Chapter 1 : A Terrible Mistake
Ayumi Hoshino stood in her sunlit kitchen, humming as she packed her husband's bento with flavoured rice, tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables and curry in the bottom, sliced fruits in the top tray, and most important ingredient of all — love. Her fingers worked with precision as she carefully arranged the strawberries in the shape of a heart.
She married her high-school sweetheart right after graduation, and she lived the married life every girl dreamed of.
Each morning, she rose before him to iron his shirt, prepare his meals, and send him off with a kiss that lingered just long enough to make him reluctant to leave.
"You'll be late~" she'd whisper against his lips, straightening his tie one final time.
Their modest two bedroom apartment gleamed with her meticulous care. The floor sparkled, the freshly folded laundry released a gentle fragrance that filled the apartment, the kitchen countertop was spotless, the flowers were perfectly arranged on the coffee table in the living room, and every tidbit shone in its rightful place.
With all her chores done, she even had enough time to catch up with her favourite shows while eating a strawberry pastry, lounging on the couch.
The neighbouring wives often marveled at her dedication. "How do you manage to keep your house so perfect?" they would often ask whenever they came over for tea and gossip. She would smile and offer some humble deflection.
When her husband — Takashi, returned each evening. She'd greet him with the same teasing question: "Would you like dinner, a bath, or… me?" The moment never failed to transform his tired expression into a boyish grin.
Life had unfolded exactly as she had imagined — until it didn't.
"Come on, Ayumi! Just this once," Kurumi pleaded, her glossy lips forming an exaggerated pout. Their yoga class had ended and the women were gathered in the changing room. "My cousin knows the manager at Club Platinum. He reserved a special section just for us!"
Ayumi hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the zipper of her gym bag. "Takashi will be working late today, but I really should be home when he returns…"
"Just call him and tell him you're having a girls' night." Mei chimed in, already applying another layer of mascara. "When was the last time you did something just for yourself?"
"But I don't have a dress for the occasion either. I can join you all next time"
"My house is nearby, and I have the perfect dress to bring out your sexy curves," Yami said, making a frame with her fingers and eyeing Ayumi top to bottom.
Their enthusiasm was infectious, and two hours later, Ayumi found herself seated in a velvet booth surrounded by flashing lights and thumping music. The club was unlike anything she had been to before — sleek, exclusive, with impeccably dressed men attending to every table.
"They are the hosts here," Kurumi said when she spotted Ayumi eyeing a particularly handsome server. "Professional charmers. The best ones make you feel like you're the only woman in the world."
"I've never been to such a lavish place before," Ayumi admitted hesitantly sipping her drink nervously, feeling out of place in the borrowed dress that clung too tightly across her hips, riding up slightly as she adjusted herself on the chair. Every few minutes, she grabbed the hem of her dress and yanked it down, trying to keep it from revealing too much.
She was about to excuse herself and head home when a shadow fell across their table.
"Ladies, I couldn't help but notice you weren't being properly attended to."
The voice was smooth as aged whiskey, belonging to a man with carefully styled hair and eyes that seemed to catch every light in the room. He bowed slightly, introducing himself as Kenji.
His attention quickly focused on Ayumi as her nervousness stuck out from the rest of the group. And despite her initial discomfort, she found herself warming up to his flattery. When Kurumi ordered another round, Ayumi started to protest, but she was silenced by Kenji's gentle encouragement.
"Just enjoy yourselves tonight," he muttered, close enough that she could smell his cologne — something woodsy and expensive. "When was the last time someone took good care of you?"
The question lingered as one drink became two, then three. The edges of her vision blurred with fourth, and by the fifth, she forgot about the tight dress riding up her curves.
When Ayumi's friends drifted to the dance floor, Kenji slid into the space beside her.
"You're a lot different from the others who come here," he said, his fingers brushing against hers as he filled up her glass.
"Oh… I'm married," she blurted out, holding up her left hand to display the intricate gold band on her ring finger.
Kenji smiled, "I didn't ask if you were available. I said you were different." His eyes held hers for a second too long, "...Special."
She had lost track of time and at some point, her friends had disappeared into the dancing crowd. Then the music seemed to recede and there was only Kenji's voice — his stories, his flirtatious remarks that struck the perfect balance between playfulness and seduction, his touch that lingered at the edges of her dress, and the heat of the alcohol he kept pouring for her.
"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable somewhere quieter?" he suggested, helping her to her feet when she swayed slightly. "I know a place nearby."
The rational part of Ayumi's mind tried to sound an alarm, but it was drowned out by the alcohol… and something else — a desire she couldn't quite put a finger on.
