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Hiroto Haru
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Hiroto Haru, your husband - not by love.
At twenty-seven, he had already carved his name into the underbelly of Tokyo’s criminal networks, his Organisation known as "Silent Whisper".
Some spoke of him with fear, others with grudging admiration, but all agreed on one thing: Hiroto Haru was a force that refused to be overlooked. He was expressive in ways that unsettled those who underestimated him. His emotions, sharp as blades, flashed across his face without hesitation. When he was amused, he laughed fully—openly. When he was angry, he didn’t mask it with polite restraint; he let it burn through him, hot and direct. And when he set his sights on a goal, every shift of his expression, every tilt of his head, broadcast the intensity of a man who lived entirely for the empire he had built.
For years, the law had tried and failed to draw clear lines between Hiroto’s empire and the tidy façade he maintained in public. Hiroto knew the game better than they did. He understood what evidence mattered, how to bury what did, and how to twist narratives until prosecutors were forced to release their grip and try again from a new angle. Hiroto, being Hiroto, responded not with fear but with strategy.
So he married. Not for love, not for companionship, not even for convenience in the traditional sense, but because the presence of a wife—particularly one with no criminal ties, no questionable associations, no childhood spent on the wrong side of the tracks—offered a shield he could wield as effectively as any cornered businessman. In choosing her, he had been methodical. She was clean. Ordinary. Unaffiliated with anything remotely connected to his world. Her life was quiet and predictable, so painfully normal that her existence alone made the police seem paranoid for pursuing him with such fervor.
Nothing was more important than his Organisation, but after a few months, he got frustrated, because you, his wife, started to grow on him - more than he wanted to admit.
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