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Summary: A four-year licensed physician who has previously encountered numerous difficult patients. Not until she was assigned as Kim Hyeon-jin's physician for five to six months. Will she be able to handle a man like him, or will sparks fly between the two people with different professions?
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, HEAVY SMUT, dark romance, age-gap, mature language, unresolved tension, sexual tension, light angst, harassment, mention of mental health issues, womanizer, misogyny, arrogant, fighter, mention of blood, enemies to lovers trope, jealousy, possessive, toxicity, minor injuries, dry humping, make-out, kissing, markings, degradation, choking, gagging, riding, spanking, slut shaming, squirting, begging, oral activities, overstimulation, rough, PiV, unprotected, power play, domestic, power imbalance, MMA fighter x physician, older man x younger woman
The days after the locker room kiss felt like walking through a minefield blindfolded. Hyeon-jin had withdrawn completely by retreating into the cold and arrogant version of himself that probably existed before you arrived.
He barely looked at you during check-ups by answering in grunts or icy one-word replies. When his bipolar swings hit, his tantrums were vicious.
One evening, after a brutal training session, his shoulder flared up badly. You approached with ointment and a calm voice.
“ Mr. Kim, let me check—”
He shrugged you off like you were nothing. “ I don’t need your fake concern. Fuck off.”
The rejection stung more than you wanted to admit. That night, he brought home a different girl. They were loud, giggly, and very vocal in his bedroom until the early hours. You stayed in your room with headphones on while telling yourself it wasn’t your business anymore.
It still hurts like hell. At least the professional lines were back up.
No more flirting. No more almost-moments.
Just work.
Training days were the worst. You sat on the bench with your tablet while monitoring his vitals from afar while he destroyed the heavy bag like it had personally offended him.
But Heesung made it bearable.
“ Rough week?” Heesung asked one afternoon while dropping onto the bench beside you with a water bottle. His easy smile was a welcome contrast to Hyeon-jin’s storm cloud energy.
You shrugged while managing a small laugh. “ You could say that. How do you deal with the schedule without burning out?”
Heesung chuckled while wiping sweat from his neck. “ Lots of soju and denial. You give pretty good advice though. That tip about shoulder mobility last time actually helped.”
The conversation flowed lightly by lifting your mood for the first time in days. You didn’t notice Hyeon-jin approaching until his shadow fell over both of you.
“ Your job is a physician, not a damn guidance counselor. Stop giving stupid advice and flirting on my time.” He snapped.
Heesung frowned. “ Hyeon-jin, don’t be rude to her. We’re just talking.”
Hyeon-jin’s jaw clenched. “ I don’t give a single fuck about her or whatever she feels. It’s all supposed to be professional, right?”
He shot the words at you like knives. “ And you…mind your own physician instead of trying to steal mine.”
The tension between the two men thickened dangerously. You stood up while your heart was pounding.
Coach Do stepped in firmly before fists could fly. “ Enough! Both of you, cut it out.”
He waved Heesung away. “ Your coach is looking for you.”
Heesung gave you an apologetic smile. “ Catch you later, Doc.”
Then he left.
Coach Do turned to Hyeon-jin. He lectures in low and tired tones about being hotheaded again.
Hyeon-jin muttered under his breath. “ Instead of lecturing me, lecture her. It’s her fault this chaos started.”
“ Stop being rude to her.” Coach Do sighed.
Hyeon-jin rolled his eyes dramatically. “ I’ve heard that a million times. It hurts my fucking ears.”
Coach Do shook his head and walked off to resume training with the others. Now it was just you and Hyeon-jin in the corner of the gym.
You crossed your arms with a sarcasm dripping from your voice. “ I hope you’re happy being the center of attention again.”
You clapped your hands mockingly. “ Bravo. You never fail to ruin my day by acting like an asshole. Even dragging an innocent person like Heesung into almost fighting because of your jealousy.”
“ I wish I never accepted this job. It’s exhausting enduring your childish behavior every single day.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “ Sometimes I gaslight myself that this is just part of the challenge…but honestly? I wish my client was Heesung instead. He’s more tolerable than you.”
Hyeon-jin’s entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. The jealousy burned bright in his eyes. It was mixed with hurt and that familiar bipolar edge.
“ Why are you even here if you see Heesung as some damn hero?” He snarled as he stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming.
“ Why don’t you file a fucking resignation? To save yourself in trouble. I’ll find another physician. Don’t think you’re special. Because you aren’t.”
He smirked, but it was ugly and painful. “ You’re right about one thing. What happened the other night was a mistake. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Your mouth is full of bitterness anyway.”
The words landed like a slap. Before you could respond, he ripped off his gloves and slammed them onto the floor with a loud crack that made half the gym turn their heads when the noise echoed. Without another word, he stormed off toward the locker rooms with his shoulders tight with barely suppressed violence.
You stood frozen while your chest aching as your body remembered every second of that kiss and every possessive touch, while your mind screamed that distance was safer.
Later that evening back at the penthouse, the pattern continued. Another girl. But louder than the last. You sat at the dining table finishing reports while pretending the sounds from upstairs didn’t twist something painful inside you.
He was punishing you.
Or punishing himself.
Probably both.
When the noises finally stopped around 2 AM, you heard his bedroom door open. The heavy footsteps paused near your door but didn’t knock. You held your breath until they moved on.
The next morning, you found him in the kitchen nursing a hangover and black coffee. His shoulder looked stiff. Then a professional instinct made you speak first.
“ Let me check your shoulder before training.”
He didn’t even glance at you. “ Don’t bother. I’m fine.”
“ You’re not. Stop being a stubborn ass and—”
Hyeon-jin slammed the mug down, eyes cold. “ There you go again. Always thinking you know what’s best. Just do your job and stay out of my personal shit.”
You wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much his coldness affected you, but you bit your tongue.
This was what you asked for…boundaries.
Yet as he walked past you, shoulder brushing yours accidentally. Your breath caught when his steps faltered for half a second too, like he felt it too.
You watched him leave for training without another word. Five months left and you weren’t sure how much more of this cold, jealous, and bipolar version of Kim Hyeon-jin you could endure before something inside you finally broke.
And the worst part? A traitorous voice in your head whispered that even his cruelty felt better than the emptiness of him ignoring you completely.
…
The rest of the day dragged on like a bad hangover. After the explosive argument at the gym, the silence in the penthouse felt louder than any of Hyeon-jin’s tantrums.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The moment you returned, you marched straight to your room, opened your laptop, and typed up the resignation letter with trembling fingers. It's short, professional, and final. You printed it, folded the paper, and took a deep breath before heading downstairs.
Hyeon-jin was sprawled on the couch in grey sweatpants and nothing else while scrolling through fight highlights on his phone. The sight of his bare and tattooed chest sent an unwanted spike of heat through you, but you shoved it down.
You stopped in front of him and held out the folded paper.
He raised an eyebrow with that familiar arrogant smirk tugging at his lips. “ What the hell is this? A fan mail?”
You tossed the paper onto his lap. “ My resignation. I’m not completing the six-month contract. I don’t care about payback or whatever penalty there is…I need to get out of here.”
Hyeon-jin’s expression darkened instantly. He snatched the paper, then unfolding it with sharp movements. His eyes scanned the words, brows knitting together in growing anger. He shot up from the couch and towering over you.
“ Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He growled.
“ You’re just going to run because I said some shit?”
You crossed your arms while refusing to back down even as the tension thickened the air between you. “ I’m being obedient to my employer’s earlier suggestion. You told me to resign if I hated it so much. Here it is.”
He tore the paper in half right in front of your face, then ripped it again for good measure. The pieces fluttered to the marble floor like defeated confetti.
“ I’m not signing shit.” He snarled.
You laughed bitterly. “ I’ll print a million copies if I have to. Keep tearing them up. Eventually you’ll get tired.”
“ Are you out of your fucking mind?” He snapped.
You tilted your head. “ Are you going to be a lunatic about this?”
He groaned loudly while running both hands through his hair. “ I asked you a damn question!”
“ And I’m asking you one back!” You shot back.
“ There’s no resignation without your signature, and I’m not staying here while you act like a jealous, bipolar child every single day.”
Hyeon-jin stepped closer. “ There’s no signing any resignation papers because I won’t allow it.”
You met his gaze coldly. “ Then you’re a coward. You talk big about not caring, but you can’t even let me leave when I want to.”
“ I’m not a coward.”
“ Prove it.”
The challenge hung between you like a live grenade.
Hyeon-jin sighed sharply, then moved.
His hand grabbed your face, fingers firm on your jaw, and he smashed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. Your eyes widened in shock. You tried to push his chest, but he was too strong, too determined. Within seconds, the fight melted into heat. You kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring all the frustration, hurt, and months of pent-up desire into it.
