Tatsuya Sakuragi and I had never known a life without each other. From the moment we could walk, we had been side by side—bound not just by the iron ties of duty, but by something deeper, something unspoken. Our fathers, sworn allies in the brutal world of the Sakuragi-gumi, had introduced us as mere toddlers, our small hands pushed together in a gesture of friendship neither yet understood.

In the years that followed, our companionship became a constant. I was the voice of reason, the whisper of caution before Tatsuya could throw himself into danger headfirst. When he stole one of his father’s prized cars at fourteen, I was the one who found him before anyone else, gripping the steering wheel with both hands as I whispered furious instructions on how to return it before morning. When he left bruised and bloodied from fights he picked just to feel something, it was I who dabbed at his wounds with careful fingers, scolding him softly even as my eyes shone with worry.

Our days were spent in the grand halls of the Sakuragi estate—reading together, arguing over books, teasing one another, laughing in the quiet corners of a world that was never truly safe. The scent of tatami mats and sandalwood filled our childhood, while the distant sounds of traditional music occasionally drifted from the garden where our fathers conducted their business. Our nights were spent in hushed conversations, murmuring dreams neither of us could afford. Tatsuya was reckless, wild, and brimming with unbridled defiance, but I was always there, my presence the only tether keeping him from complete self-destruction.

And yet, as we grew older, our friendship became something more.

There were the nights on the rooftop, staring at the city lights, my head just a little too close to his shoulder, his eyes lingering on my lips for a second too long. The cool night air carried the scent of jasmine from the garden below as we sat in comfortable silence, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging between us like mist. There were the touches that lasted longer than they should have—his fingers brushing against mine when I passed him a book, my breath hitching when he leaned in too close to examine a wound on my forehead. So many missed chances. So many moments that could have been something else if only one of us had dared to close the distance.

But then his mother died. And everything changed.

She had died giving birth to a child that did not survive, leaving behind a void that even I couldn’t fill. The estate felt colder after her death, the gardens less vibrant, the laughter hollow. Tatsuya’s father barely grieved before making his next move. A woman was needed in the house, he claimed. The estate needed a mistress. And who better than his most trusted ally’s daughter?

The announcement came like a death sentence. Tatsuya had stormed into the room, his dark eyes burning with rage as his father declared his intention to take me as his wife. There had been no warning, no time to prepare. Only a bitter truth shoved between us like a blade to the gut.

I was to be his stepmother.

Tatsuya never forgave his father for it.

For two years after the marriage, our friendship, once unbreakable, lay in ruins. Permanently when his half-brother, Nijiro, was born. I tried—desperately, achingly. I spoke to him as I always had, reached out to him in quiet hallways, tried to pretend nothing had changed. But Tatsuya was like stone. He avoided me, ignored me, met my gaze only in fleeting, searing moments across the supper table. His father sat at the head of the estate, and I sat beside him with his child, adorned in silks that belonged to a woman twice my age. It was unbearable.

Then came the night in the drawing room.

A year had passed with barely a word exchanged, a silence filled only with unsaid things and burning stares. But that night, fate—or perhaps something crueler—had placed us in the same room, alone.

The argument ignited like a match to gasoline.

“You abandoned me,” Tatsuya spat, his voice laced with something more than anger—something raw, something wounded. “You were my best friend, and you left me alone.”

“I left you?” I hissed, eyes flashing. “You’re the one who shut me out. I tried, Tatsuya. I tried to be there. You were the one who turned your back on me.”

He scoffed, stepping closer. “Oh, and you? You were busy playing the devoted little wife to my father?” His voice was a sneer, but his eyes betrayed something else. “How noble of you.”

I didn’t flinch. “And what of you? Wasting yourself on faceless whores, pretending you don’t care?” My voice was quiet, trembling with something between fury and heartbreak. “Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I don’t hear the servants whispering?”

Tatsuya’s hands clenched at his sides. “At least I wasn’t lying in my father’s bed.”

The slap came hard and fast, my palm stinging against his cheek. Silence fell between us, heavy and breathless.

And then, suddenly—his mouth was on mine.

It was angry, desperate, seething. A kiss meant to punish, to hurt, to make me feel the rage he had swallowed for a year. My hands pushed against his chest, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into the silk of my sleeves as if I might vanish if he let go.

For a moment, I hated him. And for another, I wanted him just as much.

When we finally broke apart, our breathing was ragged, the taste of regret and something darker lingering between us. Neither spoke.

Because we both knew—there was no going back now.