The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 96- Father of the day

REOMEN

The silence in Kenji’s study was a comfortable one, broken only by the soft clink of ice in our glasses. The view of the city from his penthouse was a rival to my own, a sprawling tapestry of lights that felt like a map of everything we controlled.

"So," Kenji drawled from his chair, not looking at me, his gaze on the skyline. "Two days until you legally bind your chaotic life to an equally chaotic heiress. I assume you’ve signed the prenup. The one I had my lawyers draft, not yours."

I took a slow sip of whisky, the burn a familiar comfort. "My lawyers drafted the only one that mattered. The one that states what’s mine is hers, and what’s hers is still hers. Your version was creatively brutal, even for you. I think you suggested she should forfeit a kidney if she ever leaves you on read."

He finally turned his head, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "It was a spleen, and it was a reasonable clause. You’re getting soft, Daki. Fatherhood and fiancés are melting that famously cold heart of yours."

"And yet, my company’s stock is up fifteen percent this week," I fired back, setting my glass down. "While yours only managed twelve. Seems my ’soft’ heart is still a better businessman than your frozen one."

It was our old dance. Sarcasm as a shield. Insults as a form of affection. We’d been doing it since we were two orphaned boys trying to conquer a world that thought we were nothing.

The banter settled into a lull. This was the hard part. The part without the shield. I looked at him, my oldest friend, the only person who knew every scar and every sin that had led me here.

"Kenji," I said, and my voice lost its lazy drawl. It was just my voice. "At the wedding. I want you to be the one standing where the father of the groom is supposed to be."

He didn’t look surprised. He never did. He just raised a single, sharp eyebrow. "You didn’t need to ask," he said, his tone dripping with his usual dry amusement. "I didn’t expect you to get on your knees and beg for the favor. Besides, you can’t not have me play the part. I am, for all legal and practical purposes, your guardian. It’s on every document since you were seventeen. Someone had to be responsible for you."

The words were sarcastic, but they landed with the weight of a thousand memories. He’d fought for that legal guardianship when we aged out of the system. He’d signed my first business loan. He was the only family I had ever truly acknowledged.

A feeling I rarely allowed myself—a deep, sharp gratitude—pressed against my ribs. It was uncomfortable. So I did what I always do. I deflected with a sharper edge.

"Thanks," I said, the word simple and true before I quickly buried it. "But let’s be clear. You were only made my guardian because the state recognized your innate talent for petty crime and assumed you’d need a dependent for tax fraud. It had nothing to do with responsibility."

A real smile, rare and genuine, touched his lips for a fraction of a second before it was hidden behind his glass. "Naturally."

He looked back out at the city, and I did the same. We didn’t need to say anything else. The request was made and accepted. The score was even.

The one person I trusted to stand with me as I started a family was the one who had been my family all along. And we would both rather die than ever say it out loud.

The silence settled back over us, comfortable as an old coat. Kenji swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the ice cubes chase each other.

"I’m planning to ask Suzume to move in with me," he said, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "After your spectacle of a wedding, of course. Wouldn’t want to overshadow your big day."

I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips. "So it’s only a matter of time, then. A year, maybe two, before you find yourself in my exact position."

He glanced at me, a single eyebrow raised in question.

"A father," I clarified, my voice dripping with faux-sympathy. "Given your... prolific sex drive and the fact the woman is permanently available to you, it’s simple math, really. An inevitable biological outcome."

Kenji let out a soft snort, but he didn’t deny it. He looked back at the city lights, a contemplative look on his usually impassive face. "Kids aren’t so bad," he mused, to my genuine surprise. "As far as they don’t end up acting like you."

I leaned back, stretching my arms along the back of the sofa. This was fertile ground for our particular brand of entertainment. "Is that so? Please, elaborate on my many faults. I could use a good laugh."

He didn’t hesitate. It was like he had a list ready in a drawer somewhere, just waiting for this moment.

"Let’s start with the obvious," he began, ticking points off on his fingers. "Your pathological inability to admit you’re wrong. It’s not just stubbornness; it’s an art form. You could be on fire and you’d argue it was a strategic decision to improve your thermal efficiency."

"I call it conviction," I retorted smoothly. "A trait of all great leaders."

"Then there’s your sarcasm," he continued, a glint in his eye. "You use it as a weapon, a shield, and a form of currency. It’s your first, second, and last language. A child of mine would be taught nuance. A child of yours would learn to utter its first words as a dry, cutting remark."

"Early communication is key to establishing dominance," I said, taking a sip of my drink. "I’d be a proud father."

"Your ego," Kenji went on, now fully enjoying himself. "It has its own gravitational pull, Reomen. I’m surprised the satellites don’t shift in their orbits when you walk by. You have more than enough for yourself, your company, and any hypothetical offspring. They wouldn’t need to develop their own; they could just lease a portion of yours."

"A shared resource," I nodded, as if considering a sound business proposal. "Efficient."

"And let’s not forget your controlling nature," he finished, a true smile finally breaking through his cool facade. "You don’t just take charge; you absorb the very concept of free will from a room. You’d probably try to schedule the baby’s naps down to the millisecond and get into a bidding war for a more prestigious preschool while it was still in the womb."

I set my glass down with a definitive click, a wide, wicked grin spreading across my face. I had him now.

"I beg to differ on every point," I said, my voice low and amused. "What you call an inability to admit I’m wrong, I call a flawless track record of being right. My sarcasm is a intellectual filter—it keeps dull people at a safe distance. My ego is perfectly proportional to my achievements. And my ’controlling nature’ is what built an empire from nothing. It’s not a fault; it’s the engine."

I leaned forward, pinning him with my gaze. "So, if a child of mine inherited even half of those so-called ’faults,’ they’d be running the world by the time they were fifteen. And you’d be the first in line to offer them a business loan."

Kenji stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. He didn’t concede, but he didn’t argue further either. He just lifted his glass in a subtle, silent toast.

The bastard knew I was right. And I knew that his entire list, every single point, was just his twisted way of saying he wouldn’t have me any other way.