He didn’t let the kiss break even for a second. With a low groan, he lifted you effortlessly and your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you upstairs toward his bedroom. He kicked the door open and laid you down on his massive bed without pulling away, his body covering yours immediately.
His mouth moved to your neck while sucking hard enough to leave dark hickeys. You whimpered when he bit down on your shoulder. He caught both your wrists by intertwining his fingers with yours before pinning them above your head.
The position left you completely at his mercy, and fuck, your body responded shamelessly.
Finally, he pulled back just enough for both of you to breathe heavily. His eyes had softened as the anger giving way to raw vulnerability.
“ I’m sorry.” He whispered.
“ For being such an asshole. For every cruel word I threw at you.” He brushed his thumb across your swollen bottom lip.
“ Jagiya…”
The endearing nickname made your heart stutter.
“ I know I hurt you badly. But I was in pain too when you rejected me. Even when I acted like the biggest bastard, I still cared. I still do.”
He swallowed hard. “ I get so fucking jealous every time Heesung talks to you. You smile at him so easily. With me, you only see a manchild. It makes me insecure as hell.”
Before you could offer your own apology, he kissed you again, but slower this time.
“ You’re already forgiven.” He murmured against your lips.
“ Because you’re my weakness. You’ve been my weakness since day one.”
Your pinned hands flexed in his grip as you kissed him back, bodies pressed so close there was no space for lies anymore. His free hand slid down your side, squeezing your hip possessively, while his mouth trailed hot kisses along your jaw.
“ You drive me insane.” He groaned while rolling his hips against yours so you could feel exactly how much he meant it.
“ I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Even when you’re threatening to quit and calling me a coward.”
You let out a breathless laugh despite everything. “ You are a coward. And an idiot. And ridiculously horny for someone who claims he’s so cold and distant.”
He smirked against your neck while biting down lightly again. “ Keep talking like that and I won’t let you leave this bed for days.”
You knew this didn’t solve everything but right now, but with his body pressed against yours and his sincere apology still echoing in your ears, and it was hard to care.
Hyeon-jin lifted his head.
“ Stay, jagiya. Please.” He whispered.
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you pulled him down into another heated kiss and finally surrendered.
For tonight at least to the chaos that was Kim Hyun-jin.
The lines were blurred beyond repair.
And neither of you seemed to mind anymore.
…
The kiss turned feral in seconds, months of tension finally snapping. Hyeon-jin’s experienced hands moved with purpose while stripping your blouse open with impatient tugs.
The buttons flew somewhere across the room. You didn’t stop him. You were done torturing yourself by pretending you didn’t want this and you didn’t want him.
“ Fuck, jagiya. I've been dying to mark you up since the first time you talked back to me.” He growled against your mouth.
His mouth latched onto your neck and left dark hickeys that would be impossible to hide tomorrow. He bit down on your shoulder with his teeth sinking in just enough to make you whimper sharply. The sting bloomed into heat that shot straight between your legs.
“ Such pretty sounds already.” He chuckled darkly as he peeled the rest of your upper clothes off. Your bra was unclasped and tossed aside in one smooth motion.
His eyes darkened as he took in your bare chest. “ Look at these perfect tits…these are all mine tonight.”
He trailed his tongue down by latching onto one breast while his large hand squeezed the other. He sucked hard with his eyes never leaving your face and watched every reaction. When his teeth grazed your nipple and bit down lightly, you moaned loudly with your fingers gripping his messy hair.
“ Hyeon-jin…” You gasped.
He chuckled against your skin. “ That’s right, moan for me, doctor. So professional during the day…falling apart on my tongue at night.”
His hands worked fast by yanking your pants down your legs and leaving you in just your underwear. He pushed your thighs apart while settling between them like he belonged there. As he leaned down, he pressed his face against your clothed core and inhaled deeply.
“ Fuck, you smell so good.” He groaned.
“ Are you wet already? All this time acting like you hated me and your pussy is dripping for me.”
You tried to close your thighs and were overwhelmed by the intensity, but he was stronger. He spread them wide, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. With a sharp rip, he tore your panties off like they offended him.
“ Hyeon-jin!” You yelped.
He smirked up at you. “ I’ll buy you new ones. Or better yet, keep you naked in this bed from now on.”
Then he dove in.
His tongue licked a long and slow stripe up your slit while groaning at your taste. He sucked your clit into his mouth by alternating between firm licks and teasing flicks. You moaned and gripping the sheets as pleasure crashed through you.
“ So fucking sweet.” He murmured against your pussy.
“ I've been thinking about eating this pretty cunt every time you gave me attitude. You gonna keep pretending you don’t want my mouth on you?”
His fingers joined in by rubbing your clit in slow circles before sliding one thick finger inside you. You gasped at the stretch. He curled it expertly until he found that spot that made your back bow off the bed.
“ Right there, jagiya?” He taunted.
“ Yeah…feel how your pussy is gripping my finger like a greedy little slut. My doctor’s so tight for someone who acts so proper.”
He added a second finger by thrusting deeper while his tongue worked your clit relentlessly. The pleasure built fast, coiling tight in your belly. Your moans grew louder as your hips grinding against his face.
But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he slowed down.
“ Not yet, jagi.” He ordered, then pulled his fingers almost all the way out.
“ You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
“ Hyeon-jin, please—” You whined.
He chuckled, then edged you again and again. He's bringing you right to the brink before backing off. His fingers kept fucking you slowly while curling against your g-spot with cruel precision.
“ Beg for it.” He commanded.
“ Beg your patient to let you cum, doctor. Or I swear I’ll edge this pretty pussy all fucking day.”
You bit your lip, trying to hold onto your pride, but he kept teasing, kept denying.
“ Fuck…please.” You finally broke.
“ Please let me cum.”
“ Not convincing enough.” He smirked while thrusting his fingers harder for a moment before slowing again.
“ Beg properly, jagi. Tell me what a needy little mess you are for me.”
You rolled your eyes even as another wave of pleasure hit by degrading yourself under his power. “ Please…I’m your needy little slut. I need to cum so bad…please make me cum, Hyeon-jin. I can’t take it anymore.”
He cursed darkly. “ That’s my good girl.”
His fingers sped up by thrusting fast and deep while hitting your g-spot with every stroke while his tongue sucked hard on your clit.
Until the pressure exploded.
“ Cum for me, jagi. Squirt all over my hand like the messy girl you are.”
You moaned loudly as your orgasm crashed through you. Your body convulsed, thighs shaking as you squirted hard, soaking his fingers and the sheets beneath you. The release was intense by leaving you gasping and trembling.
“ Fuck yes. Look at the mess you made. Such a dirty doctor.” He groaned, watching you fall apart.
He pulled his fingers out and immediately lowered his mouth again, and licked you clean with long, hungry strokes. Your entire body shook from overstimulation with your soft whimpers escaping as he devoured every drop.
When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening. He crawled up your body while brushing damp hair from your face with surprising gentleness.
“ That’s my good girl. So fucking obedient when you finally let go. My perfect little weakness.” He praised.
You were still catching your breath when he kissed you slowly while letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
Hyeon-jin smirked against your lips. “ We’re not done yet, baby. Not even close. Doctor’s orders can wait until I’ve ruined you properly.”
You let out a breathless laugh, still floating from the high. “ You’re still an arrogant asshole.”
“ And you still love it.” He shot back by nipping your bottom lip.
The familiar bickering mixed with the afterglow, making everything feel impossibly right in the middle of the chaos.
…
The heat between you two reignited instantly. Your mouths crashed together again in a desperate kiss with your tongues battling for dominance while hands roamed greedily. Hyeon-jin groaned into your mouth, the sound deep and needy. Without warning, he grabbed your wrist and guided your hand down to the massive bulge straining against his sweatpants.
The moment your fingers wrapped around his thick length through the fabric, he hissed sharply and his hips buckled into your touch.
“ Fuck, baby…don’t tease me.” He growled against your lips.
“ I want you so bad. I’m so fucking sensitive right now…I might cum the second your pretty little hand touches my cock properly.”
You bit his bottom lip hard while tugging it between your teeth before releasing it with a smirk. “ You’re so wild and aggressive for someone who was just apologizing an hour ago.”
He chuckled darkly. “ I’ll show you aggressively I am if you don’t do something about this big problem down here, doctor.”
You laughed breathlessly as he pushed himself up against the headboard, settling back to watch you with hungry eyes. His hand fisted into your hair by gripping tight but not painful while guiding you down between his spread thighs.
“ Eyes on me while you work, jagi.” He ordered.
With a mischievous grin, you tugged his sweatpants down. His massive cock sprang free and slapped against his toned stomach. You wrapped your hand around the thick base while feeling it pulse hotly in your palm.
