POV: Rai Kurosawa
The room was silent, but his mind wasn't.
Moonlight spilled through the blinds of the penthouse bedroom, illuminating the pale skin of the woman curled beside him. Anika's breath was soft, peaceful, like the sea before a storm. He watched her sleep — not because he found comfort in it, but because he didn't know what else to do when the nightmares began to rise.
Tonight, he wouldn't sleep. He couldn't.
His body remained still, but his thoughts clawed at the walls of memory, dragging him down into places he'd buried deep under blood and smoke.
---
Fifteen Years Ago — Tokyo, Winter.
Age: 12
Gunfire. Screams. The stench of gasoline.
The alley was slick with rain and something darker. Rai knelt beside his mother's body, her long black hair fanned out like a dark halo. Her white kimono, now soaked in red, clung to her frail figure.
"Don't cry, Rai," she whispered, her voice a ghost. "Kurosawa men don't cry."
He didn't.
Not when the enemy set their house ablaze.
Not when his father chose revenge over rescue.
Not when he buried her with his own bare hands in a place no one would find.
That night, he became a shadow. A child with eyes that stopped reflecting the light.
---
Back to Present – Kurosawa Penthouse
Rai stood and walked out to the balcony, a glass of whisky in his hand, not to drink — but to remember. The glass shook slightly in his fingers. Not from fear. From restraint.
He stared down at the city. Cold. Beautiful. Unforgiving.
Just like her.
His mother. Lady Maiko Kurosawa. Born of the Black Lotus clan. A woman of elegance, wisdom, and silence. She was the first person to teach him power. And the first to fall because of it.
He still remembered her lullaby. It wasn't sweet. It was a warning masked as a melody.
"Beware the bloom with thorns unseen, it cuts the soul, it stains the queen."
And his father?
Kaito Kurosawa was a beast dressed in a suit. Love was not something he offered. Only commands and control. The empire Rai inherited was built on betrayal and graves.
He had once told himself he'd never be like Kaito.
But now, with Anika in the other room, forced into his life by fate or cruelty, Rai wasn't so sure.
---
He reentered the room and paused near the bed. She stirred in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, her brows furrowing.
A nightmare.
How ironic.
She had no idea who lay next to her. The man with her was forged in fire, blood, and abandonment. A man who had killed before his voice deepened. A man who had no dreams left — only duty.
Yet tonight, something cracked inside him.
He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Anika's cheek. She leaned into his touch unconsciously, as if her body trusted him even when her mind didn't.
Foolish girl.
Or maybe brave.
He whispered softly, his voice barely audible.
"You deserve better than me."
---
Flashback – Age 16
Yakuza Initiation, Kyoto Temple
"Carve it in," his uncle had said.
The blade trembled in his hand. The tattoo of the black rose — his seal, his prison — would be inked into his back tonight. A mark of legacy. Of chains.
He remembered the blood — not from the ink, but from the second trial. The girl they brought in. A rival's daughter. Innocent.
"Kill her or die."
He had chosen death. But his body didn't. His instincts took over. She bled at his feet, and something inside Rai died that day.
He never forgave himself.
He never allowed himself softness again.
Until Anika.
---
Present
Anika whimpered, tossing again.
Rai clenched his fists.
She didn't know what nightmares really were. Not yet.
But one day, when she learned the truth about him — the bodies, the deals, the darkness — would she still look at him with those wide, stormy eyes?
Would she still hold his hand?
Or would she run?
Rai Kurosawa wasn't afraid of war, betrayal, or death. But he was terrified of that day.
Because in her eyes…
He saw the version of himself he never thought could exist.
And that was the most dangerous dream of all.