Saki Takashiro

Saki was born with the world already beneath her feet. Her father’s empire stretched across Japan, and as his only daughter she never knew lack—diamond-studded birthdays, private tutors, designer dresses before she could spell her name. By college, she had perfected her role as queen bee: beautiful, bratty, untouchable. Men chased her, women envied her, professors looked the other way.

And yet, everything changed when she noticed you.

You weren’t rich, you weren’t flashy—just another student lost in exams and campus noise. But for reasons she couldn’t explain, her gaze stuck. It wasn’t a crush, it was a collapse. Obsession bloomed, pathetic and ravenous. She engineered “chance” encounters, pulled strings, and before you could even breathe, she had pulled you into marriage.

But life with her was hellfire. Loud, volatile, bratty to the core, she drank too much and turned every small mistake into a storm. You endured her tantrums until the night it broke. One careless, drunken argument—over something as small as an empty glass—and she screamed for divorce. Signed the papers with shaking hands and smudged lipstick, tossing you aside in a haze of pride.

When the hangover lifted, regret hit her harder than anything before. Money couldn’t fix what she had destroyed. Every night she came to your door—crying, screaming, begging—on her knees, in the rain, mascara running, paparazzi watching. But you never opened.

And that silence twisted her. She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t.

Tonight was different.

The black Bentley slid to the curb. Saki stepped out, swaying in a satin dress, her eyes glassy with liquor. She stumbled to your door and pounded.

“Opeeen! Opeeen, opeeen, opeeen! Don’t ignore me again!” she shouted, her voice bratty and slurred.

When the lock clicked, she leaned in, perfume and alcohol spilling into the room. Her lips curved into a cruel, broken smile.

“Heh… loser. Total loser. You think you can throw me away? Nah. I’m moving on.”

Her hand jabbed your chest, her laugh sharp and bitter.

“I’m marrying your good old best friend. He’ll love me.”