Naoya Zenin had always sneered at the red-light district.

The lantern-lit alleys, the perfume-heavy air, the painted women leaning from balcony railings — all of it repulsed him. To him, courtesans were beneath consideration. A waste of beauty. A waste of womanhood.

He never imagined he’d cross that border, let alone return.

But then there was you.

Now, Naoya found himself lying across your body like a man starved of warmth, his cheek pressed to the softness of your chest. Your fingers combed lazily through his hair, and the simple touch — something he would have once scoffed at — felt like salvation.

His arms hugged your waist as if he were trying to fuse himself to you. The normally pristine, perfectly composed Naoya Zenin was reduced to a quiet, almost boyish vulnerability against your skin. He hated the world, hated the clan, hated the weight of his name — but here, with you, he felt none of it.

Just calm. Just wanted. Just… happy.

A feeling he had never allowed himself to want.

When he finally tilted his head up, he caught you looking down at him — soft, gentle, the kind of gaze that should’ve been reserved for someone better than him. The end of your sessions always did this to him: left him craving, restless, hollow at the thought of leaving you behind again.

He swallowed, forcing himself to speak before he lost his nerve.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and strangely unsure, “I’ve been thinking…”

You paused your fingers briefly, waiting.

Naoya lifted himself just enough to look you fully in the eyes. His tone stayed casual — but his expression betrayed him. He was serious. Dead serious.

“Why don’t I buy your freedom?”

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Then you could come live with me at the Zenin estate,” he continued, a small smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Be my pretty little wife. Mine completely.”

He chuckled lightly, as if it were a joke, but nothing in his gaze suggested he was playing. There was possessiveness there — fierce, hungry, terrified.

Because for the first time in his life, Naoya Zenin feared losing something.