She took his hand, swayed her hips, barely trying to cover up the pink fabric peeking out between her legs as her dress rode up her curves.
His hand at her back felt like fire through the thin fabric of her dress as he guided her through the crowd and into the cool night air outside.
- x -
Morning arrived like a slap.
Sunlight pierced through unfamiliar curtains, stabbing at her eyelids, and Ayumi's consciousness returned in painful fragments.
Her whole body ached. She groaned as she pushed her heavy body up. Red sheets tangled around her legs. A messy bed. The faint scent of unfamiliar cologne. Then, a slow, sickening realization of where she was.
A love hotel.
Alone.
The evidence of what had happened was everywhere. Scattered clothes on the floor. The stains on the bed. Faint flashes of memories slammed into her, nausea surging with every broken image.
She lurched towards the bathroom, barely making it before emptying the contents of her stomach. When the retching stopped, she clung to the cold porcelain, her chest heaving. A bitter taste clung to her tongue, but no amount of spitting could rid her of the filth she felt inside.
She forced herself up and turned on the faucet. Splashing cold water on her face, she caught a glimpse of her reflection.
In that moment, she felt her life shattering — the perfect life she had built with her own hands. Her gaze lowered immediately. She couldn't face the woman who had done this.
Her phone ringing through the silence made her flinch. She turned, spotting her phone in the pile of discarded clothes.
It was her husband, and she just stared at the screen.
When the phone stopped ringing, the screen showed multiple missed calls from him. Her heart stopped when she saw one call as answered — a short call, thirty-seven seconds, at 11:47PM.
What had she said? What had he heard? She clawed at the memory trying to remember, but all she found was terror.
She gathered her clothes with trembling hands and stumbled into the shower. The running cold water blended in with her silent tears and she scrubbed herself, over and over, until her skin was raw and burned red, begging to wash away what she had done.
The walk home stretched for what felt like an eternity. Outside the apartment door, she paused, rehearsing her excuses and explanations.
When she finally entered, Takashi was at the kitchen table, worry written all over his face.
"Ayumi! Are you okay?" He rushed to her, hands gripping her shoulders as he searched for her face.
"Yeah…" she managed to say in a small voice, unable to meet his eyes, "I'm okay."
"I was so worried. You said you'd be late, but not that you'd be staying overnight. I feared something might have happened. Where were you?" The concern in his voice was a knife twisting in her gut.
"I… I got too drunk and stayed at Kurumi's" she said, the lie bitter on her tongue.
Takashi's face relaxed, "Too drunk huh?" he chuckled, "I guess I'll have to thank her later for taking care of you."
She forced herself to join his laughter, but it came out strained and hollow. Inside, she was fracturing, pieces of her self-image crumbling away.
The perfect wife. A devoted partner. All lies now.
With a practiced composure — the same she used while entertaining guests, she smoothed her features into a mask of normalcy. Her hands stopped shaking through sheer force of will.
"Have you had breakfast yet? I can make you something." she offered, clinging to the familiar script of their life together.
"How about something light?" he smiled, "It's sunday and I haven't been out with you in so long. I need to have some fun too, you know." There was a playful tease in his voice that made her want to confess everything.
Instead, she hummed noncommittally and excused herself to the kitchen. "I'll make you something you'll love—" she called over her shoulder.
Alone in the kitchen, her hands gripped the familiar countertop's edge. After a moment she reached for her apron, sliding it over her head with practiced ease. The routine motions were a comfort, a way to pretend that nothing had happened.
- x -
The rooftop garden of Hotel Celestine was calming. Gentle music played softly, the cool breeze refreshing, and a faint, sweet scent of roses lingered in the air. Tokyo's skyline glittered like scattered diamonds against the evening sky.
Takashi had chosen the place carefully. It was far beyond their usual budget, but reservations had been made impulsively that afternoon, his worry for Ayumi overriding financial caution.
She sat across from him, a beauty to behold in the midnight blue dress he'd given her for their anniversary. But something was off. The woman before him was physically present yet somehow absent, her eyes constantly drifting to some middle distance beyond his shoulder.
The waiter approached with a bottle of champagne and poured them both, "for the lovely couple."
"Remember our first date?" Takashi asked, reaching across the table to hold her hand. "That little ramen shop on the way home from school."
Ayumi's lips curved into what might have passed for a smile, but it never reached her eyes. "Yes," she said simply, withdrawing her hand to grab her glass of champagne.
He too reached for his glass, and raised it for a toast, "to us."
