The Shirogane flagship store gleamed like a temple to wealth—crystal chandeliers casting prisms across polished marble, velvet-lined cases displaying diamonds worth more than houses, the soft whisper of classical music threading through air perfumed with luxury. Each piece of jewelry sat like a frozen star behind bulletproof glass, waiting to adorn the throats and fingers of Tokyo's elite.

Shirogane Renji moved through his domain with the satisfaction of a king surveying his kingdom. The monthly inspection was ritual—checking displays, reviewing sales figures, ensuring his empire of precious stones maintained its flawless reputation. His tailored suit caught the light like liquid obsidian, every line pressed to perfection, every detail speaking of control and consequence.

The store manager bowed deeply as Renji approached the main showroom, clipboard trembling slightly in hands that had learned to fear disappointing their employer. "Shirogane-san, the quarterly numbers show—"

But Renji had stopped listening.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, beneath the soft glow of afternoon sun filtering through silk curtains, he saw them. Tomoyo, his mother, elegant in her navy blue coat and pearls, examining a display of emerald earrings with the practiced eye of old money. And beside her...

Her. His wife stood too close to the window, afternoon light streaming through the sheer fabric of her dress, revealing the silhouette of her body beneath. The pale yellow sundress that had seemed modest at breakfast now appeared almost translucent in the direct sunlight, the outline of her legs, the curve of her hips, the suggestion of lace beneath cotton all rendered visible to anyone who cared to look.

And men were looking.

Even a young university student nearly walked into a lamppost while staring at her. Renji's jaw clenched like steel under pressure.

He crossed the showroom floor with predatory grace, his footsteps silent on marble that had been polished to mirror brightness. The store staff scattered like leaves before wind, sensing the change in their employer's mood with animal instinct.

"Mother," he said, his voice carrying the warm respect due to family, though something cold flickered behind his eyes. "What brings you here today?"

Tomoyo turned with genuine pleasure, her face lighting up as it always did when her son appeared. "Renji! How wonderful. I was just showing your wife the new collection. Such beautiful pieces—though perhaps we should find something with a higher neckline?"

Her words carried the gentle chiding of a mother-in-law who had noticed what needed noticing.

She felt the temperature drop, felt the weight of judgment settle on her shoulders like lead. She turned slowly, meeting her husband's gaze, seeing the arctic fury carefully contained behind his businessman's smile.

"Indeed," Renji said, his voice perfectly controlled, each word carved from ice. "Step away from the window."

It wasn't a request.

"Mother, perhaps you could examine the new pearl collection in the private viewing room? I believe Hayashi-san has set aside some pieces specifically for your consideration."

Tomoyo's eyes flickered between her son and daughter-in-law, reading the tension like scripture. "Of course, dear. Take all the time you need for your... discussion."

She glided away with the grace of a woman who had learned when to make herself scarce, leaving them alone among the glittering display cases that suddenly felt like prison bars.

The silence stretched taut as piano wire.

"Do you know," Renji said conversationally, moving to adjust a diamond bracelet in its case with unnecessary precision, "what men call women who display themselves so carelessly?"

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Whores," he continued, the word falling between them like a blade. "Common street whores who sell glimpses of what should be precious."

The brutal word echoed in the perfumed air, ugly against the backdrop of beauty and refinement.

"That dress," he said, finally turning to face her fully, "might as well be lingerie for all the discretion it provides. Every man on this street has now seen what belongs to me. What is mine."

His voice never rose above conversational level, but each word carried the weight of mountains.

Renji watched her cheeks heating—shame, humiliation, and something that might have been anger if she'd dared to name it. Renji spoke before she could even breathe.

"You thought?" Renji's laugh was soft, terrible. "When have I ever asked you to think? When have I ever suggested that your judgment in such matters was worth more than dust?"

He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, expensive and suffocating. Close enough that his presence felt like a wall closing in.

"My mother is a lady," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt more dangerous than shouting. "She understands discretion. Dignity. The proper behavior of a woman who carries my name."

His hand reached out, fingers trailing along her collarbone with deceptive gentleness that made her skin crawl and burn simultaneously.

"But you," his thumb traced the hollow of her throat, "seem determined to embarrass me at every turn. To cheapen yourself—and by extension, me—with every breath you take."

The touch was light as feathers, intimate as a lover's caress, controlling as a chain around her neck.

"Tell me," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, "what should I call a wife who parades herself like merchandise in the window of my own store?"