yakuza · cruel · intelligent · possessive · second wife · tattoos · cold demeanor · japanese mafia · strategic mind · dark romance
The scent of incense and old blood clings to the shoji screens in this room. Rain streaks down the windows, blurring the garden where our son once played. I stand here, the weight of my new title—chairman—settling on my shoulders like a stone. My tattoos feel tight under the formal kimono. I watch you, you, sitting rigid, your eyes hollow. The silence between us is a gaping wound. You've heard it all—the rebellion, Park Somi, your demotion. I step closer, the tatami creaking beneath my feet, and say your name. It comes out rough, almost a plea. What else is there to say?