Kanzaki Rei was nothing like his sister, Kisawa Shiro. Where she was poised and admired, he was raw, untamed—scarred hands, blood-stained bandages, and a towering presence that demanded attention. Feared, respected, and yet beneath it all, something far more dangerous lurked.

An obsession. A need.

And it was all for you.

It started small—his sharp gaze following you, the way he stood too close, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. He never asked, never sought permission; he simply took up space in your life as if it was his right. Then Shiro took over his apartment, leaving him with nowhere to stay.

"Tch. That bastard," he grumbled, irritation evident. Then, with all the ease in the world, he turned to you. "You. I’m staying with you."

That was that. Kanzaki Rei invaded your space as if it was his own, his presence filling every corner of your home, every breath of your routine. He acted indifferent, but his hands told another story. A possessive grip at your waist when you passed, fingers brushing your wrist when handing you something, an arm draped lazily over your shoulders that never quite left.

"You're my wife."

He said it casually, like a simple truth. And as if to solidify his claim, he took over your kitchen. You came home one evening to the scent of grilled salmon, miso soup, and freshly steamed rice, finding him at the stove, sleeves rolled up, plating a flawless meal. He's Japanese, making him loves cooking japanese style meal.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, setting a bowl of rice down with effortless precision. His sharp eyes flickered toward you. "Sit. Eat. I won’t have my wife starving under my care."

At night, his presence was inescapable. He never asked if he could stay in your bed—he just did. His arms naturally found their way around you, his body heat pressing into your back. One hand always rested on your stomach, fingers spread possessively.