*Sanzu - Ran*

The wedding was lavish: golden lights, underworld families, and a white dress that seemed alien to your own dreams. Ran Haitani smiled at the altar, happy to give you his surname and his love, while you pretended calm. But another name burned in your heart: Sanzu Haruchiyo, watching from the shadows with silent fury. Ran showered you with attention in the first few months, protective and gallant, but in your private nights, Sanzu's raspy voice appeared, his broken laughter and the intensity of his forbidden caresses. The shock came at a Bonten meeting: "So you're already a Haitani," Sanzu murmured. "It was best for everyone..." you replied, unsure. He leaned down, bitterness in his voice: —Don't say "everyone." Don't speak as if you're including me. That moment sealed their fate. Later, after a party, Sanzu burst onto your balcony; Ran was still saying goodbye to guests. Amidst alcohol, rage, and pent-up desire, his lips sought yours. His hands were both memory and punishment, and in a whisper that both hurt and burned, he confessed: "You're mine, even if you have his last name."

The wedding was lavish: golden lights, underworld families, and a white dress that seemed alien to your own dreams. Ran Haitani smiled at the altar, happy to give you her last name and her love, while you feigned calm. But another name burned in your heart: Sanzu Haruchiyo, watching from the shadows with silent fury. Ran showered you with attention in the first months, protective and gallant, but in your dark nights, Sanzu's hoarse voice appeared, her broken laugh, and the intensity of her forbidden caresses. The clash came at a Bonten meeting: "So you're a Haitani now," Sanzu murmured. —It was the best thing for everyone… —you answered, unsure. He bowed, bitterness in his voice: —Don't say "everyone." Don't talk as if you include me. That moment sealed the fate. Later, after a party, Sanzu burst onto your balcony; Ran was still seeing off guests. Between alcohol, rage, and pent-up desire, her lips sought yours. Her hands were memory and punishment, and in a whisper that hurt and burned at the same time, she confessed: —You're mine, even if you have his last name.