Chapter 1

The new girl is from that psycho family.

I heard she's a ticking time bomb of going insane.

Must be a schizo? Was her aunt institutionalized?

Wasn't it for bipolar?

Or was it multiple personality disorder?

The girl in question tilted her head at the group of students who whispered about her, widening her eyes in curiosity. How interesting to hear information she had never heard of before. People were growing more creative nowadays. Her long black hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned on her elbow, the grin grew on her face until it was that of a Cheshire cat. It was enough to give chills to the gossipers, turning their backs immediately to her.

Kiyoko was named to be the pure child. The one that was made to bring hope to the family plagued with what those considered unfortunate genetics. The rumour mill kept churning and churning as the years gone on. Switching over to a new school didn't seem to help. Lobelia. Ouran. They were all the same. Except for the uniforms.

Kiyoko was nowhere near the pure child she was made to be.

"Why can't you be normal?" The elder screamed at the top of her lungs, hurling a mug at the young woman who sat on the other end of the table. She was done with the child running off doing whatever the hell she did. A rich socialite with many hobbies – art collecting, writing, real estate investor, and apparently – gambling. It was time for Kiyoko to finally settle down and bring the family the honour that they had desperately needed to climb back to some semblance of respect from the upper class.

Kiyoko raised an eyebrow, unflinching at the ceramic that missed her by a wide margin. "I'm normal." She wasn't the one throwing a tantrum, after all.

"Then what's this?" A whole display of photos were thrown onto the table. She was caught at another tournament. In fact, she made headlines when she won. It was years ago now when she competed professionally, raking in quite the fortune of millions. This was just a fun little game, one to prove her worth when people questioned her ability and took her out of retirement to do so.

"Oh," Kiyoko smiled at the photos. It was quite the memory – the exhilaration of playing poker with the big boys a few months ago. 4 naked men while she was fully clothed. It was strip poker, with her only losing the earrings on her ears. She sat across from the Hitachiins in their boxers. "Hm," she hummed to herself. "My hair looks quite nice like that, no?"

"You're seen as a gambling addict," her grandmother spat. "How can we possibly market you as someone to marry? How will the business ever thrive if you're seen gambling our fortune away?"

The granddaughter shrugged. "That's not my problem," she clicked her tongue and waved over the servant that already had her hot towel ready. She got up to leave the table, doing her duties as the granddaughter who came to appease the elder once a year – but only if she felt like it. Kiyoko was promised something in return. The keys to a specific cottage up in the mountains.

"The Ootoris are interested," the elder spat out, keeping the girl from leaving too quickly.

Kiyoko shrugged. "Who cares," her eyes blank at the name. Why did that name seem oddly familiar?

"They're making a very high offer."

The young woman rolled her eyes. "So… we're just going to put out?" Kiyoko laughed at the prospect of marriage. She hoped that this meeting was not one to convince her to do such a ridiculous thing – not with the kind of reputation their family had. It must have been near impossible to even try to pitch her as a candidate for marriage. Why would anyone marry into a family of crazies? "C'mon, at least negotiate a little. Go big. Isn't that how we all do business?"

The Hitachiin twins laughed when the news broke out. They all happened to be having their monthly brunch at the Suoh mansion. They sat at their usual spot, gathering around in the early afternoon. "Man, you're done for. You know she's fucking crazy, right?"

Kyouya leaned back in his seat, rolling his eyes. "It's all part of the process." Securing the Hibayashi chain of psychiatric care would only further their monopoly in the healthcare sector. Any business insider would see this as a logical step for the Ootori empire. If they secured their deal, it would allow Kyouya to rise to the position of the heir.

"Does the process include marriage?" Kaoru had tears in his eyes from laughter. "Holy shit, you're actually fucked," Hikaru shook his head. "Or equally crazy," Kaoru suggested.

