During the night, he'd done his research. He'd managed to find out who the girl was, the one who'd proposed to him yesterday, and it'd be a lie to say he wasn't impressed, at least to some extent. He'd heard of Akiyama Yumi before but had never seen her, nor cared much for the dull rumours surrounding her. Still, for a young lady, she was bold.
The next day, they met again inside a glass fortress that scraped the sky. The office was cold and silent enough to hear your own heartbeat. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city below like a painting.
Two men in black entered without a word, presumably lawyers, setting a heavy stack of documents on the polished table.
Toji never cared for paperwork.
Contracts, signatures, all that legal ink, it was usually just formality before the killing started. But this was different. Marriage forms. Property clauses. Confidentiality agreements are thick enough to choke on. He'd seen hit orders with fewer details.
Toji flipped through the first few pages, eyes skimming the endless paragraphs of fine print. The words blurred together. Legal language meant nothing to him. He shut the folder with a dull thud.
"I'm an assassin, not a scholar," he muttered, slouching into the chair. "Can't we get a summary?"
Yumi sat across from him, posture perfectly straight.
"You act like my husband," she began calmly. "Hug me. Kiss me. Pretend you love me. Make sure I can't tell you're pretending. Stay home when I'm home. I want to see you when I walk through the door. That's important. Absolutely no outside relationships. Cook if you want, do what you want when I am not home. Don't touch my things unless I allow it."
Toji leaned back, studying her. For someone who ruled half the city, she spoke like a woman who hadn't been touched in years. How lonely is she? he wondered. Still, a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Sounds like you want a pet."
Her eyes flicked up to his. "I want a husband. You, as an obedient husband."
He exhaled through his nose, long and slow. Ten million upfront and a monthly allowance. "Okay, princess. Whatever you want."
The elevator doors opened with a hush, and Toji stepped into a world that didn't belong to him.
White marble stretched beneath his boots, polished so clean he could see his reflection. The penthouse was a gallery of cold light and silence. Glass walls, silver accents, and furniture far too expensive, all overpaid for. It felt more like a shrine than a home.
The air smelled faintly of lilies and something sweeter underneath, her perfume. He doubted she bought the flowers herself; probably the maids did. Small details money could buy.
The city stretched below, the skyline glowing faintly in the night. From this height, everything looked small. Power and wealth made the world look like a toy.
Toji stood still for a moment, hands in his pockets, gaze sweeping the room. His boots felt too loud for the floor. Too out of place.
"Looks like a museum," he muttered.
"Yeah," she said softly, a faint smile ghosting her lips. "And I'm the art."
He was going to ignore that. "Right. Where do I sleep?"
"Next to me." She reached out, fingers brushing his wrist before tugging him gently toward the bedroom. "Where else?"
Her touch surprised him. She wasn't shy about physical contact, touchy even, he noted.
"Next to you," he repeated, eyes flicking to the wide white bed ahead, then back to her face.
"What? You're my husband."
"Right."
She stood watching him, city light spilling across her face. The gold in her eyes looked softer now, like even she didn't know what to make of him.
He exhaled quietly.
Still, for ten million, he'd play the part. He just didn't know how much of himself he'd end up giving away.
The maids helped settle him in, guiding Toji through the penthouse like he was being shown a museum exhibit. Every surface gleamed, every step echoed. His belongings were taken from him the second he set them down, folded, stored, arranged neatly. The maids moved around him in silence, heads bowed, faces blank.
The place was large but strangely empty. Three main rooms, not counting the sheer luxury of space. A master bedroom, hers before it became theirs. A library, walls lined with books he doubted anyone read. And a home office, neat and polished, with documents stacked in careful order and names pinned on a board, faces he recognised. Rivals, spies, maybe targets. It was clear she worked from here when she didn't feel like leaving the house. Even the air smelled expensive, too clean to be real.
The maids were temporary hires, women who came in during the morning to clean and left before noon. They lived next door, in quarters separate from this quiet glass cage. She liked her space, that much was clear. Strange, Toji thought, for someone so lonely, she'd built herself a world designed to keep everyone out.
Later, they sat side by side on the couch, cups of tea neatly set before them. Steam curled up, soft against the cold light. The private chefs had prepared it.
"Stay here and do whatever you want," she exhaled, her expression relaxed. "Just make sure you're home when I am, like I said."
