Chương 3 - THE BOTTLE NOBODY WAS SUPPOSED TO OPEN
I read the date four times.
It didn’t change.
Three days after my father died.
“That isn’t possible.”
Kazuki said nothing.
“You told me he went back into the warehouse.”
“He did.”
“You saw the explosion.”
“Yes.”
“You believed he died.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain this.”
“I can’t.”
Anger rose through my confusion.
“You expect me to enter some four-month arrangement with you when every answer ends with I don’t know?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
Kazuki took the contract.
He tore it cleanly in half.
I stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Removing the part where you owe me anything.”
He put the pieces on the table.
“If you leave now, I won’t stop you.”
“And my father?”
“I will tell you everything I know.”
“Without the agreement?”
“Yes.”
That reversal unsettled me more than pressure would have.
“You still need your fake girlfriend.”
“I need you alive more.”
I went cold.
“Why would I be in danger?”
“Because if Masato survived that fire, someone helped make the world believe he didn’t.”
“And you think they care about me fourteen years later?”
“I think my uncle asked about Naomi Suzuki two weeks ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“Your uncle remembers me?”
“He remembers your name.”
“Why?”
“That is what I intend to discover Sunday.”
Family dinner.
The dinner I was supposed to attend as Kazuki’s girlfriend.
I stared at the torn contract.
“So I’m bait.”
His jaw tightened.
“You were never meant to be bait.”
“But if I walk into that house—”
“You become visible to people already asking about you.”
“That sounds exactly like bait.”
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t insult me by denying it.
I sat down.
“Put the contract back together.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“I tore it.”
“Print another.”
“Naomi.”
“If people are already asking about me, I would rather know why.”
I looked at him.
“And I want one more clause.”
“What?”
“No more hidden motives.”
He was quiet.
Then he nodded.
“Agreed.”
Sunday evening, I stood outside the Takahashi family residence in Setagaya wearing a black dress I had chosen myself.
Kazuki looked at me once.
Only once.
“You look beautiful.”
“That wasn’t in the contract.”
“No.”
“Good.”
His hand appeared beside mine.
Public performance.
That was all.
I told myself that twice before taking it.
The Takahashi house was modern glass wrapped around an older traditional structure.
Cedar.
Stone.
Quiet money.
The type that did not need to announce itself.
Inside, Kazuki’s grandmother Emiko waited beside a low arrangement of winter camellias.
She was seventy-eight and somehow more intimidating than her grandson.
“So,” she said, studying me. “Masato Suzuki’s daughter.”
Kazuki’s fingers tightened around mine.
“You knew my father?”
Emiko’s gaze shifted toward him.
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Not everything.”
“Of course not.”
She looked back at me.
“Men in this family mistake silence for strategy.”
I liked her immediately.
That probably meant I should not.
Kazuki’s uncle Daichi entered behind her.
Mid-fifties.
Perfectly tailored.
Warm smile.
He looked at me as if he had been expecting a ghost.
“Naomi.”
Not Ms. Suzuki.
Naomi.
My skin prickled.
“You remember me?”
“I remember your father speaking about you.”
Kazuki went still.
“When?”
Daichi smiled.
“Long ago.”
Dinner began with politeness sharp enough to draw blood.
Across from me sat Aiko Mori, the woman Kazuki’s family wanted him to marry.
She was not what I expected.
No jealous sneer.
No insult about my job.
She was thirty-one, composed, and visibly bored by the entire performance.
Halfway through the first course, she leaned toward me.
“For the record, I don’t want to marry him either.”
Kazuki heard.
“Comforting.”
“It should be.”
Daichi frowned.
“This alliance would protect both families.”
Aiko lifted her wine.
“So would functioning contracts and emotional maturity.”
Emiko hid a smile.
Then Ken walked into the dining room.
My hand froze around my glass.
Keiko was beside him.
Kazuki’s posture changed instantly.
“Why are they here?”
Daichi answered.
“Tanaka Logistics is handling the family’s new European wine imports.”
Keiko’s father owned Tanaka Logistics.
Ken worked in brand acquisitions.
Of course.
Ken saw my hand beside Kazuki’s.
His expression tightened.
Apparently the jealousy had survived longer than I cared whether it did.
“Naomi.”
“Ken.”
Keiko looked between us.
Then gave me a small, almost apologetic nod.
No malice tonight.
Interesting.
The sommelier poured the next wine.
Bordeaux.
Old.
Beautiful color.
Something in the aroma bothered me before the glass reached my lips.
“Don’t drink that.”
Everyone stopped.
Daichi laughed softly.
“Professional reflex?”
I leaned closer.
Leather.
Cedar.
Black cherry.
And something chemical beneath it.
Bitter almonds would have been too dramatic.
This was subtler.
Solvent.
Fresh adhesive.
I looked at the bottle.
“The capsule has been replaced.”
Kazuki set down his glass.
The room changed.
His security man appeared near the door without being called.
Daichi’s smile vanished.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Someone opened this bottle and resealed it.”
The household sommelier went pale.
“That bottle came directly from the family cellar.”
I took it carefully.
The cork sat half a millimeter too low.
Wrong tool.
Wrong pressure.
Whoever had done this understood wine storage.
But not enough.
Kazuki said, “Remove it.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
I rotated the bottle.
The vintage was 1998.
Château Palmer.
Then I saw a tiny mark on the paper label.
A black diagonal slash through the number eight.
My father used to mark bottles that way when I was little.
I remembered asking why.
“So I remember what not to forget,” he had said.
My hands shook.
“This bottle belonged to my father.”
Daichi’s face changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
Kazuki saw me see it.
The cork was pulled under controlled conditions.
No poison.
Instead, beneath the capsule, wound around the neck, was a thin strip of waxed paper.
And taped inside it—
A brass key.
Stamped with two characters.
K-17.
Emiko went white.
Kazuki looked toward her.
“Grandmother?”
She stared at the key.
“I haven’t seen that in fourteen years.”
“What does it open?” I asked.
Her eyes moved to me.
“The bonded wine vault your father rented.”
My pulse jumped.
“The one that burned?”
“No.”
Emiko’s voice became quiet.
“The one Masato emptied the night before the fire.”
Daichi pushed back his chair.
“That is enough.”
Kazuki turned toward him.
“Sit down.”
“Do not order me around in this house.”
“It is my house now.”
The warmth vanished between them.
Then Emiko said the words that silenced both men.
“Masato told me K-17 contained proof that someone in this family had ordered Kazuki’s murder.”
I looked at the key.
“Who?”
Emiko’s gaze moved slowly toward Daichi.
“I never learned.”
Daichi stood.
“You learned enough to accuse me with your eyes.”
“I accused no one.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Ken had gone completely still at the far end of the table.
Keiko looked frightened.
Then I noticed Ken staring at the key.
Not curiously.
Recognizing it.
“Ken?”
His eyes snapped toward me.
“How do you know that key?”
He swallowed.
“I don’t.”
A lie.
I had dated him for two years.
I knew exactly what his lies looked like.
“Kazuki.”
Ken stood abruptly.
Kazuki’s security blocked the door.
Keiko whispered, “Ken.”
He looked at her.
Then at me.
His face collapsed.
“I saw that key before.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where?”
He closed his eyes.
“In your apartment.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“You went through my things?”
His voice came out rough.
“Not once.”
My blood ran cold.
“How many times?”
Ken looked ashamed.
May you like
“Enough to know your father left you something you never realized mattered.”
And suddenly the breakup eight months ago looked nothing like the story I had been telling myself.
