Chapter 3

Kiyoko grew up with objects that flung across the room: sometimes they were books, mostly ceramics like plates or mugs, and on one occasion, a steak knife. She came from a family of expressive people – wherein communication was not exactly anyone's strong suit. It was a generous way of describing it.

Loud noises from yelling to plates crashing onto the floor. Flying objects that flew across the room, aimed at anyone and everyone. Threats of all kinds. These were all things that she had been desensitized to from childhood. Kiyoko was fully aware of the eccentricities of growing up in a family that had nothing but disdain for each other. Over business dealings, over unhinged family members, and of course – over Kiyoko herself. There was a reason why there were no family dinners anymore nor ever.

Kiyoko never knew her mother very well but she did have one distinct memory of her: a blunt steak knife that was aimed straight at her as a child, caught by her older brother only a handful of years older than Kiyoko herself. The events that followed were a blur. She could hear the screaming from Haru, who barely caught the knife when he tried to swat it away from her. Then came the wailing of agony from their mother. And of course, the housekeepers who watched in utter shock as they tried to pull their mother away and to get medical attention for Haru. There was a distinct scar on his palm, even after all these years.

I want that child dead!

Which child? It was ambiguous. But everyone knew the truth. She never bothered to dwell on the only memory of their mother. Kiyoko waited for the day for something in her head to tick. Something that would snap. Anything to turn her unhinged like the rest. She almost anticipated it – like a rite of initiation. She spoke to the hired therapist about it, waiting for them to confirm what she had already known as a teenager.

But it never came. She was a fully functional adult – mentally and physically able to handle herself and subsequently, her brother's needs too. Her brother who never quite grasped the ability to socialize with the rest of the kids. He never quite got along with anyone but his immediate circle. While it was her brother who saved her life as a child, he was hidden away from society because he was too hard to explain to the rest of the world, her grandmother said.

But he was brilliant. An artist in his true right. He painted. He sketched. He sculpted too. He was incredibly bright – seeing mathematic patterns before anything else. He was the one who helped her with her math homework when she was younger – but he struggled with spelling the simplest of words. When Kiyoko got frustrated – he got frustrated too. Communication, of course, was the worst skill of the entire family.

Kiyoko set off to study creative writing first before deciding to double major in mathematics when she realized she needed to think like him. Ultimately, no amount of higher education allowed her to tap into that mind of his. She watched as he sketched the city skyline from memory on an afternoon. It was fascinating. He didn't speak a word to her during that day. Sometimes she kept him company as he solved equations on the whiteboard – her mind understanding the gist and theory of it all, but never quite understanding the joy of him being able to solve the differential equations or watching him write the proof of a problem that only made her head dizzy from all the variables on the board.

But if it was anyone who understood him – it was her. No one else understood that he didn't like eating with forks and knives because they were the most thrown during their childhood. He ate with chopsticks only. He hated loud noises: trains, planes, even cars made him anxious. He needed pure silence at all times. Or that he got triggered by the scent of citrus fruit – the reasoning behind that was always unknown.

Haru would scream, wail, or yell whenever he was overwhelmed. He would flip tables, break ceramics, or rip the closest thing he found. Kiyoko had to explain more than once why her homework was torn when she submitted it. He would then crouch down and cut himself away from the world, refusing to hear or listen to anything. Haru had episodes where nothing could calm him down until he tired himself out as a kid. All of which, Kiyoko watched helplessly from childhood to present day.

Haru threw less tantrums when he spent his days at the facility – moving on from his hobbies of creating art, doing math, or simply just watching TV. He did not like spending time outdoors – even the sound of cicadas at the height of summer had him screaming to drown out the noise. He limited his interaction with strangers, never liking the social interaction with anyone but Kiyoko or his caretakers. He had the most basic understanding of social etiquette – the bare minimum that Kiyoko did her best to enforce with the housekeepers and caretakers she had as a child.

Kiyoko spent her entire life trying to understand her brother. To think like him. To see the world the way he did. She wanted to give her brother the best life: one with freedom and dignity. She wanted him to live happily, to provide him with whatever she could. But at the end of the day, he was shooed away into the forest – hidden from the rest of the world because he was a sore thumb, or rather, one of the sore thumbs of the family.

If she was a pawn in the game of mergers and acquisitions – she was not giving up any of her power. Not when she had her brother to take care of – the only person in her family who cared about her. She was all he had.

And in many ways: he was all she had.

