Emperor of Lust: Chapter 4

The room is pin-drop silent as Damian, Kir, and Isaak file out the door, letting it shut behind them.

I’m still sitting utterly frozen, my head swimming as I try and process the impossible weight of what Kenzo has just told us.

Across the room, Takeshi’s eyes blaze as he paces the floor. Mal sits near him, his jaw set, gazing into the middle distance. Beside him, Freya rubs his back, her own expression a mix of disbelief and fury. Annika pulls her gaze to me, but I pretend I don’t see it and keep staring blankly into a space about two feet in front of me.

I don’t know how long we sit like this, but Takeshi is the first to break the silence.

“You can’t be fucking serious, Kenzo.” His voice is simmering with barely controlled anger, each word cutting through the quiet. “Damian is a psychopath, and you want Hana to pretend she’s fucking engaged to him? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

Kenzo doesn’t flinch. He meets Takeshi’s glare with a calm steadiness that only infuriates our brother more. “We don’t have a choice,” he says firmly. “The subject is closed.”

Takeshi’s gaze shifts to me, filled with a fierce protectiveness bordering on rage. “And Hana? What happens to her? You’re just…throwing her to the wolves?!”

Kenzo lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting to me, a faint shadow of remorse in his eyes. “This alliance is crucial, Takeshi. Miyamoto’s support is the difference between success and failure in Tokyo. You know that.” He pauses, glancing at me with a gravity that sends a chill through me.

“So fuck Tokyo, man!” Takeshi roars. “If the cost is our fucking sister, then we walk away from it!”

I sit silently, caught between Takeshi’s anger and Kenzo’s unwavering conviction, my own emotions a tangled mess that I can barely make sense of. Part of me wants to tell Kenzo I won’t be a pawn in this shit. Or that Takeshi is right, and that Tokyo isn’t worth it.

But another part—a deeper, darker part—knows that this is exactly the kind of burden I’ve been training my entire life to bear as the dutiful, unwavering sister who will do whatever it takes to secure our family’s future.

Kenzo’s gaze softens slightly as he meets my eyes, his expression somber. “Miyamoto owes a debt to our father,” he says quietly. “And he has never forgotten it. Now he wants to repay that debt, but his terms are clear. A lot of those Tokyo families are old-school enough that in their minds, respectability equates to you being ‘spoken for’.”

My chest tightens as Kenzo’s words sink in. To Miyamoto and the other family heads, as un unmarried woman I’m a liability, unworthy of their support.

Fuck. That.

Bitter resentment rises in my throat, yet beneath the anger there’s cold understanding, a reluctant acceptance of the truth.

Tokyo is worth it. The Mori-kai are at the top of the food chain here in Kyoto, but Tokyo is Rome at the height of the Ancient Roman Empire. We break into that, and we become gods.

Kenzo’s tone becomes almost apologetic, as if he can sense the conflict churning within me. “This arrangement with Damian is temporary, Hana. A mere formality. Obviously. Once we’ve established our position in Tokyo and secured the alliance with the Katō-kai, the engagement can be broken off, I swear to you. And the reason why Kir and I talked and came to the conclusion that it should be to Damian is because the Nikolayev Bratva will also be seeking a toehold into Tokyo. This gets Damian into the mix there alongside Hana, so both our families can start carving out a piece of it.”

Annika turns to level another icy glare at my brother. “You didn’t mention any of this shit when we talked the other day,” she hisses. “Kenzo, what you’re asking is⁠—”

“No more than what he’d ask of any of us,” I say gently, looking right at her. I shrug with a wry smile. “Look, Anni, I appreciate you going to bat for me. But this isn’t sexism. If Miyamoto demanded that Tak get married in order to run things in Tokyo, Kenzo would be asking him to do the same.”

“And I’d be telling him to go fuck himself,” Takeshi mutters darkly.

I ignore my twin and smile wryly at Annika again. “Kenzo’s right: it’s not real.”

I have to choose my words carefully around Annika and Freya when it comes to Damian. I mean, I certainly think he’s a psychopath. They might, too. But he’s also basically their brother, and has been for years. Hell, it recently came to light that he literally is Freya’s cousin.

Mal, who’s been pretty silent until now, finally speaks, his voice cool and controlled. “There’s a plan in place to deal with the Ishida-kai, but it’s going to take time to execute,” he says, casting a pointed look at Takeshi. “If it works, the strategy will be effective, but not immediately.”

Takeshi bristles, scowling and shooting Mal an irritated look. “I’m working on it,” he growls darkly. There’s a dangerous fire in his eyes: a look I know well that sends a chill down my spine

I mean, speaking of psycho brothers…

I turn to him, unable to keep the question from popping out. “What plan is this?”

