The Red String Between Us Part II: Frayed Threads

第18章 Unfinished Conversation

      The bartender slid the cocktail in front of me, the colors glowing faintly under the dim lights. I swirled the straw through the glass, the corner of my mouth lifting as I caught Kenji's gaze.

"Sex on the beach?" he asked, one brow arching, his voice low and roughened from the whiskey. "That's... bold."

I took a slow sip, deliberately unbothered. "Well," I said, setting the glass back down, "it's been that kind of night."

His smirk softened into something more complicated—admiration tangled with frustration. He leaned an elbow on the bar, studying me with those steady dark eyes. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence filled only by the clink of glassware as the bartender worked down the line.

Finally, Kenji's voice broke through, quiet but pointed. "Are you... seeing Harum?"

The question hung between us like smoke. I looked down at my drink, then back up at him. "That's not really your business."

His jaw tightened, but I could see the flicker of hurt behind the cool mask. I sighed, softening just a little. "We're friends."

Some of the tension eased from his shoulders, though his eyes searched mine like he didn't quite believe it.

"I owe you an apology," he said suddenly, his tone dropping lower. "For Aya. And... for that photo in L.A. It wasn't what it looked like."

I held his gaze, waiting.

He exhaled through his nose. "She and I had a business meeting about the acquisition. Nothing personal. Nothing inappropriate. The press spun it like they always do." His hand clenched briefly around his glass. "But I should've told you. I should've explained before it became another headline."

The sincerity in his voice disarmed me. I felt the defensive edge I'd been carrying all night slip, replaced by something warmer.

"I believe you," I said softly, holding his gaze. "But, Kenji... this is hard. I know there's nothing we can really do about Aya—she works with us, and she hasn't crossed a line that would get her removed. I know the media will always twist things, the same way they did with us. I understand all of that.

But that's the point—there will always be something. Some distraction. Some headline. Some complication. And right now, I finally have the power to choose what I let into my life... and what I don't."

"Then let me make it easier." He replied. 

I shook my head, my voice thick but steady. "No. Not right now. I can't let anything—especially dating you—get in the way of my work. Not with the media watching, not with AG, not when everything I've built is still so fragile."

His expression darkened, not with anger but with the weight of understanding.

I pressed my lips together, my throat tight. "I feel so deeply for you. More than I probably should. But that's exactly why I can't.... If we cross that line, it'll be complicated in ways neither of us can control."

Kenji's eyes softened, even as his hand flexed restlessly on the bar top, like he was holding back from reaching for me. "So I'm just supposed to what, wait?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.

I gave him a small, sad smile. 

The music from the ballroom faded into a distant hum, the bar emptying until it felt like we were the only two left in the world. He stared at me, as if committing my words—and my face—to memory.

"Eden," he murmured, my name heavy with everything he couldn't say. "As much as I want to fight you on this decision, I will respect your wishes." Kenji told her.

I took another sip of my drink, refusing to let the moment pull me under. 

The bartender returned to clear the glasses, breaking the spell. Neither of us moved to leave, but neither of us dared say more. The conversation had cracked something open between us, but the wall I'd built still stood, trembling but firm.

For tonight, that had to be enough.