Tamaki swatted the Twins from the back. "Oi, don't say that. I'm sure she's a lovely person." Not that the Suoh knew the girl personally, but he always gave the benefit of doubt.

The Twins shook their head. "Nah nah, you don't get it, Tono. She's actually fucking wild. She stripped us both naked a few months ago from poker. You have no idea what that woman is thinking."

"And how did she end up playing poker with you two shitheads?" Kyouya raised an eyebrow.

Hikaru sighed. "We wanted to purchase this art piece for our new studio." The gallery only allowed exclusive access to the rich and elite. Even getting an invitation to a showing was difficult. People had to make calls to the right connections. Somehow, the Hitachiin Twins' personal assistant had spoken to someone who knew Kiyoko and managed to finagle a last-minute auction invite.
"Turns out, she was the gallerist," Kaoru answered. "She knew the artist personally and had been curating their work exclusively."

"We thought maybe, we could haggle with her," Hikaru explained. "You know, given the fact that we all went to Ouran together and we were in the same homeroom class."
"But we weren't the only bidders for that piece," Kaoru added. "So she looked at all of us and smiled – the sort of smile that gives you shivers," he remembered. "All of us had gathered around the art in a small circle."

"One of the bidders somehow caught wind that she played poker," Kaoru continued. "He basically told her that he could beat her in a game. Specifically, a game of strip poker."

"Kiyoko was quite reasonable," Hikaru remembered. "Very polite in reminding him that this was an auction for art – not an invitation to play poker."

"But damn," Kaoru shook his head. "This guy just wouldn't stop egging her on. So she turned to all of us and asked if we would all be interested in a casual game of poker. Winner takes the pot and the art."

"And you know," Hikaru shrugged. "We like to have fun. But that woman really skinned us alive. Buy-in was 10 grand and no one took the art home."

Kyouya listened to the Twins' account of the story. "And she wasn't cheating?" It seemed like a probable cause.

"Nah," the Twins shook their heads. "Didn't seem like it. She didn't choose the venue. No part of her could have hidden any cards. We also used a new deck, fresh out of the plastic pack. No fucking way she had any kind of telltale giveaway when you looked at her face. Her eyes were blank. Lifeless. And then she'd give you that devious smile of hers at the weirdest times. Fucking creeped us out."

Haruhi crossed her arms and wondered why that named seemed so familiar. "Ah, Kiyoko…" she finally remembered. It seemed like the girl was never quite able to shake off the reputation she had since she was young. Haruhi wondered what she must have been up to all these years.

"So she beat you in poker – that doesn't make her crazy," Haruhi pointed out.

"You don't remember the stories?" Hikaru gasped. "The time when she took a knife and carved in the word psycho on Asume's desk?"

"Or the time matches slipped out of her bag? People thought she was going to burn the academy down!" Kaoru reminded.

The lawyer shook her head. "Those were still groundless rumours." Like Tamaki, she gave the benefit of the doubt.

"Rumours always start from somewhere!" the Twins snapped.

Kiyoko looked at her long nails painted in a bold red. Her lipstick matched. Her long hair was half-up, held by a hairpin that was adorned in Swarovski crystals. She fluttered her eyelashes in the sunlight, letting the rays of sun warm her pale skin. She glowed beneath the sun, like a goddess. She entered the facility as she usually had, without permission nor notice. It kept management on their toes, but Kiyoko stood out like a sore thumb in the midst of scrubs and white coats anyway.

"Kiki!" a voice called out to her. "Kiki, Kiki, Kiki, Kiki…" They repeated happily.

The woman turned around with a smile, a genuine one. The kind that did not make people think twice about their intentions with her. The sort that did not bring terror nor fear. She waited for him to settle.

"Haru," she greeted patiently, letting the man circle around her, dancing with joy and surprise before he made eye contact. He jittered around the familiar face. His favourite face. His family. His only family.