He looked at her over his cup. "Are you home often?"
"Depends. I work all day."
He tilted his head, amused. "You work?"
Her gaze flicked to him, unimpressed. "Where do you think the money comes from?"
"Daddy's money?" he teased.
A dry scoff escaped her lips. "Laughable. His money couldn't even pay for your monthly cost, let alone afford this empire." She took another slow sip. "I run a real business aside from the syndicate. A legal enterprise that breeds money without exposing my real identity. I'm an investor in a few megadon brands on the market, and CEO and co-founder of several international companies. There isn't a single industry I'm not involved in."
He listened, humming quietly. He was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to trust him with all that. Was this a test?
"What are you overthinking?" Yumi's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Revealing so many secrets to a stranger, is that how you operate?" he joked.
"You're my husband."
"…" That quieted him. He realised how she was taking this role play very seriously.
Then she turned that golden gaze back on him. It lingered too long.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, tone lazy, grin crooked.
"Nothing much. I have you now," she said simply. "I was just thinking of all the things I want to do to you and with you."
That made him laugh. "What? Does Miss Princess have hidden fetishes I should know about?"
"To be loved, if that's one."
Before he could reply, she climbed into his lap, her body curling against his. The move was unexpected. Her head rested against his chest.
"This feels warm," she murmured. "Just like I imagined."
He blinked, caught off guard. "That's… random?"
"Don't make this awkward," she nagged. "Hug me back. Caress me. You're supposed to pretend. Don't make me remind you of the bare minimum." Her tone turned scolding. "Take initiative. Touch me. Love me. Idiot."
He sighed, giving in. "Bratty," he muttered.
"You're not supposed to insult your wife," she shot back quickly. "Actually, you're not supposed to talk back at all."
He stared at her for a moment. She really did want a pet. A human one. But somehow, it didn't bother him as much as it should have. Maybe because of the ten million. Maybe because, after everything he'd done for less, being bossed around by a pretty, lonely brat wasn't the worst deal.
His arms went around her, gentle and steady.
"Worth all the ten mil," she mumbled into his chest.
He almost laughed. Strange girl. He felt more like a caretaker than a husband.
"By the way," he remembered, "can I still take on jobs?"
Her head lifted slightly. "Why? Is what I'm giving not enough?"
"Nah. It's just what I do."
"If I say don't kill?"
"Why?"
"You might get killed."
He paused, then chuckled mockingly. "…I won't."
"Confidence is good. But I'm not risking it. I just bought you. If you need money, ask me. Jobs are unnecessary."
She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes. "Understand?"
"…Got it," he said quietly.
"Still," she added, tracing a finger along his shirt, "the look of you drenched in blood was what I fell for. If you want to kill for fun, just let me know. I can arrange it."
He stared at her, uncertain if she was joking. "Is killing for fun something you're into?"
"What's fun about it?"
"The look they give you before life leaves their eyes," he replied casually, something he'd heard others say.
"Spoken like a true assassin. I thought they said you never killed for pleasure."
"I don't."
"Then why ask?"
He shrugged. "Just curious, Miss Princess. Didn't know you'd be this chatty."
She glared at him, half adorable, half murderous.
"Sorry," he said immediately, understanding the best course of action.
"Apologies come with action."
He stared blankly. "…"
"Kiss," she demanded.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. That shut her up.
They spent the rest of the day tangled together. She never moved far from him. Even when he went to the bathroom, she sat outside waiting like some obsessive cat. He was starting to feel restless, almost claustrophobic, but said nothing.
That night, she curled into him under the sheets, face pressed against his chest, arms tight around his waist.
"What, is Miss Princess not tired of clinging to me yet?" he asked, sounding drained.
"No."
Her voice came muffled against his chest.
Silence followed.
"…"
"…"
"Why aren't you hugging me back?" she asked, annoyed.
He turned, wrapping his arms around her, pulling the small body close, so close he could feel her heartbeat against his.
He'd had flings before. One-night stands. But this, this closeness, the weight of someone breathing against him, felt different. Uncomfortably intimate.
He'd cuddled more today than in his entire life combined. Her scent filled his lungs, her warmth seeped into his skin. It felt like she was marking him, and the thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
He wasn't sure what this feeling was, only that it lingered in his chest long after she fell asleep.