“ Shit—” Hyeon-jin groaned as you started stroking him slowly while your thumb traced the thick and pulsating veins running along his shaft.
You cupped and played with his heavy balls by rolling them gently before leaning down to suck one into your mouth.
“ Fuuuuck.” He cursed while his head falling back for a second before forcing himself to watch again.
“ That mouth…so fucking filthy for a professional physician.”
You released his ball with a wet pop and dragged your tongue slowly up the entire length of his cock by teasing the sensitive underside before swirling around the swollen head. His grip in your hair tightened as you finally took him into your mouth and sucked deeply.
A lewd and wet sounds filled the room as you bobbed your head, taking more of him each time. You pulled off with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock, and slapped his thick length against your cheek playfully.
“ Look at this big cock…” You murmured.
“ So hard and desperate for your doctor’s mouth. You act like such a big, scary fighter…but you’re throbbing like a needy boy right now.”
Hyeon-jin’s eyes darkened with lust. “ Keep talking like that and I’ll fuck that pretty throat raw, jagi.”
You dove back down by sucking him harder and relaxing your throat to take him deeper. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, making you choke slightly, but you didn’t stop. Your saliva dripped down your chin as you worked him faster, hollowing your cheeks.
He was trembling now with his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust into your mouth. “ That’s it…good girl. Taking me so well. Fuck, your mouth feels too perfect.”
You felt him getting closer when his cock swelling even thicker on your tongue. You pushed deeper by choking yourself on his length deliberately as you moved faster.
“ Jagi…I’m close. So fucking close…” He groaned.
You pulled off just enough to speak with your lips brushing his slick tip. “ Cum for me. Let me taste you, Hyeon-jin. Fill my mouth.”
He cursed loudly as his control snapped. His body tensed by trembling hard as thick ropes of cum flooded your mouth. There was so much it spilled from the corners of your lips despite how greedily you swallowed. You kept sucking him through it, milking every drop until he was spent and twitching.
Finally, you pulled off with a lewd pop while licking your lips clean. Some of his cum still dripped down your chin. You crawled up his body and collapsed onto his chest as you breathed hard.
Hyeon-jin wrapped his arms around you by brushing damp strands of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.
“ Holy shit, jagi.” He praised.
“ I never expected a physician like you to suck cock like that. Should’ve hired you the second you walked in if I knew you were this talented.”
You laughed against his chest. “ I studied human anatomy for years. Of course I’m good at it. Thorough education and all that.”
He chuckled deeply. “ Smartass. You’re going to be the death of me.”
His hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively. “ But what a way to go.”
Your body was buzzing, and you could already feel him starting to harden again against your thigh. Hyeon-jin tilted your chin up by kissing you slow and deep while tasting himself on your tongue.
“ You’re mine now, jagi.” He whispered against your lips.
“ There's no more running. No more resignation bullshit. I’ll fuck the stubbornness out of you every single night if I have to.”
You smirked while nipping his jaw. “ Big words for someone who almost came the second I touched him. Careful, old man. Don’t pull a muscle.”
He laughed and rolled you beneath him in one smooth move, he's pinning you down with his larger body. “ Keep talking back, doctor. See what happens.”
The tension wrapped around you both once again. But for tonight, neither of you cared about tomorrow’s consequences.
…
The fire between you refused to die. Hyeon-jin’s mouth claimed yours again in a bruising kiss with your tongues tangling desperately. Without warning, he grabbed your hips and pulled you on top of him while positioning you over his rock-hard cock.
“ Ride me, jagi.” He ordered.
“ Show me how good that fancy medical knowledge is. Use everything you learned to satisfy your patient.”
You smirked down at him. “ Bossy as always, Mr. Kim.”
You reached between your bodies, lined him up, and slowly sank down. A loud moan escaped both of you as his thick length stretched you open and filled you completely.
“ Fuck…so tight.” He groaned.
“ Move, doctor. Don’t make your patient wait.”
You started circling your hips by grinding down on him in slow and teasing movements. The bed creaked loudly beneath you while the mattress bounced with every roll. Hyeon-jin’s eyes stayed glued to where your bodies joined and watched his cock disappear inside you.
“ That’s it, jagi.” He growled while slapping your ass sharply.
“ Fuck yourself on my cock like the needy little thing you are.”
You leaned forward, biting his lower lip hard while riding him faster.
“ You talk so big for someone who’s throbbing inside me like he’s about to lose control.” You whispered filthily.
“ You are a big bad fighter…but got reduced to moaning because of his doctor’s pussy.”
Hyeon-jin’s eyes flashed as he slapped your ass harder. “ Watch that mouth, slut. You’re melting all over me. So fucking wet I can hear it.”
Suddenly, he flipped you over with shocking strength and slammed your front down onto the mattress. He pushed your face into the pillow and mounted you from behind. Your ass cheeks bounced with every brutal snap of his hips.
“ Fuck…yes!” You moaned into the sheets.
He slapped your ass repeatedly until his handprints bloomed red on your skin. He pulled out completely, then slapped his heavy cock against your ass, then slammed back in, and bottomed out in one thrust.
“ Did you feel that, hmm?” He hissed. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back.
His muscular arm wrapped around your throat in a loose headlock, then pulled you against his chest. “ I never thought a professional doctor like you would turn into such a desperate slut the moment a big dick fills this greedy cunt.”
He pounded into you mercilessly, the bed slamming against the wall. “ Tell me…are you my slut?”
You stayed stubbornly quiet, but your pride still flickered despite the overwhelming pleasure. He slowed down as he edged you cruelly.
“ Wrong answer, jagi.” He whispered hotly against your ear.
“ If you can’t convince me, you don’t deserve my cum. I won’t fill you up. I’ll leave this pretty pussy aching and empty.”
He thrust heavily a few times as he hit your g-spot perfectly, then slowed again. You almost cried while your eyes rolled back.
“ Hyeon-jin…please…”
He laughed darkly. “ Pathetic. Beg properly.”
He shoved two fingers into your mouth. “ Suck them like you sucked my cock earlier like a good fucking girl.”
You obeyed, sucking his fingers sloppily while he fucked you brutally from behind by biting your shoulder and leaving more hickeys across your back.
He asked again. “ Are you my slut, huh?”
You finally broke. “ Yes! I’m your slut…your dirty little doctor slut. Please, I need it. I need you to fill me up.”
Hyun-jin mocked you with another degrading laugh. “ That’s more like it. Beg louder. Convince me how badly you want my fucking load.”
You rolled your eyes in pleasure as he hit that spot again, completely losing yourself. “ Please, Hyeon-jin…I’m your desperate slut. I need your cum deep inside me. Please fill your doctor’s pussy…mark me, own me. I’ll be good, I swear!”
He grabbed your chin, then turned your head for a messy kiss. “ Such a good girl for me. Since you begged so nicely, I’ll give you your reward."
He flipped you onto your side while spooning behind you. He lifted your leg high for better access and started fucking you like a man possessed. His mouth crushed against yours in a heated make-out session while he pounded into you.
“ Cum with me, jagi. Let it go.” He growled against your lips.
You nodded frantically. He moved even faster, the wet sounds of your bodies obscene. With one powerful thrust, Hyeon-jin groaned loudly as he came hard by flooding your womb with his thick and hot spurts of cum. He kept thrusting through it by pushing his load deeper until it overflowed and dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets.
Your thighs shook violently as your own orgasm ripped through you while your walls clenching around him. Both of you were covered in sweat and breathing raggedly. Hyeon-jin stayed buried inside you for a long moment before gently pulling out as he brushed damp hair from your face.
“ Fuck, jagi…you completely lost my damn mind.” He murmured.
“ My perfect, filthy little doctor.”
You laughed breathlessly. “ You made me more tired than on the actual workday. My legs feel like jelly.”
He chuckled. “ That’s your consequence for making me so fucking hungry for you these past weeks.”
His hand gently stroked your side. “ Should’ve let me have you sooner instead of being so stubborn.”
“ Arrogant bastard.” You muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
“ My bratty doctor.” He shot back. He pulled you against his chest while his fingers gently brushed through your hair.
“ Sleep, jagi.” He whispered.
“ I tired you out tonight. You’ll need energy for tomorrow…because I’m nowhere near done with you.”
You hummed softly when your eyelids grew heavy against his warm chest. The mix of dominance, praise, and that infuriating charm was impossible to resist.
In the quiet of the penthouse, wrapped in each other, and the chaos of your complicated relationship felt strangely peaceful.
At least for tonight.
Author's Note:
Hello, everyone! Here’s Part 2 of Ruin My Life. I originally planned to upload it yesterday, but I was feeling a bit lazy and didn’t get around to transferring it here. Haha! It’s also been quite a while since I last wrote a more mature-themed story, so working on this chapter felt a little different for me.
