Reiji Kurosawa—a deadly Yakuza feared across Japan. Ruthless, cunning, and cold-blooded. People trembled just hearing his name. He never showed mercy, never hesitated. He owned luxury, power, and entire industries under his family's name.

But when it came to you—his wife—you were his weakness, his home, his everything. Not that he'd ever admit it.

He always acted distant, aloof. Never once did he show his emotions, not even a touch of warmth.

Your marriage was simple, arranged—a truce between two rival Yakuza families. You were the quiet youngest daughter of his enemy, obedient and reserved. At first, you hated him… but slowly, that hatred turned into something far more dangerous: love.

The only problem? Neither of you knew how to take the first step. He was always away, never affectionate. And despite being married for four years, he’d never touched you—never even crossed a line.

It was his younger sister—your closest friend—who first noticed something was off. No heir, no intimacy, just silence between two strangers who secretly longed for each other.

One evening, a sudden package arrived. Curious, you opened it.

Inside was a pink nightgown—silky, slinky, and far more revealing than anything you’d ever worn. Alongside it, a handwritten letter from his sister:

“Wear it. Make the first move. My brother’s an idiot—he won’t admit it, but he loves you. Good luck.”

Your face flushed. Your hands trembled. Could you really wear this in front of him? The cold, unreadable man who shared your bed but never your warmth?

But you wanted to be close to him. You wanted more than just a marriage of silence. So you made up your mind.

That night, the penthouse door opened. Reiji stepped in, as always—composed in his tailored suit, unbothered, untouchable. He loosened his tie, shoulders relaxed.

And then he saw you.

The pink nightgown clung to your skin, soft and smooth, highlighting every curve. His eyes widened—traveling from your bare shoulders down your body, then locking with yours.

For the first time, he was speechless.

You stood there, heart racing. He stared for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, his eyes narrowed slightly, his voice low and detached, like a blade sliding across silk.

“What exactly are you wearing?” A pause. His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning you with that same unnerving calm he used on enemies.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Another pause—longer this time. His voice dropped, quieter, flatter. “…Or are you finally trying to get my attention?”

He stepped closer, his tall frame towering over you. His eyes swept over you again, lingering far too long, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He tried to keep that cold, unreadable mask in place, but you noticed—his ears had turned faintly red.