wtfsheikura

[wtfsheikura]

6

Y/N FOLLOWS MY MOM INTO the backyard while giving me the cold shoulder.

She has plenty of reasons to be upset with me, starting with putting her in this predicament. I have a tendency to dive into situations without evaluating the potential repercussions of my actions, and I suspect I'll face the fallout when we're alone later.

The last thing she wants is to pose for photos with my family and pretend we're in love, especially when she's upset about me not bringing up the acquisition sooner. As soon as I suspected she might not be aware of it, I should have addressed it. To hell with the merger's confidentiality rules. I should have put Y/n first. I won't make that mistake again.

Once we get to the back deck, Mom and Tomoe leave us to help Rin and the photographer with arranging a couple of wooden benches in front of an ivy arch on the property's edge.

Y/n and I stand side by side as Mia comes out of the house dressed in a bright blue summer dress and silver sneakers. Her golden-blonde hair falls in waves to her waist, framing her distinct, mismatched eyes—one blue, the other green.

She moved in next door to Akira a year and a half ago, and he didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat. Everything changed when his long-term nanny quit, and Mia stepped in to help care for Lola. It didn't take Akira long to fall for Mia, and after three months where she lived abroad, they moved in together and recently got engaged.

"Look who finally showed up," Mia teases me.

"It's good to see you, MiMi." I wrap my arm around her shoulder in a side hug.

"You must be Y/n." Mia extends her hand to Y/n, who accepts it with a small smile. "I'm Mia, Akira fiancée, and that's our daughter, Lola." She motions out into the yard, where Lola is running, chasing after their dog, Waffles.

"Waffles stole my headband again," Lola shouts in our direction.

Mia adopted the Australian Shepherd/Corgi mix with comically large ears from an animal shelter before she moved to Aspen Grove. She felt an instant connection because he also has mismatched eyes—a combination of one brown and one blue.

I laugh when I spot the three tiny furballs with floppy ears trotting closely behind Lola, yipping with excitement.

Akira slings his arm around Mia's shoulders and tugs her close.

"I can't believe you're keeping the whole litter," I say with a hint of amusement.

Mia recently started volunteering at the local animal shelter, and a couple weeks ago, someone brought in three Aussie-Corgi mix puppies they found on the side of the road. Instantly reminded of Waffles, she knew she had to take them home with her. What started as an offer to foster them quickly led to her adopting all three.

"Yeah," Akira grumbles, but his tone changes when he glances down at his fiancée with affection. "Mia doesn't want to separate them."

"They're part of our family, and I won't abandon them," she declares. "Who else would love them like we will?"

"I'm sure Satoru and Y/n would." Akira smiles at us. "What do you say, lovebirds? Do you want an adorable puppy as a wedding present? Consider it therapy to bring you closer when the honeymoon stage is over." He winks at me.

Y/n fixes him with an icy stare. At least we can agree that Akira's joke isn't funny. The last thing we need is to add an untrained puppy to the mix.

"Akira, tell me you did not just try to pawn off one of our dogs." Mia swats him on the chest.

"I'm sorry, sunshine." He places a kiss on her forehead. "I was just messing around. They're not going anywhere," he promises.

Akira might not be enthusiastic about sharing his home with three more furballs, but he's smitten with Mia. He would do anything to make her happy, even if it means being the owner of four energetic dogs.

"Let's hope you have better luck training them than you did with Waffles," I taunt, shooting him a playful smirk.

"Hilarious," Akira responds dryly.

"I thought so." I grin triumphantly, squaring my shoulders.

Y/n glances between us with a confused look.

"Waffles wasn't trained when I adopted him," Mia explains to Y/n. "Akira made it his mission to whip him into shape, but Waffles gave him a run for his money."

"Hey, now," Akira playfully chides, his voice filled with amusement.

"I'm just messing around," Mia quips, using his own words against him.

Akira chuckles. "Touché." He takes Mia's hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She gives him a soft smile, and he looks at her like she's his entire world. When Mia came along, Akira was a grumpy cynic whose primary focus was raising Lola and growing Gojo Holdings. She has brought light into his life and taught him how to smile again.

Even as a carefree, unattached bachelor, I often wonder what it would be like to look at someone the way Akira looks at Mia. My gaze drifts to Y/n, who's watching Mia and Akira's interaction closely, chewing on her lip. Despite our less-than-ideal circumstances, I'm glad she's here. It didn't occur to me how much I missed her until I saw her sitting at that hotel bar in Vegas.

"Akira, Satoru, why are you all just standing around?" Tomoe shouts from the yard. "The photographer is waiting." He motions for us to get a move on.

"We're coming," Akira hollers back.

"You ready for this?" I whisper in Y/n's ear.

"Do I have a choice?" she mutters.

"Nope." I grin, taking her hand in mine as we follow Akira and Mia to join the rest of my family.

Two hours later, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lani, the photographer my mom hired, isn't messing around. She must have taken hundreds of photos by now, and I'm hoping she'll wrap things up soon.

Y/n has kept her distance despite Lani and my mother constantly encouraging us to stand closer together. She talked with my dad and siblings in between poses and tolerated my mom's never-ending questions.

From my shameless eavesdropping, I've learned that Y/n depends on coffee as her lifeline, works long hours, and is a décor enthusiast.

I'm the type to go with the flow and never sweat the small stuff, but even I'm left wondering how we can pull off a fake marriage. We couldn't be more opposite if we tried.

I don't own a coffee maker—I prefer protein shakes and smoothies. I'm usually the last one to arrive at the office in the morning. And let's just say the décor in my London apartment is somewhat lacking.

"Satoru, Y/n, you're up next," my mom announces, breaking me out of my thoughts.

What is she talking about?

"For what?" Y/n questions, mirroring my confusion.

"Couple photos," my mom states like it's obvious. "I have no pictures of your wedding, so this is the next best thing." She clasps her hands together with anticipation.

"Come sit over here." Lani motions toward a blanket she's laid out, with several fruit trees and the barn in the background. "Y/n, I'm going to have you take off your shoes, if that's alright."

"Okay," Y/n says, her voice filled with uncertainty.

She's wearing a light blue spaghetti-strap dress. Her hair is styled in loose waves, and she has on a pair of open-toed heels. Even without advanced warning, she came ready to crush family photos.

She's a goddamn vision. I can barely contain my fingers itching to reach out and draw her close to me, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

"I'm going inside to make dinner," my mom announces. She turns to Mia and my brothers, sitting on a nearby bench. "I could use some help."

"Sure thing," Mia jumps up, pulling Akira along with her.

"Have fun, you two," Akira calls out as they walk toward the house.

Tomoe gives Y/n a sympathetic look before he follows behind.

Ari and Rin disappeared inside thirty minutes ago, right after their photos. I don't even want to guess what they're doing.

My dad is playing with Lola, Waffles, and the puppies on the deck, and when my mom reaches the patio, she gestures for him and Lola to go inside too.

With everyone out of view, Y/n exhales and her tense shoulders drop. I offer her my hand to help her down onto the blanket, but she shakes her head.

"I can do it on my own," she says curtly.

"I know, but I want to help," I reply, my hand cradling her elbow as she lowers herself to the ground.

She glances up at me, her eyes softening for a moment. "Thanks," she murmurs.

Y/n settles on the blanket and I take a step back as she slips off her shoes. Once she's finished, she shifts to the middle and smooths out her dress, waiting for further instructions.

"Satoru, sit behind her, please," Lani directs me. "You're going to spread your legs with your knees slightly bent and once you're in place, Y/n will lean against you," she instructs.

Once I'm seated, Y/n reluctantly leans into me, her back pressed against my chest as her thigh brushes against my leg. She fidgets with her hands and I can feel her breathing quicken as she leans into me.

"Satoru, wrap your arms around her and kiss her forehead. Y/n, hold his hand and place your other hand on his calf to show off that gorgeous ring of yours," Lani instructs.

Y/n's eyes widen in alarm, but luckily, I'm the only one who notices. Lani is too busy checking the settings on her camera, and my family is all inside.

It was convenient that my mom required every member of our family to help with dinner except Y/n and me. I don't buy it; she always has an ulterior motive. She probably figured she'd get better photos of us without an audience, and I'll do my very best to make sure Y/n is as comfortable as possible.

Y/n lets out a nervous laugh as she awkwardly rests her head on my shoulder. Her hands tremble as she places one on my knee and the other on my lower leg.

Lani moves positions, and the angle of her camera focuses on my left side. My hair is pushed back from my face, which means my scar is visible. My body freezes up, and my breathing becomes shallow. I was so focused on making sure Y/n was okay that it didn't cross my mind that couple photos would include close-ups of our faces. There's a reason I don't like to look in the mirror. I'm not under any illusions that I'm physically attractive, and prefer to avoid daily reminders of that.

Group shots are easy to manage since I can stay in the back and angle my face away from the camera. However, I steer clear of close-up photos whenever I can.

Y/n tilts her head back, worry etched on her face. "Are you alright?"

"Let's try another pose," I suggest. "I'd prefer my good side showing." I gesture to my face.

"If you'd like, I can edit out your scar," Lani offers.

"Absolutely not," Y/n interjects sharply, glaring at Lani before looking back at me. "You're beautiful. Your scar is part of you." Lowering her voice so only I can hear, she adds, "This situation isn't easy for me either, but we'll get through it together, okay?" She gives me a soft smile as she brushes her hand across my scar.

I blink down at her, rendered speechless. I'm well aware that most women don't find me attractive. They tolerate my looks because they have to, but no one has ever called me beautiful. Part of me wants to dismiss her words as mere pity, but I know that's not accurate. If it were anyone besides Y/n, I wouldn't believe it, but she's not one to mince her words.

"Whatever you say, boss," I choke out, overcome with unexpected emotion.

"Everything okay?" Lani asks.

"Yes," Y/n says, turning back to face her. "We're all set to continue."

"Perfect. Cash, wrap your arms around her," Lani says when I don't move.

If she finds it strange that Y/n and I are uncomfortable with each other, she keeps it to herself. Thank god Akira and Tomoe are inside, or they'd be teasing us without mercy.

I band my arm around Y/n and pull her tight against me. My racing heart reverberates in my ears, its steady rhythm grounding my senses. Y/n's shallow breaths are a dead giveaway that I'm not the only one affected by our proximity.

She feigns indifference, but now and then, I catch her mask slipping. Like when she couldn't stop sneaking glances at me when I walked into the hotel bar. Or when I woke up with her clinging to me like a baby koala.

"Y/n, scoot a little closer to Satoru, please," Lani calls out from behind her camera. "Pretend I'm not here, and you're just sharing a special moment as newlyweds."

Joke's on her because Y/n would rather watch me get struck by lightning than be my wife. Unfortunately for her, she's stuck with me—at least for now.

The sooner we cooperate, the sooner this will be over.

