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I have you in my veins, a venom that’s sweet
How heavy is this cross that I’m dragging for you!
I want you; I think of you, I’m calling you
I see you; I sense you; I dream of you.
“Nanin, hurry up. We wouldn’t want to be late.”
Utahime checked her makeup for the fifth time in the bedroom mirror but the longer she looked, the more she picked on inexistent imperfections. Her lipstick seemed too uneven, one wing of her eyeliner sharper than the other and so on. She was out of makeup remover wipes anyway, so there was no fixing it now.
She knew it was probably fine, but she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. Even if he downplayed it, this felt like an important occasion for him and she wanted to look her best by his side. She owed him that much, at least.
Behind her, Nanami was trying to choose the perfect tie. The mirror reflected him with his shirt half-buttoned and two ties in hand, casting her an uncertain look.
“Yellow or gray?”
“Gray,” she answered without hesitation. She hated that yellow tie.
Utahime stepped back toward him, reaching out to button his shirt all the way up to the collar. Her fingertips brushed lightly against his chest; skin still warm after the hot shower he’d just taken.
“But I like the yellow one,” he said, disappointed by her choice.
Utahime laughed, amused. “Why ask for my opinion then?”
Defeated, Nanami just grunted. She took the gray one, tossed the yellow one aside, and rose on her toes to loop it around his neck, carefully knotting it as best as she could. When she finished, she asked him to extend his arms so she could fasten the buttons at his wrists.
She stepped back and gave him a once-over. His pants and shirt were perfectly ironed and tailored to his frame. Freshly shaved, smelling of cologne and aftershave, hair slicked back in a style that was simple but elegant—he looked flawless. Almost like a model.
Nanami was, without a doubt, a man of classic beauty and elegance. If it weren’t for his name, no one would’ve guessed he had Asian roots, his hair was too light, his eyes greener than sea glass. Utahime smiled faintly at the sight of him, approving his outfit. Just a slight adjustment to the knot, and it would be perfect. The perfect outfit for the perfect man with the perfect wife.
Except… that the perfect man had very dark circles under his eyes, a byproduct of so many late nights reviewing deliverables on tight deadlines and hopping onto Teams meetings at odd hours to accommodate multiple time zones. These past six months had been the roughest of their married life. She couldn’t remember him working so hard since their early days as a couple.
And the perfect wife hadn’t had it easy either. But her reasons were far more private than his. Her sleepless nights had a name and a face.
“You clean up well,” she teased, shaking off the dark thoughts as she leaned in to straighten his tie one last time
Nanami hummed in response, grabbing her by the waist. “Nothing compared to you.”
Utahime laughed softly and gave him an affectionate nudge, breaking his embrace to head for the closet. She had to find her shoes; they were running late.
“I’m glad your mom could take care of Satoru tonight,” she said, finding the stilettos she’d been searching for and stepping into one while hopping to slip on the other. “I just hope they don’t go overboard with the sweets.”
Nanami nodded, eyes still on his reflection as he checked his buttons again.
“She was happy to. Said it’s good for them to spend more time with him.”
Shoes on, Utahime returned to the mirror. She handed Nanami his glasses, then picked up her favorite perfume. Dabbing it on her neck and behind her ears, she took a breath, savoring the familiar scent; vanilla, with a hint of cherry.
She glanced at her reflection one last time. She’d lost a bit of weight in the past few months, and although the dress was maybe a little more revealing than her usual choice, she was satisfied.
Nanami came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, placing his hands gently on her hips. His touch was warm. Utahime leaned her head on his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss just below her ear.
A shiver ran down her spine.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “No one would ever guess you have a child.”
She looked at their reflection in the mirror. They looked good together—the perfect couple. A million-dollar marriage, her friends would say. But what they didn’t know was that she and Nanami hadn’t made love in months.
She couldn’t, not after what happened. The weight of guilt was too much.
Still, she found comfort in these small, tender moments. In affection, familiarity. She hoped that, with time, things might return to normal. Back to where they left off.
In the meantime, Nanami never pushed beyond what she allowed. He never asked for more than she could give, and though it hurt her to know that she was hurting him, a part of her was grateful.
