lovesick girl

He couldn't lie to Megumi. He could lie to his father, to your parents, to the entire Tokyo social scene about the relationship with you being real and established. He could sell that story to everyone else without his conscience bothering him too much.

But to his son? To that kid who looked at him with complete trust and believed everything Toji told him? He'd never forgive himself for that.

So he needed to find a way to explain this in terms an eight-year-old would understand. Without the full truth—because Dad was messing around and got someone pregnant by accident wasn't exactly age-appropriate—but without outright lies either.

Walk a tightrope between honesty and protection. Easy.

After what felt like the hundredth heavy sigh, Toji finally opened the car door and walked to Naoya's entrance.

—

His cousin's house was nice—expensive, modern, all clean lines with minimalist furniture that probably cost more than it should. It had been a "gift" from Naobito when Naoya turned twenty-two, though Toji privately thought the house was less a gesture of generosity and more a bribe to get the blonde menace out of the family home. He didn't blame his uncle. Naoya could be absolutely exhausting to live with.

Toji didn't bother with the doorbell—he let himself in and followed the sounds of video game combat and trash talk to the living room.

Naoya and Megumi were planted in front of the massive TV, controllers in hand, deeply focused on Super Smash Bros. Megumi's character—Sonic, as always—was absolutely demolishing Naoya's.

"What the FUCK!" Naoya screamed as his character went flying off the screen for what was clearly not the first time. He threw his controller at the couch cushions in frustration.

"That's twenty-five to zero." Megumi said calmly, making a careful tally mark in a small notebook beside him on the couch.

"How much time do you spend playing this game to be this good?" Naoya demanded, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair and messing it up completely. "I should scold your father. You should be reading books or doing homework or some educational shit."

"I don't play Smash that much." Megumi said, his tone utterly matter-of-fact. "You're just really bad at this game, Uncle Naoya."

"You little shit." Naoya lunged forward, grabbing Megumi in a playful headlock and aggressively ruffling his dark hair while the kid squirmed and laughed, trying to escape. "Take it back!"

"Never!" Megumi was half-screaming, half-laughing. It was at that moment that the boy saw Toji in the room. "Dad! Help me!"

Naoya immediately released him when he spotted Toji, and Megumi scrambled over, still grinning and trying to fix his hair as he hid behind Toji.

"You shouldn't let that kid play so many video games." Naoya said, straightening his designer shirt like he was the responsible adult here. "It's frying his brain cells."

"He doesn't play Smash that much." He eplied with a shrug. "You're just bad."

"Fuck you."

"Language." Toji said, though Megumi had definitely heard worse. "Go grab your stuff. We're leaving." He said to Megumi, giving him a gentle smack on the back of the head.

"Okay!" Megumi ran off to wherever he had left his backpack.

Toji turned back to Naoya. "Did you feed my child actual food or just sugar?"

"Of course I fed him." Naoya looked offended. "We had pizza."

Toji raised an eyebrow.

"What? I wasn't going to cook. It's Saturday."

"As if you cook the rest of the week."

"I have people for that." Naoya sprawled back on his expensive couch, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Besides, the kid's fine. We got vegetables on it and everything. Peppers count as vegetables, right?"

Toji was waiting for it—the comment about last night, about the gala, about you. Naoya lived for gossip and drama, and the Ito heir passing out at a major social event and being carried off by Toji Zen'in should have been irresistible bait.

But Naoya just grabbed his phone, already distracted by something on the screen. There were probably more interesting things going on that he could focus his attention on, or he just forgot about it.

Thank god for small mercies.

Megumi returned with his backpack, which looked considerably heavier than it had this morning. Toji didn't want to know how many snacks Naoya had let him pack in there.

"Thanks for watching him." He said.

"Anytime. Kid's fun. Kicks my ass at video games, but fun." Naoya waved without looking up from his phone. "See you around."

"Bye, Uncle Naoya!" Megumi called, already heading for the door.

"Later, kid."

—

In the car, Megumi was a chatterbox, going on about his day with the kind of enthusiasm only a kid could muster after too much pizza and video games.

"—and then Uncle Naoya said I couldn't possibly beat him five more times in a row, but I totally did! He got so mad, Dad, it was hilarious. And we watched that anime I told you about, the one with the pirates, and Uncle Naoya said the main character is stupid but I think he's cool, and—"

Toji listened, making appropriate sounds of interest, asking questions at the right moments. But his mind was elsewhere, running through conversation starters and explanations and trying to figure out how to drop this bomb without traumatizing his kid.

Hey buddy, remember that lady you met that one time? Yeah, she's pregnant and we're getting married in two weeks.

No. Terrible.

So I have some exciting news—

Also terrible. There was nothing exciting about this.

We're going to have some changes in the family—

God, he sounded like a divorce counselor.

When the doors of his house's garage closed, Megumi quickly got out of the car. Toji followed him inside until they entered the house, and his son was about to go upstairs, but he stopped him. 

"Hey." He said. "Before you go up, I need to talk to you about something. Come sit with me in the living room for a minute."

Megumi's enthusiasm dimmed immediately, replaced by that look kids got when they knew something serious was coming. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. All good."

"Then what?"

"Just come sit with me. It's important."

That finally caught his attention.

Megumi fell silent at once, his usual stream of questions and observations fading away as he followed Toji into the living room. The sudden seriousness in his father's voice seemed to settle over him, replacing curiosity with uncertainty.

Toji lowered himself onto the couch and patted the empty spot beside him. For a moment, Megumi hesitated. Then he climbed up slowly, shoulders a little tense, his small hands twisting together in his lap. He glanced up at Toji, nervous now, as if he already knew whatever came next wasn't going to be an ordinary conversation.

"Are you sure I'm not in trouble?" He asked. 

"No, buddy. You're not in trouble at all." Toji ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out where to start. "I just need to tell you about something that's going to happen."

"What is it?"

Toji opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again, but the same thing happened. And again, and again, and again. He could see the desperation in Megumi’s eyes as he waited to hear what his father was going to say, so, after a long sigh, he managed to speak, even with his heart in his throat. 

"Do you remember my friend?" Toji asked. "The woman you met that one time in the hallway?"

Megumi's face immediately brightened. "The sleepover lady!"

Toji almost laughed despite the knot in his stomach. Right. The "sleepover lady."

That had been a disaster. It was about six months ago, one night when you’d stayed over at his place after sneaking out of a work dinner that, in your own words, was "unnecessarily long."

"Toji."

A voice, somewhere far off.

"Toji."

Closer now, but still muffled by the thick pull of sleep.

"Toji! Wake up!"

The jolt was what actually did it. He sat up so fast his forehead cracked into something solid. 

He blinked. His vision swam, then cleared.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, palm pressed to your forehead, face scrunched in a way that told him that the something solid he hit was you. 

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, still rough with sleep and ignoring his own pain that the collision had caused him to check on you. He reached out and took your chin, tilting your face toward the light to get a better look. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" You said immediately. Then: "No."

Despite himself, Toji let out a short, low laugh. "Which one is it?"

You dropped your hand. "Toji. I ran into Megumi."

That cut through the last of his sleepiness faster than anything else could have.

"What?" He straightened. "How?"

You looked at him for a few seconds, as if you were thinking about your answer, before saying, "I had to use the bathroom—I was looking for it and ran into him in the hallway."

"But—" He almost said there's a big ass bathroom in here—and then he looked at you. Really looked.

You were wearing yesterday's dress. Which was, notably, inside out. Your bag was sitting by the door, right where it would be if someone had dropped it in a hurry on their way in—except he remembered, clearly, that you'd left it on the couch across the room when you'd arrived last night.

The math wasn't complicated. You had been trying to sneak out before he woke up.