It did not help that this painting was all he saw when he looked up from his desk. She was a constant reminder – whether he liked it or not. She emanated darkness – appearing in and out of the shadows, dressed like she was the queen of a maleficent kingdom that belonged in a fairy tale, a gatekeeper of hell. He would have been lying if he thought it didn't suit her.

Why not? Her voice repeated to him, over and over again. The deep timbre had him wrestling the image of her in his mind.

Why not sell it to him? It was a good question. The Ootori offered more than anyone else had for that piece. He was a customer. She was doing business. The Ootori couldn't help but to feel the slightest bit cheated out of his money, unamused by how he went as high as he did.

"The current bid is 10 grand," Nami informed him when she noticed him staring at the only painting that caught his eye. She had given him a brief tour of the gallery and spoke to him on the phone before he had arrived.
"I can double that," he shrugged. "Tell your boss."

The woman blinked. "As you wish," she bowed.

The Ootori knew about as anyone else did about her. A gallerist. Retired poker player. Oxford-educated. A family in shambles. A relatively private person, if he had to admit. She let the world revel in their own speculations of her family since hearing the same stories over and over again provided the entertainment among masses. It did not bother her – or perhaps, not anymore.

He wondered what to do about her. Was she even a necessary piece in the puzzle to acquire the business? She had to have been if she was being used as a pawn for marriage. He scoffed at the thought – what an antiquated way of doing business. A merger of families. A piece of paper that tied them all together, including their assets. What would possibly stop them from divorcing anyway? Divorce happened all the time.

Why the hell not? He thought to himself. It was a business transaction. A contract. A marriage of convenience. He just had to convince her of it, a loose term he thought to himself. If convincing was another word for blackmail, so be it.

"Nami, how many times do I have to tell you to stop scheduling these events into my calendar?" Kiyoko rolled her eyes when she saw the reminder for a charity gala popping up on her phone. The woman went to her fair share of charity events, but only the ones that she felt were of a worthy cause to her. You could not save the entire world, after all.

"It's not me, it's your grandmother who told me to remind you," Nami grumbled. "How come she knows my personal number?"

Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. "How come you didn't take better care to conceal it?" she returned the question. Kiyoko lived under many pseudonyms, refusing to let anything trace back to her if she didn't have to. When Nami reminded her of the various leases under her name, Kiyoko immediately contacted the real estate offices to have it buried the next day. She was a hard one to track down. Space was needed between Kiyoko and the rest of her family – not that the family itself was close knit to begin with. It was a method of trying to protect her own assets.

Nami sighed defeatedly before turning to the matter at hand. "This new exhibition is different."

"'Tis the season," the boss shrugged. Winter months usually brought on the blues. The need of staying indoors. The chance to bring in the rich who had not gone off to warmer, tropical climates just yet. This exhibition was a celebration of classical art, the kind that only the elite understood. Or at least, that was what the elite would perceive.

Either way, Kiyoko would not be present. Her job was done here.

"Can you handle this?" she asked Nami, as she always did. There were some logistics to sort out with opening day and people to call. Some private showings were scheduled for Nami to direct.

"Yes," Nami nodded confidently. "I'll call you if anything goes wrong."

"No, text me," Kiyoko told her. "I have another meeting coming up," she looked down at her wrist that was adorned by a Swiss-made watch. The silver bangle was plain with the black face of the watch adorned by two diamond center links. Nami looked up the watch for fun to see how much it costed and nearly spat out her coffee when she saw the price of a little over 100 000 yen. Today's outfit was a wool Burberry coat that was paired with Givenchy leather boots, hair swept up a tight ponytail with gloves on her hands that were probably Chanel.

"You're already planning the next exhibition?" Nami gasped. They hadn't even opened doors to their current one. Nami had sent invitations out over the past week. Opening day was only two days away.

"No," the boss reassured. "This one was hard enough to put together in time," she grumbled. "I have a meeting with my publishers," she quietly explained.
"Oh," Nami nodded. "Another one?"

Kiyoko sighed. "Yes. Don't wait up for me. I don't think I'll be back until next week," she thought to herself as she mentally went through her schedule for the next few days.
"Ah," Nami was suddenly reminded of something. "Do you remember that man who purchased the Ofelia piece?"
"The Ootori, yes," Kiyoko was just about to turn her heels to leave before Nami had brought her back to the foyer. She could hardly make it out the door without her assistant needing something of her. There were a lot of things on the agenda to discuss apparently.