Ayumi hesitated, then touched her glass to his with a soft clink. "To us," she echoed, but the words sounded hollow. She brought the glass to her lips but barely wet them before setting it down.
"Not drinking tonight?" he asked.
"I'm still feeling… delicate from last night," she replied, her fingers tracing the tablecloth.
He nodded, "Had too much with the ladies, hm? I've never seen you so worn out after a night out."
At the mention of the previous night, her hand froze mid-motion. For a second her composure cracked — eyes wetting, breath catching, before she steadied herself with a deep breath.
"I overdid it…" she agreed, "won't happen again." She spoke more to herself than to him.
The chef's special arrived — tender wagyu served with a reduction that had taken hours to prepare. In better times, Ayumi would have closed her eyes in pleasure at the first bite, asking questions about preparation, insisting they try to recreate it at home.
Tonight, she cut her meat into precise, tiny squares and moved them around her plate more than she ate them.
"Remember how we used to sneak up to the school roof to eat lunch together?" Takashi tried again, "You'd always pack those little octopus sausages, even though I told you they were for kids."
"Because you secretly loved them," She replied automatically, like a rehearsed line from their shared history.
"I loved that you knew me better than I knew myself," he said, leaning forward, "I still do."
This was her cue to blush, to reach for his hand, to remind him how it was mutual. Instead, she took a sip of water and glanced beyond him towards the Tokyo Tower.
Takashi's smile faltered. Throughout the meal, he tried everything — jokes that once made her laugh until she snorted (very unladylike, she always complained afterwards), compliments about how the candle light brought out the beauty of her face, even whispered suggestions about what might happen after they returned home.
Each attempt fell flat, met with mechanical responses or none at all.
By dessert — a delicate souffle that sat untouched before Ayumi, Takashi was beyond worried. This wasn't tiredness from overindulgence. This was something else entirely.
"Ayumi," he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. "What's wrong? And don't say nothing. I know you better than that."
For the first time since that evening, she looked directly at him.
Really looked.
She forced herself to smile, "I'm really just tired," she insisted, her voice thin as rice paper. "Can we go home now? Please?"
The taxi ride home was silent. Takashi watched the city blur past, stealing glances at his wife's profile as streetlights washed across her face in rhythmic waves. She kept her gaze fixed outside the window, her hands curled tightly in her lap.
Their apartment felt different when they returned. The same furniture, the same photographs on the walls, but now charged with an unfamiliar tension.
Ayumi immediately slipped off her heels, leaving them askew in the entryway rather than neatly aligning them in their proper place.
"I'm going to shower," she announced, already moving towards the bathroom.
Takashi caught her wrist gently. "Hey," he said, pulling her towards him, "Come here~"
He held her gently and then kissed her — lightly at first then with increasing need. Partly from desire, partly from the desperation to reconnect with the woman who seemed to be slipping away before his eyes.
For a moment, Ayumi stayed perfectly still against him. Then she responded, her lips moving against his, but there was something mechanical to it.
Encouraged nonetheless, he found the zipper of her dress, fingers tracing the line of her spine as he slowly lowered it.
"Takashi…" she whispered, and there was anguish in his name.
He misinterpreted, his lips moving to her neck. "I want you," he whispered against her skin.
Ayumi pulled away then, stepping backward until her shoulders hit the wall. "I can't," she said, arms crossing over her chest protectively, "I'm exhausted. I just want to sleep."
The space between them — barely two meters of their familiar living room, suddenly felt like a vast canyon. Takashi stood with his hands still partly raised from where they'd been holding her, confusion and hurt washing across his face.
"Is it something I did?" he asked, his voice small in the quiet apartment.
Ayumi shook her head quickly — a bit too quickly. "No! No, it's not you. I'm just… not feeling well."
Takashi stood there observing his wife, "You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?" he pressed.
For a heartbeat, Ayumi looked like she might break, might crumble right there in their living room and spill it all out. Her lips parted, a shuddering breath escaped, and then,
"Of course I would," she lied through a smile, turning away, "I'm going to shower now."
She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Takashi standing alone, the evening's carefully planned romance evaporating around him. He heard the soft hiss of the shower and turned towards their bedroom.
He changed into some more comfortable clothes and slipped in the sheets. A while later, Ayumi stepped into the room, the fresh scent of shampoo trailing behind her as she slid into bed beside him.
"I love you," he whispered.
Ayumi said nothing. He turned to face her — only to be met with the sight of her trembling shoulders. He shifted closer and wrapped an arm around her waist, offering warmth and comfort for whatever unknown pain she carried.
"Sleep well," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "Everything will be better tomorrow."
- x -