I take the opportunity to enjoy this fleeting moment as I bury my face in her hair and inhale the scent of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla. She smells like heaven, and I'm forced to push aside any thoughts of her writhing against me in pleasure.

Fuck me.

Maybe taking photos together was a bad idea. This woman is toying with my mind. One minute, I'm agreeing that getting an annulment is a good idea, and the next, I'm consumed by an overwhelming desire to explore every inch of her.

My instincts take over as I grip her hair in my fist and push it over her shoulder. A part of me can't help but wonder what it would feel like if I peppered kisses along her neck, holding her hair like this. Would she hum in delight or cry out in pleasure as I played with her breasts, alternating between pinching and twisting them with my fingers, my tongue slipping inside her mouth.

That's not an appropriate thought to have during a family photo session.

That doesn't stop my cock from pulsating with excitement. I use my newfound daydream to keep me in the present as I caress Y/n's hand in a hypnotic fashion—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She sits still as a statue but grips my calf tightly, proof that my touch is affecting her—no acting necessary.

Her reaction pushes me forward, and I drag a finger along her arm, leaving goosebumps in my wake. I pause for effect, and as she lets out her next breath, I plant several kisses along her shoulder as my hands tug her closer to me. The tension crackles between us.

"Why don't you kiss her on the mouth, Satoru," Lani suggests as she snaps another picture.

That's a terrible idea.

Common sense doesn't stop me from fixing on Y/n plump red lips, practically begging to be kissed. Technically, our first kiss was at the chapel after we exchanged vows, but we were both buzzed, and I didn't get to enjoy it the way I wanted to. There's no chance I'm passing up the opportunity to taste her now that we're sober.

One little kiss can't hurt, right?

I'm sure that thought will come back to haunt me later, but I can't find it in me to care.

My dick is doing the thinking when I lightly grasp Y/n chin and tip her head back, coming face-to-face with her wanton expression, her chocolate-brown eyes ablaze with desire. Our intermingled panting is music to my ears as I slant my mouth across hers.

"Can I kiss you, N/n?" I murmur.

"You'll smear my lipstick," she whispers teasingly.

"Fuck it, I'm kissing you anyway." I brush my lips against hers in a teasing stroke, and I'm both shocked and pleased when a soft moan escapes her mouth. As I deepen the kiss, the tension between us becomes an inferno.

Our lips are interlocked as I cup her cheek with my hand. She shifts position—her ass pressed against my rock-hard cock.

Kissing her is like tasting forbidden fruit. Every touch is electric; every breath is charged with anticipation, making it all the more sweet.

I'm lost in the moment when Lani's high-pitched voice jolts me back to reality. "That was perfect," she exclaims. "I got so many incredible shots. I'm all set."

I jerk my head up to find her retrieving her equipment bag from one of the benches nearby. Y/n and I were so caught up in the intensity, I briefly forgot Lani was here.

My gaze pings back to Y/n. She stares at me, cheeks flushed, like she can't believe what just happened. She finally snaps out of it, scrambling out of my arms, pausing when she sees my face.

"Uh, you should take care of that," she says as she motions to my lips.

I swipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, grinning when I glance down at my hand, now marked with red lipstick.

"I'm going inside," she announces, refusing to make eye contact.

She puts her shoes back on in record time before hustling toward the house.

"I'm right behind you."

Holy shit, I just kissed Y/n... again.

Now is not the time to panic; it won't do me any good.

When I look at the house, I spot Tomoe and Akira watching out the window with smug expressions on their faces.

Even I'm starting to see that our dilemma has gotten out of hand. The sooner we leave for London, the better.

Something tells me that our kiss just complicated things, especially since now I want to do it again... and again.

[wtfsheikura]

Chapter 5

“THANKS, Hanako.” I MUSTER A genuine smile as my eyes dart between Satoru and his mom.

I was prepared for the Gojos to give me the cold shoulder when I walked in, angry that Satoru and I recklessly got married and were rushing to get it dissolved. Instead, I’m being welcomed as if I were part of the family because satoru led them to believe that I am.

Letting him handle it alone was a huge mistake; now we’re in an even bigger mess.

“This is the best news.” Hanako pulls back, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze.

Her kindness tugs at my heartstrings, reminding me how much I used to love spending time here.

The Gojos are as close to a perfect family as they can get. They love each other unconditionally and have always stood together. As a kid, I envied satoru’s relationship with his parents; they were so caring and attentive. In contrast, my dad was cruel and vindictive, and my mom was more interested in escaping reality and indulging in a lavish lifestyle than taking care of Suguru and me.

“You weren’t this excited when Mia and I announced our engagement or when Ari told us she and Rin are getting a summer home in Aspen Grove,” Akira chimes in.

“He has a point, Mom,” Ari adds. “We shouldn’t be surprised, considering satoru has always been your favorite.”

“You’re just jealous.” satoru sticks his tongue out.

“That’s enough,” Hanako scolds. “I love you all equally and won’t have you argue otherwise. I’m just delighted to have Y/n as a daughter-in-law. It’s a dream come true.” Tears trickle down her cheeks, and she quickly wipes them away.

My chest tightens at her response. She had a soft spot for me when I was a kid, which meant a lot to me since I’ve never been close to my own mom.

satoru gives me a warning look, silently urging me not to break the news that this isn’t real. Nervously tapping my fingers against my thigh, I weigh my options. Based on her initial reaction, Hanako will be crushed if we come clean, but my guilty conscience tells me that deceiving her isn’t right.

This is all satoru’s fault. How dare he make this situation more complicated? We wouldn’t be in this situation if he had told his family the truth. I should have stood my ground back in Vegas, returned to London alone, and let our lawyers deal with the fallout.

Damn that tequila.

“Why is your mother crying?” satoru’s dad emerges from the hallway, his voice filled with concern.

He runs his fingers through his short white hair as his gaze sweeps over his kids, pausing when he notices me standing on the other side of Hanako. A puzzled expression crosses his face; I’m probably the last person he expected to see standing in his entryway.

“Don’t worry, Levi, they’re happy tears,” Hanako assures him between hiccups. “Satoru and Y/n got married yesterday. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Levi pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up on his nose, giving satoru and me cautionary glances. “Yeah, that’s great news,” he says, sounding unsure as he tries to appease his wife.

My conscience won’t let this go on any longer, and my inner voice shouts at me to end this charade.

“Would it be alright if I talk to satoru outside?” I ask.

His face pales at my request.

“Of course, sweetie.” Hanako smiles at me. “Just don’t take too long. The photographer is out back, and we don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“This will be quick,” I promise as I tug satoru's arm, dragging him onto the porch. He closes the door behind us, and as soon as we’re out of his family’s sight, I yank my hand away.

“What the hell was that?” I whisper-shout. “You were supposed to tell them the truth, not make your mom think this marriage is legitimate. She’s going to be devastated when she finds out that not only did we lie to her, but this”—I gesture between us—“isn’t real.”

I’m wary when he flashes me a playful grin.

“What?” I ask with my hands on my hips.

“Oh, come on, you can’t deny our chemistry,” he says, taking a step closer to me.

I shake my head in denial. “You’re imagining things.”

My visceral reaction when he walked into the hotel bar was a fluke. I’m chalking it up to an instinctual reaction caused by sexual tension that’s been building up for the past two years. It has nothing to do with satoru.

If I say it enough times, I’ll believe it.

“If that’s the case, care to explain why you stared daggers at every woman who dared to look my way? Or better yet, why you couldn’t stop eye-fucking me last night?”

“Apparently whiskey makes you delusional because I was not eye-fucking you last night, Gojo,” I retort.

“Sure you weren’t.” He cradles my face, gliding his thumbs against my skin. For a moment, I forget my reservations and lean into the comforting warmth of his hand.

He can get me to drop my guard without even trying. I think it’s because he’s familiar, evoking memories of our childhood friendship when I trusted him implicitly. My instincts tell me I can do the same now, but my mind isn’t so sure.

I take a step back, causing him to let go of my face. “I told your mom we wouldn’t be long. Is there a reason your family thinks we’re happily married?”

Satoru runs his fingers through his hair, which seems to be a family habit. “I was going to tell them what happened, but Ari noticed my ring before I could, and when I saw how happy my mom looked, there was no way I would disappoint her. It’s not that big of a deal.” He tries to brush me off.

“Not a big deal?” I raise my voice. “Satoru, we got married. Even if it was an accident, we have to take responsibility for our error and fix it. Lying to your family isn’t going to make this situation better. We have to go back in there right this minute and come clean. That’s the only option.”

The last thing I want is to cause a rift between Satoru and his family. From what I’ve seen in the past twenty-four hours, he has a laid-back approach to life. He loves his family, and has a big heart, but he doesn’t take things seriously, including himself. Everything is a game, and he doesn’t consider the consequences when he acts rashly.

In some ways, I envy his carefree attitude. He’s not afraid to take risks and doesn’t share my inability to roll with the punches.

“I didn’t lie, I just omitted some details,” he offers.

“That’s literally the definition of lying.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “If you’re unwilling to rectify this, I will.” I try walking past him, but he holds out his arm to stop me.

“Y/n, it’s not that simp—”

We’re interrupted by the door creaking open and find Tomoe and Akira standing in the doorway with suspicious expressions.

They join us on the porch, and Tomoe closes the door behind them. He folds his arms across his chest, studying us both with the intensity of a detective.

His White hair is styled in a tapered fade, and his muscular arms fill out the sleeves of his short-sleeve polo. The scowl on his face strikes me as odd, given that he was the approachable-teddy-bear big brother when we were kids. It appears we’ve all changed to some degree since then.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Satoru,” Tomoe boldly states with a raised eyebrow. “Last week, you told Akira and me on a conference call that you never wanted to settle down. Now, suddenly, you’re waltzing into Mom and Dad’s, announcing that you’re married—to Y/n Geto. It doesn’t add up.”

“Her name is Y/n Gojo now,” Satoru states with a confidence that makes me want to shake some sense into him.

“It’s still Geto,” I correct him, not caring that I’m lecturing him in front of his brothers.

“Seriously, what is going on?” Akira interjects. “The optics won’t look good if this marriage is fake and it gets out to the board of directors,” he says as he adjusts his glasses.

He’s sporting black slacks paired with a light blue polo shirt, and his White hair is cut short. With his thick-rimmed glasses, he reminds me of a modern-day Clark Kent.

The Gojo brothers have all aged like fine wine, all incredibly attractive, but admittedly, Satoru is the only one who makes me weak in the knees when he looks in my direction.

Tomoe pinches the bridge of his nose. “Akira's right. If the media or the board finds out, this could tank the acquisition.”

My heart sinks as I get the sense that I should know what they’re talking about, but I don’t.

“What acquisition?” I voice my confusion.

“She doesn’t know?” Tomoe asks, alarmed.