She just needed time to forget and forgive herself. Then, she could give him all the love and attention he truly deserved, just like the old times.
She checked the time on her phone. The party. It was late. She elbowed him and he stepped back, giving her the space to adjust her hair, which had loosened slightly from its bun.
While they waited for the elevator to take them to the parking garage, Utahime realized she wasn’t entirely sure who was hosting the party they were headed to. He had mentioned that he honestly hadn’t been expecting an invitation but she hadn’t paid much attention at the time. She’d been too distracted. Their son had been in the middle of one of his nightly bursts of hyperactivity, and getting him to bathe and go to bed had been a battle.
All she remembered from that conversation was something along the lines of “It’s a party to announce successful merger of two sportswear related companies, the project we’ve been working on” which, in Nanami's language, meant: It’s important, we can’t miss it.
“So, whose party is this again?” she asked as she buckled her seatbelt and Nanami shifted into first gear, pulling out of the parking garage.
“One of our clients. Remember that sportswear business I mentioned?”
Utahime nodded as she scrolled through her music library, looking for a song. “The Asian one?”
“Japanese, actually. One of the main shareholders of the acquiring company is a wealthy Japanese family. They’ll be throwing a party to announce the merger and their landing into European market, and our team was invited.”
A familiar Beatles song began to play through the speakers.
“A wealthy Japanese family?” she repeated, trying to remember if he’d mentioned that in passing. The last few months were a blur… Nanami, who had begun to hum along to the melody, paused to reply.
“Yeah, the Gojo family. For me is just a work event, you might get bored. But I couldn’t really turn this down, Utahime.”
She couldn’t believe it.
The information hit her so suddenly, so violently, she couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought, much less a response. She simply stared at him, unblinking, while Paul McCartney sang to a woman that he would never harm her and asked her to believe him.
It had to be a cruel joke.
If there was a god, then this was her punishment for being an adulterous, cowardly woman. For not having the courage to come clean to her husband the moment she stepped foot in their home after what had happened in Japan. For not begging for forgiveness, as she should have done.
Utahime couldn’t believe it.
Of all the people.
Of all the countries.
Why did her past insist on chasing her into the present?
“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice broke through the fog. She forced herself to reply.
“The… Gojo family?”
“Yes. Their main business was real estate, but since the heir took over, they’ve been expanding aggressively, especially into Europe through sport-related ventures.”
“I see…”
“Did you know the man used to be a tennis player?”
Utahime didn’t answer. Of course she knew.
On the background, Paul and John sang about falling in love and needing help to understand what it really meant.
Utahime was so out of sorts she barely realized they had arrived at the hotel where the reception would take place. It wasn’t until Nanami touched her shoulder that she noticed him staring at her, and remembered she had to unbuckle her seatbelt and step out of the car.
The hotel was one of those exclusive places around the city, and for a moment, Utahime felt relieved about her choice of dress and shoes. This wasn’t the kind of venue where you wanted to stand out for the wrong reasons.
While Nanami had made it sound just like a work-related boring gathering, she couldn’t help but notice that the party was anything but small. It seemed like the official launch of their mark into the market. Internally, she slapped herself.
The event had been organized by the Gojo family, Gojo himself, maybe, or both. With their money and influence, of course it was going to be the event. Had she been living in a bubble? How could she not have known about this? Maybe Shoko was right and she did need to pay more attention to her social media. That’s where all the gossip was.
For a moment, she considered calling her, just to let her know. Maybe hearing her voice would ground her, help dissolve the tension clawing at her throat. But then she stopped herself. She couldn’t call Shoko, because if she did, she would have to end up confessing everything to her and she wasn’t ready for that. Not because she would be judged -Shoko was incapable of that-, but because Utahime was ashamed. Deeply. She didn’t want her oldest friend to know the kind of woman she had become in just a couple of months.
Besides, Shoko was probably sleeping. The time difference didn’t help. No. She’d have to face whatever happened tonight alone.
As they made their way inside, Utahime tried to breathe slowly and evenly. She focused on the little things to stay grounded: the weight of her designer clutch, the click of her heels on the polished floor. Still, everything felt distant, muffled, as though she were walking with her head submerged underwater.
