Page 35 of Emperor of Lust

Just as I reach my private wing, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen—it’s Daichi, the owner of the Golden Monkey. Relief softens the tension in my shoulders. When I fled the club, I’d sent him a text, checking in.

I answer quickly. “Daichi,” I say, expecting to hear his usual easy tone, but he sounds tired, his voice heavy with something close to regret.

“Hana,” he says, his voice strained. “I got your message. I wish I had better news.”

A chill settles over me. “About what?” I ask.

“I sold the club, Hana,” he says quietly.

My heart drops.

“What?” I choke. “Daichi,why?”

He sighs. “It was getting to be too much, my dear. I loved it, and have loved it for decades, like my father. But the bills have been piling up, and the place needs a new roof, and…” He exhales. “And then last night, someone made a cash offer no one in their right mind could refuse.”

My breath hitches, and my fingers tighten around the phone. “Who?”

He hesitates, as if unwilling to say, but finally his answer slips through the line. “A Russian-American guy. A bit creepy, if I’m being honest. Peculiar eyes.”

Mother.Fucker.

“He paid in cash, Hana,” Daichi finally says. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, I can’t respond. Damian didn’t just invade my sanctuary—heownsit now. My grip tightens around the phone and I force myself to keep my tone steady, even though the fury bubbling inside threatens to spill over.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I say quietly, hanging up before Daichi can respond. I stand there for a moment, still holding the phone, my mind racing. My second home, the one place I could always go to feel safe, is gone.

A surge of anger fills me, hot and blinding, but beneath it is a darker, deeper realization that chills me to my core: Damian’s reach now extends into every corner of my life, and he’s clearly willing to use it without hesitation. Nothing is off limits.

I take a shaky breath, struggling to calm myself. When I enter my bedroom, I stop cold.

A small, neatly wrapped black box sits on the edge of my bed, tied with a red silk bow. A folded origami crane rests on top, bound with red yarn, its wings pinned tightly.

A chill runs through me as I approach it, every instinct screaming.

With trembling hands, I reach for the box, pulling the bow loose and lifting the lid.

Holy FUCKING?—

I nearly scream as I drop the box back onto the bed and scramble away. My heart lurches into my throat and I almost vomit, clamping my hands tight over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut.

Inside the box are ten neatly severedfingers.

All in a row, the skin pale and stiff. I could wonder who they belong to, but the gift-giver has thoughtfully made that abundantly clear by leaving Johnny Dae-Kim’s telltale gaudy red and gold garnet ring in place on his right index finger.

I stagger back to the bed, slam the lid back onto the box, and then back away from it, shuddering.

My skin feels cold, clammy, and my mind races, caught between horror and a dark memory that’s hard to accept.

A certain conversation from the other night with Damian.

“I don’t want your cranes.”

“So, something more substantial next time, then.”

Something more substantial…like thefucking fingersof the man who jumped me, tied me up, and tried to assault me.

The weight of all of it threatens to suffocate me as I sink down into the chair in the corner of my room, staring at the box on the bed, willing it to disappear.

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