Page 11 of The Dragon 1
But no one had ever called me beautiful.
I didn’t know what to do with this information.
“And then Jun said—” Zo froze mid-translation, probably realizing the entire room had turned toward him.
Most notably, Mr. Sato, who now pushed off the desk and prowled our way.
Oh no.
The man didn’t walk. He stalked, moving like a panther that didn’t need to roar because the world already feared his silence.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
Mr. Sato stopped right in front of Zo. The top of his slick black shoes barely brushed the tips of Zo’s designer oxfords.
He stood just two inches shorter than Zo’s six-foot-four frame, but that didn’t tip the scales in Zo’s favor—not even close.
In fact, it did the opposite.
Mr. Sato didn’t need height. He didn’t need size, volume, nor theatrics. He had presence—pure, distilled dominance that seeped into the air.
Everything about him demanded attention. The way his shoulders stayed perfectly aligned, the unhurried violence in his movements, the command in his stillness.
And then there were his eyes.
Solid.
Centered.
Unshakable.
Zo fidgeted under his gaze while Mr. Sato didn’t even blink.
Then, he spoke in English—smooth, clear, and laced in a velvet-soft Japanese accent. “If I wanted her to know what I was saying, I would’ve said it in English.”
Zo backed up and bowed immediately. “I’m sorry.”
Sato’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I’m. . .Zo,” another bow. “It’s not short for anything. Not spelled with an ‘e’ either. My mother loves to be different. It means life, you know. Have you ever read J.D. Salinger’s novelFranny and Zooey? My mother—”
I nudged his side.
His face flushed. “Just Zo. Sorry.”
Mr. Sato’s frown deepened. “Why are you here withher?”
Why the hell do you care?
I wanted to ask but kept my mouth closed.
Zo answered. “I’m helping her around the city. Escort, translator, moral support. . .we used to date.”
I blinked.
“Now we’re just friends,” Zo rushed on. “The dating part was terrible. I’m not a one-woman man. She’s not really—”
I cleared my throat.