She couldn’t stop thinking that the man from her nightmares would be here tonight.
Satoru Gojo.
He had to be there. There was no way this was just a coincidence. He’d promised to leave her alone, but clearly, that promise had meant nothing. Like all of his promises.
Was she too self-centered to think he had planned all of this just to rattle her? Yes, maybe. But she knew him. He liked showing off. These kinds of gestures were exactly what Satoru Gojo did when he wanted to get under someone’s skin. Be a bastard for most of their time together, disappear for over ten years, return to wreck her life in a single night, then vanish again only to reappear like some Gatsby figure, throwing a party to catch her attention?
Yes. That sounded just like him.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side as rage was beginning to override the fear and shock.
Nanami offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitation, gripping tighter than she meant to. He looked over at her, concerned, but she forced a small smile and murmured something vague to reassure him, stroking his forearm.
“I don’t like these events either,” he said. “Just enjoy the food and smile if you jump into Taylor or Andrews and they start talking about politics.”
That almost made her laugh. For someone so brilliant and passionate at what he did, she often forgot how much he secretly loathed the corporate chattering and the insufferable behavior of some of his superiors.
A waiter approached and offered them champagne. Nanami accepted a glass and Utahime declined with a gentle shake of her head. Her mouth was dry, but she couldn’t bring herself to drink. She was already too nervous; alcohol would only make it worse.
Her eyes scanned the crowd like an animal trapped in a paradox. She didn’t want to see him but at the same time, she wanted to.
Damn him.
Would he dare to approach her tonight? Well, she wouldn’t put it past him and in that case, she’d give him hell, even if it meant making a scene. She wasn’t going to let him destroy her life a second time around.
Her hand tightened on Nanami’s arm again, and he leaned in slightly.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
Utahime shook her head.
“No. I’m just thirsty. I need to drink water.”
Her voice came surprisingly steady and calm, a far cry of her inner turmoil. Nanami, unused to her choosing water instead of alcohol, frowned slightly but then offered her that shy smile he saved just for her. “We’ll only stay a couple of hours.”
She nodded. A lie, probably, but a comforting one.
Utahime wanted to stay where they were for a little longer, watching the gathering unfold from the sidelines. To see and not be seen. But of course, that was impossible.
Soon, someone recognized Nanami and called his name over the soft hum of conversation. He turned and saw a group of colleagues waving him over. With gentle ease, he laced his fingers through hers and began to guide them across the room.
Utahime squeezed his hand and followed close behind, her eyes sweeping the crowd until she spotted him. The man himself. And he was staring at her.
She had tried to avoid him all she could, but the encounter was inevitable.
Nanami was mid-conversation, discussing something work-related with a colleague she also knew, when one of the senior partners approached them, with Gojo beside him.
The moment she saw him, all her resolve crumbled.
She stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. And in the span of two heartbeats, he was there. Standing before her in all his annoying charm and elegance, just as tall and impossibly handsome as she remembered.
Utahime swallowed hard. What would Gojo do? How would he behave? Would he expose her? She couldn’t let that happen, she had to stop him, do something, anything to keep him from putting her in a compromising position with her husband in front of everyone.
But apparently, Gojo had no intention of acknowledging her at all. His gaze slid past her and landed directly on Nanami.
“Kento Nanami,” he greeted, extending a hand with that unmistakable, effortless arrogance. “It’s good to finally meet the man behind the reports.”
Nanami turned, mildly surprised, but polite and professional as always. “A pleasure, Mr. Gojo.”
They shook hands. Gojo smiled.
Utahime stood frozen beside her husband. Her worst nightmare was taking form right in front of her. Every muscle in her body was tight; her heart pounded so violently she was sure someone would hear it. Her fingers curled tightly around her clutch as Gojo finally turned to her and smiled.
An innocuous smile. As if she were just a stranger.
Why did her husband know Gojo? Had they talked about her? Gojo couldn’t be trusted. He was a selfish bastard who only ever wanted to destroy her life and—
“This is my wife, Utahime,” Nanami said, oblivious to the tension unfolding before him.
Gojo extended his hand to her.
