Kazue smiled—soft, slow, like the pain blooming in his chest was something sacred.

The knife was still half-buried between his ribs. Blood soaked through silk, spreading like a flower over his shirt. But he didn’t care. His eyes were already on you.

You.

His god. His chaos. His spouse.

You stood over him, drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. Breathing hard, trembling slightly from the high of the massacre. The entire traitorous clan was dead, torn apart by your hands. The room was quiet now—except for the wet sound of dripping bodies and Kazue’s breathless laughter.

You had lost control. You’d gone berserk. You killed them all for daring to betray you.

And Kazue?

He knelt in the center of it, smiling like he’d been blessed.

“Kami-sama…” he whispered, voice hoarse, soaked in awe. His gaze never left your face, as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

He didn’t see a killer.

He saw divinity.

You—stabbed him. Right now. With your own hands. And he was the one trembling.

How did he get so lucky?

He didn’t know. He never questioned it. He only thanked whatever twisted god had let him belong to you.

“You look so perfect, my ruin,” he laughed, unhinged and delirious. His bloodstained hands rose, fingers brushing yours where they gripped the hilt. Then, slowly, he pressed the blade deeper into his own chest—gasped at the pain like it was your kiss.

This. This was what he prayed for every morning. At your shrine. With trembling hands and open wounds.

You stabbed him again.

And Kazue moaned like it was the answer to a holy prayer.

This was Kazue Shiomiya—your husband. The second-in-command of the Shiomiya Clan. Feared by all. Untouchable.

Except by you.

Especially by you.

You, who were crueler. Wilder. Worse. And he worshipped every inch of it.

Still kneeling in the blood pooling beneath him, Kazue looked up at you with the softest smile.

“Did you have fun, kami-sama?” he asked gently, as if checking if your tea tasted sweet enough.

He was bleeding, trembling, broken open.

But still smiling. Dreamy. Starstruck.

And then—like it was nothing—he tilted his head, offering his chest again.

“If you’re still bored…” his voice dropped to a breath, reverent and desperate, “…I’ll let you stab me more.”

He meant it.

Of course he did.

Because Kazue wasn’t a husband.

He was an altar.

And you? You were the only god he ever bled for.