials frozen mid-frame. Beauty, bloodline, and boredom. Their faces sculpted, their clothes tailored to perfection, their hearts utterly absent. They looked like gods. Acted like ghosts.
This was not dinner.
This was performance.
And in
Riku, one of the heirs of the Takeda family. A charming predator wrapped in satin
He was flawless. Of course. Every movement rehearsed. Every gesture choreographed down to the last blink. His presence was a weapon precise, intoxicating, lethal. The family’s crown jewel. The one who never disappointed. The golden child raised not with love but expectation, until his humanity was whittled down to shine.
His charm was legend.
His smile, currency.
And beneath it all, he was rotting.
A soul hollowed out by pressure, then polished so well no one noticed the smell of decay beneath. He had been trained to sparkle under scrutiny, to seduce admiration without offering anything of himself. He could make you feel chosen with a glance, then forget you existed before dessert.
And Amora?
She shouldn't have gotten in. But she did.
She burst into the foyer like a wounded animal in heels, dragging hysteria behind her like a train of smoke. A chef’s knife gripped tight in her right hand still warm from the kitchen. Her left thumb hovered above the “Go Live” button on her phone. Her breath sawed in and out, mascara streaked down her cheeks like war paint from a losing war. She wasn’t supposed to be here. But she was.
And they didn't even look up.
Across the candlelit table, they continued to eat stoic and porcelain, mouths chewing like delicate machinery. Forks scraped chinar with the solemnity of a burial. Not a single gasp. Not a single flicker of concern.
Except Riku.
He lifted his eyes.
Not to see her. But through her .
Beside Riku sat his wife Olivia his consort in bloodline, his equal in lineage, and the crown atop his already burnished image.
She did not need to speak to command the room.
She simply existed.
Her beauty was not the loud kind that demanded attention. It was the kind that rendered others quiet. Timeless. Regal. A face composed like a still lake smooth, poised, and unreadable. Her features were delicate but not soft, her posture unyielding, chin tilted just enough to suggest a lifetime of being looked at… and never looking back.
Her hair was swept into a perfect twist flawless, unshaken by the breath of movement. And around her neck, a slender collar of diamonds and South Sea pearls lay with the precision of a blade. Her wrists were bare save for one bracelet, antique platinum, so fine it caught the light like a whisper. Nothing loud. Nothing excessive. Everything so precise it felt like calculation masked as elegance.
Her jewelry didn’t shine.
It spoke.
Of old money. Of restraint as a power move. Of a woman who knew the exact weight her presence carried, and needed no ornaments to prove it.
She wore her wealth like a second skin `measured, quiet, and devastating.
When she leaned ever so slightly toward Riku, resting her fingertips lightly against the curve of his arm, it was with the grace of someone who had been trained from birth not to hold, but to possess. Their bodies never touched fully. Not once. And yet, the illusion of intimacy hung between them like expensive perfume.
Together, they looked immaculate.
Together, they looked drop dead gorgeous.