When she took it, the contact was like a jolt, hot and electric. His blue gaze locked onto hers and Utahime felt like she might pass out.
Why was life punishing her like this? Did she truly deserve it? All she had ever wanted was to be a good at her job, a good wife, a good mother. Had she failed so completely? Why, of all people, did he feel the need to reappear now? Why couldn’t he just let her go?
Meanwhile, Gojo still hadn’t release her hand. It was on purpose, she panicked. He had to realize the handshake had gone on too long. She tilted her head toward him slightly, trying to signal her discomfort, trying to make him stop. What the hell was he doing? Did he really want to make a scene? Couldn’t he just leave her alone and disappear again?
This was torture, and the night had barely begun.
“Gojo Satoru,” he said smoothly. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Finally, he released her hand, but not without deliberately brushing the tips of her fingers with his, a silent, shameless touch laced with intent. The greeting sounded harmless. Polite, even. Her stomach twisted at the sight of his soft, disarming smile and her heart thudded like a war drum against her ribs.
Nanami apparently didn’t notice the way his hand lingered and his fingers nearly intertwined with hers.
Why would he? What was there to notice? As far as he knew, it was the first time two perfectly strangers crossed paths. He wouldn’t believe she could know someone like Gojo from her past, right? She was a middle-class woman who had earned a scholarship to a prestigious university, who worked hard and stayed grounded all her life. Not the kind of woman who would ever catch the attention of someone like Satoru Gojo. They simply didn’t belong to the same social circles.
If only he knew what those very hands and fingers had done to her in a hotel room just six months ago.
“The pleasure’s mine,” she replied, barely managing the words come out from her mouth.
Gojo leaned in, ever so slightly, and said to Nanami with a hint of conspiratorial charm, “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Nanami.”
His gaze flicked to her. “You two make a lovely couple.”
Nanami rested a hand gently on her waist.
“Thank you.”
The senior partner stepped in, motioning for Gojo to follow him, he wanted to introduce him to more guests and for the first time that evening, Utahime felt it was safe to breathe. She had survived it. The first deathmatch of the night and somehow, she’d won.
As Nanami turned slightly, Gojo laid a hand on his shoulder in passing. It could have been innocent, a casual gesture of camaraderie, the kind of physical ease men like Gojo, born into wealth and natural charm, had mastered.
“Take care of her,” Gojo said lightly as he passed. “It’s hard to find a good woman nowadays.”
She should have known better. Gojo never had let her have the last word. This was his party. His territory, he could do whatever he wanted. Utahime should have known better. Of course it wasn’t an innocent touch, it had to come with some backhanded comment.
A faint blush covered her cheeks and neck and she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole, drag her straight into hell with no chance of return. He wanted her dead and buried, for sure.
Why say that? What kind of normal person says something like that to a man he just met? Was he trying to be obvious? Was this his twisted idea of a game?
Nanami’s hand on her waist tightened as he raised his champagne glass at him. “I’ll do my best.”
Gojo glanced at her one last time, those blue eyes burning straight through her. “Enjoy the evening,” he said with a tight smile and then he disappeared back into the crowd, like a ghost dressed in Dior.
That awkward exchange was all she had of him for the rest of the evening, and she was grateful for it.
By nine o’clock, Utahime noticed she had two missed calls from her mother-in-law. Her stomach tensed. What if something had happened? She excused herself with a soft murmur and a gentle touch to Nanami’s arm. He nodded, caught mid-conversation with two colleagues, and she slipped away, searching for a quiet place to return the call.
Utahime walked past servers carrying trays of champagne, until she found a corridor leading to a secluded alcove near a side terrace. The lighting there was softer, the music and voices muffled by distance.
She pulled out her phone and dialed. It rang three times before her mother-in-law answered.
“Utahime?” The voice on the other end sounded tired. “Is everything alright, dear?”
“I just saw your missed calls and wanted to check in. Sorry, did something happen?”
In the background, she heard the familiar sound of her son and father-in-law laughing together.
“Nothing at all, dear. He just refused to go to bed until he could say goodnight to both of you.”
Utahime’s heart softened instantly. “Put him on, please.”