Akira snickers as he leans against one of the porch pillars. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

“What are they talking about?” I demand, turning to Satoru.

One thing I cannot tolerate is being the last to know something, which happens often when my father is involved.

His eyes widen as he studies me. “You really don’t know?”

“If you would tell me what you were talking about, I could answer your question,” I retort.

He fiddles with his bracelet, avoiding eye contact.

“Gojo Holdings is in the process of buying out Geto International,” he says reluctantly. “I was in Vegas to meet with our board of directors since Tomoe and Akira both had conflicts.”

I blink at him in confusion. “Come again?”

“Your dad approached me a few months ago with a lucrative proposal for us to buy Geto International,” Tomoe explains, trying to diffuse the tension. “Akira’s team gave the deal a tentative green light, so we’re moving ahead with the acquisition.”

I balk at the realization that my dad withheld this from me. Although I shouldn’t be surprised since he does it all the time. If Sukuna and Nanami had been aware of this, there’s no question they would have told me. I can only imagine they won’t take the news well.

“Wait a second.” I glance over at Satoru, who looks ready to bolt. “If you knew, why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I assumed your dad already had, and figured you didn’t mention it because of the legal restrictions in place on what can be talked about between companies until Gojo Holdings takes ownership of Geto International.”

“What about this morning when you woke up with a ring on your finger? That would have been the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. Were you lying when you said we’d fly back to London and get an annulment?”

My pulse quickens at the idea that he could be playing me. That this was a sick joke to guarantee the deal goes through. Or this is just another scenario where Satoru flies by the seat of his pants with no concern for repercussions, and I’ll be left paying for it.

“No, of course not,” he says quickly. “I promise we’ll get in touch with our lawyers as soon as we leave and will have this resolved by Monday, just like you want.”

“I wouldn’t advise getting an annulment,” Tomoe interrupts.

I jerk my head in his direction, having forgotten for a minute that he and Akira were here.

“Tomoe is right,” Akira adds. “This would cause a shitstorm if the media caught wind of a fake marriage in the middle of a merger. Not to mention, our board would have a field day.”

I place my hands on my head, attempting to regulate my breathing. This cannot be happening. Any second now, I’m going to wake up in my bed, and this will all have been a bad dream.

“Why should it matter what Y/n and I do?” Satoru asks Tomoe. “Our marriage doesn’t financially benefit anyone, so who cares if we get it dissolved?”

I glance at Tomoe and Akira, who both have serious expressions on their faces, confirming that Satoru is the only one who fails to grasp the severity of the situation.

“How do you think the board of directors will react when they find out you met up with the daughter of Geto International’s CEO right after you left a pivotal board meeting discussing the acquisition? I can spin the story of you marrying your childhood friend, but it’s going to be damn near impossible to convince them if your attorneys file for an annulment come Monday morning. They’ll assume you only got married to disclose sensitive information that could impact stock prices or shape market perceptions. If that happens, the deal will go up in smoke.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis.

When Tomoe puts it that way, it makes the situation even more dire. My hands shake as reality sets in. He’s right. If Satoru and I get an annulment now, we’ll jeopardize our jobs, the acquisition, and both companies’ reputations.

I let the tequila and Satoru's charm cloud my judgment. Now there’s a possibility I could be stuck married to him for an undetermined amount of time. I swear I’m never taking tequila shots ever again.

“What do you suggest we do?” I direct my question to Tomoe. He’s the most level-headed person here, and I can trust that he’ll give it to me straight.

“I would prefer that you stay married and pretend that you’re in love. That includes in front of our parents and Ariri. I don’t trust her not to spill the beans to Mom.” I stare wide eyed at Tomoe while he speaks. “It works in your favor that you grew up together and both live in London. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them you reconnected at a local pub, fell in love, and got married on a whim while you were both in Vegas for work.”

Even anticipating his advice doesn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow.

“It won’t be that bad,” Satoru offers when he notices me wringing my hands.

“Not that bad? Gojo, we haven’t seen each other in fourteen years. Now, suddenly, you think I want to live with you? Tomoe just told us this could upset the merger. When my dad finds out what I did, he won’t be as understanding as your brothers.” I gesture toward Tomoe and Akira, who are observing our tense exchange.

My dad won’t let this lapse in judgment go unpunished.

Akira steps between Satoru and me. “Woah there, lovebirds.” He chuckles nervously. “Why don’t you talk this through in private before determining how you want to move forward? We’re not going to force either of you to do anything you don’t want to.” He looks me in the eye. “Whatever you decide, we’ll support you both. Right, Tomoe?”

“As the CEO of Gojo Holdings, I recommend you stay married for the sake of the companies.” Tomoe gives me a rare smile. “But as an older brother, I would never abandon either of you, regardless of how you want to move forward.”

I’m taken aback by their loyalty. Tomoe and Akira could easily disregard me to fend for myself and direct all their energy on helping Satoru clean up the mess we’ve made. Instead, they treat me like I’m a valued addition to their family, which is far more than I can say for my father.

“You’re right.” Satoru sighs. “N/n and I—” He stops when Hanako opens the door and steps outside with a perplexed expression.

“What on earth are you all still doing out here?” she scolds. “The photographer is getting impatient.”

“Is it alright if I wait in the kitchen for Satoru?” I ask.

“Absolutely not,” Hanako says firmly. “They wouldn’t be family photos without you in them, sweetie. Now come along.” She places her hand on my back, guiding me inside.

Her sentiment is touching, but it’s overshadowed by the knowledge that this illusion will shatter once the truth comes out. I’ll be left alone on the sideline, picking up the pieces.

I look back to glare at Satoru, paying no mind to Akira and Tomoe, who are struggling to stifle their laughter.

It’s official—this day is shaping up to be a complete disaster.

[wtfsheikura]

Chapter 4

I GROAN WHEN I OPEN my eyes to the sun streaming through the window.

My head is pounding with a splitting headache from drinking too much whiskey last night. I used to party until dawn, catch a few hours of sleep, and wake up feeling good as new. Now, anytime I have a few drinks, it feels like I've been hit by a dump truck, the effects lingering for hours.

As I shift in bed, I'm aware of a warm body curled up behind me, which is strange since I never invite anyone back to my apartment or hotel room. The women I've slept with know my terms—one night, no strings attached, and no misconceptions of a long-term commitment. And I always leave before they wake up.

When I glance over, my breath catches when I see Y/n lying next to me. Dark tresses fan out across her pillow, her full lips slightly parted while she sleeps soundly.

The last time I saw her before last night was a few weeks after high school graduation. Her parents had just gotten divorced, and she left for college early. Suguru and I took her to the airport, and as much as I hated seeing her go, I told her she would have the adventure of a lifetime.

"Fuck," I mutter.

I'm in the same bed as my best friend's sister, and I can't remember what happened after we left the piano bar last night.

This is bad. Very bad.

I disentangle myself from her, easing her arm from my hip so I can get up. I pause when she stirs, letting out a soft moan, but within seconds her breathing evens out.

I'm relieved to find my phone on the nightstand and unlock it. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead when I see my screen saver has changed to a photo of Y/n and me sitting in the back of a bright pink Cadillac.

In front of a wedding chapel.

She's wearing a fitted white wedding dress, completed with a short veil and high heels. A small bouquet of daffodils rests on her lap, and she is smiling into the camera. My arms are banded around her waist as I look down at her with affection.

Holy fucking shit.

I wipe my hand across my face, pausing when a cool piece of metal brushes against my skin. The weight on my ring finger registers, and my gaze shifts to the nightstand where the marriage certificate confirms my suspicions—Y/n and I got married.

Memories from last night begin to flash back into my mind. Y/n laughing while browsing a rack of wedding dresses at a boutique located in the Shoppes at Premiere. An officiant dressed as Elvis reading us our vows. Me carrying Y/n across the threshold of our hotel room.

I vaguely remember ordering room service. After our dinner of cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes, we watched several reruns of Big Bang Theory in bed, and fell asleep cuddling.

I'm still wearing last night's white button-up shirt and boxer briefs, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I glance over at Y/n and see she's in her bra and panties. The only piece of clothing on the floor appears to be her dress.

The only thing that could have made this situation worse is if we had sex.

I run my fingers through my hair and consider the mess we're in. I've done a lot of stupid shit, but this takes the cake.

Suguru is going to kill me when he finds out, and I don't even want to imagine how Y/n is going to react when she wakes up and realizes she's married to the guy she called a Casanova. I could wake her up to talk about what happened, but I figure it's best to let her sleep.

In the meantime, I'm going to take advantage of Premiere's world-class room service and order some food for us. Hopefully, her favorite breakfast will help ease the shock when she wakes up to this unexpected situation.

"Satoru Gojo, where are you?" Y/n's furious voice carries down the hall.

I don't respond, taking another bite of my acai bowl. There's no predicting what will happen when she finds me, so I might as well enjoy what could very well be my last meal.

The sound of her bare feet against the hardwood floor fills the living room as she storms in. Her hair is gathered on the top of her head in a loose bun, and she's dressed in the same white dress she wore last night.

"Good morning, Y/n. How did you sleep?" I pop a piece of banana into my mouth.

"Cut the shit, Gojo. Care to explain this?" She sticks out her hand, thrusting the massive diamond on her finger into my face.

"It's a ring." Another memory surfaces of me calling in a favor to have the manager of the upscale jewelry store on the second floor of Premiere show us the exclusive collection of rings they keep under lock and key—one of the many perks of my family owning the hotel.

The five-carat pear-shaped diamond set me back two hundred thousand dollars, yet it felt like it was meant to be since it fits her finger perfectly.

I may have gone overboard, but in my buzzed state, I loved the idea of Y/n walking around with a giant rock on her finger, so there was no question who she belonged to. It's not like I can't afford it. Even sober, I find it oddly satisfying.

"Why are you acting so calm?" She throws her hands in the air in frustration. "We got married last night. How could you let that happen?"

"Me?" I point at my chest. "You were happy to go along with it. I recall you were adamant that we—and I quote—find the perfect dress for the best night of my life. That detail must have slipped your mind," I taunt her. "I appreciated the ego boost. It's not every day a pretty woman says getting married to me is the best thing to happen to her."

In fact, it's the last thing I expected to hear in my lifetime, considering I swore I'd never settle down.

"The four tequila shots might have impaired my decision-making skills, but unfortunately, not my memory." She grumbles. "I have a low tolerance for alcohol."

"That would have been helpful information to have last night." On the bright side, she remembers what happened.

She bites down on her lower lip as she paces the room.

I rise from the couch and move in front of her.

"Take a deep breath," I say, placing my hands on her shoulders. "It's going to be okay."

I'm intrigued by the enigmatic woman before me, curious about what brought about her transformation. Above all, I want a glimpse of my Everly because I'm sure she's still in there somewhere.

