The Yakuza’s Mute Bride novel Chapter 95

Chapter 95

“Tadashi-sama?”

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The greeting from the guard still echoed faintly in my ears as I stepped farther into the inner grounds behind him. No one questioned my presence. No one asked me to stop. They simply bowed and moved aside, as if my place there had already been decided long before I arrived.

He wore only a jacket, no shirt beneath it, the cold mountain airbrushing against his bare skin as if it dared him to feel it. I noticed. Of course I did. And just as quickly, I forced myself to look away.

This is not your place anymore, Naomi.

The reminder did not stop my chest from tightening.

While the guards explained the situation to Tadashi in low, formal voices-updates, names, timelines-I drifted a few steps away, letting my eyes wander over the grounds. This place was ancient, untouched by time in the way only power could preserve. Stone paths curved with deliberate grace. Pine trees stood like silent sentinels, their branches whispering secrets older than memory.

If not for him, I would never have been allowed here.

That truth settled quietly in my bones.

“お姉さま、こちらでお茶をご用意しております。どうぞ、こちらへ。 ” (Onee-sama, we have prepared tea for you. Please, this way.)

The voice startled me gently. I turned to see a young woman in a modest kimono, her posture perfect, her smile warm but careful.

I nodded, unsure of every word but understanding the intention

She led me into a smaller side room, secluded, intimate, its sliding doors opening to a narrow view of the garden beyond. A tea set had already been arranged on the low table, porcelain bowls gleaming softly in the filtered light.

She bowed and withdrew, leaving me alone.

I sat slowly, folding my legs beneath me, and exhaled.

For a moment-only a moment-I allowed myself to relax.

My hands reached for the utensils out of instinct. Muscle memory. Shun-sama’s patient voice echoed faintly in

Tea is not rushed, Naomi. It reflects the heart of the one who prepares it.

I warmed the bowl. Measured the matcha. Lifted the whisk.

And then I stopped.

Something was wrong.

Not obvious. Not careless.

Subtle.

my

mind.

The scent reached me first-barely there, hidden beneath the earthy bitterness of the matcha. My fingers froze midair as my senses sharpened, the way they always did when something felt. off.

This was not how matcha should smell.

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17:30 Thu, Jan 22 G D D.

Chapter 95

My heartbeat quickened.

I leaned closer, careful not to disturb the surface, and inhaled again.

There it was.

A faint sharpness. Metallic. Almost sweet.

Poison?

My breath caught in my throat.

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I set the whisk down slowly, deliberately, as if sudden movement might make the danger real instead of contained. My gaze darted to the door just as it slid open.

Tadashi stepped inside.

The room seemed to contract around him.

He paused when he saw me frozen in place, my hands hovering uselessly above the tea set, my expression tight with something close to fear.

“You did not drink,” he observed.

“No,” I said quietly. “I did not make it.”

His eyes narrowed-not in anger, but in alertness.

“Why?”

I swallowed and gestured toward the bowl. “Something is wrong

He did not question me.

That, more than anything, unsettled me.

He stepped closer, his movements swift, controlled, dangerous in their precision. He crouched beside the table, leaned in, and inhaled once.

Then again.

His entire demeanor changed.

The man who had been distant, cold, unreadable vanished in an instant.

What remained was something sharp and lethal.

“Poison,” he murmured.

The word landed like a blade.

My eyes widened.

Before I could react, he was already moving. He grabbed the bowl, sealed it with a cloth from his sleeve, and barked an order into the hallway in a voice so cold it made my blood run colder.

“Lock this wing down. Now.”

Footsteps thundered outside. Voices answered immediately.

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17:30 Thu, Jan 22 G D D.

Chapter 95

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Tadashi turned back to me, his gaze sweeping over my face, my hands, my posture, checking me in the way a predator checked its most valuable possession for damage.

“Did you touch it?” he demanded.

“No,” I answered quickly. “I noticed the smell first.”

His jaw tightened.

“You were taught well,” he said flatly.

I did not know whether that was praise or something else entirely.

Within seconds, guards flooded the corridor. One knelt to receive the sealed bowl from Tadashi without a word. Another radioed instructions in clipped tones.

And Tadashi-Tadashi stood between me and the door.

Not consciously.

Not deliberately.

But instinctively.

That was when it truly struck me.

I knew he was Yakuza. I had always known. People feared him. His name carried weight and blood and silence in equal measure. But he had hidden that side from me so carefully, so completely, that I had almost believed love could carve out a gentler version of him.

Now, I saw the truth.

This was Tadashi Masayoshi.

Unfiltered.

Unrestrained.

Deadly.

He turned to me slowly, his eyes dark, calculating, burning with something that was not quite anger and not quite relief.

“They tried to kill you,” he said.”

My chest tightened. ”

His gaze sharpened.

you.”

“No,” he corrected coldly. “You.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver through me.

“They would not poison a cup prepared for you unless you mattered,” he continued. “Someone wanted you gone quietly.”

I hugged my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how close danger had been. How easily this could have ended differently.

His hand came up without warning, gripping my wrist-not painfully, but firmly, grounding me.

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