Chapter 35

35

DAMIAN

There’s something viciously hollow about walking into an empty home.

Standing in the dark silence, the penthouse that once felt like a fortress for me and her now feels like anything but.

No note. No explanation. Just a quiet that needles at me, twisting the knife even deeper.

There’s some jazz playing softly from the speakers, a haunting reminder of her presence even after she’s gone. My teeth clench, the sharp taste of betrayal settling bitter on my tongue. My eyes latch onto something across the room: two origami cranes sitting on the kitchen island.

They’re perfectly folded, red thread binding them together in delicate knots, a taunting reminder of everything I thought we were, each fold and crease mocking me.

Guess she left those, too.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

An hour later, I’m tearing through the streets of Tokyo on the back of a motorcycle, as if the roar of the engine might drown out my thoughts. The city blurs, neon lights streaking like blood smears against a dark sky.

I don’t ride often, but when I do, it’s for this—to dance on the razor’s edge and see how close I can get without tipping over.

Tonight, maybe I’ll finally see what’s on the other side of the line.

I gun the throttle, pushing faster. My focus is a singular burn: the street ahead, the rushing asphalt underneath me. The fury eating me alive.

Suddenly, another engine revs behind me. I glance in the mirror and see a bike tailing me dangerously close. The rider veers toward me like he’s trying to force me off the road. I dodge him, but he’s right there, pressing closer, relentless. He gets up alongside me, aiming a hard kick at my bike’s engine. I zigzag to avoid it, pulse thudding.

This isn’t just some shitty driver.

This motherfucker’s trying to kill me.

The bike swerves close again, a dark shape cutting through the neon streaks. I turn sharply down a side street, then wrench the bike back onto a busier road. I gun the throttle, hoping I’ve dodged the psychopath.

But there’s the loud rev of his bike again. I glance in my mirror, my teeth gritting.

He’s on my ass again.

I weave through traffic. But he’s stuck to me like glue. He roars up next to me, and suddenly, he’s pulling a baseball bat out of the side harness and swinging it at me.

Fuck .

I try to swerve, but the bat smashes my mirror and shatters my headlight. He strikes again, hard, making the handlebars wrench in my grip.

The bike wobbles.

Suddenly, the wheels skid sideways. I fight for control, but the bike tips and I go flying, hurling myself away from it like you’re taught to do. I hit the road hard, pain blazing through me even though I’m wearing riding gear.

The world spins as I go skidding across the road and into a guardrail before the bike slams into it right next to me.

The other bike screeches to a stop nearby. The rider dismounts, dropping the bat, and glinting steel catches my eye as he pulls a katana from the sheath on his back.

Oh fuck.

I yank off my cracked, splintered helmet, trying to push to my feet, muscles screaming. But before I can get up, he’s on top of me. I grunt as he kicks me in the chest, slamming me back down, his blade pressing to my neck. He yanks off his helmet, and a streetlight catches the fury in his eyes.

Takeshi.

He looks like the god of fucking vengeance as he looms over me, his blade glinting wickedly under the streetlights, a breath from my jugular,.

“You motherfucker .” His voice is lethal, rage in every syllable. “You’re a fucking dead man.”

I meet his glare, forcing myself to stay calm despite my thundering pulse. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t!” he roars, fury twisting his features. He throws a phone down onto my chest, a video playing on the screen. “Watch that. I want you to see why I’m about to cut your fucking head off.”

I pick it up, dread settling in my stomach like lead. The video shows me with Hana outside our building, screaming at her, punching the wall next to her as she cries. It…looks bad. Real bad. Then the image jerks as I storm up to the guy filming us, my face twisted in a snarl, and slap the phone out of his hand.

Takeshi’s blade presses harder against my neck. “Any last words, motherfucker?”

He looks at me steadily. “Though, I’m not sure,” he growls. “Do I cut your head off right here, on the side of the road? Or should I drag you somewhere, tie you up, and slice you into little pieces?”

His words trigger something in my head. I frown, piecing things together in my mind.

“What did you just say?”

Takeshi narrows his eyes. “I said I’m going to cut off your fucking head, you piece of shit.”

“No, after that. You said… You’d tie me up.” It’s not the words themselves, but the familiarity they hold. An echo of something that doesn’t belong to this moment, but to something else…a memory.

Takeshi scowls. “Don’t make it weird.”

I push against the blade, ignoring the sting as it nicks my skin. “I need a ride home.”

He laughs coldly. “You think I’m here to give you a lift ?”

“Just a ride.” I nod, suddenly sure. “ Then you can cut my head off.”

Back at the penthouse, it’s as I left it, jazz still purring through the speakers. The apartment feels like a mausoleum, cold and empty, echoes of Hana lingering in every corner.

“You left your stereo on, motherfucker,” Takeshi mutters as he steps inside, looking around.

My gaze locks on the two origami cranes sitting on the kitchen island.

The sight stirs a nagging thought in me, a question I can’t ignore.

I step closer, noticing that the cranes are intricately bound together with the same red yarn I used whenever I left them for her.

Except—

I gave them to her tied up separately.

These are tied together .

Bound to each other.

My jaw ticks.

And then, something else hits me. My ears tune to the music playing over the speakers as I turn the cranes in my hand. It’s not just any song. It’s the same fucking song that was playing when I walked in before, on repeat.

I blink as recognition hits me as hard as Takeshi’s bat.

The song is “Blue in Green” by Miles Davis—the same song that was playing at the Golden Monkey the night I crashed into her world and turned it upside down.

This was deliberate. At least, I think it might be.

I turn to Takeshi who’s watching me with the anger from earlier simmering just beneath the surface.

“Ready to die?” he snarls.

I meet his gaze, heart racing as the pieces start clicking into place. “I don’t think Hana cheated on me.”

Takeshi’s still clinging to his fury. “I really don’t give a fuck at this point.” He pulls the blade out again.

“Tak.” I keep my voice steady, every part of me utterly certain. “I think she’s in trouble. Who would benefit from turning us against each other?”

Takeshi’s gaze shifts, still unwilling to let his guard down. “Everyone?”

“Who mostly ?” I press. “Who in Tokyo wants us torn apart? Who stands to gain from our families being at each other’s throats? Who’d send some fucking guy to stand outside my building and record me at my worst, and then somehow get that video to you?”

His expression darkens as the penny drops.

“I need to see Kolya Ishida,” I mutter. “ Now .”

Takeshi’s eyes narrow. “And if you’re wrong?”

“If I’m wrong, and he doesn’t take it, my head is all yours.”

He watches me a long moment, hands tense on his sword. Finally he lowers it, anger still burning in his gaze.

“I’m holding you to that,” he grunts.