3. Ena
THREE
Ena
W hat an infuriating, stupid American! I think as I weave flowers into Yua’s hair. Stupid, stupid American.
He doesn’t deserve a second of my thoughts. He was cocky, full of himself, and had the audacity to ask for a kiss.
Then why are you imagining yourself kissing him?
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and Yua hisses as I accidentally pull too hard on her braid.
“Ena, be careful!”
“Sorry, Miss Yua.”
“Are we done yet? I was supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago! Why are you so slow?”
You’d be on time if you hadn’t changed your mind five times in the past two hours, I think bitterly. Instead, I bow my head slightly and reply, “I’m sorry, miss. We’ll be done in just a few more minutes.”
Stupid American, with his infuriating grin and… alluring eyes. Warmth spreads in my chest, unbidden, and I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress it.
What is this strange feeling? The way he makes me imagine that getting lost in some stranger’s arms wouldn’t be such a terrible thing?
For the first time in forever, I understand—just a little—what my mother meant when she explained her choices. I’d often asked why she stayed here and why she built a life with my father after knowing him for only a few weeks. She’d told me that the decision was made the moment my father said hello.
“Here, all set.” I smile at Yua in the mirror. “You’re beautiful.” And I mean it. Yua is beautiful—too bad her attitude ruins it.
She stands, inspecting herself with a practiced air. “I know.”
There it is.
She walks to the door, her silk robe billowing slightly behind her. “Come with me.”
I stiffen. There’s absolutely no way I want to be in the same room as a group of high-ranking yakuza and keep the disgust off my face.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, miss,” I say cautiously. “You’re about to meet your future husband and?—”
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion, Ena.” Her tone is sharp, cutting. “You will come with me. It’s good to have a chaperone, and showing that I have a full-time lady’s maid will make it clear to Takashi Nishimura what I expect to have in California.”
I sigh but nod, resigned. I don’t have a choice, and part of me feels a small twinge of jealousy. Not at her marrying yakuza—no, I pity her for that. But I envy her escape, her chance to leave and go to the so-called land of freedom. Even if, for her, it won’t mean much freedom at all. She’s just trading one gilded cage for another. I don’t think she truly cares.
We descend the stairs, Yua leading the way until her mother greets us at the bottom.
“Daughter, you are beautiful,” Mrs. Okuda says warmly.
Yua nods, her hands clasped in front of her, already playing the role of the demure debutante instead of the demanding tyrant she usually is.
We enter the room, and the low murmur of conversation ceases.
“Ah, here she is,” Yua’s father announces. “Takashi, please meet my daughter, Yua.”
“Nice to meet you, Yua.”
My heart leaps in my chest, and my head snaps up sharply.
I know that voice.
And there he is—the stupid American from earlier. Of course he’s not a guard. No, he’s the heir of the yakuza in the United States.
But his eyes aren’t on Yua as he speaks. They’re on me.
I know I should look away and school my expression, but I can’t help the sharp pang of longing that surges through me.
Stop it! This will never happen—not now, not ever. A man, in general, is already a terrible idea, especially when I have my own plans to leave. A yakuza is worse. But the head of them all? Absolutely not.
As if he’d ever want a lowlife like me, anyway.
Still, I can’t stop grieving the strange connection that flared for those brief, impossible seconds.
“And who do we have here?”
His deep voice cuts through the silence, and all eyes turn toward me.
Shit.
I bow my head quickly, almost curtsying out of sheer nerves.
“Oh, she’s no one,” Yua says dismissively, waving a hand as if brushing me away. “Just the lady’s maid.”
“Are you actually not going to answer my question?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm.
I glance up, startled, and catch the faint glint of amusement in his eyes. He’s baiting her.
“N-no, of course not!” Yua stammers, clearly flustered. I can’t lie—seeing her unravel is oddly satisfying.
“This is Ena,” Mrs. Okuda interjects, her voice tight and clipped. “Our daughter’s lady’s maid. Half-breed.”
The words land like a slap, but I keep my face carefully neutral, throwing a quick side glance at her before dropping my gaze again. There’s no point in reacting—it only gives them what they want.
“Well,” Mr. Okuda says, eager to steer the conversation back to his agenda. “Maybe you’d like to spend some time with Yua and get to know her better.”
A strange pinch of jealousy twists in my chest at his suggestion, and I immediately shove it aside. Ridiculous.
“Will there be a chaperone?” Takashi asks smoothly, his gaze flicking toward me with calculated ease. “This needs to be proper. Let’s take the lady’s maid.”
I glance at him from under my lashes, my glare sharp enough to cut, but he’s already ignoring me, his attention purposefully elsewhere.
“Yes, that’s an excellent idea,” Mrs. Okuda agrees, a brittle smile stretching across her lips. “Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll fetch some tea. Yua will serve it.”
Ah, the first step toward becoming the perfect wife—demonstrating her tea-pouring skills. I have to press my lips together to stop the smile threatening to break free. Yua, serving anyone, will be a memory I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.
The fathers leave with Mrs. Okuda, and Takashi gestures for Yua to sit. As soon as she settles into her seat, I quietly move to the corner behind her, ready to do my own mental commentary about the absurd exchange to come. But instead of sitting beside her, as I expected, Takashi takes the chair across from her—directly in my line of vision.