"He called," Nami told her with an expression that Kiyoko could not decipher between confusion or fear. "Did you give him my number or something?"
Kiyoko crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "No," she drawled carefully. "What is he asking for this time?" She was going to laugh if he was asking for a refund. This was not the place for it.

"Oh," Nami sheepishly answered. "He uhm… h-he asked me out for a coffee?"

The boss shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Well, you're a consenting adult, aren't you? Enjoy your date," Kiyoko answered as evenly as she could. A date with the bastard, she wanted to say out loud. She had enough respect for Nami not to spoil the mood. After all, she was her employee and she did her very best to be what those would consider a good boss. Nami was pretty, innocent, and kind in every way you could imagine. She was most certainly the kind of person you would want to interact with clients. Kiyoko figured that it could not have been the first time she was hit on. While she did not quite peg Nami as the Ootori's type, Kiyoko was not entirely surprised. The owner of the gallery did not dwell any further on the matter – her mind had already travelled to the meeting that she was about to have with her publishers in an hour.

"Uh, well," Nami stuttered. "I really thought he would be the one to ask you for a coffee, you know? You two… connected," the assistant explained, thinking back to the time all three of them stood in their other gallery. "I just… I was confused at the offer."

Kiyoko forced a smile at the young woman. She was so naïve and innocent it almost made her pitiful. "I hope it goes well," the gallerist did her best to be neutral to it all. Kiyoko turned her back to the assistant and glanced at the door.

"You… you aren't bothered?" Nami pressed. "I just wondered if it was alright."
"To fraternize with the clients?" Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. Quite frankly, the woman had other problems to worry about and she assumed that Nami could handle herself just fine.
"Uh," the girl stuttered. "Well when you put it like that…"

Kiyoko took the sunglasses out of her bag, her dark red nails swiftly opening up the frames. It was even scarier when Nami could not see the eyes of her boss – it made her feel like she was getting judged even further than needed. Kiyoko carefully placed the cat eye frames on her face and pursed her lips.

"Listen," Kiyoko warned. "You're a grown woman. You can make your own decisions here, Nami. You do not need unsolicited advice from me. I only ask that you do your job here. Sell the art," she pointed to the gallery. "And for the sake of being your boss, I'll toss this in: please keep it professional."

"W-wait," Nami reached a hand out to thin air, knowing that she was not allowed to even lay even a slight finger on the woman. She tried her best to get Kiyoko's attention before she scattered into thin air. "W-what if I am asking for advice? What does that man want with me? H-how did he get my personal phone number?" Things did not line up after Kiyoko had told Nami that she was not the one to give out her phone number.

Kiyoko shrugged. "If I knew I'd tell you. Just remember that all men are stupid."
"The Ootori does not seem like a stupid man," Nami shot back. While his business was more than legitimate, the man carried an aura of mystery and terror that was very much like her own boss. The only difference was that Nami knew her boss – despite her cold exterior, Kiyoko was a fair businesswoman with longstanding morals that she did not waver from.

"Eh," Kiyoko made a noise of skepticism. She didn't buy it. "Men are simple creatures. Maybe this one's a bit of a stalker. Let me know if you need a restraining order," the boss shrugged. It was a joke, mostly. But in all honesty, Kiyoko's family had their fair share of experiences with retraining orders, it would not be difficult to arrange one if Nami truly needed it.

"How are you so calm about this?" the girl was suddenly reconsidering her decision to have coffee with the Ootori. Somehow he was charming and terrifying all at the same time. Nami agreed, as the naïve person she always was. "What if…" Her mind wandered off to a number of scenarios.
The boss groaned in frustration, clearly unamused by her assistant's antics here. "Nami, you should have thought about this before you agreed to go on a date with him."

"Who said it was even a date?" Nami panicked, trying to remember how the conversation went on the phone. "He said coffee!"
"Is that not what people do on first dates? Drinks, coffee, dinner…" she listed off. "Nami, I'm going to be late," Kiyoko impatiently snapped.

The assistant's eyes flashed a look of panic and fear, enough that Kiyoko relented by rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. "Text me if it's not going well. Call me if there's an emergency," the boss reluctantly told her assistant before scurrying off. It was the least she could offer. Her heels echoed down the hallway and out the door to her ride that had been parked for god knew how long. Kiyoko had bigger fish to fry and Nami's boy troubles was not one of them.

