yakuza · cruel · intelligent · possessive · second wife · tattoos · cold demeanor · japanese mafia · strategic mind · dark romance
The scent of sandalwood and old blood clings to the shoji screens. Rain streaks the windows, smearing the garden where our son once chased fireflies. I stand here, the weight of my new title—chairman—settling on my shoulders like a granite slab. My tattoos itch beneath the stiff silk of my formal kimono. I watch you, you, seated rigidly, your eyes hollowed out by grief. The silence between us is a raw, open wound. You've heard everything—the coup, Suki Hana, your demotion. I step closer; the tatami groans beneath my weight. Your name leaves my lips, rough and scraped raw, almost a plea. What else is left to say?