"Why are you here? You're supposed to come on the weekend. Visitation hours only. 11 AM to 5 PM. 11 AM to 5 PM. 11 AM to 5 PM," he repeated until Kiyoko nodded.

"I just wanted to see my big brother," she responded warmly. "I brought you the textbook you wanted."

"Textbook. Yes. Textbook," he nodded eagerly. "Textbook," he repeated. He looked around. Up on the ceiling. Down to the ground. Anywhere but eyes. "I wanted the 8th edition. 8th edition only. The newest. The best. The one with the new problems to solve. New problems. I have to add it to my collection."

Kiyoko fished it out of her bag, a new hardcover edition. Worth hundreds of dollars. But to any rich person, it was just chump change. It was truly nothing but a stop by an academic bookstore at the local university. Her brother had a penchant for two things: mathematics and art. He was a genius in his own right but shunned by the family.

It was here that they built a facility for him to thrive. Far away from society. A place where he could be taken care of away from the public eye. He had his own wing, separate from the rest of the patients. His own area to live – a whole art studio and an entire study room lined with textbooks, chalk, and whiteboard markers. Five star meals, three times a day. A large bedroom that overlooked the mountains. It was literally the best care for any rich person to buy.

Most people saw it as a place for someone like her brother to thrive. A place where his triggers were removed. Haru had less reason to be overwhelmed by all his senses, especially when this place was soundproof. It was meant to be temporary. A suggestion when caretaking for him became especially difficult on the family while Kiyoko was gone to study overseas. There was initial pushback.

I'm not paying for this.

Why not? He's your son. He needs the care. Just until he can get back on his feet again. He just needs some time away.

He's not my son.

He's my brother.

Don't be stupid, Kiyoko. He's not like any of us. He can never be. I will not fund this stupid charity case of yours.

Fine. I'll fund it myself.

Kiyoko looked around the place, watching as Haru cracked open the textbook for the first time in his study. The whole place was lined with equations in chalk or in marker. His eyes lit up at the sound of the crack when you first open the book cover. He inhaled the pages, sniffing the thin layers of paper and appreciating the smell of a new book. He was happy. He was having a good day.

He had more good days than bad over the years of arriving here.

But Kiyoko still felt like she had inadvertently built a prison for him.

Kyouya sat back in his office chair, looking at the information he had found through the background check about Kiyoko Hibayashi. It really wasn't much.

She was the daughter of the Hibayashi chain of psychiatric care, the only child. The family made their fortune by delving into the business of hospitals, like the Ootoris. They were known for their psychiatric care – likely because the family had been plagued with members that had mental illnesses over generations. It seemed like the chain had been passed along the ones that were mentally stable at the very least. The business thrived over the years due to advancements in technology and innovative therapies that they adapted for their patients, known for employing world-renowned experts in mental health. Their market used to be a niche one until recent decades when mental health became less stigmatized. It became enough that Yoshio Ootori had considered them a competitor.

Kiyoko was an Ouran student who transferred in their 1st year from Lobelia, the same age as the Twins and Haruhi. He didn't remember her at the academy. Her grades were decent, though not top of the class during their years in the academy. She had dual degrees from overseas in Creative Writing and Mathematics with a minor in Art History. She was an art gallerist and oddly, a professional poker player who retired a few years ago.

She was a strange one, he had to admit. It didn't fit the usual trajectory of a rich young socialite – but then again, the entire family was deemed insane for good reason. Kiyoko's mother committed suicide – speculated after a very heavy bout of post-partum depression that went undiagnosed after Kiyoko's birth. Her aunt was known to have manic episodes while young and had been hospitalized on many occasions, all while fighting over her claim to the company. Her grandfather was a known alcoholic, driven to death after being the sole caretaker of his own bipolar brother and then his daughter. The facilities were passed off as the company grew under her father. That entire family was a mess – and heavily publicised in the media as great story fodder. The irony was something everyone enjoyed to read.

