The Yakuza’s Mute Bride novel Chapter 105

Chapter 105

Darkness came first.

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Not the gentle darkness that arrives when your eyelids finally surender to sleep, nor the comforting shadow of night slipping quietly into a familiar room. This darkness was forced upon me, abrupt and violent, dragged down over my senses like a suffocating curtain. Rough fabric was pulled tightly across my eyes, scraping against my lashes and pressing uncomfortably against the bridge of my nose. The world vanished in an instant, reduced to sound, movement, and the frantic hammering of my own heart.

I could not see.

But I could feel everything.

Hands gripped my arms from both sides, fingers digging into my skin with no concern for pain. They pushed me forward, faster than my weakened body could manage. My feet stumbled across uneven ground, the soles of my shoes scraping harshly against stone or wood-I could not tell which-until the sensation changed abruptly. Cold metal pressed against my calf. A door opened with a hollow sound, then slammed shut behind me with a finality that sent a jolt of terror through my spine.

A car.

The engine roared to life almost immediately, the vibration traveling up through the seat and into my bones. As the vehicle lurched forward, my body rocked with the motion, restrained only by the firm hands that kept me pinned in place. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, and tried to focus.

Think, Naomi.

Remember.

Count.

I counted turns in my head. Left. Right. A long stretch forward. sharp curve. I tried to memorize the rhythm of acceleration and slowing, the subtle incline of roads, anything that could anchor me to reality. But fear tangled my thoughts, turning numbers slippery and unreliable. Time stretched and warped, minutes dissolving into something shapeless and cruel.

At least I knew one thing.

I was still in Japan.

The sounds outside the car-distant traffic, the faint hum of the ity fading into something quieter-confirmed it. That knowledge should have comforted me. Instead, it tightened the knot in my chest. Japan was no longer synonymous with safety. Not since the mansion burned. Not since trusted faces had become masks hiding hatred.

Hours passed. Or perhaps only one. It was impossible to tell.

My throat burned fiercely, every swallow scraping painfully as thirst clawed at me. Smoke from the fire still lingered in my lungs, each breath shallow and unsatisfying. My head throbbed relentlessly, a dull ache that pulsed behind my temples, worsened by fear and exhaustion. My body ached in places I could not remember injuring-my shoulders, my ribs, my legs -each pain a reminder of how fragile I felt.

When the car finally slowed and stopped, the sudden silence was almost deafening.

The engine cut off.

Doors opened.

Cold air rushed over my skin as I was dragged out, my feet barely touching the ground before they lifted me completely.

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Chapter 105

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Someone carried me now, my body hanging uselessly as my strength ebbed away. I tried to twist free, but my limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as though they no longer belonged to me.

Where are we?

The air felt different here. Cooler. Still. The echoes of sound sugested enclosed walls, perhaps stone, perhaps something old. The smell changed too-less smoke, more damp earth and ged wood. A building. Somewhere secluded.

I was set down roughly, my knees buckling beneath me. Hands kept me upright, fingers tightening as though I were an object that might break or flee if released.

Then voices pierced the darkness.

“Is it her?”

The question came from somewhere ahead of me, spoken with detached curiosity that made my skin prickle.

“Yes,” another voice replied immediately, thick with venom. “The bitch.”

My heart dropped into my stomach.

That voice.

I knew it.

Even blindfolded, even terrified, I recognized it without hesitation.

Sato.

The head butler of Shun-sama. The man who had once greeted me with warmth and courtesy, who had poured tea with steady hands and spoken my name gently, as though it mattered Hearing him now felt like a knife sliding between my ribs.

“Sato-san?” The name slipped from my lips before I could stop myself, weak and disbelieving.

A sharp laugh answered me.

“So you can speak,” he said coldly. “How unfortunate.”

Betrayal burned hotter than fear.

The man I had trusted. The man who had stood at Shun-sama’s side. The man who had smiled at me kindly. Behind that familiar face had been resentment all along, festering quietly until it found its moment.

“You said Shun-sama was the one who brought her here?” another voice asked. This one was unfamiliar, older perhaps, rougher around the edges.

“Indeed,” Sato replied calmly. “I never understood why. There was no reason. She must have cast some kind of spell on the old man.”

A spell.

As if my existence were something unnatural. As if kindness could only be manipulation.

Hands grabbed my face suddenly, fingers digging painfully into my jaw and forcing my head upward. I gasped, the blindfold shifting as my cheek was pressed roughly between someone’s thumb and palm. The touch was invasive, degrading, as though I were livestock being inspected.

“Hm,” the man murmured thoughtfully.

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10:05 Mon, Jan 26

Chapter 105

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会:77%日

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I tried to pull away, panic surging anew. My hands pushed weak against his chest, my body trembling as I struggled to create even an inch of distance between us.

He laughed.

A low, mocking sound that made bile rise in my throat.

“Feisty, huh?” he said with amusement.

“She is dangerous,” Sato agreed, his tone disturbingly calm. “That is why this must be done properly.”

Dangerous.

The word echoed in my mind, absurd and cruel. I had never wanted power, never sought influence. I had only loved someone. Was that truly such a crime?

The man shoved my face aside abruptly, the force sending me stumbling. I nearly fell, my balance completely gone, but another pair of hands caught me before I hit the floor. There was no kindness in the grip, only control.

“I know someone who will pay very well for a woman like her,” the unfamiliar man said casually, as though discussing a piece of art or a rare commodity.

My breath caught painfully in my chest.

Pay.

Money.

No.

Please, no.

I shook my head violently, blindfold scraping against my skin as denial tore through me. My heart raced, pounding so hard I thought it might break free of my ribs.

“Shaka Zulu loves blondes,” Sato added with a cruel laugh. “What do you think?”

The name sent a chill through me, cold and heavy.

I had heard whispers. Stories. Men who ruled not with law but with brutality. Places where women disappeared and were never spoken of again except in hushed warnings.

“I cannot imagine what Tadashi will do,” the other man continue, voice dripping with malicious delight, “when he learns his precious lover has been ruined by an African king.”

Ruined.

The word shattered something deep inside me.

“No” I tried to scream, tried to plead, but my voice betrayed me. Smoke damage, fear, and exhaustion reduced my protest to a hoarse rasp that barely resembled a word. My throat burned as I struggled for air.

Sold?

Am I going to be sold?

The thought clawed at my mind, sending panic flooding through my veins. My body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. I thrashed violently, fueled by sheer terror and the desperate instinct to survive. I kicked, twisted, clawed at anything within reach, my movements wild and uncontrolled.

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