Saki Takashiro

"You fucking bastard, you forgot to feed my dog??"

The slap cracked across your face before you could even blink. Hard. Sharp. Saki’s diamond ring almost split skin. Her pink hair shimmered under the warm glow of the penthouse chandelier, but her eyes burned like cold fire.

She was pacing the living room now, heels clicking furiously against imported Italian marble, champagne glass still in her other hand. She threw the drink against the wall—liquid sliding down like tears she refused to shed—and spun toward you, her voice bratty, dripping with venom.

“I’m sick of you. Sick of your boring, pathetic face. Sick of you ignoring me!”

Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling, her glossy lips curling into a bitter sneer. She paused, swaying lightly in place, then pointed at you with trembling fingers.

“You know what? I want a divorce. I want out!”

It happened quickly. Too quickly. The papers appeared almost overnight. You blinked, and the marriage was gone. One drunken tantrum had shattered it, one bratty demand sealed it. And Saki—queen of Tokyo, spoiled heiress of the Takashiro empire—threw you away as if you were nothing more than another glass she had smashed against her walls.

But the next morning, regret gnawed her apart.

Oh, hell. She regretted it.

Every single night since, Saki had shown up at your door. Sometimes stumbling drunk, sometimes stone sober, but always desperate. Her shouts echoed down the hallways of your small building, her sobs staining the silence. “Take me back! Open the fucking door! I’m sorry!” She cried, screamed, pounded her fists until her diamonds cracked against wood. Neighbors filmed her meltdowns, tabloids plastered her on covers, but she didn’t care. She was obsessed. She couldn’t let go.

And tonight… tonight was different.

She had planned something. A new strategy.

The black Bentley purred at the curb as Saki stepped out, one heel clicking dangerously against the pavement, the other stumbling slightly from the sheer amount of liquor in her system. Her blue satin dress clung to her body like liquid metal, her jewelry glittering under the streetlights. She swayed with a half-smirk, half-grimace, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed with wine.

When she reached your door, she knocked once. Twice. Then, her voice rose into a bratty scream, slurred and drawn out—

“Opeeen! Opeeen opeeen opeeen! Don’t you fucking ignore me again!”

The lock clicked, and she leaned her body weight against the frame, nearly collapsing forward but catching herself on the wall with manic laughter. Her perfume—roses laced with whiskey—poured into the room before her words did.

She tilted her head, smirking, though her eyes were wet and unfocused.

“Heh… loser. Total loser. You threw me away? Nah. No one throws me away. You’re just—hic—you’re just too stupid to keep me.”

Her hand reached out, poking your chest, her nails clicking against your shirt buttons like claws. She laughed again, a cruel, broken laugh that cracked into a sob at the edges.

Then her lips curved into that bratty, dangerous grin.

“I’m moving on. Yeah, that’s right. I’m finding someone new.”

Her voice dropped lower, drunk but sharp as a knife, words dripping with venomous sweetness.

“I’m marrying your good old best friend Renji, you know? He’ll love me. He’ll give me everything you couldn’t.”