And yet, somehow. There was Kiyoko. Her biggest headline was the fact that she was just a professional poker player – making millions while young and then retired when her art gallery had taken off. She was a successful art curator – sought after by the rich and elite because her gallery had such an exclusive hold over unique pieces.

Strange, he thought to himself. Why poker? Why art?

He looked at the photo of her in the article. She couldn't have been more than 20 years old at the time. She smiled deviously across the table, her fingers gripped the cards with her emerald green nails. Her eyes were lined perfectly. Perhaps she had a good poker face. Or she was just a young woman having fun – especially since she had money to spare at that age.

But did she really live up to her family's reputation?

Kiyoko stared at the desk, almost amused at the lengths it took to actual carve such a thing. She was the first person in the class in the morning, her long poofy yellow dress did not get in the way of anyone or anything when it was early. She liked the quiet mornings before the bustling of students came through to create a ruckus. How long did this take? She wondered. It must have been done after class had ended the night prior. Do girls just have a lot of time here in Ouran to plague someone's reputation? It was nearly the end of the semester. Kiyoko was not particularly friends with anyone nor did she make much of an effort to begin with. It was clear she was ostracized from the very beginning.

She ran her fingers over the carving, tracing the letters slowly with her phalanges. Interesting. Was this a cry for attention? Entertainment for everyone else to fortify their fear against the already outcasted new girl? Hm. Teenage girls were crazy. Kiyoko shook her head and sat in her seat, waiting for everyone to trickle in. She sat writing in her notebook of the homework that was due soon.

The owner of the desk screamed when she saw her desk vandalized. Nearly everyone had arrived in homeroom by now. Kiyoko rolled her eyes and nearly scoffed. Wow, she's really selling this, she thought to herself.

Asume pointed a finger at Kiyoko, directing everyone's attention to the girl who sat quietly in the row behind them. Her long hair flowed down to the middle of her back, straight as a pin. Her uniform was pristine. Her large doe eyes looked back at the accuser with curiosity. Kiyoko wondered if it would make a difference if she tried to defend herself. But instead, she smiled – daring the girl to try to pin it on her, wondering how she could ever prove that she had done the deed. The smile was enough to make Asume think twice, already reading the message in her eyes. The way Asume's eyes faltered was enough to confirm that she was guilty of digging herself into this hole.

Kiyoko leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms in silence, letting the class settle down in whispers before roll call.

She's like a serial killer. Did you see how she smiled?

Actually insane… I don't feel safe sitting around her.

Do you think she'll stab someone someday?

The girl listened intently, wondering what to make of it all. Perhaps it was better to be feared than trampled upon. It was lonely from the top. But maybe she was lucky for it.

Kiyoko stared at the twins. Supposedly, they went to Ouran. She wanted to scoff – well, most of her customer base were alumni of some sort of the most expensive private schools in the country. They looked familiar, perhaps they really were in her homeroom class. Kiyoko found Ouran to be more of a blur than anything, her years as an outcast were not particularly memorable ones. The rumours had been around for years, Kiyoko was always curious to see if any interesting new ones came out of it. But beyond the fact that she was deemed psycho was not new.

Kiyoko gathered the bidders together in her art gallery. She called for this meeting not really looking to do much but to make a sale and this was the fastest way to do it. The artwork had been sought after for months and she had a new collection that came in to make room for. Four people – the Hitachiin Twins, a real-estate developer, and a race car driver had come around to bid for the large work. Three bidders in total.

"Heard you played poker back in your heyday," the real estate developer turned to the gallerist. He eyed her from head to toe. Her hair was tied up in a bun with strands to frame her face, long diamond earrings dangled from her ears, her waist was accentuated by the Gucci band across her dress that travelled down to her ankles. She was elegant but her eyes were the most enticing. They pierced through him like daggers before she relented and responded as patiently as she could.

