The Yakuza’s Mute Bride novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93

Morning came quietly, without mercy.

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When I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was warmth-solid unmistakable, human-and the second thing I felt was shock so sharp it stole my breath.

A pair of dark eyes was staring straight at me.

Tadashi.

He was awake, lying on his side, his arm wrapped around my waist with an intimacy so natural it felt like a continuation of a life we had never lost. My face was inches from his chest, my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, my body pressed against his as though this was where I belonged.

For one fragile, dangerous heartbeat, hope bloomed.

Does he remember?

Did something come back to him while I slept?

My chest tightened painfully as I searched his face, memorizing every line, every shadow beneath his eyes, every familiar angle that had once been my safe place. He looked… calm. Not cold. Not cruel. Just still.

Then he moved.

His arm slipped away from me with abrupt finality, as though the contact itself had startled him. He sat up immediately, swinging his legs off the bed, his back already turned to me before I could even gather a word.

The warmth vanished.

So did the illusion.

Nothing changed.

“I-sorry, I…” My voice came out thin, barely audible, rough with sleep and emotion. I did not even know what I was apologizing for-existing, perhaps, or hoping.

He did not answer.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the room like a gunshot.

BLAM.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

I sat there, frozen beneath the covers, staring at the empty space where he had been moments ago. My body still remembered his heat, the weight of his arm, the steady rhythm of his breathing against my back.

Why was he here last night?

Why was I here now?

My heart began to pound erratically as the questions crashed over me without answers.

What happened while I slept? Did I dream of his gentleness? Did I imagine the way he held me, the way he answered me when I called his name?

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17:29 Thu, Jan 22 G D D.

Chapter 93

Oh God…

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My vision blurred before I could stop it, tears spilling down my heeks in hot, silent streams. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from making a sound, but the sob still tore through my chest.

For a moment-just a moment-I had believed I had him back.

And then reality ripped that hope away with brutal efficiency.

Knock.. Knock.. Knock..

A soft knock broke through my spiral.

“Naomi-san?” Ai’s voice came gently from the other side of the door.

I wiped my face quickly, though it was useless, and managed a weak, “Come in.”

Ai entered carrying neatly folded clothes, her expression careful concerned, as though she already sensed the fracture

She did not ask questions. She never did when she knew the answers would hurt.

inside me.

She helped me change in silence, her movements respectful and slow, as if giving me time to breathe again. When I finished, she finally spoke.

“This is your room now,” she said quietly. “With Tadashi-sama.”

I blinked, startled. “What…?”

“No one knows the reason,” she admitted softly. “But Tadashi-sama ordered it himself. And no one dares question him.”

So it was not my imagination.

I really had slept beside him.

And he had chosen to leave without explanation.

Ai hesitated before adding, “Sato-sama said… you are not staff anymore. You are not required to work. You are Tadashi- sama’s woman.”

The words felt strange in

my

chest.

His woman…

Yet he would not even look at me this morning.

After Ai left, Yuka appeared, her arms full of familiar things, her eyes lighting up gently when she saw me sitting by the

window.

“I remembered what you loved,” she said softly, placing an old sketchbook into my hands.

My breath caught.

This I knew this sketchbook.

My fingers trembled as I opened it, the worn pages whispering as they turned. And there it was.

Shun-sama’s portrait, drawn with care and reverence. His eyes. His gentle smile.

And then-page after page-Tadashi.

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Chapter 93

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His profile. His hands. The sharp line of his jaw when he concentrated. The rare softness in his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

I stared at the drawings in disbelief.

When did I draw all of this?

I could not remember the moments, the hours, the quiet times when I must have sat somewhere safe enough to study him like this, to pour my feelings onto paper without fear.

But the truth was undeniable.

I had loved him deeply.

Enough to capture him without him ever asking.

Enough to leave pieces of my heart behind in graphite and ink.

I closed the sketchbook slowly and pressed it to my chest.

If he truly remembered nothing-Then why had he held me like that last night?

Why had his body known mine when his mind did not?

And why, despite everything, did it feel like this story was far from over?

********

When Ai and I entered the dining room, the atmosphere shifted in a way I could not immediately name, though my body recognized it before my mind did.

The long wooden table was already occupied, but not by the person whose presence I had unconsciously been bracing for.

Only Ota, Gio, and Yukito were seated there, halfway through their breakfast, their posture relaxed in a way that suggested familiarity rather than formality. Steam rose from bowls and cups, the scent of warm rice and miso filling the room with a domestic calm that felt almost misplaced.

Ai glanced around once, then again, as if expecting someone to appear from a side corridor.

“Where is Tadashi-sama?” she asked lightly, her voice casual, though her eyes betrayed curiosity.

Ota shrugged with an ease that bordered on dismissive, reaching for his tea. “Training.”

Yukito snorted under his breath. “He is insane. Who starts training at dawn after everything that has happened?”

“And drags us along with him,” Gio added with exaggerated exhaustion, rolling his shoulder as though still feeling the weight

of it.

Their familiarity with his habits struck me in an unexpected way This was not the cold tyrant the elders whispered about. This was a man whose intensity overflowed into every corner of his life, whose excess bled into those around him.

Yukito’s gaze lifted then, catching mine, and his expression softened immediately.

“How are you feeling, Naomi?” he asked gently, standing to pull chair back for me with practiced courtesy.

I returned his smile, small but sincere. “Better,” I replied quietly, the word fragile but honest.

As I sat, Sato appeared almost on cue, setting a carefully prepare breakfast before me, the arrangement deliberate and thoughtful, exactly the way he remembered I preferred it.

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Chapter 93

“I will leave you to enjoy your meal, Naomi-san,” Ota said, standing smoothly from his seat.

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Gio followed suit with a nod, the two of them excusing themselves without ceremony, leaving the table feeling suddenly too large, too empty, occupied now only by Ai, Yukito, and me.

The silence that settled felt strange.

I was not staff here anymore.

I was not a guest either.

And the man who owned this house did not remember why I was here at all.

The thought pressed against my chest, uncomfortable and unresolved.

I lifted my gaze toward Yukito, gathering resolve before it could falter.

“Yukito,” I called softly.

He looked up immediately, attentive.

I smiled, though it took effort, and said the words I had been rehearsing since dawn. “I will go back to London. Alone.”

The air froze.

Ai’s hand stilled mid-motion, her eyes widening as she turned toward me. Yukito’s expression shifted from surprise to disbelief in a heartbeat, his posture straightening sharply.

“What…?” Ai breathed.

Before Yukito could find his voice, before he could argue or question or refuse, another voice cut through the room like a blade.

“WHAT?”

The sound of it reverberated against the walls, raw and furious, laced with an emotion so sharp it startled me out of my

composure.

I turned.

Tadashi stood in the doorway.

He was shirtless, his skin still damp from training, muscles taut, eins standing out beneath his skin as though his body had not yet cooled from exertion. Sweat clung to his hair, to the sharp line of his collarbone, to the faint scars that mapped his chest like a history written in flesh.

His

eyes were locked on me.

Not cold.

Not blank.

Angry.

Fierce.

Alive with something that sent a chill racing down my spine.

He had heard me.

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