He filed that away for later, because right now there was a more pressing problem.

"What did you say to him?" He asked.

"Nothing! I panicked and came back."

He exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Just—don't worry about it. I'll handle it."

—

Getting you out of the house without running into Megumi a second time turned out to require more tactical effort than planned, but it worked. It was kind of funny to see how panicked you got every time you walked a few more feet—especially when you said you heard a noise and hid behind a plant that did everything but hide you.

"That was a close call." You said as soon as he closed the front door.

He wanted to comment on your attempt to sneak out, but he decided to let it go; he'd save that for later.

"It's okay, I'll talk to him."

"What are you going to tell him?"

Toji thought about it for a moment. "That you're just a friend."

You looked at him with a hint of surprise on your face, "Just that?"

"What should I tell him, then?" He asked, leaning against the door.

"You’re right, that’s fine." You replied after a somewhat awkward silence. "I'm leaving."

"I'll walk you to your car."

When you reached the vehicle, he quickly opened the door for you, but before you got in—and after a quick glance around—he grabbed you by the neck and kissed you. And if it weren't for his concern about having to explain things to Megumi, he would have shoved you into the car for a second round. So he broke off the kiss; lately, he couldn't control himself when he was around you.

"See you later?" He asked with a smirk.

"Sure." You said as you got into the car.

"By the way—" He began as he closed your door. "Your dress is inside out."

He caught a quick glimpse of the embarrassment on your face before turning away.

Toji went into his house and made his way to the kitchen; he needed some water.

"Who was that?"

Toji stopped walking. The sudden sound of his son's voice nearly giving him a heart attack. 

He didn't notice him at first, but as he approached the unnecessarily large couch, he saw him lying there, cross-legged, iPad in his lap.

So he had seen you get out? Fuck. Of course he had.

"A friend." Toji said quickly. Too quickly. 

Megumi's expression was exactly as unreadable as it always was, which meant he was either completely unbothered or running some kind of eight-year-old internal investigation. "What was she doing here so early? And why was she coming out of your room?"

Fuck. 

Toji considered his options.

"Because she stayed over. That's all—" He said without thinking.

"Why?" 

Toji sighed. "Because adults sometimes spend time together. It's not a big deal." 

"Like a sleepover?" His son's innocence almost made him chuckle.

"...Yes."

Megumi looked back down at his iPad, as though processing this. "Why didn't you invite me? I like sleepovers."

Toji almost choked on his own saliva. "This was an adult sleepover."

"Oh." A pause. "So it was boring then."

Toji walked past him toward the kitchen. "It was."

He poured himself a glass of water and drank half of it before he realized he was smiling.

Megumi had accepted that explanation with the easy logic of a child who hadn't yet learned to question adult behavior. Though he had asked, periodically over the following months, whether the "sleepover lady" would be coming back.

"Yeah." Toji said now. "The sleepover lady. Y/N."

"What about her?" Megumi asked, clearly confused.

"She… well she…" Toji thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it again. But no explanation seemed good enough. "She’s having lunch with us on Monday."

Megumi frowned, clearly confused. "That's it?"

"That's it."

—

Toji was a coward.

Without a doubt, he was a coward.

Toji had always prided himself on being direct—someone who didn't sugarcoat things or avoid uncomfortable conversations. Yet somehow, when it came to Megumi, he couldn't do it.

The words should have been easy. Y/N and I are getting married. A simple sentence. A fact. Something he should have been able to say without hesitation.

But when he looked at his son, he just couldn't do it. 

And it annoyed him. Because what kind of coward was he, hesitating over a conversation with the one person who deserved his honesty the most? He could face shareholders, rivals, and anyone trying to challenge him, but explaining this to Megumi—explaining that his life was about to change—was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do.

For someone who always claimed he had no problem facing things head-on, Toji hated how easily his confidence disappeared when it came to his son.

These thoughts kept going round and round in his head as he sat propped against his headboard with his laptop balanced on his knees, trying to focus on work emails that suddenly seemed completely irrelevant. 

His phone rang, and he wasn't surprised to see it was his dad. Again. Toji let out a heavy sigh; it was probably the fiftieth call of the day. He was acting like a total immature kid by ignoring him, but the last thing he wanted was to get yelled at today. But he couldn't put this off any longer, so he answered the call.

He answered. "Hello—"

"CAN YOU FUCKING EXPLAIN WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

His father's voice exploded through the speaker so loud that Toji had to pull the phone away from his ear. He could hear the rage radiating through every syllable, could picture Katsuro's face going red, the vein in his temple throbbing.

"Hello to you too." Toji said, his voice deliberately calm.

"Don't start with that bullshit, Toji. I've been trying to get in touch with you all day. SO EXPLAIN. Right now."

"I think you already know everything you need to know. Tadashi called you this morning, didn't he?"

"IS THAT ALL YOU'RE GOING TO SAY?!" Katsuro's voice somehow went even louder. "That's your explanation?!"

Toji closed his laptop and set it aside, settling in for what was clearly going to be a long, painful conversation. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me how the hell this happened! I woke up this morning with the worst hangover of my life, and then I have to hear OVER THE PHONE that my son has apparently been secretly dating Y/n Ito. The Ito heir! And not only that, but that you got her PREGNANT. PREGNANT. FUCKING PREGNANT!"

His father paused for breath, and Toji could hear him pacing, could imagine him in his home office, wearing a path in the expensive carpet.

"I thought you'd matured." His father continued, his voice dropping to something more cutting than the yelling. "I thought after the disaster with Ayaka, after everything you went through with that divorce, you'd learned to be more careful. But here you are, fucking up again."

"Don't bring Ayaka into this." Toji said through gritted teeth. "This is different."

"For me, it's the same." He spat, stubbornness radiating from his voice. But Toji knew that he wouldn't be able to change his mind, even though this situation was different from the one he'd lived with his ex-wife.

"Dad, you are not understanding—"

"Then explain! Help me understand! How long have you been seeing this girl?!"

"A year. And I was not just seeing her; we have a relationship." The lie came out so naturally that even Toji was surprised.

"A secret relationship that none of us knew about!" His voice rose again. "Why the hell didn't you tell us you were with her? Do you have any idea how this looks? Like you were hiding it because you knew it was wrong. Like you were sneaking around behind everyone's backs."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and pressed his thumb against his forehead, taking a slow breath as he fought back the frustration creeping in. 

"We kept it private because we work in the same business circles." Toji said, reciting the story he and you had agreed on. "Because our families do business together and we didn't want to complicate things. We wanted to be sure it was serious before we made it public."

"And getting her pregnant—that's your idea of being sure?"

Toji's jaw clenched. "It wasn't planned. Obviously. But we're handling it."

"Handling it." Katsuro scoffed. "That's what you call this mess? You've put both families in an impossible position. The Itos are one of our most important business partners. We've worked with them for thirty years. And now Tadashi thinks you've dishonored his daughter, thinks you're some kind of player that does not care about Y/N—"

"I care about her." He interrupted. 

"And do you?"

Toji scoffed. "What?"

"It's a simple question, Toji. Do you actually care about this woman, or is this just another one of your mistakes?"

For a moment, Toji didn't answer.

He thought about you before all this mess. The late nights when neither of you wanted to go home yet, sitting together long after dinner was over just talking about nothing. The nights that ended with too much wine and quiet laughter, when you saw sides of him most people never did. The mornings when he would wake up to find you still asleep beside him, sunlight coming through the curtains, and realize that somehow having you there felt natural.

He thought about the way you challenged him instead of simply agreeing with him. The way you could walk into a room and somehow make his life feel less monotonous without even trying. 

It wasn't just because you were carrying his child. It wasn't because he felt obligated to do the right thing. He cared about you because somewhere along the way, without him noticing, you had become someone he couldn't imagine not having in his life.

