"Shall we talk?"
The lobby of the Imperial Hotel had become a theater. Hanae stood center stage in her soaked red dress, water pooling at her feet, creating a dark mirror on the marble. The audience—wedding guests in expensive formal wear—formed a semicircle around her, maintaining distance like she was radioactive.
Kenji stood in the ballroom doorway, frozen. His mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air. His brain was clearly trying to process the impossibility standing in front of him—his ex-wife, the woman he'd humiliated and divorced six hours ago, standing there like she owned the building.
"You..." he finally managed. "You can't be here. We have a restraining order. I filed—"
"A restraining order?" Hanae's laugh was soft, almost gentle. It made the hair on people's necks stand up. "Kenji, I just reclaimed the Kurosawa clan's headquarters. Threw my uncle out a fortieth-floor window. Do you really think a piece of paper matters to me right now?"
The crowd gasped. Someone's champagne glass hit the floor and shattered.
Kenji's face went from pale to gray. "You're... you're lying. You're just trying to—"
Hanae pulled out her phone. Pulled up a news website. Held it out so he could see the headline blazing across the screen:
BREAKING: Violence at Roppongi Tower. Multiple Casualties. Yakuza Connection Suspected.
Below it, a photo. The Ivory Tower with emergency vehicles surrounding it. Police tape. Body bags being wheeled out.
"That's impossible," Kenji whispered. "You're a housewife. You're nobody. You're just—"
"I was never a housewife, Kenji." Hanae put the phone away. Started walking toward him. Slow steps. Measured. Each click of her heels on marble like a countdown. "I was a yakuza heir playing pretend. I was the Kurosawa clan's enforcer trying on a costume. I was the Asura taking a vacation."
She stopped three feet from him. Close enough to smell the expensive cologne that had probably cost more than most people's weekly groceries. Close enough to see the sweat beading on his forehead despite the air conditioning.
"And you? You were the reason I thought normal was possible. You were the proof that I could be soft, be gentle, be someone's wife." Her voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. "You were my biggest mistake."
Movement from behind Kenji. Emi appeared in the doorway, still in her white dress, eyes wide and calculating. She'd always been smart—smarter than Kenji, actually. She knew danger when she saw it.
"Onee-san," Emi said, voice small and trembling. Perfect performance. "Please. You're scaring everyone. Whatever happened between you and Kenji-kun, we can talk about it. Like family."
"Family." Hanae's eyes shifted to her step-sister. "Is that what we are, Emi? Family?"
"Of course! We've always been—"
"Do you remember when I was fifteen?" Hanae interrupted. "My inheritance ceremony. The day I was supposed to be formally recognized as the Kurosawa heir."
Emi's face flickered. Just a microsecond of something that wasn't her sweet-sister mask.
"You got sick that day," Hanae continued. "Terrible fever. The doctors were so worried. Father stayed by your bedside instead of attending my ceremony."
"I don't see what—"
"I found the empty pill bottle in your trash three days later. Medication that induces fever. Theater drugs." Hanae smiled. "You were never sick, were you? You just needed Father's attention more than I needed his presence at the most important day of my life."
The crowd was silent now. Listening to every word. Some of them were recording on their phones—of course they were. This was too good not to document.
Emi's face hardened. Just slightly. The mask cracking around the edges. "That's a lie. I would never—"
"You've been doing it your whole life," Hanae said. "Little Emi. Fragile Emi. Dying Emi." She looked at Kenji. "She's not dying, by the way. Never was. Did you even check her medical records? Or did you just believe her because she coughed prettily and looked at you with those tragic eyes?"
Kenji's face was doing something complicated. Confusion warring with denial warring with the dawning realization that he might have been played.
"She showed me the diagnosis," he said weakly. "The doctor's notes—"
"Forged," Hanae said. "Emi's been forging documents since she was twelve. She's very good at it. Should be—she's had enough practice."
"You're lying!" Emi's voice rose, losing its trembling quality. "You've always been jealous of me! Always hated me because Father loved me more!"
"Father tolerated you because your mother cried prettily when he suggested sending you to boarding school." Hanae's voice was flat, factual. "He didn't love you. He pitied you. There's a difference."
Emi's face twisted. There it was—the real Emi. The one Hanae had seen glimpses of over the years. All calculation and ambition and carefully hidden rage.
"At least I didn't run away to play housewife!" Emi spat. "At least I stayed! I took care of Father while you were off pretending to be normal!"
"You drugged Father," Hanae said quietly.
The lobby went dead silent.
"You and Jiro. You kept him docile so Jiro could use his seal, his authority. You fed him pills and told the staff it was medication when it was really chemical restraints."