"How can you say that?" she protests. "We're practically strangers, and now we're legally bound together. I don't even know what kind of car you drive, your favorite food, or if you were lying about your relationship status. Those are all things I should know about a person before I agree to date them, let alone marry them."

God, she's adorable when she overthinks.

"I own a Audi e-Tron GT that I store in my parents' garage. When I'm in London, I walk to work since my apartment is close to the office. My favorite meal is my mom's homemade Kikufuku and anything sweet, but I'm a fan of everything she cooks," I say, ticking each item off on my fingers. "And I didn't lie about my relationship status. I'm as single as a person can get."

At least I was until last night.

She sighs. "Thank god. The last thing I need is to be the other woman this time."

This time?

I decide against asking her to elaborate, given the predicament we're in.

"Why don't you have some breakfast before it gets cold?" I usher her over to the couch and gesture to the dining cart. "I ordered French toast topped with whipped cream, sliced banana, and extra syrup—just the way you like it."

She blinks back at me. "Let me get this straight." She puts her hands on her hips. "You woke up to find out that we were married, and instead of coming up with a solution, you ordered breakfast?"

"You could just say thank-you."

"Why would I do that?" she retorts.

"Just in case your tastes have changed, I also ordered scrambled eggs, Belgian waffles, and an acai bowl with berries. I've never had a wife, so hopefully you'll cut me some slack if I do this all wrong," I joke, hoping to lighten the mood.

She stares ahead with a vacant expression, and after several seconds, she shakes her head like she's coming out of a trance.

"We. Got. Married. How can you be concerned about food right now?" She waves frantically at the food cart. "You should be finding the quickest way to get out of this, not concerned about what kind of fruit I like with my French toast."

I've done a lot of reckless things in my adult life. Like when I decided on a whim to spend a month off the grid in India. Or when I spent a night partying in Los Angeles with the Sovereign Kings, a world-famous rock band, and woke up the next morning in Japan. Before yesterday, my most impulsive decision was buying a private jet because I hated asking Tomoe for permission to use the shared Gojo Holdings' plane. Those things pale in comparison to getting hitched to my best friend's sister.

"You're right, I'm sorry." I gesture for her to sit. This time, she gives in, sinking into the couch. "What do you think we should do?" I ask, hoping she has a plan because I haven't thought that far ahead yet.

"We'll go back to London and have our lawyers draw up the paperwork for an annulment. It should be straightforward, and this will be a distant memory by next week," Y/n exclaims as she claps her hands together.

She's a little too enthusiastic for my liking. My stomach churns at the idea of pretending this never happened. Suddenly, the few hours we spent together feels insufficient.

"Sounds like a great plan, but we have a big problem," I tell her.

"Bigger than marrying someone in Vegas who you haven't seen in fourteen years?" she challenges.

I chuckle at her seriousness. "If you were to ask my mom, the answer would be yes. I'm supposed to be in Aspen Grove for family photos this afternoon, and she'll never forgive me if I'm not there."

My mom has been looking forward to having new family photos taken for a while. She doesn't think she sees me and my siblings enough and will find any excuse to get us together.

Akira is the only one who lives in Aspen Grove, preferring to give his daughter, Mia, a sense of normalcy. Tomoe and I have apartments in the city, located on the top floors of the Gojo Holdings headquarters we renovated three years ago. However, I've spent most of my time in London for the past nine months.

My sister Ari, and her boyfriend, Rin, have a massive apartment in New York that spans the entire ninetieth floor of a skyscraper and offers a breathtaking view of Central Park.

"What do your family photos have to do with me?" Y/n asks.

"We're married. I'm not letting you out of my sight until we figure this out."

"You cannot be serious," Y/n huffs in annoyance. "Go to Aspen Grove, and when you get back to London, we'll take care of this."

"I don't think so, wifey." The new term of endearment rolls off my tongue. "We're sticking together until we get the annulment."

Her dark eyes widen. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? According to the state of Nevada, you're my wife until we dissolve this marriage." I can't help but egg her on. "Is there a reason you don't want to go to Aspen Grove?"

"No." Her gaze shifts to the ground. "I just haven't been there in a while."

"It'll only be for a few hours, and then we can go back to London," I promise.

She gives me a skeptical look. "Fine, but we fly back tonight. I have to catch up on a lot of work before Monday morning."

I'm still baffled that she's working for F/n. He never passed up the chance to tell her and Suguru how disappointed he was in them when we were kids.

I had the displeasure of meeting with him in New York last week, and it solidified my opinion that he's a vindictive son of a bitch. My brothers and I spent three hours with him, and he didn't bring up Y/n once, which is odd since she plays a significant role in his business.

"That shouldn't be a problem. Family photos shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. Plenty of time for the pilot to refuel before we take off."

Unless my mom decides to intervene when she learns the truth about our marriage. Given her track record of meddling in my siblings' personal lives I wouldn't put it past her.

My phone buzzes again, likely the hundredth text I’ve gotten in the past ten minutes.

With a brisk pace, I move up the walkway to my parents’ modest two-story Cape-style home.

I’m halfway up the steps when Y/n places her hand on my arm to stop me.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“I just got an urgent email from an important client dealing with a crisis. I need to call him,” she says.

“Yeah, sure.” I do my best to conceal my disappointment. “Just come inside when you’re finished.”

“You’re going to tell your family the truth about what happened between us, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I was hoping she’d be there when I broke the news about our impromptu marriage and annulment. My mom has always considered Y/n part of our family. I can only imagine her reaction when she finds out that Y/n is her daughter-in-law and in the same conversation that we’re dissolving our marriage.

My pulse is racing when I step inside the house. I’m not expecting to find my mom and siblings hovering in the entryway, all wearing looks of sheer panic. I’m bombarded with questions from all directions as soon as they see me.

“Where have you been?” Ari demands, pointing at the clock on the wall. “We’ve tried calling you a dozen times, but it kept going to voicemail.”

“You’re late,” my mom says, echoing my sister’s frustrations. She places her hands on her hips like she used to do when she would scold me as a kid. “You know how important this photoshoot is. I was worried sick when we couldn’t reach you.”

“You were supposed to fly back last night,” Tomoe says, studying me suspiciously.

Nothing gets past him. Luckily, he doesn’t bring up the fact that I was supposed to call him after my meeting with the board. I completely forgot about it when I ran into Y/n. He must have called the chairman for an update. I’m not looking forward to him losing his shit when he finds out what I’ve done.

“Yeah, well, something held me up in Vegas… or should I say, someone.” I keep my reply vague because it’s hard to find the right words to explain that I got married in Las Vegas to Y/n Geto, of all people.

“What are you talking—” Ari cuts herself off as she points to the ring on my finger. “What is that?” she asks with a gasp.

Oh shit.

“My wedding ring,” I answer truthfully. In the mad dash to make our flight, I forgot to take it off.

“I’m sorry, your what?” Ari screeches.

“I got married.” I do my best to downplay the announcement. “My wife is on a call but she’ll come inside as soon as she’s finished. Is it alright if we wait for her, Mom?”

She gapes at me in shock, clearly taken aback by my announcement.

“Your wife?” Ari laughs. “Very funny, Satoru. Who put you up to this?” She turns her glacier stare on Rin. “Was it you?”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I know better than to play practical jokes on you, little vixen.”

“What about you two?” She glares at Tomoe and Akira. “Because this joke is even less funny than the time you had Rin arrested.”

When Ari brought Rin to Aspen Grove for the first time and pretended they were dating, Tomoe was suspicious. After some recon, we found out that Rin was Ari’s boss who had been tormenting her for years. We decided to prank him to teach him a lesson for messing with our sister. It’s the best practical joke we’ve ever pulled off, although I don’t think Rin would agree.

Akira holds up his hands in defense. “It wasn’t me.”

Tomoe shakes his head. “I had nothing to do with this.”

I make the mistake of stealing another glance at my mom. Her expression radiates pure happiness, and I can’t bring myself to tell her the full truth, at least not yet.

“I’m serious, Ari,” I say with a straight face. “We got hitched in Vegas last night and came straight to Aspen Grove to share the good news with our families.”

It occurs to me that Y/n hasn’t asked to see her mom while we’re in town. Suguru doesn’t have contact with her, but according to him, Y/n does. So I wonder why she doesn’t come to visit.

“You got married and didn’t invite your own mother? Shame on you,” my mom interjects, smacking me upside the head.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a sheepish grin.

She seems more upset that I didn’t tell her than at hearing the news that I got hitched. She’s probably just grateful that she didn’t have to play matchmaker like she did for Ari and Akira, which explains why she looks so happy right now.

Mom might deny it, but she’s made it her mission to intervene with my siblings’ love lives, and Ari and Akira have both found their better halves thanks to her. I can work with this reaction—that is until I have to break the news about the annulment.

Everyone’s attention goes to the front door when it creaks open, and Y/n steps inside.

“Oh, speaking of my wife,” I say, a smile spreading across my face.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much I like calling her that.

Tomoe and Akira exchange a confused glance when they see Y/n and take in the giant diamond on her ring finger. I mentally pat myself on the back for choosing that one—no chance anyone will miss it, even if this whole thing is over by Monday.

“Oh, Y/n,” my mother exclaims. “Welcome to the family, sweetie.” She pulls her into a hug, and Y/n shoots me a glare.

I smirk back at her, giving her a thumbs-up.

She’s going to make me pay for this stunt later, but I might as well enjoy the ride while I can.

I just realize that I've been spelling Gojo name wrong....

[wtfsheikura]

Chapter 3

I CAN’T BELIEVE THE AUDACITY of this man. We’ve only spent five minutes together, and he’s already trying to get me to have sex with him—unbelievable. I’ve heard the rumors about him, but I didn’t think he’d be this brazen, and with me no less.

“That line may have worked on the roster of women you’ve been with in the past, but it will absolutely not work on me.” I scowl, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “If Suguru heard that you just tried to proposition me in a hotel bar, he would be appalled.”

Satour presses his lips together, attempting to hold back from laughing. “N/n, if I were asking you to sleep with me, I’d come right out and say it.”

I sigh in relief, but a part of me feels dejected at his apparent indifference.

“You’re not?” I ask, giving him side-eye.

“Don’t think for a second that it means I’m not interested,” he says, his Blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “A friend of mine owns a nightclub next to Premiere, and I always stop by when I’m in town. They serve top-shelf alcohol, which is loads better than the watered-down shit they serve here.” He gestures toward the liquor display behind the bar. “What do you say? Get a real drink with me?”

He thinks that’s more convincing.

“No thank you,” I say without hesitation.

Men spell trouble, and I can’t forget it. Although Sukuna's notion of embracing one night of making bad decisions plays in my mind. Getting a drink with Satour would undeniably qualify as a bad decision.

“Why not? It’s just one drink,” he urges.

I rub my temples, trying to keep calm despite his persistence. “Because I have a hunch one drink would turn into two with you,” I say bluntly.

