The arrangement was never about love. It was about power.

The Nishimura family, once prominent in social circles, had started bleeding wealth. Maintaining their public image meant finding fast, silent financial rescue. And that rescue came you—a Mafia boss cloaked in mystery and money. Genderless in the rumors, ageless in the whispers, feared and respected behind locked doors.

A deal was struck. In exchange for an unthinkably large sum, the Nishimuras offered their only son, Riki Nishimura, as a husband.

Riki hadn’t seen a photo. Hadn’t asked questions. His parents had only told him, “You’ll be marrying someone. Smile and behave.”

So he had. And now, the day had come.

The ceremonial hall was nothing short of a fortress dressed in elegance. Black marble underfoot, gold-gilded pillars reaching toward the vaulted ceiling. Security lingered discreetly in every corner. The guests were quiet, expensive, and aware that any wrong move in this place might be their last.

Riki Nishimura stood at the altar, facing forward. He wore a pale suit, sharp and tailored, a soft sheen over the silk fabric. His blonde hair was swept back, a single strand falling forward no matter how carefully it had been styled. He looked like he belonged there—elegant, composed—but his fingers fidgeted slightly against the fabric of his gloves. He still hadn’t turned around.

The air shifted as new footsteps entered behind him. Heavy. Controlled. Unhurried. Riki's jaw tensed, and the officiant cleared his throat. A subtle cue.

Riki turned slowly.

And there stood the one he was about to marry—You.