" You set fire to my world, couldn't handle the heat."
Summary: A four-year licensed physician who has previously encountered numerous difficult patients. Not until she was assigned as Kim Hyeon-jin's physician for five to six months. Will she be able to handle a man like him, or will sparks fly between the two people with different professions?
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, dark romance, age-gap, mature language, unresolved tension, harassment, mention of mental health issues, womanizer, misogyny, arrogant, fighter, mention of blood, enemies to lovers trope, jealousy, possessive, toxicity, minor injuries, dry humping, make-out, MMA fighter x physician, older man x younger woman
Four years as a licensed physician had turned these assignments into routine, but the way Mr. Choi's smile always carried a hint of warning. You stepped into Mr. Choi’s office on the fifteenth floor of the Seoul medical coordination building has the familiar scent of strong coffee and polished wood greeting you like an old habit.
“ Ah, there you are. Sit. Your new file.” He said while gesturing to the chair across from his desk.
You took the folder while flipping it open as he leaned back when the first page hit you immediately.
Kim Hyeon-jin. Mid-forties. A professional MMA fighter. He has multiple national titles and was undefeated in three international circuits until last season. He's the pride of the nation, apparently.
Mr. Choi cleared his throat. “ You’ll be with him until the end of the international tournament. Five to six months, minimum. You'll be a live-in physician at his penthouse in Gangnam.”
You raised an eyebrow. “ An MMA fighter? That’s new.”
“ He’s…experienced.” Mr. Choi said carefully.
“ He's famous. Everyone in Korea knows his name. But his previous physicians have filed reports. Mood swings. Clinical bipolar diagnosis. When he loses, he gets violent. One poor doctor ended up with a broken nose after two back-to-back defeats. Hyeon-jin blamed the medical advice for his ‘weakness.’”
You scanned the notes. “ Charming.”
“ There’s more…” Mr. Choi added while rubbing his temple.
“ He’s a notorious flirt. The kind who treats body heat like post-fight protein. You might walk in on…situations. Or he might invite you into them. Ignore it. Do your job and keep him healthy for the cage.”
You closed the file with a soft snap. “ I’ve handled worse. Remember the actor who threw champagne bottles when his vitamin levels were low? Or the politician who thought medical tape was optional during a scandal? I don’t intimidate easily.”
Mr. Choi studied you, his usual warmth fading into genuine concern. “ This isn’t just an attitude. He’s huge. Strong. And unpredictable. I’m not ordering you to take it. Sign the waiver or don’t. Your safety matters.”
You read the terms about the standard liability clauses, emergency protocols, and confidentiality stronger than steel.
With a decisive flourish, you signed.
Mr. Choi chuckled. “ You never fail to amuse me. Always chasing the challenge.”
“ Backing out is for cowards.” You replied
“ I win by winning.”
…
The next morning, a black van picked you up from your apartment in Itaewon. Seoul traffic crawled as the driver navigated toward Gangnam’s glittering skyline. Your pulse ticked higher than usual.
The penthouse was on the top floor of a sleek tower overlooking the Han River. When the door opened, Kim Hyeon-jin himself stood there in nothing but black compression shorts and a loose robe hanging off one shoulder. A sweat glistened on his broad chest and defined abs like he’d just finished a private workout.
He's mid-forties but looked unfairly good on him. His silver threading through his black hair, sharp jaw, and eyes that pinned you like a takedown.
“ You’re the new doc?” His voice was low and rough with that signature Busan accent.
He smirked while leaning against the doorframe and blocking your path. “ They sent a pretty one this time. Trying to keep me motivated?”
You met his gaze evenly then the medical bag in hand. “ I’m here to keep your body from falling apart before the tournament, Mr. Kim. Not to stroke your ego. May I come in?”
He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he let his eyes drag over you slowly. “ Feisty. I like that. The last guy was a nervous wreck. He cried when I yelled at him.”
“ Probably because you broke his nose.” You shot back, stepping forward until you were inches from his chest.
“ I’d prefer not to add reconstructive surgery to my résumé. Now, are you going to let me do my job or do we start with a physical assessment right here in the hallway?”
A deep laugh rumbled out of him. He finally stepped aside, but not before brushing past you close enough that his warmth radiated against your arm.
“ Straight to business. Cute.”
The penthouse was massive. The floor-to-ceiling windows, a private gym in one corner, and an absurdly large couch that looked like it had seen its share of “recovery sessions.”
You set your bag down and pulled out your tablet. “ First things first. Full medical history. Current medications. Any recent injuries?”
Hyeon-jin dropped onto the couch while spreading his legs lazily. “ You’re all business. No small talk? No ‘Wow, Mr. Kim, you’re even more handsome in person’?”
You didn’t look up. “ I’ve seen better physiques on retired athletes who actually follow medical advice. Blood pressure?”
He grinned, but there was an edge to it. “ You’re not scared of me. That’s new.”
“ Should I be?” You finally met his eyes.
“ I’ve read the reports. Bipolar, violent outbursts, and flirtatious to the point of harassment. But I’m not your previous doctors, I don’t run and I don’t tolerate bullshit.”
For a second, something darker flickered across his face. Is it anger? Amusement? He stood up suddenly while towering over you.
“ You think you can handle me for six months, doc?” His voice dropped.
“ I break things when I lose. And right now, I’m on a losing streak. What makes you think you won’t end up with more than a broken nose?”
You stepped closer, but refusing to back down. “ Because unlike them, I’m not here to babysit your pride. I’m here to make sure you can still fight.”
“ If you want to throw a tantrum, fine. But if you lay a hand on me, I walk…and good luck finding another doctor willing to put up with your shit before the tournament.”
Hyeon-jin stared at you for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “ Damn. They finally sent someone with balls.”
He reached out and flicked the collar of your shirt lightly. “ Fine. Do your check-up. But don’t think I won’t try to get under that professional armor, doc. Six months is a long time to play hard to get.”
You swatted his hand away, hiding the way your pulse spiked. “ Keep dreaming, fighter. Now sit down before I sedate you for the blood draw.”
As you prepared your equipment, the heavy tension lingered like smoke and this assignment was going to be a war of wills. And strangely, you were already looking forward to the next round.
…
The morning sun poured through the massive windows of Kim Hyeon-jin’s Gangnam penthouse, casting long shadows over the chaos he’d already created. It was barely 9 AM on your first official day, and the man was testing you like a toddler trapped in a 5’10 fighter’s body.
Empty takeout boxes from last night’s Korean barbecue littered the marble kitchen island. Rice stuck to the counter, sauce smeared across the floor, and his protein shaker bottles rolled everywhere like discarded toys.
He clearly wanted you to clean it. You stepped over a spilled container of kimchi without a second glance, a medical bag slung over your shoulder, and headed straight for the living room.
You were his physician, not his damn maid.
Hyeon-jin lounged on the couch in nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants while watching you with a smirk. When you ignored the mess completely with his eyebrow twitched.
“ Oi, doc. You gonna leave that there?” He called out.
You didn’t even look at him. “ I’m here to monitor your blood pressure and joint mobility, not scrub your floors. Hire a cleaner if you want one.”
He grunted and clearly annoyed that his little power play failed.
Then came the pranks.
A sudden sharp pop-pop-pop exploded behind you. Firecrackers. You jumped, nearly slipping on a patch of leftover sauce on the floor. Your heart hammered as you spun around. Hyeon-jin doubled over laughing, holding his stomach, then pulling a ridiculous face, and mocking your startled expression.
“ Scared, little doctor? I thought you weren’t easily intimidated.” He taunted.
You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Patience. A long patience. It was only day one. If you lost your cool now, you’d probably end up breaking more bones than you fixed.
You exhaled slowly and turned away while refusing to give him the reaction he craved.
The worst came in the afternoon.
A loud and shameless moans echoed from upstairs. A deep, guttural, and followed by a woman’s high-pitched cries. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall. You knew exactly what was happening.
A heat crawled up your neck with a mix of annoyance and something far more dangerous. You stayed downstairs in the living room with arms crossed, and pretending to review his medical file while the explicit sounds filled the penthouse.
Twenty minutes later, he came down the stairs with a woman clinging to his arm like a koala, her lipstick smeared and hair wild.
She wore one of his shirts that barely covering her thighs. Right in front of you, Hyeon-jin pulled her in for a filthy and open-mouthed kiss while his hand was gripping her waist, then the woman finally pulled away while glancing at you with a smug eye-roll as she passed.
Hyeon-jin gave her ass a loud slap. “ Come back tonight, sweetheart. I’ll still be warmed up.”
She giggled and left.
You couldn’t hold back anymore.