So he did care. A lot. 

"Yes." He said. "I care about her."

"Enough to marry her? Enough to spend the rest of your life with her?"

"We're having a baby together. So yes."

Katsuro was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tired. "And what about Megumi? Have you thought about how this affects him? You're about to bring a woman he doesn't know into his home, force him to adjust to a stepmother—"

"He knows her. He's met her before." Another lie. Kind of. 

"Once? Twice? That's not knowing someone, Toji. That's not enough to—"

"I'm going to talk to him about it." Toji interrupted. 

"When?!" His father raised his voice again. "And how are you supposed to explain it to him? The poor kid is eight years old; he doesn't understand—"

"He's smarter than you think; he will understand." In a way, his words were meant not only to convince his father but also to convince himself. "And I'm not going to let this ruin his life. I'll make sure he's okay through all of this."

"How? By setting him up to watch another failed marriage?"

The accusation hung in the air like poison.

"This isn't going to fail." Toji said, forcing conviction into his voice. "Y/N and I are going to make this work."

"You said that about Ayaka too."

"This is different."

"So you keep saying." Katsuro sighed heavily. "Look, what's done is done. The marriage is happening whether I approve or not. Tomorrow's meeting is about protecting the family interests. The prenup, the financial arrangements, what happens when this falls apart."

"If it falls apart." Toji corrected.

"When." Katsuro said firmly. "I'm not betting on your second marriage any more than I bet on your first. The prenup will protect both families from the fallout."

Toji was silent for a minute before muttering, "Fine."

The line went dead.

Toji sat there for a long moment, staring at his phone, his father's words echoing in his head. He had already written off this marriage before it even started. Assumed it would fail just like the first one. And the worst part? Toji couldn't entirely blame him.

Because this marriage was built on lies. You and Toji weren't actually in love. Hadn't been dating for a year in any real sense. And now you were both pretending it had been something more, selling a story to your families that was only half true.

How long could you maintain that fiction? How long before the cracks showed?

Toji tossed his phone onto the nightstand harder than necessary and scrubbed his hands over his face. The exhaustion hit him all at once—the weight of the day, the lunch with your parents, now this phone call. It was too much. Everything was too much.

He needed sleep. Needed to rest before tomorrow's ordeal. But his mind wouldn't stop racing, wouldn't stop replaying every terrible thing his father had said, every doubt Toji himself had been trying to suppress.

A soft knock on his bedroom door interrupted the spiral.

"Come in." Toji called, already knowing who it was.

The door creaked open slowly, and Megumi poked his head in, looking uncertain. "Dad? Are you busy?"

"No, buddy. Come here."

Megumi slipped inside, his Nintendo Switch clutched in both hands. He padded across the room in his dinosaur pajamas—the ones that were getting too small but that he refused to give up—and climbed onto the bed, settling in next to Toji.

"What's up?" Toji asked, grateful for the distraction from his own thoughts.

"I leveled up in my game!" Megumi's face lit up with pride as he showed Toji the screen. "See? I made it to level fifty! That's like, super hard to do. You have to fight this really tough boss and I died like ten times but I finally beat it and—"

He launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his gaming achievement, complete with detailed descriptions of strategy and technique that Toji only half understood. But he listened anyway, nodding at the right moments, asking questions that made Megumi's eyes light up even brighter.

And slowly, listening to his son's excited rambling about video game levels and boss battles and character stats, Toji felt some of the tension in his chest ease.

This. This was what mattered. Not his father's disappointment or your father's contempt or the lawyers' negotiations or any of it.

Megumi. Making sure his son was happy and safe and loved, regardless of what mess Toji had made of his own life.

"—and then I unlocked this really cool sword that does fire damage, which is perfect for the next area because all the enemies are weak to fire, so I'm thinking—Dad, are you even listening?"

"I'm listening." Toji said, pulling Megumi closer in a one-armed hug. "You got the fire sword. Very cool."

They sat like that for a while, Megumi gradually getting heavier against Toji's side as sleep crept up on him. His eyes drooped, his grip on the Switch loosening.

"Come on." Toji said gently. "Let's get you to bed."

"'M not tired." Megumi mumbled, even as another huge yawn contradicted him.

"Sure you're not. Come on."

Toji carried him down the hall to his room—getting harder as Megumi got bigger, but Toji wasn't ready to admit his kid was too old for this yet. He tucked him into bed, pulling the covers up and making sure his favorite stuffed animal, a beat-up dinosaur named Teddy—yes, Teddy—was within reach.

"Night, Dad." Megumi murmured, already half-asleep.

"Night, buddy. Love you."

"Love you too."

Toji stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his son sleep, and felt something settle in his chest.

Whatever happened tomorrow. Whatever his father thought of him. Whatever challenges came with this forced marriage and the lies they were selling. He'd figure it out. For Megumi. For the baby on the way. For you, even, in whatever complicated way this relationship was going to work.

He'd make the lie look real. Would play the part so well that even his father would eventually believe it. He had to.

Toji closed Megumi's door quietly and headed back to his own room. When he picked up his phone to set his alarm for tomorrow, the screen showed a new text from you, he opened it immediately.

Y/N: Are you nervous about tomorrow?

Toji: Kinda. Tomorrow's going to be long.

Y/N: I know. I hate it. 

That's when he remembered what he'd told Megumi—about going out to eat with you. Man, his mind didn't seem to be working right.

Toji: Hey

Toji: Can you have lunch with me and Megumi? Monday?

The bubble indicating that you were typing appeared. Then it disappeared. Then it appeared again.

Five minutes later, you replied. Toji imagined you were wrestling with what to say in response to his invitation.

Y/N: Sure. What time? 

Toji: Is 4 pm good? 

Y/N: Ofc. 

Y/N: Did you already talk to him? About us?

Toji: Not yet. I want him to have a chance to actually talk to you first. 

Y/N: Good point. 

Y/N: Does he like something in particular? I should get him something. 

Toji: Dinosaurs and videogames, you pick. 

Y/N: Then a Jurassic Park video game will work?

Toji found himself chuckling at your message.

Toji: Sorry, but he already has one.

Y/N: Dammit. There goes my idea. 

Y/N: I’ll think about something else. 

Y/N: Well… I should try to get some sleep.

Y/N: You should too, today was soul-sucking. 

Toji: Indeed.

Toji: Goodnight Y/N. 

Y/N: Goodnight.

He set his phone aside, turned off the lamp, and lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling until sleep completely consumed him.

Being in a lawyer's office deciding the terms of your future marriage was not how you'd envisioned spending your Sunday morning.

The conference room was all glass and chrome, sterile and impersonal, with big windows overlooking Shibuya. Too bright, too modern, too corporate for a conversation about your life. The table was long enough to seat twelve, which somehow made the two families sitting across from each other feel even more adversarial.

You sat on one side, Toji in front of you. You hadn't said more than "good morning" to each other when you'd arrived separately—him with his father, you with your parents. The greeting had been stiff, formal, nothing like how two people who'd supposedly been in love for a year should act.

But everyone was too tense to notice.

Your family's lawyer, Higurama Hiroshi, sat to your right with a leather portfolio full of documents. He'd been the Ito family attorney since before you were born—had handled your grandfather's estate, your parents' business acquisitions, probably even your birth certificate. Seeing him here, gray-haired and serious, made this feel horribly real.

Across the table sat the Zen'in family lawyer—a sharp-eyed  woman in her fifties named Akimoto who looked like she could gut someone with a pen and file the appropriate paperwork afterward. Katsuro was sitting next to her. You were expecting Naobito, Toji's uncle, to be here. But surprisingly—and thank God—he wasn't. 

