Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Omakase
Nyomi
An hour later, I barely recognized myself.
The women had worked in near silence—pinning my thick braids up simply, keeping my makeup minimal, letting the gown do the talking.
And God, did it talk.
I stood before a full-length mirror they'd brought in and saw a woman in the reflection I'd never met.
She was flame.
She was power.
The fabric moved when I moved, catching light and throwing color. The bodice hugged my curves like it had been made for my body specifically. The skirt whispered against my legs with every step.
I touched the diamond necklace and then smiled.
Naughty Dragon. I like this surprise.
"This way." One of the women gestured toward the door.
I followed.
We moved through the mansion in silence. Down corridors. Past rooms.
My heels clicked against marble. The sound echoed.
And then we stopped.
I knew these doors.
Hold on. Is this where we’re really going?
My stomach dropped.
The war room?
I looked at the women, but they were already stepping back, bowing slightly, and then leaving me alone in front of the massive double doors.
Why here?
The last time I'd walked through these doors, I'd been playing the role of sexy vixen. Form-fitting outfit. Bouncing breasts. Swaying hips. Clicking six-inch heels.
Every man in the room had stopped breathing when I entered.
I'd been performing confidence I didn't fully feel.
I'd been making an entrance.
But that was before.
Before the pyre.
Before the ash.
Before I learned that fire could be beautiful and horrifying in the same breath.
Now I was standing here in a phoenix gown, about to walk into a room full of weapons and war strategy, and I had no idea what waited on the other side.
Girl. . .just open the doors and see.
I pushed them open and entered.
Okay.
The war room was dark.
For one disorienting moment, I thought the women had made a mistake. Wrong room. Wrong doors. Because the space I remembered—the chaos of men, the smoke, the shouted commands—was gone.
Then the lights began to rise.
Slowly.
Softly.
And I saw.
Oh my God.
The massive 4D display of Tokyo dominated the room just as it had before—but everything else had changed.
Instead of harsh tactical brightness, soft golden uplighting traced the miniature skyline from below, turning three and four-foot skyscrapers into glowing sculptures. The buildings cast long shadows across the marble floor, creating a city of light and darkness that took my breath away.
I stepped further inside.
The eight flat screens on the far wall were all dark now. No news footage like the first time I’d come in here.
No bombed buildings burning in Tokyo.
No war.
Just black glass that reflected the hundreds of candles scattered throughout the massive space.
And the candles were everywhere.
Floating in the miniature rivers that wound through the 4D Tokyo. Clustered on the stone ledges along the walls.
The whole room hummed with warm amber and gold light.
The crimson banners still hung from the black-beamed ceiling—silver dragons eating their own tails—but tonight they looked less like war flags and more like decoration.
Like this had always been a ballroom waiting for its queen.
"Tora." Kenji’s voice—low, warm, unhurried— drifted from somewhere inside the 4D city.
I froze.
My eyes swept the miniature skyline. Buildings rose all around the display—some to my waist, many to my shoulders, a few past my head.
But no Kenji.
I called out, "Where are you?"
"Come find me, Tora." The words curled through the city, scattered between rooftops, and dissolved before I could trace their direction.
He was in there.
Somewhere inside Tokyo, hidden among the buildings and the candlelight, my Dragon was waiting.
I smiled.
Alright. Let’s find the Dragon.
I stepped onto the raised platform of the display, moving carefully between structures. My gown brushed against tiny intersections.
I was an elegantly dressed giant walking through a sleeping city.
A goddess dressed in fire, hunting her dragon.
Up close, the craftsmanship was even more staggering than I remembered.
Miniature Tokyo stretched before me. Many of the buildings rose to my shoulders.
Others rose higher. They were super detailed down to the tiny windows, the rooftop gardens, and the billboards advertising products in Japanese characters.
I recognized Shibuya first. The famous crossing, frozen in miniature replication. Tiny figures no bigger than my fingers, caught mid-step.
The Shibuya 109 building with its cylindrical shape.
The Hachiko statue, barely visible near the station entrance.
Then Roppongi, with its cluster of nightclubs and towers. Roppongi Hills rising proud, its observation deck detailed with tiny railings.
Tokyo Tower glowed to my left—a soft amber tonight, lit from within.
And everywhere—the markers.
Dragon heads with curved horns and gold-tipped teeth sat on rooftops throughout the display. Dozens and dozens of them.