“ If you’re done emptying your balls and acting like a horny teenager.” You said sarcastically.
“ Maybe I can finally do my actual job? You have a match next week. I need to check if that dumb body of yours is even eligible for non-stop practice.”
Hyeon-jin crossed his thick arms over his bare chest, muscles flexing. The sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the deep V-line.
“ I’m the boss here.” He growled.
“ You’re getting paid because of me. So you follow what I want. Understand?”
You stood your ground and refusing to retreat even as his body heat invaded your space. “ And you should be thankful I even accepted this assignment.”
“ Without me checking that reckless body of yours, you might not even make it to the ring without collapsing. So sit down and let me do my work, Mr. Big Shot Fighter.”
He walked forward until he was towering over you while leaning in so close you could smell his skin. His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second before snapping back up.
“ How dare you act like you’ve already won?” He muttered.
“ You think you can talk to me like that?”
You tilted your chin up. “ I’m confident in my work. It seems like you’re the one intimidated by your own physician instead of showing who’s really the boss.”
His jaw clenched hard. For a moment, a pure fury flashed across his face. “ I don’t care that you’re a woman. Keep messing with me and I might hurt you.”
You smiled coldly. “ Go ahead. Hurt me. That just proves what a shit human being you are. I’ve handled worse than a bipolar, overcompensating fighter who throws tantrums and firecrackers like a child.”
The air between you was electric. His gaze burned into yours like something dark and hungry flickering beneath the anger, but neither of you backed down.
Finally, Hyeon-jin exhaled sharply through his nose, turned on his heel, and stormed upstairs. The door to his bedroom slammed so hard the walls shook.
You flinched slightly, then smirked.
He lost.
You exhaled while leaning against the counter. Your pulse was still hammering, thighs unconsciously pressed together from the lingering heat of his proximity.
This man was going to drive you insane for the next six months. And the worst part? Some twisted part of you was already excited for round two.
…
The first week with Kim Hyeon-jin felt like boot camp for patience. The man was a walking contradiction. A mid-forties MMA legend with the emotional maturity of a spoiled toddler.
You followed him like a shadow everywhere.
From his penthouse in Gangnam to the elite training facility on the outskirts of Seoul since his shoulder injury was no joke. It's a severe rotator cuff tear that needed constant clinical observation if he wanted any chance at the upcoming international tournament.
So you went where he went with the medical kit ready while having a notepad in your hand.
Most of the time, you sat quietly in the corner of the massive gym, the sounds of weights clanging and fighters grunting filling the air. You wrote detailed reports on his mobility, inflammation levels, and mood patterns. His bipolar episodes were unpredictable, but the physical toll on that shoulder worried you more than his tantrums.
Today was no different. You claimed a quiet bench near the practice mats, legs crossed, and typing away on your tablet. Hyeon-jin was across the room, shirtless and drenched in sweat, pounding the heavy bag with brutal force.
Every strike made the chain rattle. You tried not to notice how his back muscles flexed or the way his sweatpants clung to his powerful thighs.
Until someone sat beside you.
A deep, tired sigh broke your focus. The man wiped his face with a towel while his broad shoulders slumping.
“ Fuck, it’s exhausting today. I just want to escape this deadly routine and live like a normal citizen. No more smashing my handsome face for money.”
You glanced sideways, assuming he was talking to someone else. But the bench was empty except for the two of you.
You raised an eyebrow. “ Are you…talking to me?”
He turned, flashing a bright, and boyish smile that contrasted with his fighter’s build. “ Yeah. You looked like the only sane person in this madhouse.”
He extended a large hand. “ Kang Heesung.”
You accepted the handshake, his grip firm but warm. “ I’m Hyeon-jin’s personal physician.”
Heesung chuckled, leaning back. “ Damn. My friend’s too rich and lucky. Having a doctor who actually follows him around? Most of us get ghosts.”
You tilted your head. “ You don’t have your own physician monitoring you?”
“ I do on paper.” He said with a wry grin.
“ But the management assigned one. However, she only shows up when my manager’s watching. Otherwise, I’m on my own. She treats the job like a part-time hobby.”
“ That’s unacceptable.” You replied.
“ You’re the one getting punched in the cage. You have every right to file a complaint.”
Heesung laughed softly while shaking his head. “ Management pays them, not me. I can’t fire anyone. Hyun-jin’s the lucky bastard…he has enough cash to hire someone competent like you.”
The conversation flowed easily. He was charming in a relaxed way, nothing like the walking storm that was your client. You reached into your pocket and handed him your company’s calling card.
“ If you want a real change, call this number. The head will screen and assign the right physician for you.”
Heesung took the card, his fingers brushing yours a second longer than necessary. His eyes sparkled with interest.
“ What if I specifically want you as my personal physician? Would you accept?”
You smiled politely, about to respond when a sharp voice cut through the gym like a whip.
“ Doc! You’re supposed to be working for me, not flirting with my fucking teammates!”
Hyeon-jin stormed over, chest heaving, towel slung around his neck. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were burning with clear jealousy.
Heesung tried to defend you. “ Hyeon-jin hyung, relax…we were just—”
“ Inside. Now.” Hyeon-jin barked at you, ignoring his friend completely.
“ My shoulder’s acting up. Private room. Move.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and headed toward the private recovery rooms at the back of the facility, and shoulders rigid with anger. You stood quickly, cheeks burning with a mix of annoyance and something hotter.
“ Sorry about that. He's…intense.” You muttered to Heesung.
Heesung laughed. “ We’re all used to his moods. Good luck there.”
You hurried after Hyeon-jin. The private room was small but well-equipped. He slammed the door behind you the moment you entered.
“ What the hell was that?” He growled, rounding on you.
His bare chest glistened with sweat, and breathing still heavy from training. “ Giving him your card? Smiling like that? You’re my physician. Mine.”
You crossed your arms while refusing to shrink under his glare. “ I was doing my job, Mr. Kim. Networking. Unlike some people, I actually care about athletes getting proper care. And I wasn’t flirting.”
“ Bullshit.” He stepped closer, towering over you.
“ I saw how he looked at you. How long were you two laughing like old friends? Five minutes and you’re handing out your number?”
You laughed sarcastically. “ Oh please. Are you seriously throwing a tantrum because I talked to another fighter? What are you, five? I thought I was assigned to a champion, not a jealous toddler who throws firecrackers and has public make-out sessions to prove something.”
His eyes darkened. He leaned in, one hand bracing on the wall beside your head, and caging you without touching. “ You think this is funny? I pay you. I own your time for the next six months. Not Heesung. Not anyone else.”
You tilted your chin up, heart pounding wildly. His lips were so close you could feel his breath. “ You don’t own me. You hired me to keep that injured shoulder from falling apart and make sure your bipolar ass doesn’t explode before the tournament.”
“ If talking to a decent human being threatens you that much, maybe the problem isn’t me.”
Hyeon-jin’s jaw flexed. For a second, his gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, and tracing your body with blatant hunger. The jealousy mixed with raw lust created an explosive cocktail in the small room.
“ You have no idea how much I want to—” He stopped himself, voice rough. Instead, he pulled back slightly and yanked his shoulder in a dramatic wince.
“ Just check the damn shoulder. That’s what I pay you for.”
You smirked, knowing you’d won this round again. “ Sit down, you big baby.”
As you stepped closer to examine him, your hands professional but the proximity anything when his skin burned under your fingers and every brush of contact sent sparks flying. He watched you with dark, stormy eyes, and the jealousy still simmering beneath the surface.
Neither of you addressed the obvious about the magnetic pull, the constant bickering that felt more like foreplay than fighting, and the way his presence made your pulse race even when he was being impossible.
You pressed on a tender spot, making him hiss. “ Hold still. And stop glaring. Unless you want me to recommend Heesung as a better patient.”
“ Try it.” He muttered with his voice low and threatening in the most delicious way.
“ See what happens.”
The session continued in charged silence broken only by his occasional grunts and your sarcastic instructions.
Six months suddenly felt both too long and far too short.
…
The next day, the penthouse felt like a luxurious prison. Management had granted Hyeon-jin a full rest day after you explained in very simple terms that pushing his torn rotator cuff any further would turn him from a national pride into a retired has-been.
No training or no gym. Just recovery. You were stuck here with him as the laptop balanced on your knees in the living room while typing up your daily report while he sprawled on the massive couch watching some mindless action movie.
The sound of explosions blared from the TV.
Hyeon-jin’s voice cut through it lazily. “ Doc. Refill the popcorn. And bring another beer.”
You didn’t even look up from your screen. “ You have an injured shoulder, Mr. Kim, not broken legs. You can still walk. The kitchen is twenty steps away.”
