The wedding was a lie.
But the chains it forged were real.
Anika stood before a full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman reflected back. The red uchikake kimono embroidered with cranes and chrysanthemums felt like armor—gorgeous, suffocating armor. Aiko had swept her hair into a traditional bun, securing it with the golden-thorned black rose pin.
"You look like a queen," Aiko whispered.
"I feel like a prisoner."
She didn't mean to say it aloud.
But Aiko only adjusted the collar. "Then hold your head like one. Queens don't cry."
Outside, under a canopy of white paper lanterns and blooming sakura trees, the ceremony was already unfolding.
Dozens of elite guests—businessmen, Yakuza affiliates, and a few masked political figures—watched from behind their fans and sunglasses. Flashbulbs popped like gunshots.
Anika stepped into the clearing like a lamb on display.
Not walking toward a future.
Walking toward surrender.
Rai Kurosawa stood at the end of the aisle, cloaked in a dark hakama. His expression was unreadable, carved in stone.
He didn't smile. Didn't blink.
She stopped beside him. Their eyes met—and something flickered.
Not kindness.
Not guilt.
But calculation.
The priest began to speak. Words in old Japanese echoed through the garden, sacred and hollow. They poured sake into lacquered cups, hands touching briefly. His hand was warm. Steady. Controlled.
Her fingers trembled.
When it came time for the vows, Rai leaned closer, and whispered:
"Smile. Your brother's watching."
Anika lifted her eyes toward the crowd—and there he was.
Her little brother, hidden in the crowd, guarded by two men in black. His eyes were wide. Confused. Alive.
Alive—for now.
Her lips curved upward, just slightly. Enough to fool the cameras.
They exchanged rings, black titanium engraved with a crimson rose.
No kiss.
No applause.
Just silence, and a hundred eyes watching two strangers bind themselves in a bloodless pact.
That night, the celebration echoed through the mansion halls—but Anika was led to a separate wing.
Aiko opened the door to a lavish bedroom and said softly, "He won't visit tonight. You're safe. For now."
"Will he ever?" Anika asked.
Aiko hesitated. "When it serves him."
Then she left.
Anika stood in the center of the room, still wearing her wedding kimono. The silence pressed in.
Outside, fireworks cracked the sky.
Inside, she removed the ring and placed it on the nightstand.
"This isn't a marriage," she whispered to herself.
"It's survival."
And somewhere down the hall, in a room lined with glass and guns, Rai Kurosawa watched the wedding footage again, his fingers steepled under his chin.
"She didn't cry," he muttered to himself.
A smirk ghosted across his lips.
"Good. I don't need a bride.
I need a survivor."