The adult version of Satour exudes sex appeal and confidence and cannot be trusted. He’s the type of man I avoid like the plague. They lure you in with pretty words, lavish gifts, and empty promises—leaving you to pick up the broken pieces once they’re gone.

“N/n, it’s only a drink with a friend,” he assures me like he can read my mind. “It sounds like you’ve had a long week and could use a night out.”

“I have no interest in watching you get plastered and gyrate against every woman in the club. Now, why don’t you take a hint and disappear like Larry?” I regret my comment when a brief flash of hurt flashes across his face.

“Whoever caused you to become so distrusting deserves to suffer for what they did.” Satour places his hand on mine. “Word of advice. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Just because I haven’t had a serious girlfriend since high school and like to have a good time doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy.”

He leans in so his mouth brushes against my ear. “For the record, I was going to take you to a piano bar on the club’s second floor. You’re the only woman I have any interest in spending time with tonight,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand off mine.

I feel a pang of loss when he moves back, takes out his wallet, and places a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the counter. He didn’t order anything, so I assume it’s to cover my martini and leave a generous tip.

A sense of unease washes over me when he slides off his barstool without a word.

I’d let him walk out the door if I knew what was good for me. However, despite my pretense of indifference, the thought of not seeing him again for an undetermined amount of time doesn’t sit well with me.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Sukuna’s advice from our earlier conversation pops into my head.

One drink with Satour Gojo can’t hurt, right? Like he said, it’s just a harmless night catching up between two childhood friends.

I must be a masochist because I have a habit of putting myself in situations with men who I think I can trust, only to end up hurt and alone. I shake my head in disgust. That line of thinking is exactly what Satour called me out for. I’m so cynical and quick to make assumptions. He has done nothing to deserve that.

When I look up, he’s halfway across the lobby. I toss my phone into my purse and chase after him.

“Gojo, wait,” I shout, disregarding the questioning looks from the other guests.

He spins around, searching my face for a moment, a grin lighting up his features when it seems he’s found whatever it was he was looking for.

His reaction sends another uncontrollable flutter through my stomach.

“Yes, N/n?” he asks, tapping his foot while he waits.

“I want to go to the piano bar with you if the invitation still stands.” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth. “But I’m holding you to your promise about it only being one drink. We’ll catch up, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Sukuna would be so proud.

“If that’s what you want.” He opens the door before I can question him further, placing his hand on my lower back as we step out onto the street.

That was too easy.

So much for just one drink. I’m buzzed enough to feel more like the Y/n that Satour used to know than I have in years.

When we arrived at the piano bar, the line to get in was wrapped around the block, but we were ushered inside and taken to the best seats in the place, offering the perfect view of the stage.

We’ve been here for over an hour and I’m still awestruck by the charm of the place.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the plush velvet couches and polished marble flows. The massive space is filled with the notes of a grand piano playing a lively jazz piece as servers hurry from table to table.

Our waitress appears and shoots Satour a flirtatious smile while checking him out. She set her sights on him as soon as we were seated at our table. The noticeable gap between us speaks volumes, indicating we’re not a couple. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

“Yeah. Can we get another shot of tequila and another whiskey on the rocks?” he says as he taps his empty glass.

“Certainly,” the waitress coos, her voice dripping with honey.

I roll my eyes at her obvious display of interest. She couldn’t be more transparent if she tried.

“Thank you.” Satour gives her a grin before she walks away.

Our waitress isn’t the only one who has noticed him. Every woman in the piano bar steals glances in our direction, blatantly eye-fucking Satour every chance they get.

His wavy hair falls around his face, concealing most of his scar, except for a small section near his chin, adding a touch of mystery to his appeal. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his muscular forearms are visible with his rolled-up sleeves, making him irresistible eye candy. 

I appear to be the only one immune to his charm.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

“You were glaring at the waitress again,” Gojo observes. “Did you want something other than tequila?”

“I was guessing how long it’ll take you to invite her back to your room tonight. Just say the word, and I’m happy to make my exit so you two can have your privacy.”

“Somebody’s jealous.” He scoots closer and throws his arm over my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

I attempt to move away, but he gently pulls me back into his embrace. “I’m making sure there’s no question that I’m here with you,” he says softly.

His words cause me to melt into his arms, reminiscent of our high school days when he would comfort me in the same way… I forgot how much I missed it.

The waitress reappears at our table with our drinks in hand. “Here you are—” She stops short when she notices Satour’s arm around me.

“Is there a problem?” Satour raises a brow.

“No, not at all,” she says as she collects our empty glasses.

“That’ll be all, thanks,” he says, effectively dismissing her.

I don’t miss her crestfallen expression at being rejected.

Satour has a way with women that draws them in. He has always been kind, genuine, and straightforward, qualities women appreciate. In contrast, my frosty demeanor turns most men off, but it hasn’t fazed Satour. Even when I told him off, he brushed it off like it never happened.

“Cheers.” He holds up his glass of whiskey, bringing it close to the shot of tequila I have in my hand.

“Cheers,” I echo as our glasses clink together, downing the shot in one swallow.

This is my fourth shot since we arrived. I’m not sure how I’ve allowed myself to get so tipsy. After my watered-down martini at the hotel bar, the tequila was a welcome improvement.

This has to be my last drink, or I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret, like kissing my brother’s insanely attractive best friend.

As Satour lifts his drink to his lips, I notice a flash of color on his wrist.

That can’t be what I think it is.

I grab his wrist to examine it closely, a splash of whiskey spilling onto my arm from jostling his glass. He’s wearing a blue and white corded bracelet on his right wrist that looks identical to the one I gave him when he was in the hospital recovering from his accident.

“Is this—”

“The bracelet you made?” He pauses, looking me in the eye. “Yeah, it is.”

In high school, I went through a phase where I learned to make macrame friendship bracelets. I made one for Suguru and our friends. I had planned to give Satour the one I made for him at school, but he was hit by a car the night before.

When Suguru and I went to visit him in the hospital after his accident, I brought the bracelet with me.

“Why do you still have it?” I ask breathlessly.

“It’s… special,” he states matter-of-factly. “When I was in the hospital, everyone who came to see me looked at me with pity. Even Suguru treated me differently. But not you. When you stepped into the room, you cracked jokes about how pale I was and how you were convinced I had been turned into a vampire.” He stares into the distance as if he’s being drawn back into the memory. “I told you I was worried about what everyone would think of me when they removed the bandages on my face, and that’s when you gave me this.” He rubs the faded string between his fingers. “You told me whenever I felt discouraged, the bracelet would serve as a physical reminder to have courage and to remember that I’m stronger than I think. And you were right; it’s been my lucky charm ever since.”

I gaze at the visible part of his scar. It’s clear he views it in a negative light—a physical reminder that he’s different. I wish he could see it the way I do.

When I lock eyes with him, I confirm his sincerity.

The bracelet’s colors have faded, and the edges have frayed, and yet he’s continued to wear it all these years.

My breath hitches when he reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. If I were sober, I would swat his hand away and remind him that this is just drinks between friends. Tipsy me seems to have forgotten about boundaries, leaning into his hand like a kitten being stroked on the head.

Maybe I’m not so immune to his charms after all.

“I have a confession,” he murmurs so softly I have to strain to hear him. “There’s something else I kept.”

“What is it?” I don’t bother hiding my curiosity.

“The napkin that we used to sign our marriage pact on. Do you remember?”

I stare at him wide eyed. “I do.”

How could I forget the worst day of my life up to that point being turned around because of Satour’s thoughtfulness?

My boyfriend dumped me just hours before our senior prom. I was humiliated that I was naïve enough to think that we were going to be together forever.

When Satour found me reading behind the old Yaga house, he listened to me ramble on about soulmates and how worried I was that I’d never find mine. The joke is on me because I learned the hard way that there isn’t such a thing. Relationships never last, no matter how much you want them to.

Most friends would have laughed off my silly notions, but not Satour. He came up with the idea for us to sign a marriage pact as a backup plan, and despite my new perspective on love being a myth, I never forgot the sweet gesture.

“I figured you threw it away.”

“Never.” He gazes at me, and up close I can see the golden flecks in his blue eyes. “I liked the idea that in an alternate reality you’d be mine.” I feel lightheaded when he caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, his knuckles rubbing against my jaw.

The sober me would tell him he’s full of shit and remind him that a woman can’t be owned. Too bad the tipsy me is relishing the fact that Satour Gojo just confessed in a roundabout way that he kept the marriage pact we made in high school because he likes me… or at least he did.

“I have an important question to ask you,” he says.

“Which is?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

He leans in closer, like he has a secret to share, and trails his fingers along my arm, sending a course of electricity through me at the touch. “Please tell me you’re single,” he murmurs.

“That’s not a question,” I quip playfully.

“I can’t ask you to marry me if you’re with someone else,” he says with a mischievous, boyish grin.

An uncharacteristic giggle escapes my lips. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It makes perfect sense.” He removes his arm from around my shoulder and clasps my hands in his. “We’re both single, in our thirties, and there’s a chapel right down the street. Marry me, N/n.”

I stare at him, trying to process his words. “We haven’t seen each other in fourteen years,” I remind him.

Thanks to the alcohol, it’s like my brain is on a coffee break, leaving me unable to come up with a better retort.

“So?” Satour murmurs. “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, don’t they? Some connections can’t be ignored, no matter how long you’ve been apart.”

I knit my eyebrows in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“Marry me,” he repeats, sidestepping my question. “Our pact still means something to me, just like this bracelet does,” he says, nodding to his wrist. “You mean something to me.” Satour cradles my face, sending a shiver down my spine. “Haven’t you heard the best things in life are worth waiting for? Now that you’re finally here with me, I don’t ever want to let you go.”

I briefly close my eyes, wishing he’d stop saying all the right things.

After being engaged to a cheater with average looks, tying the knot with Satour would be a major upgrade. He’s devastatingly handsome and charismatic. Not to mention I’ve known him since we were kids.

“You’re serious about this?”

He nods his head. “I promise I’ll make you happy. You just have to give me a chance to prove it, N/n.” My heart skips a beat when he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Make me the luckiest man alive, and agree to be my wife.”

Nibbling on my lower lip, I feel the weight of his gaze.

Maybe this isn’t such a terrible idea after all. He has worn my bracelet for all these years and admitted that our silly marriage pact meant something to him. Plus, he punched Toji Zenin in the face when he stood me up at our senior prom. That’s true loyalty.

Wait. Am I really considering this?

Warning bells ring loudly in the back of my mind, reminding me those aren’t valid reasons to marry someone, but one too many shots of tequila have drowned out my logical thinking.

“When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Be brave, N/n, and take this leap with me,” Satour urges.

“Gojo, are you daring me to marry you?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” I say, a grin spreading across my face, reflecting his contagious excitement. “I think it is.”