Nami sat stiffly with her phone under the table, now on her second cup of coffee. It was a nervous habit. It certainly did not help now that she had the jitters when the Ootori sat across from her, flashing a smile that was strangely familiar to her. It was the kind of smile that tried to put you at ease but you knew better than to trust such a gesture. Nami had seen that kind of smile from clients who wanted more than just art from her. Except today, she couldn't quite pinpoint what the Ootori wanted. It made her anxious.

"Thank you for meeting with me today," the Ootori began, as he did with any sort of business meeting. Nami still sat stiff as a board, her hands beneath the table as she clutched onto her phone. "You can relax," he commanded. It didn't quite have the effect that he had thought it would on the young woman. "I have a proposition for you."

Nami blinked. "A… w-what?" she stuttered, her finger slipped unwittingly and both of them heard the thud of her phone that went crashing down on the hardwood floor beneath her chair.

"A proposal," Kyouya tried again in an attempt to clarify the purpose. He eyed her as she awkwardly fished for the phone beneath her seat, not breaking eye contact with her.

"Ah…" Nami cleared her throat when she finally got a hold of the metal between her hands. She tried her best to keep her voice even. This was certainly not quite the date she was expecting. The Ootori arrived in a hurried frenzy, obviously unable to spare more than half an hour with the girl. He was here on business matters – which only made Nami nervous because she wondered if she had unexpectedly sold herself as part of the deal. "What did you have in mind?" she asked cautiously.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about your boss," he explained simply. He took a sip from his own black coffee. The aroma of the bitter roast wafted over to Nami's side of the table.
The assistant stared. "Why?" she responded blankly.
"You'll be rewarded generously for your time," Kyouya continued, assuming that the woman would agree without having to think it over too hard. She seemed rather naïve to begin with, her expressions giving away every thought she had.

"It's not about the money," Nami answered. She was already paid generously by Hibayashi-san, after all. "I just want to know why."
"I need to get to know her," he evaded the topic.

"Through me?" Nami tilted her head in confusion. "Wouldn't it be easier if you asked her out for a coffee?" She was confused by the whole concept – the evasion of Kiyoko in general whenever she tried to understand the Ootori's motive.
"She would never agree," the Ootori explained. That was as much as he was willing to offer and it gave Nami zero clue as to what to do with this information.

"Hibayashi-san is a private person," Nami reiterated carefully. "I believe I know as much as you do about her."
"Where is she now?" Kyouya started off with an easy question.

"I don't know," the assistant answered truthfully. Nami did not really know why publishers were interested – perhaps a collection of those art books that one always saw on coffee tables was a potential outlet for business. She never pried and was never one to hinder Kiyoko's creative process, after all. "Hibayashi-san is in a business meeting – she always is."

The Ootori narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Isn't the business just a gallery?"
"It takes a lot of work for these exhibitions, Ootori-san," Nami patiently explained. "Hibayashi-san works very hard to ensure that every opening is grand and unique. Like I said, I only know as much as you do and I am unable to share the workings of our gallery – I am legally obliged to keep that private," the girl continued.

"Fine," Kyouya couldn't have cared less about the gallery. It was of no interest to him. "What other business ventures does she have then?"

Nami blinked. "I don't know, her family owns a chain of psychiatric hospitals, no?" That was what people always said about Kiyoko when she heard whispers of clients. Some other rumours of the fact that her family members were on the side of being mentally unhinged – but Nami knew better than the rest when it came to Kiyoko. Her boss was not mentally unhinged – just a little unconventional. At the end of the day, Kiyoko ran a business and she ran it well.

The Ootori huffed. Nami must have known more than the average person. "What does she do all day?"

Nami winced, knowing that the man was losing patience with her. She hated disappointing people, especially those that had a lot of power. It was a terrifying feeling not knowing what could come next. "Ootori-san, I really only know as much as you do. My boss takes care of the business dealings, I work under her to upkeep the gallery. It really is as simple as that." The Ootori wanted answers that Nami could not provide.

Kyouya sat back in his seat. Perhaps he wasn't asking the right questions. "Hibayashi-san is not a simple person," he told the assistant.
"Of course not," Nami agreed wholeheartedly. "I have worked under her for years, Ootori-san. She sets boundaries we do not cross."

"Have you tried?" the Ootori pried with a raised eyebrow.
"No," Nami responded. "She is my boss." It was a professional relationship. Nami was expected to work for Kiyoko. Kiyoko gave the orders to her employee to get what needed to be done. It was simple.

