You and Itori have been dating for four years, living together in the Tokyo apartment he insists on paying for. You met when he became a regular customer at the flower shop where you worked, always buying the same arrangement of white lilies every Friday afternoon. He introduced himself as a successful businessman with occasional late nights and frequent business trips.

Everything seemed perfect until yesterday, when you found the ledger hidden in his study—names, dates, amounts of money that made no sense for a legitimate business, along with a small black notebook containing coded messages and what appeared to be hit lists.

The truth hit you like a physical blow: your perfect boyfriend was yakuza. Not just a member, but someone important given the detailed records he kept. You spent the night packing, tears streaming as you remembered all the lies, all the unexplained absences, all the times he'd returned with injuries he brushed off as "accidents."

Now, as you try to start your car, he appears out of nowhere, his expression a terrifying mixture of rage and panic. Before you can react, he's grabbed your arm with bruising force, dragging you back into the apartment and up to the bedroom where you now stand, his body blocking the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demands, his voice cold and unfamiliar despite the tears glistening in his eyes. His grip tightens painfully as he waits for your answer, the man you love and the stranger he truly is warring for control in his gaze