Your mother sat at the head of the table on your side, composed but pale. Your father sat next to the lawyer, still radiating that cold fury from yesterday's lunch.

"Let's return to Article Seven." Akimoto-san said, flipping through her copy of the draft prenuptial agreement. "Regarding separate property and inheritance rights."

Your lawyer adjusted his glasses. "As previously discussed, all property acquired by either party prior to the marriage shall remain separate property. This includes but is not limited to real estate holdings, investment portfolios, trust funds, and business interests."

"Agreed." Akimoto-san said. "The Zen'in Group shares held by Toji-san will remain his separate property, not subject to division in the event of divorce. Similarly, Y/N-san's stake in the Ito Group and her personal real estate holdings will remain hers."

"And any inheritance received during the marriage?" Your father interjected.

"Also remains separate property." Hiroshi-san confirmed. "Neither party has claim to inheritances, gifts, or bequests received by the other party from their respective families."

And the conversation continued. And continued. And continued…

You tried to focus on the words, but they were starting to blur together. Separate property. Marital assets. Community property waiver. Spousal support waivers. Division of joint accounts. Debt allocation. Each clause is another brick in the wall of your impending marriage, all designed to make the eventual divorce as clean as possible.

Because everyone in this room expected this marriage to fail.

No one was talking about what would happen after the wedding. No one asked what kind of life you wanted to build together, what traditions you wanted to have, what your home would look like years from now. The only thing everyone seemed interested in was making sure that, when it ended, neither of you would be left with too much damage.

It was strange. Almost cruel. To be sitting here discussing the ending of something that hadn't even begun yet.

You knew why they were doing it. They were pretty straightforward about it. This wasn't a normal situation, and no one was pretending it was. A marriage born out of an unexpected pregnancy, between two people who had never planned for forever—even if you tried to sell the story that you were actually together and in love—was exactly the kind of thing people expected to fall apart. 

Still, a small part of you couldn't help wondering if everyone had already decided your story before you even got the chance to write it.

You looked at Toji, with his hair neatly combed and dressed in his black suit, absorbed in the words coming from the lawyers' mouths. He looked professional, calm, and composed. It might have just been a facade, but you were grateful that he had the presence of mind to handle this situation. Unlike you, who was a mess inside.

The longer the meeting went on, your eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. You were almost five hours into legal negotiations, and exhaustion was winning, and on top of that you were terribly hungry, and the bottle of water wasn't doing anything to satisfy your appetite. 

"Mom, I’m hungry." You whispered as if you were a little kid. She gave you a warning look; you could almost hear her say that it wasn't proper to eat in the middle of a meeting, but even so, she started rummaging through her purse, perhaps looking for one of those chocolates she always carried with her. Obviously, she wasn't going to let her pregnant daughter go hungry, no matter where they were.

But before she could find the candy in her purse, Toji quickly stood up. "I'll get you something." 

"That's not necessary—" You started.

"You need to eat." His tone left no room for argument. He looked at both lawyers. "We should take a break. Fifteen minutes."

He left before anyone could object.

The room fell into awkward silence. Your father checked his phone. Katsuro stared out the window. Your mother fixed her makeup.

Toji returned ten minutes later with an armful of snacks—chips, chocolate, a protein bar, a bottle of strawberry juice.

"Apparently, there's only a vending machine on this floor." He said, "I didn't know what you'd want, so I brought all your favorites." He added, setting them in front of you. You caught a fleeting look of surprise on your mother's face before she slipped back into her serious expression. "Anyway, you should eat something better when we get out of here."

The fact that he remembered your favorite snacks shouldn't have surprised you, but it did anyway—even though he always remembered what you like.

It wasn't something he made a big deal out of. Toji was never the type to announce that he noticed things. He just did, and, unlike most people, he actually remembered them. 

The first time you'd realized it was maybe three months after you two started your thing. You had told him your usual coffee order, only because he had asked while he was getting one for himself on his way to pick you up. You never thought much of it, but the next time he showed up with a coffee in his hand, it was made exactly how you liked it. When you asked how he knew, he simply looked at you like the answer was obvious. "You told me." And that was it, he never asked again.

After that, it kept happening.

The wine he always ordered because he'd remembered which one you actually enjoyed instead of the one you pretended to like at business dinners. The quiet restaurants he picked because he remembered you told him you hated to eat in places that were too loud. The little things you mentioned once and forgot about, only for him to remember them much later. 

And right now, for some reason, you felt a little embarrassed by the gesture, maybe because you were in front of a lot of people and you were used to having them in private. But you were supposed to be a couple; it was only natural for the boyfriend to be concerned about his girlfriend—his very pregnant girlfriend, in this case.

"Thank you." You grabbed the chips and opened them, not caring that everyone was watching you eat like this was some kind of spectator sport.

"Shall we continue?" Akimoto-san asked once you'd eaten one chip and looked marginally more alive.

— 

"Are we done here?" Your father asked after another long hour, checking his watch. "I have calls to make."

You knew that was his way of saying he was starving. But thank God this was finally coming to an end. 

"Almost." Akimoto-san said and you almost groaned in despair. "We need both parties to review the final draft before signing. I suggest we schedule a follow-up meeting for Friday to execute the documents."

"Friday at 12 PM." Your lawyer agreed. "That gives us time to make any final adjustments based on today's discussion."

Papers were gathered. Portfolios were closed. Everyone stood, the meeting officially over after six grueling hours. You felt wrung out, exhausted, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of legal language and life decisions that had just been made for you.

The lawyers excused themselves, leaving the two families alone in the conference room.

The silence was excruciating. But the worst part was the look on everyone's faces.

Katsuro looked at you like he still couldn't quite believe this was happening. Your father still looked angry. Your mother looked tired. And Toji looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Well… We should probably go to eat something." Your mother finally spoke, forcing brightness into her voice. Then, she addressed Toji and Katsuro. "Are you coming with us?

Oh fuck no. 

Shit.

"I'll be down in a minute." You called back, your voice still rough from last night's crying.

"She said to tell you that breakfast is getting cold."

Translation: get your ass downstairs now.

You dragged yourself out of bed and caught your reflection in the mirror. You looked like hell—which wasn't surprising after a night of tossing and turning in bed and getting only two hours of sleep. Your eyes were swollen and red, your dress was completely wrinkled, and what little makeup you had left made you look like a raccoon. 

For a brief moment, you considered trying to make yourself presentable.

Then you decided you didn't have the energy to care.

This was what rock bottom looked like, and your mother would just have to deal with it.

—

The dining room was flooded with morning light, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of your mother's meticulously maintained garden. Under normal circumstances, this was your favorite room in the house—bright and airy, filled with the smell of fresh flowers from the arrangements your mother changed weekly.

Today it felt like an interrogation room.

Your mother sat at the head of the long mahogany table, impeccably put together as always in a cream-colored blouse and pearls, a cup of coffee in her hands. She looked up when you entered, and you saw her take in your disheveled appearance without comment.

Small mercies.

"Hey." You said, sliding into a chair as far from her as the table would allow—practically at the opposite end.

"Y/N..." Your mother's tone carried a warning.

You sighed and moved closer, taking a seat in the middle of the table. Still a good four feet away.

She gave you a look that clearly said don't make me say it.

With another sigh—this one more dramatic—you moved to the chair directly across from her.

"Better?" You muttered.

"Much." She took a sip of her own coffee, studying you over the rim. "So. Toji Zen'in."

Your stomach clenched. "Um. Yeah."

"He's... a character."

That was putting it mildly. "He is."

Your mother set down her cup, her expression carefully neutral in that way she had when she was choosing her words carefully. "I have to admit, I'm surprised. I never thought he was your type. I always saw you more with someone like... oh, the Gojo boy. Satoru."