Takeshi’s jaw tightens, his gaze hardening as he shakes his head. “Not one you need to worry about,” he mutters, brushing me off with clipped finality.

Mal smirks, but there’s a faint crease in his brow as he glances at Takeshi. “Yeah, well, work on it faster,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth. There’s an edge to his tone that only heightens my suspicion that whatever they’re planning is serious, and probably reckless.

Kenzo clears his throat, the tension in the room shifting and refocusing as he straightens, his expression hardening into steely resolve. “Takeshi’s plan is already in motion,” he says, his voice carrying a note of finality, “but we can’t depend on one single strategy. We need a stable entry into Tokyo, and for that we need Miyamoto’s support.” He turns to me, a hint of regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hana. But this is how it has to be. For now, this is our only shot into Tokyo.”

“And you think Tokyo is worth it,” Freya snaps.

I glance at her and grin.

That’s my girl.

Even so, after she winks at me, I sigh.

“It is,” I say quietly. “Worth it, I mean. Kyoto is one thing. But Tokyo is another level entirely, you know that. We carve out a place there for the Mori-kai, and we become the elite. Completely untouchable.”

Kenzo meets my eye and dips his chin.

Thank you, he mouths silently.

I nod back. “Just don’t expect me to be happy about it,” I add quietly.

My tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a defiance that I cling to like a lifeline. I may be a pawn in this game, but this pawn won’t get captured without a fight.

The first soft light of dawn filters through my bedroom curtains, casting a muted glow across the room. The quiet stillness should be comforting. This hour has always been my time, a brief reprieve before the day’s demands begin.

But this morning, my thoughts are restless, tangled and frayed, haunted by shadows I can’t shake.

With a slow exhale, I slip out of bed and begin my routine, the familiar motions grounding me as I silently move through them. I rise at 5 a.m. sharp, just as I have every morning since I can remember. But today the minutes feel heavier, stretching out with an oppressive weight as though time itself is conspiring against me. The polished surfaces of my room reflect my unease, the early morning light shining off the edges of my neatly arranged belongings, everything exactly in its place.

Unlike my life right now…

Ever since the warehouse—ever since him—it feels as though that curated order has started to fracture. Part of me feels tainted, like I’ve invited something dark and uncontrollable into my life, something that has no place in the world I’ve so carefully constructed.

I force my mind to quiet as I pull on my workout gear: sleek black leggings, a fitted tank, my hair twisted back in a severe bun. In the mirror, I see my reflection staring back, expression impassive and controlled—at least on the surface. I turn away, heading through the mansion’s silent hallways toward the private gym.

The house feels empty, my family tucked away, each of them following their own morning routines. Kenzo and Annika are probably just getting up, too. Freya and Mal, meanwhile, have probably just gone to bed, seeing as Mal is now matching Freya’s nocturnal-by-necessity schedule, what with her skin condition when it comes to sunlight.

Tak is also probably just going to bed now. But that has nothing to do with skin issues and everything to do with the fact that he was most likely out partying or causing havoc and mayhem until an hour ago.

In the gym, I begin my warm-up stretches, movements I know by heart. I shift into high-intensity cardio, my legs pumping, my breath falling into a rhythm, the pounding of my heart syncing with each step.

Normally, this routine clears my mind, centers me, draws out any tension until all that’s left is focus. Today, my thoughts refuse to settle. Each movement feels difficult, as though I’m dragging an invisible weight behind me.

The memories rush back unbidden, sharp and clear. His eyes, and the predatory gleam in them that sliced through the darkness in the warehouse. His touch, rough and possessive, fingers tracing my lips with a taunting control that somehow captivated me even as it infuriated and terrified me. The memory still sends a shiver down my spine, my body reacting with a tension I can’t explain or shake.

I push through my jiu-jitsu drills, throwing punches and blocking invisible opponents, forcing myself through each sequence with drive and determination. But my body betrays me, my muscles stiff and unresponsive, my movements lacking the fluidity I’ve honed with years of discipline. There’s a heaviness in my chest, a frustration I can’t release. It’s as though he’s invaded even this, my inner sanctuary, leaving his mark on the one place I’ve always felt in control.

Asshole.

I grit my teeth, finishing my practice and moving toward the traditional Japanese garden outside my room. Normally, this is my most sacred time—a few minutes of peace, alone with my thoughts in the gentle morning air. I settle cross-legged on the ground and close my eyes, inhaling the earthy scent of the garden, focusing on the breeze whispering against my skin, the faint rustle of leaves.

Breathe, Hana. Focus.