She could hear her mother-in-law calling for him, then the sound of little feet padding across the floor.
“Hi, Mommy!” His voice was loud and full of energy. She winced but smiled.
“Hi, baby. Are you being good for Grandma?”
“Yes! Grandpa and I were watching YouTube videos.”
“That sounds fun, but you know you need to go to bed, right?”
A reluctant little groan came through the speaker. Utahime couldn’t help but smile again. “Satoru, listen to Grandma and go to sleep, okay?”
“Okay… Are you going to sleep too?”
“In a couple of hours. I love you. We’ll pick you up in the morning.”
He wished her goodnight, and then her mother-in-law came back on the line to say goodbye. Utahime hung up, her thumb lingering on the screen.
For a moment, she stood in silence, eyes closed, her heart still wrapped around the sound of her son’s voice. She was so tired. That little voice inside her, the one that had been whispering for months now, asked once again what exactly she was doing with her life.
“I wish my mom had talked to me like that when I was a kid.”
She recognized the voice instantly.
Her eyes flew open. She turned sharply and saw him leaning against the wall just behind her, hands in his pockets, calm as ever. Her heart dropped to her stomach.
There it was.
The second deathmatch of the night. Who would win this time? Could there even be a winner in this game Gojo was so hell-bent on playing?
For a long moment, they said nothing. Blue eyes met brown, measuring and testing. Gojo looked relaxed and calm, but she knew better. She knew him. That posture, shoulders loose, head tilted slightly, one foot crossed over the other, it was a facade.
He wasn’t relaxed nor calm. He was coiled, just beneath the surface, a man ready to strike.
Utahime asked herself, for the tenth time that evening, why they had to meet like this again. She wondered where things had gone wrong, at what point her life had veered so far off course that she now found herself in this situation. And no, it hadn’t been the night she let him speak, when she didn’t close the hotel door in his face. It had to have started long before that. Maybe it was the moment she decided to go back to Japan, despite her husband’s opinion.
Or maybe the detour had happened even earlier than that. Was her life ever truly as perfect as she thought it was?
“What are you doing here?” she asked at last, her voice flat and cold.
Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked, our COO said I should be here.”
She didn’t reply. There he was again, playing games with her, hiding behind a façade of indifference. Well, not this time. She wouldn’t let him destroy what little remained standing. Without another word, she slipped her phone into her clutch and turned to leave.
But as she walked past him, Gojo reached out and caught her wrist, stopping her in place.
His hand, large and warm, closed around her like an iron shackle. She jerked back, trying to pull away, but he was gripping her too tightly. She could already feel the pressure bruising her skin. She’d have to explain that later.
“Gojo, you’re hurting me,” she managed to say.
He let go immediately—but stepped in front of her, blocking her path. He wasn’t finished and clearly, he wanted to talk. About what? Only he knew.
He lifted one hand and gently cupped her chin, tilting her face toward him. Even in heels, she still had to look up to be able to meet the eyes that had once been her undoing.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” he said, voice low, like he was telling her a secret. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
She tried to look away, but his fingers held her in place. Panic bloomed in her chest, climbing up her throat like a scream she couldn’t release.
“What do you want from me, Gojo?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
“Don’t play games with me,” tears were already beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “You know we can’t do this. I’m begging you.”
There was a flicker in his expression. Hurt, fury, or both, she couldn’t tell. But it vanished beneath a familiar smirk. He leaned in, not close enough to touch her, but just enough to trap her between his body and the wall, invading her space without laying a finger on her.
“Stop pretending, Uta,” he murmured, voice low and dangerously soft, just beneath her earlobe. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
She tried to shove past him, but his chest was a solid wall, unyielding. One hand was braced beside her head, caging her in. Utahime could barely breathe, her heart pounded so violently it hurt. If someone saw them like this, the explaining she’d have to do…
Her answer came through clenched teeth, low and furious. “Shut the fuck up and get out of my way.”
Gojo tilted his head slightly, eyes raking over her.
“I love when you talk dirty to me.”
Utahime closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to calm herself. She could feel herself slipping, losing the grip on her composure. And if she didn’t get a handle on herself, she would make the scene she’d promised herself she would do at the beginning.