Of course she did. Your mother had been not-so-subtly pushing Satoru Gojo in your direction for years. Probably planning an arranged marriage with his parents in the shadows, the way families like yours did. She always said how perfect he'd be for you—successful family, good looks, and the same social circle.

You'd known Satoru since you were kids, had watched him grow from an obnoxious child into an equally obnoxious adult. Sure, he was objectively attractive, and he could be charming when he wanted to be. But you'd also seen him passed out drunk at too many parties, watched him flirt with anything that moved, witnessed his particular brand of arrogant asshole behavior that he thought was endearing.

There was exactly zero attraction there. Less than zero, actually.

"You know he was never my type, Mom."

"And Toji is?" She sounded genuinely incredulous. "I mean, I can see where the attraction comes from—he's certainly handsome enough. But Y/N, he's older than you—" 

Just seven years.

"He is divorced and has a child—" 

Like half the world's population.

“And his reputation is..." She trailed off delicately. "Not the kind of man I would have approved of for my daughter."

That's… kinda true. 

Each word felt like a small cut. Because she was right—Toji wasn't the kind of man your mother would choose for you. He was rough around the edges, had rumors around him and his relationships, came with baggage. Indeed, he was everything your mother had spent your whole life warning you away from.

"I need to ask—does he treat you well?" Your mother's voice was softer now, genuinely concerned. "That's what matters most. Is he good to you?"

Uh…

Images flashed through your mind unbidden—a highlight reel of the past year.

Toji opening car doors for you. Toji with his hand wrapped around your throat as he fucked you into the mattress. Toji pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. Toji spitting in your mouth while you were on your knees. Toji calling you sweetheart in that rough voice. Toji calling you his good little slut while you rode him. Toji buying you a diamond necklace for your birthday. Toji giving you a lingerie set he wanted you to wear for him. 

It was... a balance. 

A very complicated, very confusing balance of rough and tender, crude and sweet, selfish and thoughtful.

"Yeah, he treats me well." You managed, your voice almost breaking on the words. "Like a queen, actually."

Relief washed over your mother's face. "Well—that's good to hear, at least."

Silence settled between you. You could hear the antique clock in the corner ticking, the distant sound of Yua moving around in the kitchen. Your mother took another sip of her coffee, and you noticed the way her shoulders relaxed slightly afterward. You'd bet money she'd added something stronger than cream to that cup.

"Has he been supportive?" She asked finally. "About the pregnancy?"

"Yeah." The word came out barely above a whisper.

Your mother nodded, seeming to turn something over in her mind. You watched her, trying to read her expression, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

This was your chance. You had to tell her now, before things got even more complicated.

"Mom, I need to tell you something."

She set down her cup, giving you her full attention. "Alright."

"Toji and I... we'd already decided. Before last night. We were going to get an abortion."

Your mother's hand jerked, sending coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup and across the pristine white tablecloth. "What?!"

"I know it sounds bad—" You were talking fast now, scrambling. "But we're not even married yet and—"

"Yet?" Your mother latched onto the word immediately. "Were you planning on getting married?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"No! I mean—" You backtracked frantically. "I just meant that it's not serious enough for marriage. Not yet. We're not—"

"Not serious?" Your mother's voice rose. "Y/N, you're pregnant with this man's child, and you're telling me the relationship isn't serious?"

"No! That's not—we are serious! Very serious!" God, you were making this so much worse. "It's just that we've only been together a short time. It's too early for marriage."

"It's too early to get married but not too early to get pregnant?" Your mother dabbed at the spilled coffee with her napkin, her movements sharp with agitation. "That's usually the other way around, sweetheart."

"Mom..." You felt tears pricking at your eyes again. How did you still have tears left?

"I'm trying to understand." She set down the napkin and looked at you directly. "I really am. I know times are different now. I know I'm... outdated in my thinking. Some people start relationships just for fun these days, not actually looking for a future together. Is that what this was with Toji? Just seeing where things went?"

There it was. The crossroads.

If you said yes, your mother would be disappointed. She'd raised you with different values, different expectations. She'd see it as a failure on her part, somehow.

But if you said no, that was just another brick in this building of lies you and Toji had started constructing last night. 

You hoped the foundation was strong enough to support it.

"No." You heard yourself say. "We're actually... together together. For real."

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush you.

Your mother picked up her coffee again—definitely spiked, you were certain now—and took a long sip.

"Y/N." Her voice was measured, careful. "I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Is the abortion something you actually want?" She held your gaze. "Really want? Because I need to know if this is your decision or if you think it's what you're supposed to do."

The question hit you like a physical blow.

"I—" Your voice cracked. Tears spilled over, and you wiped at them furiously. "I don't know. I mean, it's the right thing, isn't it? Given everything?"

"For me, personally? No, I don't think it is." Your mother's honesty surprised you. "But that doesn't matter. This is your choice, Y/N, not mine. Not your father's. Yours."

She leaned forward slightly, her expression softening.

"But I know you, I'm your mother. And by the look in your eyes when I asked that question... you don't really want to do it, do you?"

The words hung in the air between you.

Did you want to keep it? Was that the feeling in your chest every time you thought about the abortion—not just anxiety but actual reluctance? Actual... grief at the thought of ending it?

"Maybe." You whispered. "Maybe I don't. But Mom, I know this would look terrible for the family. What about the business associates? What about the press? What about Dad? What about the Zen'ins? Everyone's going to talk, everyone's going to judge—"

"I wish I could tell you that won't happen, but we know it will." Your mother said after a heavy sigh, "But I know you're strong enough to get through it all. You're my daughter after all."

Inevitably, her words made more tears roll down your cheeks. Your parents always thought very highly of you, and the fact that at least your mother made it clear she still does brought some comfort to the whole situation. 

"Thank you."

Your mother just nodded and looked down at her coffee cup before sighing and looking at you again.

"Your father and I will deal with the external concerns." She waved a hand dismissively. "He's on the phone with Katsuro Zen'in right now, actually."

Your heart stopped. "What?!"

"We need to get things sorted out. The families need to be aligned on how to handle this situation."

"But—"

"There are a lot of things we need to discuss." She continued, standing up and smoothing down her blouse. "But it's almost lunchtime, and your boyfriend should be arriving soon."

Oh god. 

That's true. Toji was coming here. To face your parents. After everything that happened last night.

You were going to be sick.

"Please go shower." Your mother said, her tone gentler now.

You nodded mutely, watching as she swept out of the dining room with the same poise she brought to everything, even family crises.

Once she was gone, you slumped forward, resting your forehead against the cool wood of the table.

Tears came again—quieter this time, exhausted tears that didn't have the energy to be dramatic. Your father was talking to Toji's father. Right now. And whatever came of that call, you knew it wasn't going to be good. 

The clock in the corner kept ticking, marking the passage of time you didn't have.

With a shuddering breath, you pushed yourself up from the table and headed for the stairs.

You needed to shower. To pull yourself together. To figure out how to face Toji and your parents and all the questions that were coming. You had about two hours to transform from a crying mess in wrinkled clothes into someone who looked… fine. 

It wasn't enough time.

When Toji pulled up to the Ito estate at exactly 12:45, his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat.

He hadn't slept. Not a single hour. He'd spent the entire night staring at his ceiling, replaying the hospital scene over and over—your father's face when the doctor said the word pregnant, your mother fainting, the way you'd looked at him before the car door closed. 

And that ultrasound. 

That tiny flickering heartbeat that he couldn't stop seeing every time he closed his eyes.

Around 6:00 a.m., he'd given up on sleep entirely and decided to start his day. Megumi, his eight-year-old son, practically killed him with his glare when he woke him up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday; the boy loved sleeping in on weekends, and Toji felt terrible, but he had to stand his ground when the boy refused to get out of bed.  