"That's—that's insane!" Emi looked at the crowd, playing to them now. "She's insane! Someone call security! She's threatening us!"
But no one moved. They were too busy processing. Too busy watching the story unfold.
Kenji was staring at Emi now. Really staring. Probably seeing her clearly for the first time.
"Emi," he said slowly. "Tell me she's lying. Tell me you didn't—"
"Of course I'm not lying," Emi snapped, then caught herself. Tried to soften her expression. "I mean—Kenji-kun, you can't believe her. She's obviously upset. She's making things up to hurt us on our wedding day."
"Your wedding day." Hanae looked around the lobby. Saw the decorations. The same flowers that had been used for her almost-wedding that morning. The same ballroom. "You got married in the same venue where you stole my fiancé. That's bold, Emi. I'll give you that."
"He was never yours," Emi hissed, mask slipping further. "You didn't deserve him. Didn't deserve Father. Didn't deserve any of it. You just had it because you were born first. Because your mother died first and Father felt guilty."
There it was. The real poison. The core of it.
"So you took it all," Hanae said. "Step by step. Year by year. Took Father's attention. Took my inheritance. And when I finally found something for myself—someone who made me think I could be normal—you took that too."
"You deserved it!" Emi's voice was rising now, control slipping. "You deserved to know what it felt like! To be second! To be forgotten! To be the one nobody wanted!"
Kenji took a step back from Emi. Then another. His face was doing complicated math. Probably recalculating every conversation, every tear, every tragic cough.
"Emi," he said carefully. "Are you really dying?"
"Of course I'm—" She stopped. Looked at his face. Saw that the game was up. "Does it matter? You married me. It's done. Legal. You can't take it back."
"Actually," a new voice cut in. Hanae turned.
A man in a suit—hotel management, probably—was approaching with a tablet. He looked terrified but determined.
"Actually, Mr. Sato, the marriage isn't legal yet. The paperwork hasn't been filed. Won't be filed until Monday. You can still annul it." He looked at Hanae. "Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry, but I need to ask you to—"
"I'll leave soon," Hanae said. "But first, I have something to return."
She reached into the small clutch she'd brought—the only thing besides her phone and the gold-plated pistol she'd taken from the tower.
Pulled out a piece of paper.
Divorce papers. Signed this morning by a judge Jiro had paid off. The ones that had legally ended her marriage to Kenji before the wedding ceremony even started.
She held them out to Kenji.
"You wanted me gone," she said. "Wanted a clean break. Wanted to pretend I never existed. So here. Take them. We're done. Legally. Officially. You're free."
Kenji took the papers with shaking hands. Read them. His face went white.
"These are... these are from this morning. Before the wedding."
"Before you humiliated me in front of three hundred people," Hanae corrected. "Before you replaced me with my step-sister. Before you told everyone I was bland and boring and a piece of furniture." She tilted her head. "You made sure I wasn't your wife before you destroyed me. Very thorough. Very you."
"I didn't—I mean, my lawyer handled—" Kenji was stammering now. "Hanae, I didn't know about the timing. I thought—"
"You thought nothing." Hanae's voice was ice. "You never did. You just acted. Just decided. Just threw away six years like it was nothing."
She looked at Emi. "And you. You saw a man who was cruel enough to humiliate his own wife publicly and thought 'yes, that's the one I want.' What does that say about you?"
Emi's face was ugly now. All the sweetness gone. "It says I'm smarter than you. I saw what he was and I used it. You just let him use you."
"Maybe." Hanae reached up, pulled a pin from her hair. Let her still-wet hair fall loose around her shoulders. "But I learned. I adapted. I came back."
She held up the hairpin. It was sharp. Pointed. Basically a weapon.
"You, on the other hand... you've been playing the same game your whole life. And you've never had to face consequences because there was always someone to protect you. Father. Your mother. Jiro."
She took a step toward Emi.
"But they're all gone now. Father's in a hospital bed recovering from years of being drugged. Your mother ran off to France with a tennis instructor five years ago. And Jiro..." She smiled. "Well. Jiro can't protect anyone anymore."
Emi backed up. Bumped into Kenji, who was still staring at the divorce papers like they were written in a language he didn't understand.
"Stay away from me," Emi said. "Kenji, do something! Call security! She's threatening me!"
But Kenji didn't move. He was looking at Hanae. Really looking. Probably seeing her for the first time.
"You were never weak," he said slowly. "Were you? The whole time. Six years. You were never..."
"No," Hanae said simply. "I was never weak. I was playing a role. Trying on a costume. Seeing if I could be what you wanted."
"Why?" His voice cracked. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I wanted peace." The admission hurt more than she'd expected. "I wanted to believe that I could be normal. That I could have a life without violence. That someone could love me for something other than being dangerous."