The Yakuza’s Mute Bride novel Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sleep never came that night.

I sat by the small window, the moonlight spilling across the wooden floor like pale water.

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The guards outside had grown quiet, their footsteps fading into the rhythm of the night insects.

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I hugged my knees and stared at the sky, trying not to think, not to feel-but memories have sharp edges. They always find a way to bleed through.

I used to have a beautiful voice.

That was what people said, once.

When I sang, my mother used to smile, her tired eyes softening as if the world had forgotten its cruelty for a moment. I sang when I was lonely, when I missed her, when the silence in the house felt too heavy. My voice used to be my escape, my secret garden of sound.

Until Katrina ruined it.

I can still see it-the gleam in her eyes that day. I was only 10 that time. The house was bright with the smell of expensive perfume and polished marble. My father had guests, and I wasn’t allowed near the table. Katrina came to me holding a glass of pink syrup, her smile sweet, practiced.

“Father said this is for you,” she told me. “He said you’ve been good lately.”

I hesitated. It looked too pretty. But when your half-sister-your father’s real daughter-offers kindness, you want to believe

So I drank…

At first, it was just warmth spreading down my throat. Then burning. Then the pain was so sharp I couldn’t even scream. My mother’s voice echoed in my head, then silence-terrifying, endless silence-because when I tried to speak, the sound that came out was broken, raw, ugly.

I survived. Somehow. But my voice didn’t.

After that, people laughed when I tried to talk. My words came out harsh, uneven. Not the soft voice I used to have. Not a lady’s voice.

I learned quickly that silence was safer.

Those hands could speak better than my mouth ever could.

So I taught myself sign language, alone, with an old book I found at a library sale. The motions became my new language, my shield.

In my father’s house, I became invisible. A mistake in human form. A burden that could clean floors, serve tea, but not be

seen.

He never looked at me unless Katrina was in the room, pretending to be kind while twisting the knife deeper.

I started working when I was twelve-small jobs, quiet ones. Cleaning shops, arranging flowers. Anything that paid enough to buy my own books and food. My father never noticed. He didn’t care. Maybe he was relieved I could survive on my own.

When I was sixteen, I started at a little flower shop near the edge of the city. That’s where I met Matthew.

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Chapter 6

He was two years older, the owner’s son-soft-spoken, patient, with eyes that always looked like spring.

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He taught me how to tie bouquets properly, how to pick flowers that would last longer in the heat. I remember him laughing when I tried to teach him to sign “thank you.” He was terrible at it, but he tried, and that meant everything.

I always knew he liked Katrina. Everyone did. She was older, prettier, louder. But she never looked at him. To her, he was just another admirer.

Maybe that’s why he noticed me instead.

Six months later, he confessed. His face was red, his voice shaking, but his eyes sincere. He said he didn’t care that I couldn’t speak properly. That my silence made him listen more.

I thought-maybe this time-I could be loved for who I was.

When I turned eighteen, he was twenty.

He had his own apartment then, small but warm. He said I should live with him-“You shouldn’t stay in that house anymore,” he told me. “You deserve better, Naomi.”

And for a while, I believed him.

I thought love could erase the poison, the laughter, the years of being unwanted, But love, I learned, can betray just as easily as blood.

Now, sitting in this locked room in a foreign land, I watch the sun rise. The sky shifts from gray to pink to gold.

And I realize I haven’t slept.

My eyes sting, but I can’t cry anymore.

It’s strange, isn’t it? The more you lose, the quieter your heart becomes.

Maybe that’s why I stopped speaking.

Not because I couldn’t- But because I had nothing left to say.

The first light of dawn slipped through the paper screens, soft and almost merciful.

The guards had changed shifts; I heard their quiet footsteps outside, the rustle of fabric as one handed over a sword.

I washed my face with cold water from the basin and sat by the window again.

The faint scent of cedar drifted in. Somewhere, a bird began to sing – the kind of clear, beautiful note I once could have made. I closed my eyes, listening until it hurt.

Knock.. Knock…

A knock came at the door.

Not a servant’s knock. Too heavy. Too measured.

I froze, then slowly turned.

The door slid open before I could rise. Tadashi Masayoshi stood there, framed in the pale morning light. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled high- he looked as if he hadn’t slept either. His eyes were sharp, colder than the dawn.

For a moment, he said nothing.

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Chapter 6

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Then his gaze swept the room, the untouched breakfast tray, the folded blanket. He stepped inside, his presence filling the small space like a storm.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said flatly.

I lowered my gaze and shook my head. My notebook lay open on the table beside me, the ink from last night still faintly smudged.

He stood there, watching me – studying every twitch, every breath. The silence between us grew thick.

“You’ve been here three weeks,” he said finally. “My grandfather trusted you.” His jaw tightened. “And now he’s lying in that bed, poisoned.”

My heart clenched at the word. Poisoned.

I tried to stand, to reach for the notebook, but he took a single step closer, his tone like steel. “Stay where you are.”

His eyes, so dark they looked almost black, pinned me in place.

He was looking for guilt.

For tremors in my face that weren’t there.

For lies I didn’t have to give.

“Is this why you’re here?” he asked. “Did they tell you to hurt my grandfather?”

‘They?’ I blinked, shaking my head rapidly. No. No.

–

But he kept going, his voice low, accusing. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You came from London no one even knew your name before you arrived. You show up in his house, quiet, polite, and suddenly—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening again. “Tell me the truth.”

I reached for my notebook, but he caught my wrist halfway, not rough, but firm enough to stop me. For a second, our eyes met his, searching; mine, pleading.

—

I slowly lifted my other hand, fingers trembling, signing small, hesitant motions: ‘I didn’t. I swear. I didn’t.’

His brow furrowed. He didn’t understand.

I grabbed the notebook again, this time fast, scribbling with shaking fingers. ‘I would never hurt him. I care for him. Please believe me.’

I pushed it toward him. His gaze flicked to the words, then back to me. He didn’t answer.

—

Outside, I heard servants murmuring whispers like wind against paper: “Poor girl…”

“She was the only one with him…”

“Master Tadashi must be furious…”

Tadashi’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes – a brief, almost invisible shadow of doubt. He exhaled slowly, turning toward the door. “You’ll stay here until I say otherwise,” he said. “Guards will remain outside. Don’t try to leave.”

When he stepped out, the air seemed to collapse.

The door slid shut with a soft click that felt like a verdict.

10:35 Tue, Jan 6

Chapter 6

I sank to the floor, the notebook still open in my lap.

The morning had fully broken now the sky bright, the sounds of the estate awakening again. And yet everything inside. me felt dim, hollow.

I’d thought I had escaped my past. That across oceans, I could build a new name for myself. But maybe cruelty didn’t need a place it only needed a reason.

–

I pressed my palms against my mouth, shaking silently. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing good ever lasts for me.

Hours passed before a servant brought food. I didn’t eat. The soup went cold on the tray, the rice stiffening with time. I wrote in the notebook instead – small, quiet words to keep myself from disappearing.

“They think I am poisonous. Maybe they are right. Everywhere I go, something dies

The ink blurred when my tears fell onto the page.

Outside, the guards shifted again.

–

my voice, my peace, my name.”

The wind picked up, carrying faint sounds from the garden – men’s voices, hurried, sharp. Then silence.

And when the silence broke again, it was by Tadashi’s voice, low and steady, issuing orders I couldn’t understand.

I didn’t know what they planned for me. But I knew one thing – even if no one believed me, I wouldn’t beg.

Because once, long ago, I lost my voice.

Now, I would not lose what was left of my dignity.

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10:35 Tue, Jan 6