Later, while Megumi was taking a shower, he called Naoya, who asked way too many questions when Toji asked him if he could watch over Megumi for a few hours while he took care of some "urgent business" that couldn't wait. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his cousin—but he didn’t trust his cousin. Naoya was too much of a gossip, and Toji knew that if he told him the truth, it would only be a matter of hours before his entire social circle knew about it too. 

Even so, Toji turned to him because Naoya owed him too many favors. So even though he clearly didn't want to look after Megumi, he knew he couldn't refuse.

"Is something wrong?" Megumi had asked from the back seat as they were on their way to Naoya's house. 

Toji glanced in the rearview mirror, and when he made eye contact with his son, he felt a pang in his chest—guilt, without a doubt. 

"Everything's fine, kid." Lies, lies, and more lies. "Something happened at the restaurant, and I just need to sort it out."

Megumi had looked at him suspiciously—his kid was too perceptive for his own good—but hadn't asked more questions. He was grateful for that. Because he was sure he wouldn't know how to explain to his son the chaos that was unfolding. 

Speaking of explanations, Toji wondered if he should have prepared a speech. Something eloquent and respectful that would convince your father he wasn't a complete disaster of a human being.

Too late for that now.

He killed the engine and stepped out, straightening his shirt for the third time. He'd agonized over what to wear—too casual would be disrespectful, too formal would look like he was trying too hard. He'd settled on dark slacks and a crisp button-down. Business casual. The uniform of a man who was probably about to get his ass kicked but wanted to look presentable for it.

The doorbell echoed through the massive entryway when he pressed it, the sound reverberating like a death knell. This was absurd. All of it.

A woman in her sixties answered the door—staff, wearing a neat gray uniform and a professionally neutral expression. Toji opened his mouth to introduce himself, to explain he had an appointment with Mr. Ito, but before he could get a word out, she simply said, "Mr. Zen'in. I'll escort you to Mr. Ito."

Right. Of course they'd told the staff. Probably briefed the entire household. The man who knocked up our daughter is coming for lunch. Be professional.

"I can handle him, Yua."

Your voice came from somewhere behind the woman—Yua, apparently—and then you appeared, stepping around her into the doorway.

Toji's breath caught slightly. He couldn't help it.

You were wearing a simple sundress, pale pink with small white flowers, the kind of casual elegance that set you apart. Your makeup carefully applied. Everything about you screaming composed.

Except he could see the exhaustion beneath it. 

Yua glanced between you and Toji, clearly uncertain about leaving him alone with you. "Miss Y/N, are you sure—"

"It's fine, really." You insisted, your tone gentle but firm. "I've got this."

Yua gave Toji a look that clearly communicated if you hurt her, I know where to hide a body, then disappeared back into the house.

Was there anyone in this house who didn't hate him? Probably just you—he hoped. 

The moment the door closed behind her, you grabbed Toji's hand and pulled him away from the entrance. He let himself be led, too surprised by the sudden contact to protest, as you practically dragged him across the driveway and into the front garden.

You didn't stop until you were behind a massive oak tree that probably predated both of you, its sprawling branches creating a canopy of shade. Hidden from view of the house. Private.

You dropped his hand to check your surroundings, your eyes scanning the windows and garden paths like you were worried someone might have followed. 

Only when you seemed satisfied that you were alone did you finally look at him properly.

"We need to talk." You said, your voice low and urgent.

"I figured as much." Toji kept his own voice quiet to match yours. "What's the plan for today? What am I walking into?"

"They're going to ask a million questions. That's a guarantee. My father has probably prepared a whole interrogation." You wrapped your arms around yourself despite the warm afternoon. "But that's not what I need to talk to you about. Not yet."

His heart rate kicked up. "Okay..."

"It's about..." You gestured vaguely between you, unable to say the words out loud. "You know."

The baby. The decision you were supposed to make.

Toji's mouth went dry. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm sorry I'm doing this right now." You said in a rush, the words tumbling out fast and nervous. "Like, literally minutes before we have to face my parents together. It's so selfish of me and so rude and terrible timing and I should have called you or texted or—"

"Hey." He cut you off before you could spiral further. "It's fine. I told you to take all the time you needed. If you made up your mind this morning or next week or a month from now, it doesn't matter."

You took a shaky breath, your hands twisting together. "I talked to my mother this morning. And while we were talking, I realized something."

You reached out and grabbed his hand again—whether for his comfort or yours, he wasn't sure. Your fingers were cold despite the summer heat, and he could feel them trembling slightly.

"I don't think I really wanted the abortion." You said, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "I think I was just trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do. And I knew that if I decided to keep it, I'd be dragging you into this mess with me, and I couldn't do that to you. I was so scared of ruining your life on top of ruining mine and—"

You were starting to ramble, your voice getting higher and faster.

"And I don't want you to think this is because of my parents." You continued. "Because it's not. This isn't me caving to what they want or what they expect. This is—I just wanted you to know that I—"

You trailed off, looking at him helplessly, like you'd run out of words.

Toji stood there, trying to process what you'd just said.

You weren't doing it. You weren't getting the abortion.

You were keeping the baby.

Your baby.

The feeling that washed over him was unmistakable: relief. Pure, overwhelming relief that nearly knocked him off balance.

He'd wanted this. Had wanted you to keep it from the moment he saw that ultrasound picture in the restaurant. But he hadn't let himself hope for it, hadn't wanted to influence your decision with his own complicated feelings about it.

The question was why? Why did he care so much? Why did the thought of that tiny flickering heartbeat disappearing make his chest ache?

If he really dug into that question, really examined his motivations, he'd probably find answers he wasn't ready to confront. About you, about this situation, about what he actually wanted from all of this. So he shoved those thoughts aside and focused on the immediate reality: you were keeping the baby, which meant both your lives were about to get exponentially more complicated. But he knew—with absolute certainty—that he was willing to go through all of it.

"Are you even listening to me?" You asked suddenly, anxiety creeping into your voice.

"Of course I am." He squeezed your hand, grounding both of you. "Look, I told you that whatever you decided, I'd be there for you. And I meant it. So we're keeping this baby. That's going to come with a lot—a lot of challenges and a lot of shit we're going to have to figure out. But we can do it. Alright?"

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he would have given anything—his cars, his restaurant, every penny in his bank account—to know what was going through your mind right now.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren't saying.

Then you spoke, your voice so quiet he almost missed it.

"Are we going to be good parents?"

The question hit him like a punch to the chest.

He tried to lighten the moment, deflect with humor the way he always did when things got too heavy. "You seem to forget that I'm already a dad."

You let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "I know you're a good dad to Megumi. But you know what I mean."

And he did. He knew exactly what you meant.

He wanted to tell you that things weren't the way you thought they were—but it wasn't the right time.

"We can try." He said finally, the honesty of it surprising him. He resisted the urge to bring your joined hands to his lips, to kiss your knuckles in reassurance like this was some romantic movie instead of a complicated mess. "But for that to work, we need to make this work."

"I know." Your voice cracked. "But I'm scared, Toji. We're about to reach a point of no return."

"It's going to be alright." He said, willing himself to believe it. "We'll get through it."

You stared at him, and he could see you searching his face for something—doubt, hesitation, signs that he was lying to make you feel better. He kept his expression open, honest, letting you see that he meant every word.

Whatever you found there seemed to satisfy you, because after a long moment, you nodded.

You pulled your hand free from his and started walking toward the house, your sundress swaying with each step. At the front door, you paused and looked back at him over your shoulder.

"Ready?" You asked.

Toji took a deep breath and followed you. "As I'll ever be."

