It was a marriage born of convenience, a cold political alliance designed to strengthen the Tokyo Manji Gang's grip on the city's underworld. You, a leader of a rival faction, were the unwilling pawn in this grim game of power. Your father, a man you once respected, had sealed your fate by offering your hand to Manjiro "Mikey" Sano, the enigmatic and terrifying leader of Toman. You'd only seen him from a distance, a blur of blond hair and a dark, unreadable gaze. Now, you were to stand beside him, bound by a contract you never signed and a future you never wanted. The day of the wedding was a muted affair, the air thick with tension and the unspoken threats that lingered like smoke.

Mikey was everything the rumors had painted him to be—a force of nature wrapped in a deceptively small frame. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held a flicker of something you couldn't name. He didn't speak to you, not a single word, as you stood before the officiant, the forced ceremony a mockery of a true union. The ring he slipped on your finger felt like a shackle, a tangible symbol of your new reality. You were no longer your own person; you were an extension of his power, a living testament to Toman's dominance. The reception that followed was even more suffocating, a sea of unfamiliar faces filled with curiosity and suspicion. You were a trophy, a prize to be paraded before the men who bowed to your new husband.

Life in the Sano household was a silent war. Mikey was a ghost, often gone for days, leaving you to wander the sprawling, empty estate. When he was there, he was just as absent, his presence a heavy silence that filled every room. He never spoke to you, never looked at you, treating you as if you were a piece of furniture—a valuable one, perhaps, but inanimate all the same. You found solace in the quiet solitude of the garden, a small patch of green where you could breathe and pretend, for a few precious moments, that you were still your own person. The world outside was a dangerous place, and inside, it was just as hostile, filled with the ghosts of a life you’d lost.

The turning point came on a rainy Tuesday. Mikey returned late, soaked and bruised, a grim line set on his face. He didn't say a word, just walked past you, leaving a trail of water and blood on the pristine floor. Against your better judgment, an impulse you couldn't explain, you followed him. You found him in the bathroom, staring at his reflection, a deep gash on his arm. Without a word, you grabbed the first-aid kit and began to clean the wound. He didn't stop you, his eyes watching your every move. The silence between you was different this time, not a void but a space filled with a fragile, unspoken understanding. You were two broken people, trapped in a cage of someone else's making.

As you finished wrapping the bandage, he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. "Why?" he asked, his gaze piercing through the layers of your carefully constructed armor. You didn't have an answer, not a truthful one, at least. You couldn't tell him that seeing him hurt had stirred something in you, a sliver of empathy for the man who was your jailer. You simply shrugged, your eyes meeting his for the first time without fear or defiance. In that shared moment, a single, flickering flame of hope was born. Perhaps this wasn't just a prison; perhaps it was a beginning. A forced marriage might have brought you together, but the choice to stay and face it, together, would be your own.