She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to trap and trick her this way. Didn’t want to be there, in that corner, with the man she had once loved—still loved, trapping her with nothing but the weight of memory.
“Don’t follow me again. Don’t touch me. You promised me—You said it would pass!”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there, breathing hard, his face tilting downward until his nose brushed along the edge of her jaw, grazing her skin, feather-light, intimate, like he needed her scent just to keep standing.
She flinched, and tears finally began to fall one after another, heavy and unstoppable. She cursed him fiercely, cursed the years that separated them, the years he left her alone. She cursed the way he came back into her life just to tear it apart again.
He knew that they couldn’t go back in time. So, what did he want from her, besides to ruin what little peace of mind she had left? She thought he was selfish, but she had never thought him cruel.
Until now.
Her tears hit the bridge of his nose, and that’s when his eyes opened. They looked tortured. But she couldn’t pity him. He didn’t deserve it.
“You’re a bastard,” the words slipped out before she could stop them.
“I know.”
She shoved him, hard. Tears welled in her eyes, and though she tried to fight them down, her voice cracked anyway.
“You planned this. You—you wanted me here with him. You wanted to humiliate him. You wanted to ruin everything.”
Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, but he didn’t move. His face looked drained, tired, almost tortured. Like he was carrying the weight of every mistake he had ever made upon his shoulders. And for the first time that night, he sounded honest.
“I didn’t plan a damn thing, Utahime.”
She closed her eyes. She wanted to believe him, she needed to believe him. Because if she didn’t, then the truth was too much; that the love they once had had rotted into something so toxic it could now only be used as a weapon. But Gojo was Gojo, and he always had to have the last word.
“But I can’t say I’m unhappy to see you.”
She slapped him. Her palm ached, and even in the dim lighting she saw the flush bloom across his cheek. For a moment, the world paused, and it was just the two of them in that secluded corridor, cut off from everything else.
“You’re vile,” she whispered. “You revel in my pain.”
“Don’t say stupid shit.” His voice turned sharp. “You’re the one who enjoys my suffering.”
“I don’t care about your suffering.”
Gojo sighed and ran his thumb across her lower lip. She looked around, panicked, but no one was there. The party carried on the other side; the sounds muffled like they belonged to another world.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Satoru?” Her voice trembled now. “What is this?”
“I told you,” he said, voice low and warm. “It’s just coincidence. A happy one. Believe it or not.”
His eyes never left her mouth. Utahime stepped back instinctively, and her back hit the cold wall behind her. “Satoru, don’t you dare—”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night.” His voice dropped again, velvet-laced. He traced the straps of her dress, caressing her shoulders in a slow, reverent path. “This dress suits you perfectly. Haven’t you noticed how your husband’s colleagues looked at you all evening?”
She recoiled, shaking her head with repugnance.
“You’re disgusting. Let me go. I have to go back to him.”
His expression hardened. And in that brief flash of something raw, something unguarded, she saw the boy he used to be, the tortured rich boy who was too afraid to love and be loved.
“Will it always be like this?” he asked quietly. “You going back to him?”
Strangely, his words struck a raw nerve deep in her chest. He sounded genuinely hurt, and even if everything she had said was the truth, she hadn’t meant to wound him like that. Maybe she was being too harsh. Maybe... if she said it gently, the way she used to, he’d understand.
So, she lifted a hand and caressed his cheek. Gojo closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” she whispered. “He’s my husband, remember?”
They stood in silence for a beat.
“Please…” he whispered, opening his eyes and taking a step closer. His chest pressed against hers. “Just one. Just give me one kiss.”
She shook her head, her voice trembling.
“No, Satoru. You know I can’t.”
“I can’t stand knowing that he has you and I don’t.” His voice cracked around the edges, the raw confession of a desperate man. “You said you were mine… but the truth is, you’re not anymore.”
He looked at her like she was the last thing keeping him breathing.
“But a kiss, just one, that’s all I’m asking of you.”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“I’m begging you, then. Do you want me on my knees?”
She could feel the heat of him in front of her, the gravitational pull of everything they once were clinging to her skin like static. Every second was a war between body and mind, between a past that never stopped haunting her and a present she was trying desperately to protect.
