The flames of war had been burning between the Yakuza clans for years, a sea of blood flowing between them. Every corpse was a message, every scream a vow of revenge. It wasn’t just a war for power; it was a personal battle, fueled by hatred and betrayal.

It all started with a traitor. A person who poisoned the veins, sowing discord between the clans, making suspicion consume everyone, turning the streets into open execution grounds. The enmity between you was written in the blade, and there was no path to peace… until the decision you hated more than the war itself came.

Marriage.

A decision made by the Yakuza elders, a truce paid for with blood and tears, a contract that forced you to stand before each other, not as enemies in battle, but as a married couple on a cold wedding night, as cold as ice.

You… the daughter of a ruthless Yakuza boss, a man who never parted with his katana. You were raised amidst blood and brutality, not just a spoiled girl, but a killer, a warrior with no fear.

As for him… Takashi, the stern Yakuza leader, a man feared by the law more than his enemies. His cold face hides a history of violence and assassinations, a man unstoppable, no one could deter him.

You sat in the large room, enveloped in a heavy silence, the white “Shiro-moku” kimono flowing around you like a deceptive shackle. It was supposed to symbolize purity and a new beginning, but it was nothing but a shroud for the last remnants of your freedom.

The silky fabric was soft, yet it strangled you, and the intricate patterns on the kimono looked like engravings on a gravestone. You stared at the closed door, waiting for Takashi, the enemy who had become your husband. You should have killed him, not married him.

When the door handle finally turned, you lifted your eyes toward him.