Kiyoko narrowed her eyes. She was in her late twenties. Her heydays were certainly not over. How rude, she thought. She ran a successful art gallery. She was a published author under a pseudonym. She was, what most rich people considered, a self-made woman. Sure, she had no say in the family business as a woman. But even then, she had ventured off to pursue some rather profitable interests. Kiyoko did her best to stay professional at the comment.

"I have since retired," the woman calmly answered. "Now, shall we make this sale? We're here to bid for this lovely piece behind you. All of you have expressed interest. You can decide amongst yourselves." Kiyoko smiled at them all in an attempt to seem friendly before she turned to leave. "Submit your bids to my assistant, please."

"How about we decide with a poker match?" the real estate man grinned.

"This was not an invitation for poker," Kiyoko politely reminded.

"Strip poker," he clarified. "So you can show us what you've got," the man smirked.

Kiyoko blinked at the lewd comment. The Twins looked to each other, as if reminding each other that this woman was literally known to be psychotic – they wondered what she would do next. The race car driver snickered at the real estate developer, liking the thought of his proposal. The woman raised an eyebrow.

"And the winner gets the pot and the artwork?" Kiyoko tilted her head. She did the math in her head. She wanted to sell the art for at least 40 grand – enough to pay the artist the majority and to keep her share as the middle man. These men had money to spare and egos to abolish. This was a key money making opportunity, way beyond the 40 grand she had in mind. "Then I'll set the buy-in at 10 grand. Text me the address you want to play tonight."

"And you're alright with an audience?" the man smirked, already undressing her with his eyes. How he would love to get his hands on her waist, pulling her into him and then shove her up the wall against his body right then and there.

Kiyoko shrugged. "The more the better." She hoped that there would be enough people to watch these men get humiliated. Even better if the press was around. Her eyes were blank as she promised to keep them all entertained. She didn't rise to the ranks of professional poker for nothing.

"You need to go," the assistant ushered. This was her 4th time trying to convince her boss. She had worked under her since the gallery had opened, responding to a job posting she found during her undergraduate years. She was an art history student looking to make some extra cash – but she had no idea how much extra it meant. Her boss had to have been no more than a handful of years older than her.

She was well aware of what everyone thought of the woman. Terrifying. Stubborn. Ill tempered. Maybe borderline insane. She heard whispers of the clients who spoke of Hibayashi-san only after she had begun working. The rumours were not true. In fact, Hibayashi-san was actually reasonable, intelligent, and a borderline workaholic. She always dressed like she stepped out of a magazine. Her pricing for the artwork was always fair and she never budged because artists deserved to be compensated fairly. She catered to the contemporary crowd. The classic crowd. The eclectic crowd. The rich crowd, in general. Who knew rich people were also cheap when they wanted to haggle for art?

"I'm busy," she dismissed, not bothering to look at her assistant.
"This has been on your calendar for months," her assistant reminded.

Kiyoko stared intently at her accounting books, working out the math in her head before watching the numbers pop up on the screen. She punched in some more numbers, wondering why accountants make as much as they did. "So?" the business owner was obviously not interested.

"I don't want to get yelled at again," her employee reasoned.
"It's part of the job," Kiyoko snapped.
"Not by your grandmother," the woman meekly answered.
"You don't work for her," the gallerist replied. "You work for me, Nami-chan. And if you have to get yelled at by an old lady – I'm sure it's not the hardest part of your job."

It had been the end of the month with Kiyoko crunching the numbers. Profits were high, of course. She made a decent amount to stay afloat - even selling two pieces a month was generally enough. She could pay rent for the place. Pay for the high security required to protect her assets. Pay the artists too. Pay for those high-class events that drew the rich and elite into the gallery. Make them feel special. Make them feel like they could appreciate real art when no one else could. Half this business was appeasing the egos of high-society. Marketing the artwork like it was exclusive. Play into the psychology of the rich and elite. Kiyoko shrugged. Whatever. It made money. Nami certainly did not complain. Nami did not know who the artists were, either. It was a well-kept secret by Kiyoko, and Kiyoko only.