You pushed open the door and led him inside, and Toji couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking toward either his salvation or his second spectacular failure.

Only time would tell which.

—

Toji had never been inside your house before—your parents' house, technically, though it was hard to think of a mansion like this as just a "house."

There was nothing humble about it. Luxury and elegance weren't just present—they were weaponized. The crystal chandelier hanging in the entryway. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light, showcasing furniture that somehow managed to make a space this enormous feel cozy. Everything was carefully curated, perfectly placed, a testament of wealth and impeccable taste.

You led him through the house without speaking, your sundress swishing softly with each step. He followed, hyperaware of the staff members who stepped aside to let you pass, their expressions professionally blank but their eyes curious. 

You guided him through a set of French doors that opened onto the back garden, and Toji's breath caught slightly despite himself.

It was stunning. Manicured lawns stretched out like green carpet, punctuated by meticulously maintained flowerbeds bursting with color. Stone pathways wound between them, leading to a fountain at the garden's center where water cascaded over tiered basins. And there, beneath the shade of a pergola covered in climbing wisteria, sat a large white table.

Your parents were already seated, wine glasses in hand, while staff members moved around them with the silent efficiency of people who'd perfected the art of being invisible.

The moment your parents noticed your approach, the atmosphere shifted, became heavier. Your father sat up straighter in his chair, his spine going rigid, while your mother took a long sip from her wine glass. The air practically crackled with tension.

You gave Toji a nervous look—eyes wide, silently communicating I'm sorry,—before continuing forward. Toji followed, forcing himself to keep his gaze anywhere but on your father's face. The grass. The trees. The fountain. The intricate stonework on the pergola. Anything to avoid that look of barely contained fury and disappointment. When you reached the table, Mr. Ito stood. It was clearly a reflexive gesture, years of etiquette training overriding his desire to stay seated and glare. They shook hands, your father's grip just slightly too firm, holding on just slightly too long. A power play. A reminder of who held the cards here.

Your mother extended her hand as well, her smile tight and controlled. "Toji."

"Mrs. Ito."

You slid into a seat, and Toji took the one beside you. 

Silence descended like a thick fog.

The only sounds were the fountain's gentle burbling, birds chirping in the garden, and the quiet clink of glasses as staff members appeared with appetizers and refreshed wine glasses, except yours—your glass was filled with orange juice instead. 

"Do you like salmon, Toji?" Your mother asked, her voice determinedly pleasant. Making conversation like this was a normal Saturday lunch. 

"Yes." Toji kept his answer short, not trusting himself with more words.

"Our chef's recipe is really wonderful. I think you'll enjoy it." She took another sip of her wine.

"I don't doubt it."

Toji glanced at you. You were staring at the table, your hands twisting together in your lap, knuckles white with tension. You hadn't looked at him since he sat down, and he could see the way your breath was coming too fast and shallow.

Your father set down his wine glass with a decisive clink.

"Let's stop ignoring the elephant in the room, shall we?"

"Tadashi—" Your mother started, a note of warning in her voice.

"We have a long conversation ahead of us, Naomi. It's better to start sooner rather than later." He turned his attention fully to Toji, and it felt like being pinned under a spotlight. "So. How long have you been in a relationship with my daughter?"

"A year, sir." Toji answered, his voice steady and confident. Selling the lie. Making it believable.

"When exactly did this relationship begin?"

"After the boutique hotel project finished." The lie came easily because it was close enough to the truth.

Your father made a small sound of acknowledgment, like this timeline made sense to him. Fit into his understanding of events.

"And why," He started, his voice deceptively calm, "did you feel the need to keep this a secret from us?"

There was a subtext there that hit Toji harder than he'd expected. Hurt. Your father was hurt that his daughter—the girl he'd called his pride and joy last night—hadn't confided in him. Had kept something this significant hidden.

Toji understood that feeling more than he wanted to admit. He'd feel the same way if Megumi kept something like this from him.

He looked at you and saw you were on the verge of breaking. Your eyes were bright with unshed tears, your hands shaking slightly where they gripped each other.

Jesus. And the interrogation had barely started.

Toji reached over under the table and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. You gripped back immediately, desperately, like he was a lifeline.

He took a breath before speaking. "Sir, I know my reputation isn't... the best." The understatement of the century. "I knew you'd never see me as worthy of your daughter. So we decided to keep the relationship private."

"I don't see you as worthy of my daughter." Your father said bluntly.

The words shouldn't have stung. Toji had known this would be your father's position. But hearing it stated so baldly, with such conviction, hit differently than he'd expected. Made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Dad—" You started, your voice rising.

Toji squeezed your hand. A silent message: Don't. Not yet. Let him finish.

"She's young, accomplished, brilliant." Your father continued, his voice gaining heat. "She graduated with honors from one of the best universities in the country. She's an exceptional employee, respected by everyone who works with her. And you..."

The pause was deliberate. Cutting.

"You might have money and a successful business. You might come from a good family with enough influence to smooth over your mistakes. But you're nothing more than that." Your father's voice was cold now, clinical. "A trust fund baby who squandered his first chance at marriage and is now repeating his mistakes with my daughter."

"Dad!"

"Tadashi!" Your mother's voice cracked like a whip. She stared at her husband with wide eyes, shocked by his bluntness.

Your father looked at her, then at you, and whatever he saw in both your faces made him pause. He took a breath, visibly trying to rein in his anger.

Toji sat there, absorbing the words, fighting the instinct to defend himself. To snap back. To put your father in his place the way he would with anyone else who spoke to him like that.

Nobody talked to Toji Zen'in like this. Nobody.

He'd built a reputation over years of not tolerating disrespect, of making sure people knew exactly where the lines were. Under normal circumstances, he'd already be on his feet, voice cold and cutting, making it crystal clear that this kind of talk was unacceptable.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

You were sitting beside him, your hand trembling in his, trying not to cry. The situation was already a mess. The last thing either of you needed was Toji picking a fight with your father and making everything exponentially worse.

And—though he hated to admit it—a significant part of him knew your father wasn't entirely wrong. Toji had fucked up his first marriage. His reputation was terrible. He was exactly the kind of man any father would want to keep far away from his daughter.

So he kept his mouth shut and took it.

For you.

"When were you planning to tell us?" Your father asked, shifting gears slightly. "Or was this going to be a secret forever? I'm having a very hard time understanding how you thought this situation would resolve itself."

"Toji wanted to tell you at the New Year's party last year." You said quickly, jumping in with another lie, probably to keep him from looking like a total jerk. "But I asked him to wait."

The New Year's party at the Kamo family estate; all of Tokyo's elite crammed into one space, champagne flowing like water.

Toji remembered that night with sudden, vivid clarity. The black dress you'd worn—simple, elegant, and absolutely devastating on you. The way you'd looked at him across the ballroom, that particular glint in your eye that meant you wanted him. How you'd disappeared toward the back of the house and he'd followed five minutes later, finding you in some spare bedroom.

The sex had been frantic, quick, risky, charged with the thrill of possibly being caught. You'd had to bite down on his shoulder to keep quiet, and he'd left marks on your hips that probably lasted days. Afterwards, you'd both straightened your clothes, fixed your hair, and returned to the party like nothing had happened, making small talk with the same people you'd been avoiding just thirty minutes earlier.

Yeah, that was definitely not where his mind needed to go right now.

He shifted slightly in his seat, forcing those memories away and focusing on your father's increasingly frustrated expression.

"Why?" Your father demanded. "If you'd just told us the truth from the beginning, this would have been so much easier to process. We could have—"

"Are you sure about that?" You cut him off, your voice sharp and defiant.

Toji tried to catch your eye, to silently communicate calm down, don't escalate, but you weren't looking at him.

