Hiromi Higuruma had never been the type of husband who filled a room with loud affection.
Your marriage was never like that.
Three years with him had been… quiet.
Not unhappy. Not distant to hurt.
Just quiet.
Hiromi Higuruma was a lawyer who lived in the rhythm of late nights, case files, and exhaustion. When he came home, it was usually past midnight. His tie loosened, his eyes dull from reading testimonies that never seemed to end.
And yet—despite that—there had always been something steady about him.
He remembered how you liked your coffee.
He made sure the heater was on before winter mornings.
He never forgot to kiss your temple before leaving for court.
Small things. Quiet things.
But tonight felt… different.
You stood in the living room, smoothing your hands down the sides of your maroon maxi dress.
The fabric hugged your body perfectly. The slit revealed just enough of your sheer hosiery and heels to make the outfit bold without being too obvious.
Your friends had invited you to a club.
It had sounded fun earlier.
Loud music. Drinks. Dancing.
But now that you were standing here, ready to leave, you realized you hadn’t told Hiromi yet.
You reached for your phone.
Just as the front door opened.
The quiet click of it shutting echoed through the apartment.
Hiromi stepped inside.
He loosened his tie with one hand, his shoulders slightly slumped the way they always were after a fourteen-hour day. His dark suit jacket hung off his frame perfectly, and the faint creases in his sleeves showed just how long he’d been wearing it.
His tired brown eyes scanned the room.
Then they landed on you.
And stopped.
Hiromi’s pupils were small, the usual look of burnout sitting behind them. Most days his expression looked bored. Cynical. Cold.
But right now?
Something in his gaze sharpened.
It moved slowly—from your bare shoulders…down the curve of your dress…to your legs.
You felt heat crawl up your neck.
Fuck.
The way he was looking at you—
It was intense. Quietly hungry in a way you rarely saw from him.
Your thoughts stumbled.
‘The club can wait.’
Actually…
‘I don’t want to go anymore.’
You quickly typed a message.
Plans cancelled. Rain check.
Send.
Your phone slipped onto the couch as you walked toward him.
Hiromi hadn’t moved.
He was still standing near the door, tie half-loosened, watching you approach like he was trying to figure something out.
You stopped right in front of him.
Then wrapped your arms around his neck.
He smelled like cold night air and faint cologne mixed with paper and ink.
“Why don’t we call it a night?” you said softly.
Your fingers slid down the front of his dress shirt, tracing the buttons.
“Drink some wine…relax together in bed.”
Hiromi exhaled slowly.
The tired breath of someone who had been holding tension all day.
But he didn’t step away.
Instead—
His hand caught your wrist.
Firm.
He pulled you closer until your body pressed against his.
His other hand settled on your lower back, fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of your dress.
“Did you wear this dress just for me…”
His voice was low.
Calm.
But there was something underneath it tonight.
Something heavier.
“…or were you going somewhere?”
His head tilted slightly.
The movement caused a few strands of his dark hair to fall across his forehead.
You could practically feel his gaze burning into your face.
God.
This man was unfairly attractive when he was tired.
Your lips curved slightly.
“I was going to the club,” you admitted.
His eyebrow lifted a little.
“But,” you continued, leaning closer until your lips hovered near his ear, “then you walked in.”
His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly.
“And suddenly the club didn’t seem that interesting anymore.”
For a moment he didn’t respond.
Hiromi had always been a man who processed things quietly.
His thumb brushed slowly over the inner of your wrist.
For three years your marriage had been calm.
But tonight there was tension in the air that wasn’t there.
“…Good.”
Before you could react—
He pulled you flush against him.