Maybe more.
Each one no bigger than my hand, but carved and claiming territory.
Fox heads were placed too, sleeker, more cunning in their design, and clustered in certain districts.
In fact, I noticed many of the Fox heads were concentrated near Ginza, near Shinjuku.
And then I spotted the Lion heads.
Only a few.
Maybe eight or nine total. But they were there—placed on buildings near the ports and certain intersections.
Continuing forward, I tore my eyes away from the markers and followed a path that wound between buildings.
The Sumida River curved through the display, a ribbon of actual water glowing with submerged lights.
Cherry blossom petals floated on its surface, pale pink against the blue.
Bridges arched over the river in miniature. Asakusa rose on one bank, the famous Senso-ji temple detailed down to its red lanterns.
The Tokyo Skytree pierced upward on the other side.
And there, in the center of it all. . .a low table had been set up in a clearing near the river. Silk cushions in deep crimson surrounded the table. White flowers I didn't recognize spilled from small vases.
But I barely saw the table.
Because Kenji was there.
Waiting.
And God, he was devastating.
He wore a tuxedo. Black as midnight, cut so precisely it looked painted onto his body.
The jacket hugged the broad expanse of his shoulders, tapered along the narrow line of his waist, and fell in clean lines.
The lapels were satin.
His white dress shirt was crisp beneath, the collar sharp, but he'd left the bow tie undone. In fact, the black silk hung loose around his neck as if Kenji were saying, “Yes, I'll give you the fairy tale. But I'm still the Dragon underneath.”
My thighs clenched.
Damn, baby.
His hair was slicked back from his face, still damp, emphasizing the sharp cut of his cheekbones. The strong line of his jaw. The way his neck met his collar, that slice of tattooed skin visible just above the white fabric.
Diamond cufflinks glinted at his wrists.
His hands were in his pockets—casual, patient—but there was nothing casual about the way he watched me approach.
Those dark eyes tracked my every step.
Hungry.
Possessive.
Ready to devour.
My mouth went dry.
This man.
He was sin wrapped in silk.
Danger draped in designer.
He's the villain in a fairy tale. . .
I smirked.
The one who stole the princess and made her grateful for it.
And God help me. . .my body and I were very grateful.
And even from my distance, I saw him stop breathing for a few seconds.
I finished walking through his empire to reach him. Past even more Dragon markers crouched on rooftops.
And Kenji continued to watch every step.
His eyes never left me. His body had gone completely still—the kind of stillness predators achieved before they struck.
Soon, I reached the clearing by the river.
And Kenji moved. “Tora.”
He crossed to me in two strides, took my hands in his, and just. . .looked. His eyes traced every inch of my face. My braids pinned up simply. The column of my throat. The phoenix gown that shifted and shimmered like a living flame.
"Tora. . ." His voice was rough. Almost pained.
"Yes?"
"You are ruining me, Tora. I've looked at this city too many times. Planned wars over it. Killed for it. And right now, I can't see a single building because you're standing in front of me."
My cheeks heated.
"This gown." His thumbs stroked across my knuckles, and his grip on me tightened like he was afraid I might disappear. "You. Standing in my war room dressed like fire. Walking through my city to reach me."
He pulled me closer. "I missed you. . .it was only an hour, and I missed you like it was a year."
I damn near swooned. "I missed you too."
His forehead touched mine.
We stood there for a moment, breathing each other in.
Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he tilted my face up.
The kiss was different this time.
Not the claiming fire from my office doorway.
This was slower.
Erotic.
His mouth moved against mine with lust, memorizing the shape of me and imprinting desire into my skin.
And that's when his scent hit me.
Smoked sandalwood and candied ginger. It flooded my senses—rising off his muscular body, drifting from the open collar of his shirt, and wrapping around me the way his arms hadn't yet.
Fiery and warm, but sweet.
Wood left to smolder.
Sugar just starting to burn.
Fuck.
I inhaled against his mouth.
Drew him deeper.
Let that irresistible scent curl into my lungs and settle behind my ribs.
He tasted the way he smelled—dark, sweet, and dangerously warm. His tongue found mine, unhurried, and my hands fisted the satin lapels of his jacket because my knees were doing something unreliable.
When he pulled back, his breath was uneven. His thumb traced the hinge of my jaw. "Do you know how many seconds are in an hour, Tora?"
I shook my head. My lips were still tingling.