[wtfsheikura]

Chapter 2

I BLINK RAPIDLY, MAKING SURE that Y/n isn't a mirage.

My meeting with the Gojo Holdings board of directors just wrapped up, and I stopped by the hotel bar for a drink before meeting up with some friends to party. I don't get to come to Vegas often, so I take full advantage of its nightlife when I do. The last thing I expected was to see Y/n Geto being accosted at the bar by some creep.

I'm distracted when my phone buzzes with a text, coincidentally, from her twin brother.

Suguru: Don't play too hard while you're in Vegas.

Satoru: I can't make any promises.

Evidently, he didn't deem it relevant to tell me Y/n was going to be in Vegas the same week as me.

Suguru and I have remained close since high school, staying connected through calls and texts when he moved to London ten years ago after graduating from culinary school. However, I haven't seen Y/n since the summer after high school. We fell out of touch when she moved away to college, and our paths never crossed over the years.

I slip my phone into my pocket to avoid any more distractions.

"Hello, N/n." Her childhood nickname passes my lips like it was only yesterday when we were hanging out in the backyard of the old Miller house.

"Gojo." She gives me a curt nod but averts her gaze.

Despite her cold greeting, warmth floods my chest at her use of my nickname. It almost makes up for her mask of indifference and her refusal to make eye contact. The Y/n I grew up with was friendly and affectionate. In contrast, this version is distant and guarded.

"Suguru didn't tell me you'd be in Vegas," I say, sliding into the seat on her left, avoiding the chair her unwanted guest just vacated. The creep may think he got away with how he treated Y/n, but he's mistaken.

Y/n finally meets my gaze, fixing me with a scowl. "Do you and my brother make a habit of discussing my whereabouts?"

"No, not usually," I answer with a hint of amusement.

"He told me you're living in London and heading up the European division of Geto International. That's impressive," I commend her.

My conversations with Suguru usually revolve around sports, business, and our one-night stands. His family is a sensitive subject, and he doesn't talk about his parents, or share much with me about Y/n's personal life.

Y/n tugs her lower lip between her teeth, a habit that hints something is bothering her—at least it did when she was younger.

"He exaggerated the truth," she says with a hint of cynicism. "My dad put my step-brothers in charge of the European division when he shifted his focus to global expansion, and I report directly to them." There's bitterness in her tone, but I'm unsure if it's directed at her dad or step-siblings.

"You're a senior executive at an international real estate firm. That's something to be proud of." I rest my arms on the sticky bar counter.

"It's fine, I guess," Y/n replies curtly. "Sukuna and Nanami give me full autonomy, which I appreciate," she adds in a softer tone.

I'm captivated when she picks up her martini, tilting her head back to finish her drink in one gulp. Her impeccably manicured nails are painted crimson red, matching the lipstick stain she's left on the glass.

"My mom says that if someone tells you they're fine, it means they're anything but," I muse, shifting my focus from her mouth back to her eyes.

"That sounds like something Hanako would say," Y/n replies with a faint smile.

She turns her attention away from me as she tries to flag down the bartender. He's preoccupied with two flirtatious women at the other end of the bar, lining up a row of shots in front of them. While Y/n is momentarily distracted, I take the opportunity to observe her more closely.

She's dressed in a pristine ivory suit with a white lace camisole peeking out from under her jacket, complementing her smooth, pale skin. Her h/c hair is tied up into a flawless high ponytail. Her e/c eyes are dull, like the spark inside her has been diminished, and she has a stern expression etched on her face, begging the question, what happened to make her so jaded?

"Is there a reason you're still here?" Y/n's exasperated tone jolts me back to the present. "Don't you have business to attend to or something?" She waves toward the exit, her voice betraying a trace of uncertainty.

"Are you that eager to get rid of me, N/n?" I lean in closer, inhaling the scent of her perfume—a mix of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla.

God, she smells incredible.

I have the compelling desire to close the distance between us and draw her close. But, considering her indifferent reaction to seeing me, I doubt she would appreciate it.

As I look around, I'm aware that every other man in the hotel lobby is watching her, waiting for their chance to approach her. They're shit out of luck because if I have anything to say about it, she'll be leaving with me. I'm certain Suguru would prefer Y/n go with me than stay alone at the hotel bar surrounded by men she doesn't know.

Looking down to regain my composure, I notice she's traded in her Docs for designer bold red heels.

"Of course not." Her voice drips with sarcasm. "What are you doing in Vegas on a Friday night?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" I challenge her.

She tilts her head to examine me, tapping her lips with a red fingernail, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I've heard you're quite the ladies' man and that you travel a lot for work. So I assume you're wrapping up a business trip or here for a weekend of debauchery. From the stories Suguru has shared with me, I'd guess the latter."

I furrow my brow. What the hell has he told her? Sure, I avoid committed relationships like the plague, but that doesn't make me a womanizer.

"Which is it, Gojo?" Y/n taunts me. "And remember, I'm on a first-name basis with your mother, so you should think twice before lying."

I press my lips together to suppress a chuckle. It's nice to see her sassy side shining through the guarded mask she's hiding behind.

"I'm here for both," I admit casually. "Gojo Holdings had an emergency board meeting this afternoon. Tomeo had a conflict in his schedule, so I flew in from London to attend on his behalf."

I leave out the fact that the urgent meeting was to discuss a business deal with her father.

My family owns Gojo Holdings, the largest real estate firm in the country. When my dad retired three years ago, my oldest brother Tomeo stepped in as CEO of Gojo Holdings. He made my other brother Akira Chief Financial Officer, and I was shocked when he named me Chief Operating Officer.

Nine months ago I volunteered to head up the new Gojo Holdings office in London, which means I've spent the majority of my time there. Despite Suguru's hectic travel schedule, we meet up at a bar or club a handful of times a month now that we live in the same city. Coincidentally, I haven't crossed paths with Y/n since I've been there.

"If you're here for business, how does pleasure factor into that equation?" Y/n asks with a raised brow.

I swivel my chair to face her. "I'm an opportunist. I never pass up the chance to sprinkle in a little pleasure." I wink.

Y/n shakes her head with disappointment. "What happened to you, Gojo? I don't recognize this version of you."

She's right. It's apparent that we've both undergone significant changes since high school.

Before my accident I was a confident person. After, I remained unfazed on the outside, putting on a front for my family and friends. In truth, it was a crushing blow every time I was with someone who couldn't see past my physical flaws. First with Suki, followed by a string of unsuccessful first dates during the summer after graduation. Even now it's a hit to my self-esteem whenever a person treats me differently when they get a close look at my face.

I learned early on that I'm not the kind of guy a woman takes home to meet her parents.

From experience, I've learned that most women can't resist elusive men. They abandon their instincts and repulsion when drawn to a charming playboy who has no interest in commitment. My scar works in my favor. It garners sympathy and allows me to portray the detached flirt who will give a woman a night she'll never forget, with no unwanted strings attached.

"I could ask the same thing about you," I fire back. "The Y/n I knew would never be so quick to judge and would have greeted me like an old friend, not like a stranger."

"At least I'm not a Casanova, bragging about my conquests like they're trophies," she retorts sharply, like I've struck a nerve.

Damn, that was harsh, but true.

I'm used to snide remarks about my playboy lifestyle, but it bothers me that Y/n thinks of me that way.

I pick at her abandoned cork coaster, my hands itching for something to do.

"Sorry to disappoint you, N/n, but what you see is what you get. The same can't be said for yourself," I say bluntly.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snaps, her eyes blazing with defiance.

I lean in toward her so only she can hear me. "Where's the optimistic, cheerful girl who viewed the world through rose-tinted glasses I grew up with?"

Ironically, we're both concealing our true selves, just in different ways.

Y/n narrows her gaze at me. "Stop pretending like you know me." I don't miss the hint of sadness in her voice.

I drum my fingers against the bar top, considering my next move.

"You're right, N/n. We're practically strangers," I admit. "But I want to change that if you'll let me."

"What do you mean?" Her voice betrays her curiosity.

"Spend the night with me," I state boldly.

I know Gojo doesn't have any siblings but this is for the plot

[wtfsheikura]

Chapter 1

FOURTEEN YEARS LATER

I SWIRL THE TOOTHPICK IN my cocktail, frowning at the lone green olive floating in the watered-down vodka and vermouth. With a resigned sigh, I pluck the olive from the glass and pop it into my mouth, the briny taste doing little to improve my mood.

I expected to be served a top-shelf liquor and a more generous garnish, considering the exorbitant cost of a drink. But I suppose that's the price you pay for hiding out in a hotel bar on the Strip.

If my father were here, he would demand a refund and bring every bartender and server in the place to tears on his way out the door. He's a ruthless businessman, willing to do whatever it takes to come out on top, even at the expense of those closest to him.

My phone buzzes, interrupting my pity party for one. A small smile tugs at my lips when I see who's calling.

"Hey, Sukuna," I answer.

"Aren't you supposed to be schmoozing with clients right now?" he asks with a hint of amusement.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed? It's past midnight in London," I quip.

He chuckles. "It's the weekend. I just left the club, and was hoping my call would go straight to voicemail so I could leave you a message about how lucky I am that Dick sent you to Vegas instead of me."

My lips curve into a sly grin at his comment. My father's name is F/n, but Sukuna has a bad habit of calling him Dick, especially when he's in one of his moods, which is almost always. It would be a disaster if Sukuna ever slipped up and called him that to his face. Thank god my dad moved back to New York  a few years ago and spends most of his time in the States, so we don't have to see him in person very often.

"My last meeting ended early, so I stopped by the hotel bar for a quick drink." I frown at my unimpressive cocktail. "At least I stuck around until the end. If I remember correctly, you skipped out a full day early the last time my dad sent you to meet with a client."

"What did he expect, sending me to Louisiana during Mardi Gras? My clients wanted to party, and who was I to deny them? I closed the deal, so he has nothing to complain about," he grumbles. "You're the responsible one, which is why he sent you this time."

"That's not true. He would have sent Nanami if he wasn't busy running the European division. I swear he sends me to these things just to torment me." I cringe, knowing there's more truth to that than I care to admit.

Dad walked out on us at the end of my and Suguru's senior year.

It nearly destroyed my mom when, only a month after they finalized their divorce, he announced he married a European socialite with ties to the royal family. Sukuna and Nanami, her two sons, were both in their early twenties. They went to work for my dad and have been with Geto International since.

I had no interest in meeting them at first, but after college, I reluctantly agreed to join the company and had to work with them since I requested to be assigned to the London office. Sakuna and I bonded over our dislike of my dad and became fast friends. Nanami is laser-focused on the business, so we don't spend time together outside of work, but we have a great rapport.

Despite my best efforts, Suguru refuses to have anything to do with our dad and won't meet Sukuna and Nanami, even though he lives in London. As far as he's concerned, they're strangers and should stay that way.