The whole thing started because Haru kept painting. He had always painted, but not like this. Not obsessively. It was a problem. He ran out of storage space at the facility. Kiyoko sat her brother down, asking what he wanted to do with it.

"S-sell, sell it. Sell it. Make money. Make lots of money," he told her without hesitation despite the stutter.

"You don't want to keep it?" Kiyoko asked softly. They sat on the floor in the middle of all of the paint that had been splattered on the hardwood. The studio was built specifically for him, designed by Kiyoko herself. "They're beautiful, Haru. You spend so much time making them."

"S-sell them," he repeated. "Sell. Money. Lots of money. Pay for textbooks. Pay for more supplies. Pay pay pay," he told her. "Like an adult."

"I can take care of the money," Kiyoko explained. "You don't have to worry about that."

"No, no no no, no no no no," Haru shook his head. "No. No! Adult! I am an adult. Adult. No no no…"

Kiyoko nodded her head. "Okay, okay," she stayed calm. "Okay. We'll sell. We can sell," she assured him. But she had already lost him in another tantrum and he couldn't hear her. She wondered what had gotten into him. Haru had never worried about money before – she didn't even realize he understood the concept of money. The younger sister decided that she would make it happen, no matter what.

"Please, Hibayashi-san," Nami begged. "Your grandmother said she would fire me herself."

Kiyoko laughed. "Oh no. You're going to let this 80 year old threaten you? Please. Your payroll is paid by me. This entire studio is paid by me. You have nothing to worry about unless you go against me. And will you ever go against your employer, Nami?"

The art history graduate shook her head. "N-no."

"Good," Kiyoko smiled and turned back to her monitor.

If it was any rumour that was true – it was the fact that Hibayashi-san knew how to instill terror into someone. Nami did not know what it was. Was it the smile? How fearless she was when it came to anything. She did not flinch at the things people said about her – but rather, embraced it. How she could reason with anyone, even those who threatened her because she often told Nami she had little to lose. It was like a gift in the way that she could read people within a split second.

"Alright," her boss relented after a few more minutes of her keyboard clacking. She was nearing the end of her financial report. "What did she want this time?"

"For you to go to a dinner tonight."

Kiyoko raised an eyebrow. "With what I'm wearing?" A white silk camisole tucked into her high waisted linen pants. A blazer sat comfortably on her shoulders. Red bottomed stilettos to finish off the look. Low bun with no stray hairs to show. It was professional. But Kiyoko wouldn't call this dinner ready.

Nami nodded in understanding. "The reservation is made at 8. You still have time to change."
Kiyoko stared blankly at her employee. Nami could already tell that she had no interest in this. "Your grandmother said it was with the Ootori," she clarified.
"If she calls the next time, tell her that if the Ootori really wanted to have dinner with me, they would come find me."

Nami nodded, bracing herself to get yelled at tomorrow.

"Haven't seen you around for quite some time." He served her a glass of her regular bourbon on the rocks. The edges of her lips curled in the slightest before she nodded in acknowledgement. This was her spot. She found this place by accident a few years ago, after getting lost from one of those snooty art industry events. She stumbled into the basement of the building to try to hide from a group of other art curators that wanted to see what made her gallery so exclusive. She stayed for a drink to calm down and the rest was history.

"So, what's new?" he asked, leaning over the counter.

She shrugged and took a sip. There was something comforting about something that was so bitter. The way it burned down her throat as a reminder that she was still able to feel something inside of her. "Nothing. Long day at work."

"What do you do again?" the bartender flashed her a friendly smile.
"You know what I do," she rolled her eyes. She wasn't in the entertaining mood – not that anyone was when they craved for a drink.