But again, the moment I try to sink into the quiet his face flickers into my mind, vivid and unrelenting. The memory of him towering over me, his eyes fiery with twisted amusement, his fingers brushing my lips as though he owned them.

His thick cock, swollen and urgent as he fucked my willing mouth. As he wrested control from me. As he spilled his cum over my tongue and down my throat.

I shudder, violently ripped from my meditative state as it all comes rushing back. I scowl, gritting my teeth and trying to sink back into relaxation, but I still feel the ropes digging into my skin, remember the way my pulse quickened, each beat reminding me how powerless I’d been beneath his gaze. I clench my hands, desperate to shake the memory, but still it clings to me, taunting me with its intensity.

And don’t get me started on the dream from last night.

I shudder, remembering it in flashes, each one bringing a fresh wave of shame. I was bound again by thick ropes, each loop tightening as though by his own hands. Once again he stood over me, fisting his cock before pushing it past my lips.

But he didn’t stop there. In the dream, he was everywhere, taking every part of me—bound, helpless, and utterly under his control as he used me for his pleasure.

…and, shamefully, for mine, too.

I replay the dream fragments: being completely at his mercy, every part of me exposed, vulnerable. His fingers tracing over my skin with a rough, possessive touch that left me breathless. Feeling the heat of his breath, the weight of his body pressing down on me, and hearing his low, taunting voice that sent shivers through me.

The worst part—the part I can’t seem to shake—is that I’d wanted it. In the dream my body responded to him, betraying me with a need I didn’t understand or want to admit. I woke up gasping, heart pounding, skin flushed with an unwelcome heat that remained even as I tried to shake off the remnants of the dream.

With a slickness between my thighs I’m not quite ready to analyze yet.

I open my eyes, my meditative state shattered. A frustrated breath escapes me and I press my palms to my face, trying to block out the memories, the sensations.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve spent my entire life perfecting control—over my mind, my body, my surroundings. And somehow, this man has managed to wreck all of it in a single night.

I rise, my breath shallow as I retreat to my room, needing to wash away this lingering sense of helplessness. I step into my bathroom, stripping off my workout clothes and getting into the shower, letting the hot water pound against my skin. Steam fills the space, clouding the mirror, and I close my eyes, hoping the heat will clear my mind of these intrusive thoughts.

But even here, in the sanctuary of my bathroom, he’s with me. I can almost feel his fingers tracing my skin, feel his gaze burning into me, promising things I don’t want to think about and should not want.

Don’t think for a moment that this ends here.

His voice had been low, laced with dark satisfaction that sent a thrill through me despite myself. And the fucked-up thing is, the threat has become a prophesy. Damian was right: it didn’t end there.

Not. At. All.

Now, I’m going to be engaged to him. Maybe not for real, and maybe I won’t be actually marrying the psychopath. But I will be bound to him.

Caged in with him, with no escape.

I finish my shower and step out, wrapping a towel around myself. Water drips down my back, the air heavy with steam as I swipe a hand across the glass to clear it. My reflection stares back, flushed cheeks, damp hair clinging to my neck, wide eyes haunted. I look…different. Like something beneath the surface has shifted, splintered.

I take deep breath, exhaling the tension as best I can.

This is happening, self. You have to do this.

And it’s true. I do. For my family. For all of it.

I exhale.

Fuck it. What happened, regrettably, happened. But Damian and I are both adults. We did…an adult thing. Yes, it involved me being tied up. Yes, it felt like borderline blackmail. And yes, he might be…okay, probably is…an actual psychopath.

So what?

We’re both doing this for our families. Damian might be crazy, but I know from Freya and Annika that he eats, sleeps and breathes loyalty to Kir and the Nikolayev Bratva. Crazy or not, he won’t let what happened last night affect our mutual goal of gaining a foothold in Tokyo.

Right?

With a frustrated sigh, I head back into my bedroom.

The moment I step through the doorway I jump out of my fucking skin, my heart lurching into my throat and forcing out a scream.

Damian sits on the edge of my bed in black jeans and a t-shirt, his posture relaxed, legs spread wide, perfectly at ease invading my private space. Another strangled, shocked sound escapes me as I clutch the towel more tightly around myself.

He looks up, a slow, dark smile curling his lips as his gaze sweeps over me with an intensity that leaves me breathless. In his hand is a mask.

My blood chills.

It’s my fox mask.

“Hello, Kitsune,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a rich, dark amusement that makes my stomach twist. “I think we need to have a nice, long chat.” He examines the mask thoughtfully, smiling deviously. “Just the two of us, without your family knowing about…well…any of it.”

My heart drops. My face pales.

Damian’s grin widens as he twirls the mask on his finger.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”