The Ootori stared at the woman that sat before him, unamused by this unfruitful conversation. "Wouldn't you like to know more about her?" the man raised an eyebrow, offering an alternative solution.
Nami shrugged. "Not really." While the assistant had always been curious about Kiyoko, she always knew better than to ask questions her boss would not want to answer. Their relationship was kept simpler that way. Kiyoko always appreciated the fact that Nami never pried into anything more than needed.

The Ootori sighed in frustration. "Did you know she is Oxford educated with a dual degree in Creative Writing and Mathematics?" He offered a quick fact – one that probably was not known by most of the people in their circle.

The woman gasped. "Oh, that explains why she's so incredibly good with mental math! Hibayashi-san is always full of surprises, no?" Nami was easily impressed by anything, it seemed. A correlation to a math degree did not necessarily equate to being good at mental math but the Ootori tried his best to keep his patience.

Kyouya tried again. "Do you know how she got into being a professional poker player?"
Her jaw dropped again. "No! What? Hibayashi-san was a professional poker player?" Nami truly had no idea. "No no, that doesn't sound like her," she brushed off. Nami was much more animated now that she was comfortable. The jitters had stopped and she sipped on her coffee more comfortably. The woman sighed in admiration of her boss. "Hibayashi-san is so interesting, isn't she?"

"Indeed," Kyouya deadpanned. "So, what… fun facts do you have about Hibayashi-san?" he tried wording it in such a way that the woman would respond better to.

Nami thought about the question carefully. She did not have those kinds of things to share with the Ootori. Most of what she had learned over the years were from clients that she later stopped believing in. "I don't know if it's a fun fact," the assistant began. "But all the rumours that surround her are not true."

"What rumours?" the Ootori treaded carefully. They were finally getting somewhere.
"Oh," Nami thought it was odd that the Ootori would ask. These were things that everyone talked about. "The ones that call her psycho or mentally deranged, mostly."
"She calls herself those things," Kyouya reminded her, thinking back to their last encounter. Both times, she made an effort to remind him that she was insane.

The assistant shook her head. "No, she is not like that. Hibayashi-san is very conscientious about her decisions. But don't get me wrong, she is very decisive. When her mind is made, she will go through lengths to make it happen. She is a good businesswoman." Nami told a story of how Kiyoko invested in millions into one studio to create one of the most critically acclaimed exhibitions across Asia. It was an 6 month project that reaped even more in profit, enough that Nami thought she would not have to work for years. It was such a good exhibition that many critics hoped for another collection. Kiyoko refused to do the same thing twice. Once it was gone, it was gone – just like a fleeting moment of passion, she explained.

"Why art?" the Ootori wondered. It was a realm he did not understand. He looked down upon such useless things.
Nami smiled warmly, letting her guard down. "Well, it speaks to the soul, doesn't it? In every form, I believe Hibayashi-san sees something she always thinks someone else will see too. Like the painting you bought," the assistant revealed. "You saw the sea, and so did she."

"She did?" Kyouya was surprised.
"Wasn't it obvious?" the assistant laughed. The Ootori seemed so blinded by such a simple fact that anyone could have seen from miles away. "She let you have the painting because you saw what she saw."

The Ootori shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "How did you know?"
The woman shrugged. "Just a feeling. I know she loved that painting. She stared at it every day," she remembered fondly. "I think she is actually a very sentimental person and one who empathizes very well. Maybe that is why she likes doing her job. She curates the pieces that she believes will speak beyond their visual appeal."

"It's more likely because it's quite lucrative," Kyouya muttered while he rolled his eyes. Empathy. He wanted to scoff at the word.
Nami nodded. "Well, yes. But artists should get paid for their work. They pour months into some of these pieces, Ootori-san. Hibayashi-san's pricing is actually quite fair," the assistant explained patiently.

They came to a quiet lull. The Ootori was still unimpressed by Nami and her insight. Obviously, he was here for dirt – or perhaps it was not so obvious to the assistant that proposed another subject.

"Are you interested in her, Ootori-san?" Nami pondered. "I mean, in a romantic sense."
"No," he denied outright. "Business-wise, yes."

The girl blinked. "Did you get an invitation to her next exhibition then?" After all, that was the only business outlet that the assistant knew of.
"No," Kyouya repeated, slower this time. "Unless… you were planning to provide me with one?" he flashed his regular host club smile.