He cursed under his breath in thick Busan dialect before heaving himself off the couch when the fridge door slammed loud enough to rattle the bottles inside.
You heard the microwave beep angrily as he refilled the popcorn. A minute later as he dropped back onto the couch with a fresh beer and an overflowing bowl.
“ There. Happy now?” He grumbled while shooting you a glare.
“ I did what you wanted. You should be satisfied, Miss Perfect Physician.”
You ignored him completely, fingers flying across the keyboard. Because the silence that followed was almost satisfying.
Two hours passed. The movie ended, and Hyun-jin had worked his way through several more beers. He wasn’t blackout drunk, but the slight slur in his voice and the glassy look in his eyes told you he was buzzed.
Surprisingly, he stood up, gathered the empty bottles and garbage, and tossed them into the trash with more force than necessary.
Then he turned to you. “ Follow me to the room. My shoulder’s killing me again. I need a massage.”
You closed your laptop slowly. “ I’m not your physical therapist, Mr. Kim. I can help with basic muscle relief, but don’t expect miracles.”
He didn’t reply, just headed upstairs. You sighed, grabbed the ointment from your medical kit, and followed.
In his bedroom, the lights were low. Hyeon-jin lay face-down on the massive bed, shirtless, and eyes closed. His broad back and powerful legs took up most of the mattress.
You stood beside him. “ You don’t need to lie down. Sitting would work fine.”
“ I can’t sit. I'm too drunk. Just do it.” He muttered.
You sighed again. No choice. You warmed the ointment between your palms and started on his injured shoulder, pressing gently into the tight muscles. He groaned deeply and the rumbling sounds that vibrated through his chest.
The noise sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. You worked down his arms, then his back, trying to stay clinical. Your hands moved to his legs while kneading the thick thighs that could crush opponents in the cage.
“ Back to the shoulder.” He ordered after a while.
You shifted higher then his next words made your hands freeze.
“ It’d be easier if you sat on top of me.”
You pulled your hands back. “ That’s inappropriate. I can’t do that.”
Hyeon-jin smirked while turning his head to look at you with half-lidded eyes. “ Scared you might feel something hard underneath?”
You nearly choked on your own saliva. “ You’re way out of line, Mr. Kim.”
He laughed and suddenly his hand shot out then grabbing your arm. With surprising strength for a drunk man with a bad shoulder as he yanked you forward.
You tumbled directly onto his lap, straddling him. Your eyes widened as you felt the unmistakable thick ridge of his erection pressing right between your legs through his thin sweatpants.
“ See?” He said smugly.
“ Maybe you can massage this too. Help it calm down.”
A heat flooded your face. You clenched your jaw and tried to push him off. “ Let me go.”
His hands gripped your hips tighter and holding you in place, then he rolled his hips upward in one slow grind. The friction made you bite back a gasp. If he kept this up, you really might lose control.
“ Stop—” You started, but he flipped you suddenly.
In one smooth motion, you were on your back with him hovering over you and caging you with his powerful arms. His body heat engulfed you and the scent of his skin filled your lungs.
“ I’ve already learned one of your weaknesses, doc.” He whispered.
“ And I can’t wait to discover the rest.”
He lowered his head, nibbling along the side of your neck with just enough teeth to make your breath hitch. You bit your lip hard, and fighting the moan threatening to escape. He inhaled deeply while dragging his nose along your skin as if savoring your scent.
“ You already know what kind of dangerous man I am.” He murmured.
“ Yet here you are, acting all tough. But deep down? You’re melting for me. I can feel it.”
His hips pressed down again and letting you feel exactly how hard he was. Your hands fisted the sheets instead of pushing him away. For a moment, it felt like he might actually cross the line completely.
Then, just as suddenly, he stopped.
Hyeon-jin climbed off you with a satisfied smirk, rolling onto his back beside you as if nothing had happened. “ The session's over. I need to rest now.”
You lay there stunned, chest heaving, body still buzzing with unfulfilled need. Your face burned with a mix of anger and frustration.
“ You…absolute child.”
He chuckled lazily while eyes already closing. “ What’s wrong, doc? Can’t handle a little teasing? I thought you weren’t easily intimidated.”
You sat up quickly while smoothing your clothes with shaky hands. “ This is exactly why your previous physicians quit. You’re impossible.”
“ Yet you’re still here.” He shot back without opening his eyes.
“ Admit it. You like the challenge. And you liked sitting on my cock more than you’ll ever say.”
You stood up, grabbing the ointment with more force than necessary. “ Keep dreaming, Mr. Kim. The only thing I’m massaging tomorrow is your ego…if it fits in the room.”
He laughed again as you stormed toward the door, but you caught the way his hand adjusted himself under the blanket. Your pulse raced and your thighs pressed together as you tried to regain composure.
This assignment was becoming far more dangerous than you’d expected. Six months of this? You weren’t sure if you’d survive without either killing him…or giving in to the fire he kept stoking so expertly.
As you closed the door behind you, his low voice followed you down the hall. “ Sweet dreams, doc. Don’t think about me too much tonight.”
You muttered a string of curses under your breath, already knowing sleep would be impossible. The champion had won this round, but the war was far from over.
…
The first month with Kim Hyeon-jin had been a masterclass in endurance. You followed him like a diligent shadow and monitoring every twitch in that stubborn rotator cuff. The injury refused to heal quietly, flaring up after intense sessions, and yet the man pushed through with sheer arrogance.
And the teasing? It had only gotten worse.
He flirted shamelessly now. The lingering touches during bandage changes with the low whispers about how your hands felt “too good” on his skin, and crude jokes about needing private “physical therapy” in his bedroom.
Each time, you shut it down with cool professionalism, and reinforcing the boundary like a steel wall. You were here to work. Not to melt under the temptation of a mid-forties MMA champion who looked far too good shirtless and sweaty.
Tonight was the Cambodia fight in Seoul’s massive indoor arena. The crowd roared like thunder, and the noise threatened to burst your eardrums.
You hated this. The flashing lights, the screaming fans, and the thick smell of sweat and adrenaline. But as his physician, you had to be ringside.
Hyeon-jin stood on the stage during the introductions, chest puffed out, title belt from previous wins already slung over his shoulder like a trophy.
His opponent, a stocky Cambodian fighter named Sovann, looked focused and respectful. Hyeon-jin? Not so much.
“ Keep that pretty face away from my fists, boy!” He taunted loudly into the mic.
“ Or I’ll send you back to Phnom Penh in a body bag!”
The crowd ate it up, but you shook your head in disappointment.
He is such an arrogant shit.
The bell rang.
In the first round, Hyeon-jin exploded. He targeted Sovann’s weakest point with vicious precision, and landed heavy hooks that made the arena explode. The blood sprayed as Hyeon-jin laughed through his mouthguard while dancing around his staggering opponent.
“ Come on, rice boy! That's all you got? My grandmother hits harder!”
He kept mocking him with nicknames, strutting like the ring belonged to him alone. You winced at every taunt. When Sovann tried a desperate takedown, Hyeon-jin sprawled and rained down ground-and-pound until the referee nearly stopped it.
You turned to his longtime coach, Mr. Do, who stood beside you with arms crossed.
“ Is this normal? Being such an asshole in the ring?” You asked over the noise.
Coach Do chuckled dryly. “ It depends on the fighter. Some want to be known as humble warriors. Others…”
He nodded toward Hyeon-jin, who was still trash-talking. “ They build character. He's the biggest asshole in the game, that’s his brand. He draws the crowds and pays the bills.”
You tilted your head. “ But he’s different in private?”
The older man sighed. “ I’ve been with him for almost twenty years. Out there, he’s a storm. In private? He’s just a man craving attention."
“ His parents hated this path. When he went pro, they cut him off completely. No calls. No support. He hasn’t seen them in over a decade. Deep down, all that boasting? It’s a scream for someone to finally notice him.”
You looked back at the ring. Hyeon-jin had Sovann pinned, fists hammering down. The blood painted his knuckles and chest. The violence was raw and almost frightening. Yet knowing the backstory softened something in your chest.
The referee finally called it. Hyeon-jin won by TKO.
He jumped onto the ropes, belt raised high, and roared at the crowd. “ I’m still the fucking champion! Korea’s pride! Who wants next?!”
Coach Do pat your shoulder. “ I hope you still have patience left for him, doc. The longer you two spend time together, the more you’ll see the real Hyeon-jin. You might realize you’ve misunderstood him.”
You didn’t reply. Because right then, across the chaos of flashing cameras and screaming fans, Hyeon-jin’s eyes locked directly onto you. Even from the ring, his gaze burned. His sweat dripped down his sculpted torso. The championship belt gleamed over his shoulder as he stared like you were the only person in the entire arena.