I look up, and when I meet his gaze and catch the faintly snarky smile tugging at his lips, I narrow my eyes at him. His smile widens, full of mischief.
“So, tell me, Ms. Okuda—what do you enjoy doing?” His voice is polite, but there’s a deliberate edge to his tone.
“Please, call me Yua, Takashi,” she says, her tone soft, polished, and sweet.
He straightens in his chair. “I’d rather we stay formal for now, if you don’t mind.”
Okay. I didn’t see that one coming.
“Ah, well, yes, of course,” Yua stammers, her composure faltering for just a moment.
I can’t even imagine how much she must be boiling inside. Yua isn’t one to be disregarded or told off like that, not even politely.
Takashi leans back in his chair, crossing his legs as he waits for her to answer. His patience only seems to rattle her further.
“I love to read and study languages,” she says finally, her tone overly sweet again. “I am also keen on learning how to cook and take care of my home and my husband.”
“Is that right?” Takashi replies, raising a brow. His words are neutral, but I swear I hear a hint of skepticism.
God, she’s full of shit.
For the next thirty minutes, I endure Yua’s cloying sweetness and Takashi’s polite disinterest. It’s a performance, both of them playing their parts.
But he glances at me often, and each time, I feel it. His gaze is too intense, his smile too knowing. A man like that isn’t just trouble—he is the kind of trouble that leaves scars.
When he finally stands and excuses himself, I feel a strange, inexplicable loss as he strides from the room.
As soon as the door closes, Yua’s demure act shatters. “How dare he look at me like I’m barely an option!” she fumes. “He’s not even that good-looking.”
Oh, Yua. You have no idea how wrong you are.
That man isn’t just good-looking—he’s more than that. He’s the kind of handsome that makes your breath hitch before you can stop yourself. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and a face that looks like it was carved in stone, all strength and precision. His dark eyes are intelligent, but there’s something predatory lurking in them like he sees everything and is just deciding whether it’s worth his attention. His black hair is neatly styled, but there’s a subtle disobedience to it, a strand or two rebelliously slipping loose.
And then there’s the way he moves—graceful, confident, like he owns the room just by standing in it. Even when he’s perfectly polite, there’s a quiet intensity to him, a silent power that demands you notice.
I hate to admit it, but Yua doesn’t stand a chance. That man wouldn’t waste a second on her. And even worse, I’m starting to worry he did waste a second on me.
“Can you believe it?” Yua’s voice cuts through my thoughts, shrill with indignation. “He didn’t even sit beside me! And then to walk out like that—it’s so rude!”
“Terribly rude,” I murmur, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
Yua narrows her eyes at me but is too caught up in her own tantrum to respond. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and storms toward the door, muttering about needing to “Fix everything” before tomorrow night. I stand there for a moment, the corners of my mouth twitching as I watch her leave.
Because as much as I hate to admit it, this was the first time I’d seen Yua completely undone—and Takashi Nishimura had accomplished it in less than an hour.
Later, as I leave the estate, a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.
“Ena, funny meeting you here.”
I whirl around to find Takashi leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets and a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Do you enjoy doing that?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Doing what?” His brow arches, amused.
“Startling people!” I snap, then realize who I’m talking to. My stomach drops, and I quickly bow my head. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Oh no, no. Please.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Call me Taka.”
I gape at him, stunned. “I would not do such a thing!”
His smirk deepens. “And why not?”
“Because…” I glance around nervously, lowering my voice. “You’re about to get married. That’s why!”
He straightens, his gaze steady. “Says who?”
I blink. “Your father. Your family. The entire arrangement you just agreed to.”
He steps closer, not enough to invade my space but enough to make my pulse quicken. “I don’t recall agreeing to anything. In fact…” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “I think my father would be very disappointed if he knew I’d already found someone far more interesting.”
My cheeks flush. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“And why not?” His tone is playful, teasing.
“Because it’s inappropriate,” I snap. “You’re a Nishimura. You have responsibilities.”
“And you’re Ena,” he counters, his voice soft but deliberate. “You’re far too quick to dismiss yourself.”
I blink, his words catching me off guard. Before I can respond, he tilts his head, his smirk returning. “Now, how about a kiss?”
I freeze, staring at him in disbelief. “A kiss?” I manage, my voice a mix of indignation and something I can’t quite name. “Are you mad?”
His grin widens. “Not at all.”
“You’re about to get married!” I hiss, lowering my voice again, though the words come out sharper than I intended. “And I’m your future bride’s maid ! You think I’d just?—”
“Says who?” he interrupts smoothly, his tone playful but his eyes locked on mine, his amusement unwavering.
My mouth opens, but no words come out. He chuckles softly at my silence, stepping back with a casual shrug. “Relax, Ena. I’m only teasing… unless you’re interested.” His grin turns wicked, and I resist the urge to throw something at him.
“Goodnight, Takashi-sama,” I say firmly, spinning on my heel and marching down the path.
Behind me, I hear his quiet laugh, warm and rich in the cool night air. “Goodnight, Ena. I will see you very soon.”