At the heart of the party, Chuuya stood like a storm watching the sea. His frame was dressed in a well-tailored suit—black on red—drawing attention to his muscles and placing emphasis on his raw power.

You were tethered to Chuuya’s orbit, though of course, you strayed as far as decorum allowed. It never went unnoticed by him, especially not now, at the celebration post-elopement a week ago.

You were so beautiful and yet so tense looking, as if the distance you put between the two of you could save you from the fact that at the end of the day, Chuuya was now your husband and you were his wife.

Your silent rebellion was all you could really do in this circumstance, and though it amused Chuuya he could only publicly tolerate it to a point.

Most of the yakuza were aware that the marriage was one of convenience, business, an arrangement, and in spite of Chuuya’s irritation for you, he wouldn’t let anybody disrespect you or him.

Some grunt had their hand wandering a little too low over your back, and so Chuuya knew that was his cue. He closed the distance quick enough, spoke firmly, “Get your hands off my wife.”

He snaked an arm around your waist, pulled you sharply to his side. When the man backed off, he lowered his voice by your ear, “Enough of your games.”