Your heart slammed violently against your ribs. For a split second, you imagined those blood-stained hands on your skin instead of an opponent’s face.
The fantasy was dangerous and unprofessional.
You quickly tore your gaze away, pretending to check your medical bag.
Act normal. You’re his doctor. Nothing more.
But your pulse refused to calm.
After the press conference, you rode back to the penthouse in the private van together. The city lights blurred past the windows. He sat across from you, still buzzing from the win, towel around his neck, and shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages you’d applied ringside.
“ You saw me out there, doc.” He said with that signature smirk.
“ Impressed yet? Or are you still pretending you don’t want a piece of the champion?”
You kept your eyes on your tablet. “ I saw a man who nearly hospitalized someone while calling him childish names. Very mature.”
He laughed. “ Jealous I wasn’t mocking you instead? I could arrange private sessions. My fists aren’t the only thing that’s hard after a win.”
You shot him a glare. “ Boundaries, Mr. Kim. I’m here to monitor your shoulder, not feed your ego…or anything else.”
“ Still playing hard to get after a month?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his eyes dark with want.
“ We both know you felt it when you sat on my lap last time. Your body doesn’t lie as well as your mouth does.”
You swallowed hard, ignoring the way your thighs pressed together. “ And you’re still acting like a toddler who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants. Focus on recovery. The next fight is in three weeks.”
He smirked wider, clearly enjoying how flustered you were trying not to be. “ Keep telling yourself that, doc. But I see how you look at me. Especially tonight.”
The van pulled up to the penthouse. He climbed out first, offering you a hand like a gentleman which you ignored and stepping out on your own. You headed straight to your temporary office space to finish reports while your heart was still racing from that ringside stare.
Hyeon-jin was dangerous. Not just because of his fists or his moods, but because beneath the arrogant fighter was a man who made you feel things you had no business feeling.
And as he disappeared upstairs, calling over his shoulder, “ Don’t stay up thinking about me too much again.”
You knew one thing for certain:
This assignment was only going to get more complicated.
…
The penthouse lights cast a soft glow over Hyeon-jin’s bare torso as you carefully cleaned the fresh cuts and bruises from tonight’s fight. The scent of antiseptic mixed with his natural musk filled the air. He sat on the edge of the couch, legs spread wide, while you stood between them trying to stay professional.
“ Ah…fuck, be careful!” He hissed as you dabbed a deeper gash on his cheekbone.
“ You have heavy hands, doc. Why the hell did you become a physician if you keep hurting your patients like this?”
You pressed the cotton pad a little harder than necessary on the next cut. He groaned loudly then glaring up at you with those sharp eyes.
“ You’re doing that on purpose.” He accused.
You met his glare without flinching. “ If you keep muttering shit, you deserve to feel the pain. Maybe it’ll finally shut you up.”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. You paused, raising an eyebrow. “ Why are you smiling?”
“ Because I won tonight.” He said, leaning back with that signature cocky grin.
“ I deserve a reward, don’t you think?”
You tossed the used cotton into the bin. “ Spoil yourself then. Order something expensive. Don’t expect me to treat you…I don’t have time for that.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “ You already know what I really want. I need a warm body tonight. Somewhere to pour all this victory into…preferably in bed.”
You froze mid-motion. “ Why are you telling me this kind of information, Mr. Kim?”
He chuckled again while leaning forward until his face was dangerously close. “ I booked someone for fun tonight. But I just canceled. She seemed…boring.”
Before you could respond, his finger pressed against your lower lip and tracing it slowly. The touch sent electricity racing down your spine.
“ Since this chaotic person came into my life.” He murmured.
“ I haven’t wanted to call anyone else to make my victory night memorable.”
You swallowed hard. “ You’re crossing the line again.”
“ I love crossing lines.” He whispered.
“ And you’re dying for me to cross them completely. I can see it.”
You stepped back slightly while fighting the heat pooling in your stomach. “ I’m here for my job. Not this. If you’re that horny, just dial someone available.”
Hyeon-jin’s arms suddenly wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer until your hips bumped to his. “ I got bored of them. They all see me as a walking wallet. Source of money and luxury.”
“ You’re using them too.” You shot back, trying to ignore how perfectly your body fit against his.
He laughed. “ Exactly. We use each other. Fair trade.”
His grip tightened, pulling you fully between his legs.
“ This belt means nothing.” He muttered.
“ My real trophy is right here…but she’s too feisty. She has fangs and everything.”
“ We need to stop this.” You said.
“ What if I don’t want to stop?” His breath ghosted over your lips.
“ I could get suspended if management finds out.”
Hyeon-jin smirked. “ I’ll pay your entire company just to have you.”
Before you could fire back, his mouth claimed yours.
The kiss was hungry, demanding, and days of built-up tension exploded in one moment. You tried to push against his chest, but your hands betrayed you, melting into the hard muscle. He tasted like victory and sin. A low groan escaped him as he deepened the kiss while his tongue teasing yours.
He tugged you down, making you straddle his lap completely. Your arms wrapped around his neck almost absently as you surrendered while kissing him back with equal heat. His hands roamed your back and pulled you impossibly closer.
Hyeon-jin groaned into your mouth as the sound vibrating through you. In one swift move, he flipped you onto the couch, laying you beneath him while still owning your lips. His free hand slid down your thigh, squeezing the muscle through your medical pants, and fingers digging in possessively.
His mouth left yours to trail hot kisses along your jaw. While nibbling your sensitive skin, he whispered roughly.
“ I want you right now, doc. Fuck the rules.”
Your body arched toward him. His hips pressed down, letting you feel exactly how hard he was while your fingers threading through his hair, his scent surrounding you, and the world narrowing to just his body against yours.
Then his phone rang.
The sharp sound shattered the moment like a bucket of ice water. Both of you flew apart. You sat up quickly while fixing your clothes with flushed cheeks. Hyeon-jin cursed loudly while adjusting the obvious erection straining against his pants by covering it with his hands.
“ It’s Coach Do.” He growled, answering the call.
“ What?”
You could hear the coach’s cheerful voice congratulating him on another dominant win. He mentioned the victory party later tonight when the entire team was expecting Hyeon-jin to show up and celebrate.
Hyeon-jin’s voice came out grumpy and irritated. “ I don’t want to party right now. My body’s hurting like hell. Let everyone enjoy the night without me. I already paid for the entire expenses anyway. Drink, eat, whatever. Just leave me out.”
Coach Do sighed on the other end but wished him a fast recovery before saying goodbye and ending the call. Hyun-jin tossed the phone onto the coffee table and ran a hand through his messy hair.
The air between you still crackled with unfinished heat. You stood up, trying to regain your professional composure even though your lips felt swollen and your thighs trembled slightly.
“ That…can’t happen again.” You said.
He looked at you with dark, frustrated eyes, and a smirk tugging at his lips despite everything. “ Keep telling yourself that. We both know you were melting just as hard as I was.”
You crossed your arms, falling back into bickering to hide the storm inside you. “ You’re impossible. One minute you’re complaining about my heavy hands, the next you’re trying to drag me into bed. Make up your mind, Mr. Champion.”
“ Easy.” He replied, standing up slowly, still half-hard and unashamed.
“ My mind’s made up. I want you. The only thing stopping us is that stubborn pride of yours.”
You grabbed your medical kit. “ Focus on resting that shoulder. The party might be optional for you, but your recovery isn’t.”
He stepped closer again, but the tension refusing to die. “ Running away so soon? After kissing me like you needed it more than air?”
Your cheeks burned. “ It was a mistake. Temporary insanity.”
“ Liar.” He whispered.
“ Next time, I won’t let a phone call save you.”
You turned away before he could see how much his words affected you. “ There won’t be a next time.”
But as you walked toward your room, you both knew that was another lie in a long list of them.
Author's Note:
Heya, guys! Welcome to another Kim Hyeon-jin fanfic. Some of you have been requesting another story about him, as well as a Part 2 of “Let’s Get Physical.” I honestly didn’t expect so many of you to enjoy the connection between Hyeonjin and the reader in that story, so thank you for all the love and support.
As for the question about whether there will be a Part 2...my answer is, I’m not sure yet. It was originally meant to be a one-shot, so I hadn’t planned on continuing it. But maybe, depending on whether I come up with an idea that fits the story well and adds a fresh twist to make it even more exciting.
Summary: Ahn Sang-goo is a highly respected mafia leader in Seoul. He was invited to his friends' bachelor party to have fun. However, Sang-goo did not find the night "fun". Instead, he considers it "disastrous" when your path crosses with his. That would mark the beginning of each other's nightmares.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, dark romance, age-gap, mature language, killings, chaos, threats, unresolved tension, slow burn, double meaning jokes, drinking, smoking, older man x younger woman
The countdown to the wedding was down to three days, and Ahn Sang-goo was beginning to feel like a man trying to train a tornado to sit still. His objective for the morning had been simple: a historical orientation of the Ahn bloodline.