"You should be out partying and getting laid, not spending your last night in Sin City in a stuffy hotel bar, surrounded by balding middle-aged men looking to make the most out of their trip before going back to their wives and kids in the suburbs," Sukuna says.

We may be step-siblings by definition, but he is my closest friend, which means we talk about almost everything.

I glance around the room, surveying the other patrons. Most of them fit his description to a tee—older men with receding hairlines and ill-fitted suits.

"I'm going to have to pass on the partying and getting laid." I take a long sip of my martini. "As soon as I finish my drink, I'm ordering room service and taking a nice, long bath." Given the choice, I much prefer a night of solitude over being in a crowded room with people I have no interest in associating with.

Sukuna lets out an exasperated sigh. "Y/n, it's been two years since you broke things off with Naoya. Isn't it time you started dating again?"

I bristle at his comment. "I have moved on," I state firmly.

I swore off dating the day I caught Naoya, my ex-fiancé, cheating on me with his assistant. It had been a typical Tuesday afternoon until I walked in on them doing it doggy style in Naoya's apartment.

Men are far more trouble than they're worth. My collection of handy rabbit vibrators gets me off more times in a week than Landon did in the whole of our five-year relationship.

I've learned the hard way that getting emotionally attached to someone only leads to heartache, and I don't plan to put myself through that again.

"You're in Las Vegas," Sukuna declares with gusto. "One night of making bad decisions, like getting drunk and having filthy, hot sex with a stranger, can't hurt." I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Haven't you heard the saying, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? This is the perfect opportunity to let loose and have a good time. Then you can return to London and be your boring old self again," he jokes.

"Gee, thanks for the self-esteem boost," I mumble as I take another sip of my drink.

He's not wrong, but his words still sting.

Apparently, the handful of times I've joined him for a night out or met Suguru for dinner doesn't count as a social life. I can see why he finds it unhealthy that, aside from my demanding work schedule, I prefer to spend my limited free time alone.

"Y/n, I care about you and want you to be happy. You deserve to settle down someday and find someone who worships the ground you walk on."

I used to want that, too, but things have changed.

"I don't have any interest in..." My voice trails off when movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I glance up just in time to watch a newcomer enter the bar area. From my vantage point, I can only see his profile, but there's something strangely familiar about him.

The stranger has Snow-white messy undercut hair that falls to his eyes and a chiseled jawline. While everyone else in the hotel bar is dressed in business attire, he's wearing dark-wash jeans, a white long-sleeve dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, and leather loafers. Even without seeing his face, I can sense he's trouble.

He's captured the attention of every woman in the room, their gazes locked on him as if he's the ultimate prize. As for me, I have no interest in him whatsoever.

Then why can't I stop staring?

"Y/n, are you still there?" Sukuna's voice breaks through my trance.

It's a good thing we're not video chatting, or he might notice the blush spreading across my cheeks when I realize I've been checking out a stranger. I'm usually indifferent to men, and this one shouldn't be any different.

"Yeah, I'm here," I reply, keeping my gaze fixed on my drink.

"When are you coming home?" Sukuna asks.

"My flight leaves for London in the morning."

"You could always spend the weekend in Vegas," he persists, like a dog with a bone.

"I'd much rather sleep in my bed tomorrow night."

"Fine," he says with a defeated sigh. "But if you change your mind and need a day to recuperate, let me know."

"I'll see you bright and early on Monday, Sukuna," I tell him.

"Travel safe."

As soon as I hang up, a middle-aged man sits next to me, despite plenty of other seats at the bar. My guess is he was waiting for me to finish my conversation before he approached.

I ignore him in favor of pretending to read an email. The last thing I want is to be pulled into a conversation with someone I'm not interested in talking to. I'm scolding myself for not leaving the bar while I was still talking with Sukuna. I blame the devilishly handsome stranger for distracting me.

"Excuse me." The guy next to me taps me on the shoulder.

I look over and meet his dull brown eyes. Sweat drips down his temples, highlighting his receding hairline. He pulls out a grimy handkerchief from his pinstripe suit, which is too small around the middle, and wipes his brow.

I grimace when he sets the used handkerchief on the counter between us.

"Can I help you?" I ask, trying my best to hide my repulsion.

"I'm Larry. I'd like to buy you a drink." A grin spreads across his face, exposing a poorly done set of veneers, which makes it more unsettling than friendly.

"I appreciate the offer, but I already have one." I lift my glass for emphasis.

"You definitely need something stronger." His nasally voice grates against my ears.

"No, thank you."

"Come on, baby. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to tell you that if beauty were a crime, you'd be serving a life sentence."

I let out a choked noise. "I'm sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but I'm not interested."

Being direct tends to be the most effective approach when turning down someone's advances. It leaves no room for misinterpretation or for leading someone on for the sake of being nice, which never ends well.

Larry's eyes narrow. "Is this how you treat someone who compliments you?"

"It's how I treat men who don't know how to take no for an answer." I grab my purse, ready to hightail it out of here. I'm startled when his meaty hand clamps around my upper arm.

"Sit. Back. Down," he hisses sharply.

"Let me go," I say through gritted teeth. This guy has another thing coming if he thinks I'll comply with his harassment. "I said I'm not interested." I place my hand over his and dig my fingernails into his skin, causing him to loosen his grip.

"Why you little bit—"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence." The deep voice sends a thrill down my spine.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find the stranger I was ogling earlier hovering over my unwanted guest. A sharp exhale passes my lips when I realize he's not a stranger at all—it's Satour Gojo. It's no wonder he felt familiar. He's been my brother's best friend since we were kids, although I haven't seen him in almost fifteen years.

The unwanted sensation of butterflies in my stomach when his eyes soften and he flashes me a smirk before turning his attention back to Larry.

"Leave now, or I'll call security," Satour threatens calmly.

Larry gives him a wary glance, not daring to question his order. He has enough sense to shove his handkerchief in his pocket and scurry out of his chair, and rush toward the exit. His compliance may have something to do with the jagged scar on Satour's face, spanning from his left eyebrow, carving a winding path across his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. The pronounced pinkish color gives him a menacing appearance.

My memory takes me back to after his accident when he expressed how much he hated the scar because it served as a constant reminder that his outward appearance was different from everyone else. It didn't help that Suki, his high school girlfriend, never shied away from complaining about how it looked whenever she got the chance. In my opinion, it's sexy as hell. A reminder of Satour's willingness to help someone in need—consequences be damned.

My hands tremble as Satour gives me a wicked grin. He may be devastatingly handsome, but from what Suguru's told me about him over the years, I was right to think he was dangerous—just not in the conventional sense.

Something tells me he won't be as easy to get rid of as Larry was.

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

[wtfsheikura]

Prologue

"WE SHOULD BREAK UP," SUKI announces on our way out of algebra class.

Her unfeeling declaration shouldn't surprise me since I knew this was inevitable, but I didn't expect her to dump me a few hours before prom.

I stop in the middle of the hallway, not caring that I'm blocking traffic. "Why now?" I ask, tightening my grip on my backpack straps.

She looks down at her pink painted nails, refusing to make eye contact with me.

"Things have been different since the accident. You're different." Translation: Now that your face is fucked up, I can barely stand to look at you. "Graduation is right around the corner, and with me leaving for Kyoto at the beginning of the summer, it only makes sense for us to part ways now." Translation: I want a clean break so I can date someone I'm not embarrassed to be seen with.

Now that I'm no longer the "ruggedly handsome Basketball player," as she so fondly used to call me, she's eager to replace me with someone who won't ruin pictures with a jagged scar marring half his face.

"Satoru, are you listening to me?" She waves her hand in front of me to grab my attention when I don't respond.

"My face may be fucked up but my ears work just fine, Su," I say through gritted teeth.

"What did I say?" she challenges, hands on her hips.

"That you're embarrassed to be seen with me, and you want to date other people. Does that sum it up?" Okay, so those weren't her exact words, but we both know that's what she's thinking.

"You're twisting what I said," she retorts, raising her voice and taking a defensive stance, arms folded tightly across her chest.

The sound of someone snickering catches my attention. That's when I notice the sizable crowd of students lingering in the hall, interested to hear how this argument unfolds.

"You're right. We have grown apart," I say, keeping my voice steady.

Suki's eyes widen in shock at hearing me agree. That's when she notices our audience, causing a sudden shift in her blasé attitude. She gets fidgety and twirls a piece of hair around her finger, shifting from foot to foot.

"What are you saying?" she demands, glancing back at her friends who have joined the group of spectators.

From her reaction, one would assume she's the one being dumped in front of an audience, not the other way around.

"We should break up," I say, echoing her earlier declaration.

"Just like that?" she demands. "You're not even going to try to convince me to change my mind? How could you humiliate me in front of—"

"Cut the theatrics, Suki," Suguru interrupts her rant, standing beside me in a silent show of support. "You said it yourself. It's over. Don't embarrass yourself more than you already have."

He must have been in the crowd watching things play out. We've been best friends since preschool, and he's one of the few people I can count on always to have my back.

"Mind your own business, Suguru," Suki spits out. "This is a private conversation between me and my boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend," I interject. "You were just telling me you wanted to break up, remember?"

"And from where I'm standing, this is as far from private as you can get," Suguru adds. "Now, why don't you and your friends get lost?" He shoos her like a dog.

Suki's cheeks turn bright red when the hallway fills with laughter. "Are you really going to just stand there and let him disrespect me?" she whines.

"Suguru's right. It's best if you leave," I say calmly.

"You'll be sorry," she fumes. "Don't come begging to win me back when you see me with my new prom date tonight. He's a freshman in college," she throws in my face before storming away.

Her entourage hurries after her, and the crowd quickly disperses now that the spectacle is over.

It shouldn't surprise me that she has another date lined up. She would never risk the humiliation of going alone.

"Good riddance," Suguru mumbles under his breath. "Remind me again why you dated her. She is such a diva."

"I don't know." I shrug. "She was nice when we first met. Plus, all the guys on the Basketball team kept saying we'd be good together, so I figured, why not?"

In truth, I can't be with the girl I've always wanted, and Suki was a welcome distraction. She is attractive and popular and made me feel important—until my accident.

"College chicks are going to fucking love your scar. It makes you look badass." Suguru pats me on the back.

"Thanks, man," I say, ready to move on from this topic. "Where's Y/n?" I scan the hall as the group disperses, but she's nowhere to be seen.

Y/n, Suguru's twin sister, tags along most of the time, making her one of my closest friends.

The smug expression on Suguru's face turns serious. "You're not the only one who was stood up for prom. Toji broke things off with Y/n right before eighth period." His voice drips with fury. "He left her crying alone in the school parking lot."

I clench my fists at my side, the urge to kick Toji's ass building inside me. Y/n is the sweetest, most beautiful girl in school, and frankly Toji never deserved her.

"What a scumbag," I spit out in disgust. "He needs to be put in his place." No one disrespects Y/n and gets away with it.