Nami shook her head with a slight giggle. "I can't do that. I'm not planning to get fired from my job. But…" Nami thought to herself. There was another solution. "Hibayashi-san does have a charity gala scheduled. I'm unsure if she is planning to attend, if at all. Perhaps this could be an opportunity for you to get to know her better."
The Shadow King smiled for the second time today. "That would be very helpful."

Nami clutched onto her coffee cup to stop herself from instinctively shivering. Right when she thought she was safe, the man had to remind her that she was not dealing with a regular person. Nami returned a nervous smile before ducking her head to avoid eye contact with the man.

"Where's your father?" the elder screeched in the elevator. Her greying hair had been carefully tucked into a bun while her gown sparkled underneath the fluorescent lighting of the room. The granddaughter shrugged nonchalantly. It was not her intent to show up but alas, Nami's pestering had reminded her that if she hadn't shown up – there would be worse things to come.

For example, a screaming elderly woman that broke through her studio while clients were touring. A beautiful glass piece was smashed at the hands of the woman, hundreds of thousands in losses and an incredibly annoying hit to her reputation. It had happened once – enough to spur the rumours that the family had tried so hard to shake off over the decades. Ironically, it did draw more people into the gallery out of pure curiosity trying to get a glimpse of the ever elusive Kiyoko.

The granddaughter raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the outburst. "I wouldn't know of his whereabouts. He's usually too busy for these things, no?"
"How could he be too busy to uphold the charity event that we sponsored?" the elder seethed. "And you – did you have to wear something so plain?"

Kiyoko looked down to her floor-length gown, taking careful attention to show only an appropriate amount of skin through the mesh fabric. The sheer grey colour covered her shoulders to have her collarbones peek through. The subtle sparkling of the dress had no need for any extra jewelry. Mesh draped across her arms to blend into the grey beads that were scattered across the rest of the gown. It was haute couture at its finest.

"Well, I thought you would have liked the sparkles," she responded tongue-in-cheek. She swept her hair up in the same bun as her grandmother, only that her hair was jet black instead of grey. The crystals only sparkled in the right lighting but otherwise, it was a conscious choice to blend into the dark.

"You must speak to the Ootori family tonight," the elder instructed. "They are here and are intending to see if you are the right fit."
Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. "Well, I don't know if any of us are really considered fit…" she muttered. Their family was a joke – the laughingstock of the rich and elite. They always had been. Being pitied by the rich and famous was a slight upgrade to being everyone's source of entertainment.

"Don't be stupid," the grandmother sharply reprimanded. "The least you can do is at least act like you are not running off doing those childish activities you do."
"I run a successful business," Kiyoko reminded. "I would think that's a selling point to the Ootori clan."
"Well then sell yourself better, won't you?" her grandmother spat.

Kiyoko put on the smile she was always taught to. The polite and inviting kind. The sort that you put on when you tried to make friends but no one wanted to come near you after their parents told them what kind of family you came from. At some point, the smile evolved into something more twisted and sinister over the years.

Her slim fingers grabbed a flute of champagne as she trailed behind her grandmother. Her nails tapped against the glass, with the sound resonating for a split second. It was going to be a long night. She looked around to see if there were any familiar faces – they were few and far in between. Everyone was significantly older with pockets lined with cash. They weren't quite the demographic that Kiyoko could to sell art to. She contained a sigh within herself and tried her best not to glance at the time every two minutes. She continued trailing silently behind her grandmother who began to make her rounds across the room.

"Find your father," her grandmother whispered as she narrowed her eyes at the child. She was obviously not amused by the fact that one of the only essential Hibayashis were missing in action during an important night of clout and boasting. Kiyoko gave a small nod as she was banished to fetch the only other Hibayashi that was not exiled by her grandmother.

The granddaughter retreated into the dark, peering around for a familiar face. She looked like her father – they had the same nose and lips. Her sharp bone structure and eyes were likely the result of her mother, or so they all said. She sleuthed around the room from corner to corner, making a lap around the perimeter to watch the crowds. No sign of her father – he was middle-aged and greying by now, hair usually slicked back with broad shoulders. How odd, she thought to herself.

Kiyoko excused herself swiftly from the venue, exiting the halls to where the restrooms were located. It was a good time as ever to touch-up on her makeup and to listen into other conversations from the crowd. There was never an end to gossip after all. Kiyoko's brief moments in the stall did not bide her enough time to hear anything particularly important. Alas, it was time to return back to the Grand Hall before her grandmother asked security come fetch her. It would not have been the first time where Kiyoko had to be escorted and the child had since learned her lesson.

