Chapter 555: Tanaka Princess

Phei stepped out of the car the moment Melissa pulled away, the engine’s low purr dissolving into the quiet hum of the Tanaka estate’s private drive.

The car doors slid shut behind him with a soft hydraulic sigh, sealing him outside the compound like a predator willingly stepping into another predator’s territory—polite, composed, and absolutely not here for anything

innocent.

And

there

she was.

Yuki Tanaka

stood at the top of the short marble steps, framed by the warm golden light spilling from the open double doors behind her.

She was small—barely cresting five feet—but carried herself with the effortless, lethal poise of someone who had been trained from childhood to be in a room without ever needing to raise her voice... or, apparently, her

height.

Her face was devastating: delicate Japanese bone structure softened by the gentle American roundness of her mother’s features.

Large, expressive brown eyes—almost doe-like—framed by long lashes that cast soft shadows across high cheekbones and a small, straight nose and full lips painted the faintest rose, already parted slightly as though she had been holding her breath waiting for him... which, judging by the way she looked like she might

combust

at any second, she probably had.

And that signature short side

bang

that always fell just right, brushing one flushed cheek while the rest of her

jet-black

hair cascaded down her bare back like a midnight waterfall—silky, straight, ending in soft waves just above the small of her back,

swaying

gently with every nervous shift of her weight like it, too, was emotionally invested in this encounter.

She wore a dress.

Black silk-satin, floor-length, a high halter neck leaving her shoulders and most of her back exposed to the light.

The fabric

clung

to her slender frame like liquid shadow poured over skin, tracing every line with an almost criminal level of precision, accentuating her tiny waist before flaring gently into a subtle mermaid silhouette that pooled around her feet like it had signed a long-term lease there.

A single, daring

slit

ran up the left side—high enough to tease the smooth, pale skin of her thigh with every small shift, yet modest enough that she could pretend it was an innocent design choice and not a calculated act of emotional warfare.

The neckline plunged into a deep

V

, sheer black mesh filling the space between her collarbones and the soft swell of her medium-small breasts—perfectly cradled, lifted just enough to create elegant

cleavage

without crossing into

vulgarity,

like the dress itself had a strict code of conduct and refused to be messy about it.

Two thin gold bracelets glinted on each wrist, catching the light every time her hands moved nervously, which was... often.

Very often

.

Phei stared.

He didn’t mean to.

He just...

couldn’t look away.

The sight of her hit him like a blade between the ribs—sharp, clean, and inconveniently effective.

Not because she was beautiful

(though gods, she was),

but because she was

Yuki

:

the girl who could make him forget every rule he had ever set for himself with one

shy glance

, one trembling breath, one accidental display of

"I dressed up for you and now I regret everything because I feel like it’s not enough."

Yuki felt the weight of his gaze. Her fingers

tightened

around the tiny black clutch purse she held in front of her pelvis—knuckles whitening as she pressed it there with far more force than necessary, like she was physically

trying to hold her composure in place.

A

flush

climbed her cheeks, soft pink blooming across porcelain skin.

She tried to meet his eyes—

failed almost instantly

—and

dropped

her gaze to the marble between them like it had suddenly become the most fascinating floor in existence.

Long black strands

slipped

forward,

curtaining her face

as she shifted her weight again, the slit parting just enough to flash another teasing inch of thigh—completely by accident, obviously.

Completely.

Finally—her voice small, trembling, but stubbornly trying to sound firm—she called out:

"P-Phei...

stop staring like that. You’re making me

nervous

."

He smiled—slow, crooked, and entirely too pleased with himself, genuinely charmed by the mix of

shyness

and

defiance.

Yuki risked another glance up.

His smile only grew—darkened—turning into something far more dangerous, like he had just discovered a new favorite hobby and it was called

watching her panic

.

Phei crossed the distance in long, unhurried strides—each step deliberate, controlled that suggested he already knew exactly how this night would go and was simply allowing time to catch up.

When he reached her, he took her free hand—small, cool fingers trembling slightly in his—and lifted it to his lips.

He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the back of her knuckles.

He never broke eye contact.

"You’re the most

beautiful

thing

I’ve seen today

," he said quietly, his voice low and certain, the words brushing against her skin like a promise... or a very well-delivered problem.

Her blush deepened to scarlet. She tried to look away—failed again—her eyes snapping back to his like they had completely given up on independence.

"You... you must’ve said that to every girl,"

she murmured, barely audible, her voice cracking on the last word like it had personally betrayed her.

Phei shook his head once. Slow. Serious.

"I would... if there were anyone else as

beautiful as you

are right now." He tilted his head slightly, letting the smile turn just a little wicked—sharp enough to leave a mark. "But there isn’t. Not tonight. Not even close. Honestly, the

competition

didn’t even show up.

It’s a little embarrassing for them."

Yuki’s breath hitched. She finally managed to pull her gaze away—just for a second—before it snapped right back, like her self-control had a two-second cooldown.

"So you’re admitting you’re a

womanizer?"

she asked, her voice stronger now, a small spark of challenge flickering beneath the shyness... fragile, but very much alive.

Phei laughed—soft, warm, genuine, yet edged with something darker, something that lingered beneath the surface like a blade hidden under silk.

"Strong words, princess."

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice slipping into that velvet register he knew unraveled her composure—low,

intimate,

dangerous in the way quiet things often were.

"But wouldn’t you be thrilled by a man of my

caliber?"

he murmured.

"One capable of

holding

so many treasures...

cherishing

each one... giving every single one exactly what she

needs...

without taking sides, without ever letting any of them feel less than

perfectly loved and perfectly satisfied?"

He let the words settle between them—heavy, deliberate, soaked in meaning—before stepping closer still, until the heat of his body brushed against hers, until she had to tilt her head back just to keep her eyes on him.

"Or maybe,"

he continued, his voice falling to a near-whisper, his lips grazing the edge of her ear like a secret she wasn’t ready to hear, "you’re asking because you also want to know if I’d make an

exception.

If I’d burn the whole world down for just one girl."

Yuki’s breath stuttered. Her clutch slipped an inch lower before she caught it instinctively, pressing it tighter against herself as though she could physically contain the storm building inside her chest.

"I—I’m

not asking that," she whispered, but even to her own ears, the denial sounded fragile. Unconvincing and she was already unraveling.

Phei’s smile shifted—slow, predatory, touched with something almost cruel in its certainty, the kind of smile that said he could see straight through every defense she tried to build.

"No?"

he murmured. "Then why are you trembling, Yuki? Why is your breathing so shallow? Why are you clutching that poor purse like it has offended you?"

Her entire body flushed. Not just her cheeks—her neck, her collarbones, the exposed curve of her shoulders warming under the golden light, a quiet, helpless betrayal.

Her lips parted, but the breath that escaped came out uneven, lost before it could become words.

He didn’t stop.

"I was told you spent weeks building a

tracker

to follow my movements," he continued, his voice still that devastating murmur, smooth and relentless.

"Every location. Every timestamp. Every girl I visited. You told yourself it was for the Simps. For the fan club. For logistics." He paused, just long enough for the lie to hang in the air and collapse under its own weight.

"Very

noble. Truly."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face clearly. Her eyes were wide. Glassy. Caught in something she couldn’t step out of.

"But we both know you built it because you wanted to know where I was at all times," he said quietly. "Because not knowing made something in your chest ache in a way you couldn’t explain to anyone...

especially not

yourself."