Page 446 of Hate Mates

“Do they have a lot ofhafu?” Akira asks suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

My gaze snaps to him, narrowing. I know exactly why he’s asking. As a Nishimura, wielding our name like a weapon, Akira has coerced more than one woman into his bed—women desperate enough to believe his empty promises. They probably thought he’d marry them. None of them ever stood a chance.

My father’s hard look silences Akira. He knows Akira’s game just as well as I do. But he won’t stop him either. We’re untouchable, after all.

“They are wealthy. Powerful,” my father says curtly, ignoring the question.

That’s the only reason for this marriage. He doesn’t care if we’re compatible. She’ll have no choice but to comply, to mold herself to my expectations. Her father’s fortune and import-export empire are what matter. A perfect cover for our smuggling operations.

A pawn in a larger game.

I grip the edge of the seat tightly, my nails pressing into the leather. The car hums quietly, the only sound as my mind churns. This isn’t just my life being decided—it’s my freedom. And I’ll have to face it with the same cold stoicism I’ve been taught to wield.

When we arrive at the estate, my distaste must be obvious. The place is ostentatious—flashy, excessive. Everything contrary to my father’s austere way of life. I glance at him and catch a flicker of disapproval in his expression before it vanishes.

Two servants rush forward to open the car doors. At the top of the grand staircase stands Akio Okuda, draped in expensive clothing. The gaudy display is unnecessary—the deal is already done. If anything, it makes me more reluctant to bind our family to his.

Akio descends the stairs and bows deeply. “Oyabun, Takashi-sama. It is an honor to meet you, and thank you for granting my family the privilege of hosting yours.”

My father nods, his face a mask of indifference. I mirror him.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home,” my father says, his tone calm but sharp. “However, we are pressed for time and would like to proceed with discussions promptly. We are expected back in the United States soon.”

I almost smirk. He hates this arrangement more than I do.

“Yes, of course,” Akio says quickly. “Yua is preparing herself and will be ready for introductions within the hour. For now, let us move to my office.” He gestures to an older woman standing nearby. “Please escort Kanai-sama and the young Nishimura to their rooms.”

The thought of sitting through pleasantries makes my chest tighten. I need air.

“I’ll step out for a cigarette,” I say, my voice steady. “Please, go ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”

My father nods, but I catch the brief side glance he throws my way. He disapproves of the habit but won’t chastise me in front of others.

Akio bows again. “Yes, of course.” He snaps his fingers toward a young man nearby. “He will take you to my office when you’re ready.”

I nod once and step away, letting the cool evening air hit my face. I light the cigarette, taking a long drag. The smoke fills my lungs, offering a fleeting sense of calm. This habit might kill me, but given the family I’m about to bind myself to, it could be a mercy. The thought makes me chuckle softly, the sound hollow even to my own ears.

I’m about to head back when I hear muttering—soft and annoyed. It’s in English, laced with a Japanese accent that tugs at something familiar.

Curiosity pulls me forward. Staying in the shadows, I spot a small figure hunched over a patch of flowers.

“‘Go get red flowers, Ena,’” she mimics in a sharp tone. “‘I need them for my hair.’ Princess changes her mind again.”

Her voice is light, almost musical, despite the irritation coloring it. I can’t help but smile, leaning against a nearby tree.

“I hope you’re allergic to these flowers,” she mutters, tugging one free. “And your face gets all puffy and red.”

She turns abruptly and freezes when her gaze meets mine. For a moment, neither of us moves. Her golden eyes shimmer in the low light, like liquid gold caught in glass.

I can’t speak, can’t think. It feels like the air has been knocked out of me. That’s it—I’m done. The story’s written, the ending sealed. This is her.My ikigai.The legend we feed little girls about soulmates. I stopped believing in it long ago, and yet, here she is.

“It’s you,” I say, the words slipping out on a breath.

Her surprise morphs into irritation, her delicate eyebrows pulling together. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on people. It’s rude,” she says in Japanese, her tone clipped.

“And you shouldn’t mock your boss. That’s rude too,” I reply smoothly in English.

Her cheeks pale slightly, but then she lifts her chin, her golden eyes blazing. If I wasn’t done for before, I certainly am now.

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