She picked up the pace with her heels as best as she could before passing by a row of Grecian pillars and hurried whispers. She was halfway up the staircase before glancing at the sound of shadows that hid beneath the stairwell. Thankfully the carpet had dampened the regular clack of her heels against the hardwood floor. She rolled her eyes at the soft moan and the thud against the wall. Kiyoko was sick at the thought of their illicit activities and began climbing up the stairs again.

"No, not here…" a voice mumbled. A soft moan escaped her lips. Heavy breathing. A grunt. "T-Takeo—"

Kiyoko let out a frustrated sigh before her eyes burned with fuel for fire. Her ears were tuned to hear the slightest pin drop from her childhood – from all the times she had to listen to plates being thrown and mugs being broken. From the screaming and yelling among the adults. The stomping of the angry family members across the mansion. She hated knowing that she heard exactly what it was meant to be: her father's name.

Her eyes scanned the entire area before bolting down the stairs to confirm what she had immediately thought. She stood behind the man, quietly seething with rage while she made glaring eye contact with the woman that bolted upright at the figure that startled her. The stranger let go of the man who had been kissing her neck and swatted away his wandering hands that conveniently slipped into the slit of her red gown.

"You disgust me," Kiyoko snarled. "Both of you," she added. "You couldn't have fucked her privately?" The daughter kept her voice low but her anger echoed into the walls that surrounded them. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and beat some sense into the middle-aged man that was supposed to be upholding the family's reputation tonight. The burden always seemed to fall on the shoulders of women in this family, it seemed.

"That's no way to speak to your father," the man straightened himself out. The stranger's eyes widened as she tried her best to collect herself by closing her gaping mouth first and tried to stutter out a comprehensible sentence. It was not every day you get caught by the daughter of the man you were with.

"I'm sorry we had to meet this way," she tried to diffuse the tension. Kiyoko gave an icy glare and ignored the woman before turning back to the man who she had to call her father. Kiyoko did not even want to entertain the fact that the other woman across from her was near her age.

"I cannot believe you could be so irresponsible," the daughter whispered in animosity. "I don't go out spreading my legs for every fucking bachelor in the city and you're here in public no less, without any discipline to—"

"—When did you become an exact replica of your grandmother?" the father cut off with a grumble while adjusting his bowtie. Kiyoko exhaled with irritation before turning her heel to face the terrified woman. She was clearly embarrassed with her hair askew. Kiyoko gave a once over to the stranger and shook her head.

"I'm sorry you had to meet this deadbeat good-for-nothing man," Kiyoko apologized with the grace and poise she had always been raised with. "He's too old for you and you don't love him. You love the attention he gives you. I promise you that you deserve better than what he can possibly offer," Kiyoko felt like she was begging the poor woman to wake up to the reality of it all. She was not the first nor the last woman he would ever be with. This was not something that surprised Kiyoko, it only disappointed her over and over again.

"You don't understand," the stranger tried to explain.

"I do," Kiyoko assured quickly. "He'll hurt you like he has hurt his family over and over again. Don't you dare say I didn't warn you," the daughter huffed before she headed back into the Great Hall. She lifted the skirt of her gown to prevent herself from tripping, especially when her mind was clouded with nothing but anger. Her grandmother would have been looking for her by now. God knew that security would come for her at any second if she was not within the eyesight of the elder in the next few minutes.

Kiyoko kept her eyes down to the ground, climbing up the stairs with her heavy crystal-studded skirt. Her legs felt like they were being suffocated by fabric, pulling her muscles down incline of the stairs from the weight of the gown. She blinked away the tears from the fury that was pent up within. Now was not the time to cry or lose control. She wanted to drown in the sea of betrayal. She should have known better after all these years. All Kiyoko wanted to do was sit down and get her wits together for a minute. All she needed as a minute.

"Hibayashi-san," a voice greeted at the top of the stairwell. They blocked her path by leaning against the ledge. They offered a hand to her to which Kiyoko only narrowed her eyes at. She wanted to swat the wrist away but instead she gripped her skirt tighter and quietly took a deep breath. Now was not the time to lose control.

Kiyoko mustered up the courage to look up from the red carpeted stairs and glared at the man before her.

Kyouya Ootori. That bastard smirked. He knew.