"Get in line," he snickers.

"Where is she now?"

"I'm not sure. She said she wanted to be alone and took off on her bike," Suguru says with a worried frown. "I should skip prom and go look for her. I'm sure Shoko will understand if I have to cancel our date."

I shake my head. "There's no reason for you to spend the night wallowing in misery like the rest of us. Go home and get ready to pick up Shoko. Don't worry, I'll find Y/n." There's only one place she would go if she wanted to be alone without dealing with unwanted visitors.

Except for me, that is.

"Are you sure?" Suguru asks, concern etched on his face.

"Absolutely. We'll make a night of it," I assure him.

If I could convince Y/n to attend prom with me, I'd do it, but knowing her as I do, she'll want to stay as far away from Toji and the dance as possible.

Suguru nudges me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Look, there's Toji now." I glance over to him walking toward the school entrance with his friends. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Suguru questions.

"That it's time for payback?" I smirk, cracking my knuckles as I stalk toward Toji.

Suguru cracks. "You read my mind."

As I pull up to the old Yaga's place, a smile crosses my lips when I spot Y/n's robin-blue bike parked against the house. The place has been abandoned for over twenty years, but it's become the hangout spot for my siblings and friends. N/n, in particular, has taken a liking to it and comes here when she needs peace and quiet.

I make my way through the overgrown lawn to the backyard, where I find Y/n. She's stretched out on a flannel blanket, her sanctuary under the shade of the giant oak tree, lost in a book. Her h/c hair falls in waves down her back, a sight that always takes my breath away. I smile when I see she's wearing her favorite pair of Doc Martens.

Seeing her like this takes me back to the day in our tenth-grade English class when she came in wearing a white V-neck top, light-wash jeans, and those same Docs. Even though we've known each other our whole lives, that was the first time I saw her in a new light and I swear my heart skipped a beat when she waved at me with her signature megawatt smile. I couldn't take my eyes off her during class.

When the bell rang, Suguru grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out into the hall, shoving me against the closest set of lockers. He noticed me watching Y/n and warned me she was off-limits.

I couldn't jeopardize our friendship because of a crush on his sister, so I did my best to suppress my feelings for Y/n. It wasn't easy. Something about her called to me, and it kept drawing me in like a gravitational pull, despite my best efforts.

Like she can sense that I'm thinking about her, she looks up at me with tear-stained cheeks as I approach. My chest tightens at seeing her sad. I would do anything to take away her pain and bring a smile to her face.

"Mind if I join you? I brought dinner." I hold up a bag of takeout from Maidreamin Café—Her favorite Store in Shibuya.

"Did Suguru send you?" She eyes the food warily.

"No. He told me what happened with Toji, and I figured this is where you'd be," I answer truthfully.

Without waiting for an invitation, I sit on the blanket and set the bag in front of me. Y/n watches with interest as I take out two bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and a chocolate shake topped with extra whipped cream and a cherry—all her favorites.

"Why come if you knew I wanted to be alone?" There's a hint of sass in her voice.

She's not afraid to go head-to-head with me and doesn't hesitate to set me straight when I'm out of line.

"My mom always says chocolate is the best cure for a broken heart." I hold out the shake, a smile tugging at my lips when she takes it.

"She's absolutely right." Y/n grins as she takes a sip. "Want to tell me why you're here with me instead of at prom?"

"Suki dumped me after school," I state flatly.

"Oh, Satoru, I'm sorry." Y/n places her hand on my arm. "I hate that bitch," she says with conviction.

Her touch sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and it takes every ounce of willpower to maintain a poker face. She has no idea how I really feel about her, and it has to stay that way.

A few weeks after Suguru told me Y/n was off-limits, Suki showed interest in me, and I threw all my energy into our budding relationship. She was the perfect distraction, helping me temporarily forget about my attraction to Y/n, those feelings simmering below the surface.

"It's for the best." I shrug, reaching across Y/n to grab a fry.

"Oh my god, Gojo," she gasps when she spots the swollen knuckles on my left hand.

"What happened?"

I grin at her use of my last name. She's called me that since ninth grade when I started playing Basketball. Gojo was stitched across the back of my jersey, and the nickname stuck. Y/n has always resented that Y/n calls me that, but I couldn't care less what she thinks now.

I like it when Y/n uses it. I love it.

"Tell me what you did," she presses when I don't answer her question right away.

"Toji Zenin said something that pissed me off, so I punched him in the face," I tell her with a grin.

She gasps, her eyes wide with shock. "Oh, Satour, please don't tell me you did it because of me."

"Do you want me to lie?"

She shakes her head. "I want the truth."

"I did it because he hurt you," I confess simply. "He deserved it." When he called Y/n a frigid bitch after Suguru and I confronted him for dumping her, I let my temper take over. I have zero regrets.

"You shouldn't have done that," she scolds me, a worried look on her face. "What if he had hit you back? You could have been hurt."

I laugh, pointing to the scar on my face. "As long as he aimed for the left side, we wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"That's not funny, Satour." Y/n scolds me. "Toji was provoking you. His dad is the president of the school board, you know this. What if you get suspended?"

God, her protective side is so adorable.

I've been sent to the office so often that I'm on a first-name basis with the principal. I have a habit of letting my fists do the talking when someone is being a bully and am late more often than not. One more offense won't make a difference.

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter anyway. Graduation is only a month away, and I don't think I want to go to college. Not that I've had the courage to break the news to my parents yet.

"It was worth it," I promise Y/n. "Now eat before the food gets cold."

"You don't have to tell me twice." She grabs a burger and unwraps it before taking a large bite. A subtle moan escapes her lips as she chews.

"Good?"

"Mm-hmm," she acknowledges around her mouthful of food.

I'm entranced as I watch juice dribble down her chin. Without thinking, I gently wipe it away with my finger, freezing when I realize what I've done.

"Sorry," I say as I yank my hand back.

Her e/c eyes meet mine as she traces her mouth where my finger grazed.

"Don't be." She offers me a reassuring smile. "You know I'm a messy eater, so I appreciate it."

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm happy I could help." I brush the sauce off on a napkin before I do something out of line like lick it from my finger.

Thankfully, Y/n isn't paying attention. She's chewing methodically, lost in thought. "Why are boys so stupid?" she mumbles under her breath.

"I could ask the same question about girls," I tease.

"Hey." She playfully slugs me on the shoulder. "We're not all self-absorbed snobs like Suki. Honestly, I'm not sure what you ever saw in her."

She was a distraction.

What stings the most about what happened with Suki is the fear that other people will react the same to my scar. I used to be comfortable in my own skin, but since the accident, I'm not so sure anymore.

"Hey, Gojo," Y/n says, her sing-song voice snapping me out of my pity party.

"Yeah, N/n," I reply.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly.

"Is it weird that I do?" She watches me, anticipating my reaction. "I like to think there's one person out there that I'll grow old with and who will love me unconditionally, no matter what." She chews on her lower lip as she considers her next words. "What if I'm destined to date losers for the rest of my life?"

Y/n is a dreamer who sees the world with a glass-half-full mentality. Which is why I don't have it in me to tell her that Toji most likely won't be the last man who breaks her heart.

Relationships are messy and tangled up with so many emotions, and I, for one, plan to avoid them in the future. They're nothing but complicated, inevitably leading to pain. Why anyone would want to subject themselves to that brutality is beyond me.

"N/n, you're only seventeen," I remind her. "You've got plenty of time to find your one."

"But what if he never comes?" She leans back, looking up at me with those innocent e/c eyes.

God, why does she have to be so pretty?

"I'll tell you what." I give in to temptation and play with a strand of her hair. "If you can't find him, and we're both still single when we're thirty, we'll get married."

Y/n bursts out laughing. "You can't be serious."

I've never been more serious in my life.

In an alternate universe, I like to think that I could be her one. The person to make her laugh every day, her Prince Charming, and the one she couldn't live without.

In this reality, I'm just the court jester she tolerates because of my sense of humor and upbeat attitude. I'm not the prince who sweeps her off her feet, or the knight in shining armor she rides off into the sunset with.

"I may not be your first choice, but I promise you I'd be an excellent substitute," I tease.

Y/n raises a brow in a silent challenge. "Oh, really?"

"Absolutely. I would make you laugh every day, make sure you had an endless supply of takeout from Maidreamin Café, and build you a dedicated room for your shoe collection."

She bats her eyelashes. "How could I ever refuse such an offer?"

"Do you have a pen in your backpack?"

An idea strikes me, and I decide to run with it, fully committed to this ludicrous, yet oddly inevitable agreement.

"Yeah, sure." She nods, grabbing her bag from the other side of the blanket. She pulls out a black ballpoint pen and hands it to me.

"Thanks." I take a napkin from the pile that came with our food order, set it on the discarded fry box, and hunch over to write.

"What are you doing?" Y/n cranes her neck to get a better view.

"You'll see." I cover the napkin with my hand so she can't see what I'm writing.

Midway through, I look up to find her gaze locked on mine. It's as if time stands still and we're the only two people in the universe sharing a connection deeper than words. A silent agreement, connecting us in the moment.

She's the first to look away, and I quickly return my attention to the note.

"There, that should do it," I announce triumphantly when I've finished.

"I don't know if a napkin would hold up in court." Y/n giggles when I hold it out for her to read.

Satour Gojo & Y/n Geto promise to marry each other if they're both single when they turn thirty. This agreement is legally binding.

"Well, we better sign it then." I scribble my name at the bottom and pass it to her along with the pen.

She uses her book as a hard surface beneath the napkin, sticking the tip of her tongue out in concentration as she signs her name neatly next to mine. I'm mesmerized by the details of her heart-shaped face, the smattering of freckles across her nose, her long eyelashes still damp with tears.

What was Toji thinking, letting her go? She's so damn beautiful.

And off-limits, I remind myself. Suguru has made that crystal clear.

"There, all done," Y/n declares with her signature smile.

Someday a lucky son of a bitch will give Y/n everything she deserves—but it won't be me. The consolation prize is knowing that I did something today to ease her heartache, even if just a little, and her smile makes it well worth the effort.

[wtfsheikura]

Playlist

Marry You - Bruno Mars

Make You Mine - Madison Beer

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - Ariana Grande

Dear Future Husband - Meghan Trainor

Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

Until I Found You - Stephen Sanchez

Love Of My Life - Harry Styles

i like the way you kiss me - Artemas

Can't Help Falling in Love - Haley Reinhart

All of Me - John Legend

Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

Unconditionally - Katy Perry

Wanted - Hunter Hayes

I Guess I'm In Love - Clinton Kane

Surround You - Echosmith

[wtfsheikura]

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 || 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐗 𝐅. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

﹥:ꔫ:+ﾟPlaylist

﹥:ꔫ:+ﾟ Prologue

﹥:ꔫ:+ﾟChapter 1