Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Right now, it’s my job to impersonate my brother, and once he takes his rightful place, I’ll get married to a man of my father’s choosing. My life will never be my own.
The woman gives me a curious look as I walk to where Kentara opens the back door of the luxurious Toyota Century.
As I climb inside, I glance at the woman and see she’s looking over her shoulder at me, but when Kentaro gives her a wolfish grin, she quickly glances away.
She’s probably wondering who I am. I often run into socialites when I’m out and about, but thankfully, I never have to pretend I’m dating one.
I have never dated or been in love, and I’ve given up having stupid daydreams. Once Ryo comes out of hiding, I’ll be given to a high-ranking official.
My eyes touch on Masaki as he gets in beside me while the guards sit in the front of the car.
Masaki is married, so at least I know I won’t be given to him. Kentaro and Sho are just guards, so it won’t be one of them either, which is another blessing because they’re hot-headed idiots.
I don’t know the other members of the Yakuza, as I don’t attend meetings or interact with any of them. I don’t even know where Father lives and only see him every other month.
During the drive home, I stare down at my hands, useless thoughts mulling in my head.
When we pull into the driveway, I let out a sigh, and as soon as the car stops, I push the door open and get out.
Sho and Kentaro always search the entire premises before they make themselves at home in my living room. Luckily, I have a TV in my bedroom, so I don’t have to interact with the guards.
“Rest this week,” Masaki orders with a brisk tone. “You’ll be busy once the swelling is gone and won’t get any time off.”
That’s not news to me.
Not replying, I walk to my bedroom and lock the door behind me. I pull the sweater off, but it takes me longer to remove the padded shirt because it’s so tight-fitting. The instant the stretchy fabric is over my head, I let out a relieved sigh. I can finally take a deep breath as my skin and breasts tingle from no longer being squashed.
I go to stand in front of my full-length mirror and take in the swelling and injection marks all over my face and neck. I can’t remember what I used to look like before the injections, except that I had long hair that reached my butt instead of the wolf cut I have now.
Is this what Ryo looks like now?
I asked Father once if I’m Ryo’s likeness with all the injections, but he didn’t answer me.
Sometimes, I miss my brother so much that I stand in front of the mirror and talk to my reflection, pretending it’s him.
My gaze drifts over my breasts and the scars on my side from where I was stabbed twice during an assassination attempt two years ago.
I suck in a forlorn breath and let it out slowly as I turn away from the mirror. I glance over the bedroom where I spend most of my time. There’s only a cupboard, a bed, a TV mounted against the wall, and a table by the window where I can sit and have my meals.
I have nothing personal to say this is my bedroom.
Walking to the closet, I open it and stand on my toes so I can reach the top shelf. My fingers brush over the box hidden there, and carefully taking hold of it, I lift it out and carry it to my bed. I set it down on the cream-colored covers and remove the lid.
Ignoring the letters I’ve written over the years for Ryo but never got to give him, I pick up the two pieces of the bamboo stick Ryo used as a sword.
When the soldier dragged me home, Father was so angry, he grabbed the stick from my hand and hit me with it until it broke in two.
Looking at my only precious belonging, a lump forms in my throat as I once again remember the day Ryo was taken from me. Our mother died shortly after giving birth to me, so I don’t remember losing her.
But losing Ryo, the heartbreak was unfathomable and so great that it will follow me through all my lives. It’s the kind of pain that leaves a stain on your soul.
I only allow myself a minute to gingerly brush my fingertips over the dried bamboo pieces before I carefully place them back in the box and return it to the top shelf.
Pulling a T-shirt off a hanger, I drag it on before lying down on the bed. I turn onto my side and stare out the window at the ginkgo tree that grows close to the house. The leaves are starting to change from green to yellow.