"Because I know you would have been just as angry as you are now."

"Well, of course I'm angry!" Your father's voice rose. "You're pregnant at twenty-five by a man I—as I said—don't see worthy of you."

"But why are you the one deciding that?" Your voice was shaking now, with anger or fear or both. "Aren't I supposed to be the one who decides who I'm with? Who I—who I love?"

The word hung in the air. Love. A word neither you nor Toji had ever used, because this wasn't that. But it was part of the story you were selling, so there it was.

"And your decision had to be Toji Zen'in?" Your father practically spat the name. "Of all the Zen'ins out there—respectable, accomplished Zen'ins?"

"Well, I wanted this one!" you shot back.

"Stop."

Your mother's voice cut through the argument like a blade. Both you and your father immediately looked down, chastised.

"We're here to have a conversation and find answers." She said firmly. "Not to fight and yell at each other. I'm just as shocked as you are, Tadashi, but we're not getting anywhere like this. We cannot change what's happened. We can only understand it and decide how to move forward."

Mr. Ito looked at his wife, and something in her steady gaze seemed to deflate his anger slightly. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Fine." He straightened in his chair, his expression hardening into something more business-like. Less emotional. "Let me cut to the point of this meeting."

Toji's stomach dropped. Here it comes.

"I spoke with your father this morning, Toji."

That was definitely not good.

"He was as shocked as I was when I informed him of this... situation." Your father's gaze moved between you and Toji, his expression cold. "And we both agreed on the best way to proceed. You two will get married."

The words shouldn't have been a surprise. Toji had known this was coming. There was no universe where your family—or his, for that matter—would allow you to have a child out of wedlock.

But hearing it stated so baldly, still sent a jolt through him.

"Dad—" You started.

"That is final." Your father interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "We're arranging a meeting with both families tomorrow to discuss the details, but the decision is made. You're getting married in two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Your voice cracked. "Dad, isn't that too fast? We need time to plan, to—"

"Nothing new to him, I'm sure." Your father's eyes were cold as they landed on Toji. 

The jab landed perfectly. Toji's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. You looked at him, a mix of apology and curiosity in your eyes, and if it weren't for the fact that you were in the middle of a very awkward family lunch, he would have told you he'd tell you the truth.

He would do it soon, he made a mental note. 

"Honey, I'll do my best to make it beautiful." Your mother interjected, clearly trying to soften the blow. Her voice was gentle, almost pleading. "We can go dress shopping together. Make it special. It won't be as elaborate as we would have planned with more time, but it can still be lovely."

You looked shell-shocked. Staring at your mother like she was speaking a foreign language.

"Now—" Your father said, gesturing to the plates of salmon that staff had placed in front of each of you during the argument. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry." You said quietly.

Both your parents turned to look at you with identical expressions that clearly communicated this was not a request.

You picked up your fork immediately, bringing a small bite of salmon to your mouth with shaking hands. Toji did the same, though he couldn't taste anything. The fish could have been cardboard, and he might not even have noticed. 

The rest of the meal passed in tense near-silence, broken only by your mother's valiant attempts at normal conversation—asking about Megumi, mentioning the weather, discussing some charity gala next month as if any of them would care about that right now.

Each attempt died quickly, smothered by the oppressive atmosphere.

Toji ate mechanically, his mind already racing ahead to tomorrow's family meeting. To the wedding. To the fact that he should tell Megumi the truth soon. 

Beside him, you pushed food around your plate, barely eating despite your parents' watchful eyes. And across the table, your father sat in stony silence, looking at Toji like he was a problem that needed to be managed rather than a person.

Then it hit. 

This was going to be his family now.

Toji took another bite of salmon and tried not to think about how spectacularly this could all fall apart.

—

After what felt like the longest meal of Toji's entire life—and he'd sat through some excruciating business dinners—your father finally stood up from the table.

"I have some calls to make." He announced, his tone making it clear this wasn't a suggestion for anyone to follow. He looked at Toji one last time, his expression unreadable but distinctly unfriendly, then turned and walked back into the house without another word.

Your mother lingered a moment longer, setting down her napkin with practiced grace. She looked between you and Toji, something that might have been sympathy crossing her face before she smoothed it away.

"I suppose we'll see you tomorrow, Toji." She said, her voice carefully neutral. "The meeting is at 10 a.m. Our lawyer's office in Shibuya, we will send you the address. Don't be late."

"I won't be, Mrs. Ito."

She nodded, then placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as she passed. "Come inside soon, sweetheart. We have a lot to discuss about…the wedding." She spat out the word as if it hurt her. 

You didn't respond, didn't even look up, and after a moment your mother sighed softly and followed your father inside.

Then it was just the two of you.

The garden suddenly felt too quiet. The fountain that had seemed soothing before now sounded too loud in the silence. Birds chirped in the trees, oblivious to the fact that two people's lives had just been completely rearranged over salmon.

You stared at the table for a long moment, then let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You and I are getting married." You said it slowly, like you were testing out the words, seeing how they felt in your mouth. Your head dropped into your hand, elbow propped on the table. "I mean, I knew this was going to happen. But it's still... unexplainable."

Your free hand drifted to your stomach, fingers splaying across the still-flat surface of your sundress. Probably acknowledging the tiny reason for all of this chaos growing inside you.

Toji felt the urge to reach over, to cover your hand with his, to feel that spot where everything was changing. But he kept his hands to himself.

Too soon. 

"Fuck." You breathed suddenly, your eyes squeezing shut. "I'm going to throw up."

Toji was on his feet immediately, his chair scraping against the stone. "Do you need water? Should I get—"

"No." You held up a hand, stopping him. Your eyes were still closed, your breathing deliberate and controlled. "No, I'm okay. I think. My body is just... still processing all of this."

He sat back down slowly, watching you carefully. Your face had gone pale, a slight sheen of sweat on your forehead despite the shade.

"Are you sure? Because you really don't look—"

"I'm fine." You opened your eyes, and they were bright with unshed tears. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

The minute stretched into several. Toji sat there, useless, watching you fight for composure and not knowing how to help. This wasn't his strong suit—emotional support, comforting words, knowing what to say when someone was falling apart. He was better at fixing tangible problems. Negotiating deals or handling logistics. Concrete things he could control.

This—watching you struggle, seeing the fear in your eyes, knowing you were terrified and there was nothing he could do to make it better—this was close to torture.

"I should probably go inside." You finally whispered, but you didn't move. "Will your family be there tomorrow? At the lawyer's office?"

"Probably." Toji grimaced at the thought. "My father for sure. Maybe my uncle. Definitely the family lawyer."

"That sounds terrible."

"It will be." He stood up, figuring that was his cue to leave. "But we'll get through it."

You stood too, smoothing down your sundress before starting to walk. "You keep saying that. 'We'll get through it,' like you're sure we will." 

"I am sure." He said, following in your footsteps.

"How?"

Toji shrugged as he opened the French doors leading into the mansion. "Because we don't have a choice. We're having a baby. We're getting married. We're doing this whether we're ready or not. So we might as well commit to making it work."

You looked at him for a long moment before going inside the house. "That's very practical of you."

"I'm a practical person."

"I know." 

You walked him to the door, and even though there was a sense between the two of you that there were many things to say, many things to clarify, and many things to plan, it seemed that you were both too exhausted to do any of that today.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." You said when you reached the front door.

"See you tomorrow. If you need anything, call me." He replied, his words sincere.

“I will.”

As he walked out to his car, Toji's mind was already racing ahead to the conversation he'll need to have with Megumi. How to explain this to his poor kid. How to make his son understand that this wasn't a bad thing, even though it was sudden and complicated and scary.

And probably, he'll make himself believe that too.