Chapter 130

I drew in a deep breath before stepping toward Kenzo’s bookshelves. My fingers hovered for a moment before I reached for one of the paper folders, flipping through the pages with quiet urgency, searching for any document bearing his signature. Nothing. My chest tightened as I pulled out a few more folders, setting them on the floor. Crouching, I skimmed through page after page, but they were all printed documents. No handwritten signatures.

Then, in another folder, I finally spotted his initials—K.L.—scrawled by hand. But it was nowhere near the proof I needed. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I carefully returned the folders to their places, my mind already shifting to the towering stack of papers cluttering Kenzo’s desk.

Determined, I moved toward the pile, and when my eyes landed on a page with his full signature, I barely suppressed a triumphant gasp. My heart pounded as I examined every curve, every precise stroke of his pen. Even from his signature alone, it was obvious—his handwriting was stunning. Each letter was perfectly formed, the lines fluid and controlled, free of any aggression or harsh edges.

I wasn’t an expert in handwriting analysis, but one thing was clear: whoever wrote EH’s notes wasn’t Kenzo. But I needed more—something undeniable, something that would convince not just Varen but also myself.

I sifted through document after document, my frustration mounting with each passing second. I had already spent over twenty minutes in Kenzo’s room, and every instinct screamed at me to leave before I got caught. But I couldn’t— not until I was sure.

“This is useless,” I muttered under my breath, tossing aside another contract, its signature identical to the others I had seen.

Then it hit me. The drawers.

I yanked them open, sifting through more contracts and invoices—each one more irrelevant than the last. My patience was wearing thin, my nerves fraying, when I spotted something—a handwritten note, barely visible, tucked into the farthest corner of the drawer.

Reaching for it, I stretched my arm as far as it would go, but my fingertips just grazed the edge. Gritting my teeth, I shifted, kneeling awkwardly as I leaned in further. My position was less than graceful, my backside sticking out as I strained, but I didn’t care. I had to get that note.

Then I heard it.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs.

My pulse spiked.

Kenzo.

“Shit,” I hissed under my breath.

Panic surged through me. He was coming back. I clenched my teeth, knowing I was seconds away from either grabbing the note or getting caught red-handed. Desperation pushed me forward, and with one final stretch, I seized it.

But my victory was short-lived.

Kenzo’s steps were no longer just approaching—they were right outside.

I had no time. My only option was to hide.

Heart hammering, I dove under his massive desk, curling myself into the smallest shape possible. Clutching the note in my fist, I willed myself to be silent, to be still. Just as the door swung open, I squeezed my eyes shut.

Kenzo stepped inside.

“You idiot, you idiot, you idiot,” my mind screamed.

The scent of fear had to be thick in the air. There was no way he wouldn’t sense it. My lungs burned as I tried to steady my breathing, my pulse thundering in my ears.

Through the narrow gap beneath the desk, I saw his shoes. He wasn’t moving. Just standing there. Listening? Sensing something? My stomach twisted painfully.

Then, to my shock, he let out a long sigh, stretching before locking the door. My heart dropped.

I heard him move toward the bed, heard the rustling of fabric. My breath hitched as I caught a glimpse of his feet—his shoes being removed, his socks peeled away. Then, to my absolute horror, his pants hit the floor.

And then… his boxers.

A strangled gasp threatened to escape, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide in sheer disbelief. I had never prayed for invisibility so desperately in my life.

He bent down, picking up his clothes, and for a split second, I was sure he would glance under the desk. My heart stopped.

But then—nothing.

Instead, I heard his footsteps heading toward the bathroom. The door shut, and a moment later, the shower turned on.

I nearly collapsed in relief.

This was my chance. Moving cautiously, I peered out, confirming he was gone. My whole body trembled as I slipped out from my hiding spot, stuffing the note into my pocket. I inched toward the door, every step feeling like a lifetime.

I gripped the handle. Twisted it.

Locked.

My stomach plummeted.

The key. Where was the damn key?!

My gaze darted to the lock, and realization struck like a slap. Kenzo had taken it.

“For God’s sake, who even locks their door from the inside with a key?”

A wave of hysteria bubbled up in my chest. Of course. Of course, this would happen to me.

I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to think. Kenzo had pulled out the key before walking to the bed. I remembered a faint sound—a soft, dull thud. Not metal against wood. Something cushioned. Fabric?

Then it clicked. His pocket.

He had the key.

And his clothes… were in the bathroom with him.

A disbelieving laugh slipped from my lips.

I was trapped.

And I had to be the unluckiest thief on Earth.

With every passing second, my chances of slipping away unnoticed dwindled into nothing.

At that moment, one thing became painfully clear—I was going to kill Varen. That is, if I managed to escape Kenzo’s bedroom alive.

I inhaled deeply, my gaze flickering toward the bathroom door. The idea forming in my mind was reckless, possibly even worse than stepping inside and rummaging through his clothes in search of a key. But it was the only chance I had. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I edged closer. The steady stream of water still echoed from the shower, masking the sound of my quick, shallow breaths. Anxiety coiled around my ribs as I wrapped trembling fingers around the handle and nudged the door open just enough to peek inside.

I had intended to search for Kenzo’s clothes. Truly, I had. But my traitorous gaze betrayed me, straying straight to the shower.

The sight stole the air from my lungs. My body locked in place, eyes widening as I took in the sculpted muscles of Kenzo’s bare back… and the perfectly chiseled curve of his naked ass. His wet black hair clung to his skin, strands rippling as the water cascaded over him. Droplets slid languidly down his body, tracing every defined ridge before vanishing into the drain.

Fantastic. Another reminder of how maddeningly insatiable I was.

If not for the desperate need to remain silent, I would have slapped some sense into myself. Instead, I wrenched my gaze away before my idiocy got me caught. My focus snapped back to my actual mission—the pile of Kenzo’s clothes right by the door. I forced my breathing to slow, reaching out as carefully as possible, fingertips skimming fabric, searching. My heart pounded so violently that each beat rattled through me, turning the key hunt into something as delicate as defusing a bomb.

I flicked my gaze toward the shower, praying Kenzo wouldn’t turn around—for more than one reason.

Then, finally, I felt it. Cold. Solid. Metal.

Relief nearly buckled my knees. I carefully pinched the key between two fingers, dragging it free. Just a little more. One last inch, and I’d be home free—

The water stopped.

Silence crashed down around me, so sudden and complete that my muscles slackened.

The key slipped from my grasp.

Run! Every instinct in my body screamed.

I didn’t think—I just reacted. Slamming the door shut, I dove under Kenzo’s bed, as if that might somehow erase my presence. A second later, when logic finally caught up with my stupidity, I mentally shot myself to spare the humiliation of what was about to unfold.

Kenzo stepped out of the bathroom. I saw his bare feet padding across the floor, water pooling beneath them.

He stopped.

Right in front of the bed.

Dread curled its icy fingers around my spine, squeezing as I barely had time to process the moment he bent down, wrapped a hand around my ankle, and dragged me out as if plucking an object from the shadows.

I barely registered my own breathless yelp before I was upright, standing before him.

The water still clung to his skin, his towel slung low around his waist. His dark eyes bore into me, sharp and inescapable, pinning me in place with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. Then, the corner of his lips curled—a slow, lopsided smile that sent a shiver racing down my spine.

Kenzo leaned in, his voice a silken blade as it cut through the thick air between us.

"Did you enjoy peeping, Thalassa?"