She knew it was wrong. She knew she was putting everything good in her life on the line. And although she still loved him, she knew, deep down, that he didn’t deserve it.
But the pull was irresistible. Gojo’s eyes had always been the most honest part of him. When his mouth lied, his eyes didn’t. And now, those bright, relentless blues told her everything his words couldn’t. She saw longing in them. Solitude, desperation.
She saw herself in him.
She had loved him for the best part of her life. And though she wanted to punish him, to make him hurt the way he’d hurt her, she couldn’t. Because she wasn’t innocent either. He was a bastard, manipulative, selfish to his core.
But she loved him.
Her blood burned for him; her skin ached for his touch. Being this close to him felt like madness, one she could feel in her bones.
There was surely a place in hell for women like her. Unfaithful, duplicitous, prone to sin. But right now, all she wanted was to fall. The reckoning could come later.
When their lips finally met, it was painfully slow. He kissed her like his life depended on it, and maybe it did. Because she had never felt a kiss from him so sweet, so desperate, as this one.
Gojo cradled her face with both hands and kissed her with all the intent in the world. As if he were pouring into that kiss all the love he’d never managed to show with words or actions. As if he were making up for time, for all the damage, all the silence, all the distance.
One hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed against the small of her back, pulling her into him like he was trying to carve her into memory.
And she kissed him back.
With the kind of force only memories can carry. With a heart splintered by three men: the one she married, the one she bore, and the one she could never quite leave behind.
And she cried. She cried because she knew it was wrong, because she wanted to hate him and couldn’t. Because she wanted to save him and couldn’t.
She cried for life’s unfairness, for the choices made. For time. For illusions. For a love that had no place to go anymore. And she kissed him fiercely, like it was the last time, because she knew it was. Because they were lost, and reality couldn’t be ignored forever.
When the kiss became frantic and she couldn’t breathe, she pressed both palms against his chest and pulled away, shaking.
“No more. Please.”
His hands hovered near her face, aching to touch her again. Because he knew this night would be the last. And tomorrow, they’d be strangers once more.
“If you ever loved me,” she whispered, lips just a breath away from his, “you won’t do this. Can’t you see we’re only hurting each other?”
At first, he didn’t respond. He just looked at her with a pained expression. Then, quietly, gently, he began to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, one by one.
He kissed her cheeks next, soft as butterfly wings, barely there. And Utahime closed her eyes, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, as if the world might collapse if she let go.
“You have to let me go, Satoru.” Her voice was barely more than a breath. “I’m begging you now. Just let me go.”
He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then thought better of it. She lifted one hand and covered his lips with her palm. Her wedding ring touched his lips.
Somewhere in the distance, the music played on. And between them, two hearts broke quietly in different directions.
Gojo didn’t kiss her face or lips again, but he pressed a final kiss to the center of her palm and then, he stepped aside. Letting her walk the few steps that would carry her back to her husband and away from him.
They left the party shortly after.
Utahime clutched Nanami’s jacket tighter around her shoulders, blinking against the sting in her eyes. In the car, with the low hum of the engine and the quiet streets blurring past them, she finally spoke.
“I’m sorry if I worried you… The pain was unbearable. I had to go to the bathroom and cry.”
Nanami glanced at her briefly, then nodded. “You should’ve said something earlier. If the migraine was that bad, we should’ve left hours ago.”
She smiled faintly, eyes still swollen, the lie sitting bitter on her tongue. “I didn’t want to ruin the night.”
A silence settled between them. At a red light, Nanami paused to search for a song, scrolling absently while Utahime stared out the window, her reflection faint against the glass.
He was the first to speak this time.
“You know… despite his reputation, Satoru Gojo wasn’t as obnoxious as I expected.” A pause. “Loud, yes. But not as annoying.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Funny thing, he even shares our son’s name.”
Utahime’s heart sank, but she managed a smile. A very well-practiced one.
“Yeah… funny.”
The car rolled through the sleeping city, headlights slicing through the fog. The first notes of a song played on the radio— “I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me…”
Utahime turned her face toward the window again, watching the city smear into shadows.