Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three
SEVENTEEN MONTHS AGO

By late morning, the city had stretched awake and so had we. It was time to return to Zurich and Niklas suggested we spend the day exploring, and I had no reason to protest. Tokyo had always intrigued me...the harmony between order and chaos, the elegance sewn into every corner. And today, it unfolded for me like a gift I had not known I needed.

We visited Asakusa first, where the incense-scented breeze of Sensō-ji temple clung to the folds of my dress and the past seemed to brush against the present. We wandered Nakamise Street, laughing as we shared taiyaki filled with custard and browsed stalls selling everything from silken fans to lacquered chopsticks. Niklas let me pick out a small jade hairpin, not because I needed it, but because I lingered too long while examining it.

In Shibuya, we crossed the intersection hand in hand, dodging through the thrum of people, our fingers never parting. He pulled me into a quiet café tucked behind a bookstore, where we sipped matcha lattes in warm silence. I loved the way his presence could make noise fade, how he sat beside me not to fill the silence, but to hold it gently.

That afternoon, he took me through Ueno Park. The cherry blossoms had not yet bloomed, but their promise lingered in the wind. We fed koi fish and watched elderly couples walk slowly together, their lives written across the way they moved in unison. I glanced at Niklas more than once, wondering if years from now, I would still feel this exact way beside him...like gravity bent around us, like the world knew we belonged. Would he finally fall in love with me if we are still together?

We returned to the penthouse just before dusk, arms full of shopping bags, cheeks pink from the cold. The view from the living room stretched out across the city like a living canvas. The lights began to twinkle, trains slid across the skyline, and the faint hum of Tokyo's life seeped through the glass.

Dinner was simple. Sushi delivered from a place Niklath trusted from his years in the city, served with sake and quiet conversation. We chose to stay in, sometimes staying indoors is nice and peaceful when you have someone you just want to be with and spend time with.

I curled into the sofa, bare feet tucked beneath me, the silk of my robe brushing his thigh. We picked a film, something romantic and French, because he knew I loved subtitles and soft piano scores. But halfway through, he stood, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Shower," he said simply, then disappeared into the ensuite.

I was left alone, cradled by cushions and quiet, until I heard the faint buzz of his phone. The screen lit up once. Then again I shouldn't have looked. I knew that. But I did. I walked toward it slowly, pretending I was adjusting the lights. I glanced down. The name glowed up at me like a curse.

Cecilia.

My stomach twisted, not from surprise, but from the unwelcome weight of jealousy. I hesitated. Then curiosity slid its fingers around my willpower...I picked up the phone. His password had not changed. It was our wedding date. I typed it in and the lock screen dissolved. The messages were right there. The thread was short. Her most recent message hovered like bait.

Are you sure you don't want to meet? Just to talk.

I scrolled up. His response was blunt and final.

There's nothing to talk about. I'm married. That part of my life is over.

And beneath that, a reply from her.

If you change your mind, you know where to find me.

I stared at the words, a strange cocktail of relief and bitterness blooming in my chest. He had shut her down. That should have been enough. But I did not want her message left sitting there, waiting to be read again. Waiting to remind him.

Without a second thought, I tapped and held the message. I deleted it. Gone...Erased and I did not feel guilty. Not even a little. I placed his phone back where I found it, perfectly aligned, screen dark. I returned to the sofa just as the water stopped running behind the door. My heart beat calmly now, the green flame of jealousy slowly dimming. When Niklath returned, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets still clinging to his shoulders, he looked at me with that unreadable softness I had grown to crave. He sat beside me and pulled me into his side.

"You smell like overpriced soap," I murmured, my lips at his collarbone.

He laughed quietly, brushing a kiss to my temple. "You smell like trouble."

I smiled, eyes on the screen. "Only when necessary."

The movie resumed. His hand found mine. And if I felt slightly smug, just slightly wicked for what I had done, I kept it to myself.

Later, the night deepened, and so did something unspoken between us. The soft flicker of the screen bathed the room in shadow and gold. He shifted beside me, brushing a slow hand along the curve of my neck, then my jaw, until his fingers rested beneath my chin. His thumb moved gently, dragging across the edge of my cheek in a rhythm that felt more like a claim than a caress.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with something darker. “About all the things I want to do to you once we’re back home and on our own bed.”

I looked at him, heart suddenly tripping. He leaned closer, the warmth of him curling around me like a net I didn’t want to escape.

“Things like fucking you rough and raw at least a couple of times a day at the office and at home so you feel sore for the whole damn week.” His stare pinned me. Ferocious in its hunger. “And then fucking you some more the next day. Keeping you aching. Keeping you mine. Every second you breathe, I want it to remind you of what I’ve done to you.”

His thumb dragged slowly along the corner of my lips, then his hand threaded into my hair, tightening just enough to make me gasp. His mouth crashes down on mine with no veil of patience. it is just raw need, pure and unfiltered. His hands are everywhere. One fists the back of my hair, the other grips the curve of my hip hard enough to leave shadows tomorrow. My spine arches, instinct surrendering before reason can object. He breaks the kiss, just enough to whisper against my lips.

“You’re going to take everything I give you. No holding back.”

I whimper, barely managing a nod before his mouth descends again. His tongue sweeps in, claiming, tangling, tasting. It’s overwhelming…the way he devours me, like he’s starved for something he never thought he’d touch again. He pulls my robe open, then slides it from my shoulders. His gaze darkens as he takes me in. The cool air kisses my skin just before his hands do. His mouth finds my neck, then lower, nipping down the center of my chest. His fingers trail over my thighs before he grips them and spreads me for him, slow and deliberate, like he wants to imprint the shape of this moment into his memory. When he finally pushes inside me, the world disappears. It’s raw. It’s brutal in how intimate it is.

I gasp his name, barely more than a breath, but he hears it. His hand clamps over my thigh, dragging it higher around his waist, forcing me to open wider, take him deeper. He doesn’t speak. He just moves with every thrust deep and exact, unrelenting. My nails dig into his back as the rhythm builds, my body stretching to meet him, match him, lose to him. I feel everything. Every drag of him inside me. Every low sound he makes against my skin. Every snap of his hips that steals the breath from my lungs and replaces it with heat. And under all of it buried beneath the ache and the sweat and the pleasure so intense it blurs the edges of me is something that terrifies me more than all of it.

Tenderness.

It slips in between the rough parts, a soft touch here, a kiss there. The way he murmurs my name like it’s something sacred. The way his hand curves protectively around the back of my neck as he fucks me through the mattress. I shouldn’t let it mean anything. But it does. To God, it does. Each time he sinks into me feels like a memory, like a promise we never got to keep. It brings back the ache of loving him silently. 

And now, every time he groans my name, I’m terrified it’ll unmake me. That it will make me confess my love for him… but the fear of rejection is deep. My body shakes as release coils hot and tight in my belly, stealing my breath, pushing me to the edge. He feels it and smiles darkly against my throat and thrusts harder.

“Come for me,” he growls, voice like gravel.

And I do. Violently.

I come apart around him, crying out as the world breaks into shards of heat and sensation. He follows with a deep growl that rips from his chest, burying himself inside me one last time, deep and final. Silence swells in the aftermath. My chest heaves. His lips brush my collarbone, then my jaw, then finally my mouth. Oh Niklath please tell me you love me… just say those words to make me not lose hope…