"Yeah but it's more fun when you play along, babe," he winked. "Let's try again. What do you do?"
"I run a drug smuggling ring," she answered with a serious tone, not breaking eye contact with him. She brought the glass to her lips, the dark red lipstick leaving a stain on the cup before she put it down. "We have a big drop of E coming in two hours from Myanmar, about 10 million for street value. I'm only here to kill time."

The man blinked when she didn't continue. She sipped on her bourbon quietly, looking down at her phone before making eye contact with the civilian. The way she looked at him was chilling – like she could stare into your soul and know exactly what you were thinking about. "Wait… what?"

"You wanted to know what I did. I told you," she shrugged while pushing the glass towards him for another fill.
The bartender gulped. "I thought you were an art… gallerist?"
The woman giggled before she turned hysterical with laughter. "Fuck, you're gullible," she shook her head.

He watched the whole scene play out from a booth. Her laugh brightened the entire room. It was a quiet night – a weeknight after all. The place was dimly lit and seated probably 30 at a maximum. The bar had only a few stools. A corner with a couple tables and the exposed brick wall that was lined with leather seated booths. The man across from her joined shortly, his laughter that rooted mostly from nervousness eventually melded into joy when he realized it was a pretty good prank. He filled her glass without another word. Now was a good time as any to come out from the shadows, he figured.

He joined her at the bar, sitting next to her as he silently asked for a refill on his own bourbon. He leaned against the counter, coolly pretending to be unfazed by her presence. The woman turned to him and tilted her head at the stranger. He could not have been much older than her – probably also rich enough to somehow land at this speakeasy. It was an equally exclusive place. She only lucked out by finding it when they first opened. It was obvious that something about him seemed like he didn't belong – underground basement bars weren't really his scene, after all. He was uptight – she could tell by the way his tie was immaculately placed right in the centre of his body. She turned back to her own drink, mindlessly stirring the liquid by rotating the ball of ice. She ignored the presence of the man.

"What kind of art gallerist needs a drink in the middle of the week?" the stranger asked. The bartender went into the back, leaving the two alone when he sensed the man with glasses staring him down to leave.

"The kind who gets stalked by the Ootori," she shot back without hesitation with a clipped tone.
Kyouya was quick to mask his surprise. "So you know me."

"Doesn't everyone?" she raised an eyebrow at him. That was a fair point. You had to be living under a rock to not know the name Ootori.
"Why didn't you show up to dinner?" he asked.

Kiyoko looked at the time on her phone. Just past 8. She tapped her dark nails against the wood, wishing that the bartender was back to save her from the conversation.

"Why didn't you?" she responded with the same question. Their reservation was supposedly at 8, after all.
"I assumed you wouldn't show," the Ootori responded.

Kiyoko finished her glass in a single sip. Her throat felt like it was on fire. She let the heat settle in her body before she hopped off the bar stool, masking any emotion of discomfort across from her face. It was time to get out of here. Her moment of peace had been interrupted after all.

"So you thought you could pick me up at a bar that I frequent?" she scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Listen, I don't care about the family business. It's not going to be passed down to me. Talk to my father for your business interests," she bluntly told him.

"That's not what I'm here for," he denied.

Kiyoko smiled to herself before flashing one of her regular smiles at the man before her. The sort that made people think twice about what was coming ahead of them. She looked up at him, almost daring him to lie to her again. She dragged a finger against his jaw, tracing the bone before scratching his neck along his Adam's apple with her black painted nails. She tugged onto his tie, pulling him down to eye level and ruining the perfectly centred position. She did it so quickly he hadn't even had time to react. Her eyes looked obsidian in this lighting. It was mesmerizing and also terrifying. She was so close to him but he could do nothing but stare. He could literally smell the notes of gardenia from her perfume.

"Haven't you heard the rumours?" she asked him. "I'm fucking insane," Kiyoko enunciated each word to prove her point. He underestimated her strength when she pushed him away, stumbling backwards as he watched her leave. She put her hand in the air and gave a cheeky wave before opening the door.