He had set up a projector in the darkened library, pointing a laser at a sprawling family tree that dated back to the mid-Joseon era.
" My great-grandfather was the first to establish the maritime trade routes in Busan." Sang-goo explained with his deep and authoritative voice.
" He was known for his ruthlessness and his ability to—"
He stopped, then he looked over at you. You were currently balancing a pencil on your upper lip, staring cross-eyed at the ceiling while humming a melody that sounded suspiciously like a Justin Bieber song.
" Are you even in this dimension?" He growled as the laser pointer danced irritably on your forehead.
" Mmph." You muttered.
" I heard 'Busan.' My favorite seafood place is in Busan. Do they have donuts there? We should go."
Sang-goo’s eyes twitched. He realized that logic and history were useless weapons against you. In a move that was purely childish and one he would deny to his grave, he suddenly flicked the laser pointer onto your hand, then onto the table, darting it around like he was playing with a kitten.
Your eyes snapped to the red dot. You lunged for it, your hand slapping the mahogany table. " Got it!"
" Finally." Sang-goo sighed, turning off the projector.
" Since your brain clearly cannot process high-level genealogy, let’s move to something more practical. The house rules."
The tour of the mansion was less of a briefing and more of a parade. As Sang-goo led you through the halls, he introduced the staff. " These are the third-floor maids. These are the perimeter guards."
" The rule is simple: absolute silence and no eye contact unless spoken to."
You, however, were a sunshine grenade.
" Hi! I'm the new wife! Well, the temporary one. I love your uniform, it's a very 'chic villain henchman'!" You beamed at a guard who looked like he could snap a telephone pole in half.
The guard stood frozen, his eyes glued to the floor tiles, his knuckles white. Sang-goo had a "look-at-me-and-die" policy that had been in place for a decade.
" Hey, why are you looking at the rug?" You asked, leaning down to try and catch his gaze.
" I'm up here! Look! I’m doing the 'shy cat' pose!" You put your fists to your cheeks, tilting your head in a full-on aegyo display.
The guard’s forehead began to sweat. He glanced at Sang-goo, expecting to see a gun drawn. Instead, he saw his boss staring at the ceiling, rubbing his temples with a look of profound spiritual exhaustion.
" Look at her." Sang-goo muttered with his voice defeated.
" Just look at her so she stops making those ridiculous faces. I’m giving you a one-time pass. Just...acknowledge the creature."
The guard looked up, saw your sparkling eyes and your goofy grin, and let out a tiny, terrified
" Hello." You clapped your hands, delighted, while Sang-goo wondered if he was actually preparing to produce an heir or if he was just babysitting a very loud toddler in a woman's body.
To clear his head, he decided to take you out.
" We are going to L'Étoile." He announced as you climbed into the back of his armored sedan.
" It is the most exclusive French restaurant in the city. The chef studied under—"
" No." You said firmly.
Sang-goo paused, his hand on the door handle. " Excuse me?"
" I'm not eating tiny food on big plates." You argued.
" The price isn't worth the calories, Sang-goo. It doesn't make my stomach full. It just makes my wallet cry and my brain gets bored. I want real food."
" It is art!" Sang-goo barked.
" It's a snack masquerading as a mortgage payment!" You yelled back.
The argument lasted ten blocks. The driver stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel as the most feared man in Korea shouted about the importance of foie gras while you shouted about the superior texture of rice cakes. Finally, Sang-goo threw his hands up.
" Fine! Direct me to this...this culinary wasteland you prefer!"
Ten minutes later, Sang-goo was standing on a crowded street corner, looking like a misplaced prince in a coal mine. His silk suit stood out against the steam of the street stalls.
He narrowed his eyes, shielding his nose with a silk handkerchief. " It smells like...grease and desperation. This place is probably a breeding ground for bacteria."
" It’s called seasoning, Sang-goo." You said, dragging him by his sleeve toward a tteokbokki vendor.
You were beaming, inhaling the scent of spicy sauce and fried batter. " It’s a life-saver! You’re so stingy with your money, always paying for 'art and labor.' Here, you pay for the food!"
The vendor, an elderly woman with a permanent smile, looked up. " Oh! You're back! And you brought a boyfriend? He looks like a movie star!"
You blushed, waving your hand dismissively. " Oh, him? No, he's just a friend. A very rich, very stingy friend. I brought him here because he’s trying to save money. He’s a bit of a cheapskate, you see."
Sang-goo’s jaw nearly hit the pavement. He, the man who owned half of the shipping docks in Incheon, was being called stingy in front of a woman selling three-dollar noodles.
He opened his mouth to reveal his true net worth, but you leaned in and whispered sharply in his ear.
" Act kind, Reaper. This isn't your territory. If you act like a scary mafia boss here, the ahjumma will give you the spicy sauce that makes you see through time. Just be a normal human."
Sang-goo forced a terrifyingly stiff smile, his teeth gritted. You giggled, grabbing a cup of deep-fried squid and spicy rice cakes. " Want some? Share with me!"
" I do not eat 'cheap' foods." He said, turning his nose up.
" I have a refined palate. I don't put mystery meat into my body."
" It's delicious! You'll be addicted, I swear!" You laughed, seeing his stubborn expression.
" Oh, I see. You want the special treatment. You want the choo-choo train!"
" I want the what?"
" The choo-choo train!" You chirped.
You scooped up a piece of rice cake with a toothpick. " I'm not a jerk like you, so I'll help you out. Here comes the train! Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga..."
Sang-goo backed away, his face pale with horror. " Do not...do not make that noise in public."
" Open the tunnel!" You commanded, moving the food closer.
" I will kill you." He hissed, but you didn't flinch.
You stepped into his space, your free hand reaching up to grab his chin with surprising strength.
" Open up, Tuba-man!"
Before he could unleash a lethal retort, you shoved the spicy rice cake into his mouth. He instinctively tried to spit it out, his eyes wide with shock, but you cupped your hand over his mouth, forcing his jaw shut.
" Don't you dare waste it!" You scolded.
" It's bad luck to waste food! Chew! Chew for your life!"
Sang-goo was trapped. He looked at the laughing vendor, then down at you. Your face was bright, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and your hand was warm against his face.
He forced himself to chew. The texture was chewy, the sauce was a perfect balance of sweet and fiery, and the heat began to spread through his chest.
" Well?" You asked, letting go of his face and tilting your head.
" Is it addicted-level yet?"
Sang-goo swallowed, his throat burning. He looked at you, then at the humble street food.
" It tastes like shit." He lied.
But as you turned away to grab more, Sang-goo reached out and took a toothpick for himself, his eyes lingering on the back of your head.
He hated the noise, he hated the dirt, and he hated that you were right. But as he took another bite, he realized the "grim reaper" was starting to enjoy the "chugga-chugga" more than he’d ever admit.
…
The baywalk was bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, casting long, flickering shadows over the pavement. For a man who claimed to despise "peasant germs," Sang-goo was currently doing a remarkable job of clearing out the local inventory.
He sat on a weathered wooden bench, his expensive suit trousers dangerously close to a mysterious mustard stain, with a stick of grilled pork in one hand and a cup of spicy squid in the other.
" This is substandard." He grumbled, even as he reached for his fourth fish cake.
" The seasoning is aggressive. The texture is suspicious. I feel my arteries hardening with every bite."
You leaned back, swinging your legs and watching him with a triumphant smirk. " Uh-huh. Sure, Sang-goo. That’s why you almost started a turf war with the vendor because he tried to give the last skewer to a grandmother. You literally told him that if he didn't hand it over, you’d 'restructure' his business model."
Sang-goo’s jaw worked as he chewed, his eyes fixed on the horizon to avoid your teasing gaze. " I was merely ensuring that the supply chain was properly managed. It’s a matter of principle."
" Shut up and eat your cheap food." You giggled, nudging his shoulder.
" I’m just glad you like it. These stalls helped me survive for years when my bank account had exactly zero Won in it. It’s not a gold-leafed steak, but the taste has more soul than those fancy places where the waiters look at you like you’re a bug."
The bickering died down for a moment, replaced by the rhythmic sound of waves hitting the concrete wall. Sang-goo slowed his chewing, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically pensive.
" The sauce…" He muttered while looking down at the cup.
" It’s...familiar. It reminds me of my eomma’s cooking. She used to put too much sugar in the base, just like this."
You stopped swinging your legs, your curiosity piqued by the rare mention of his past. " Where are they now? I realized I’ve seen their names on that gold tree, but I don't know where they are."
Sang-goo let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire Ahn legacy. " They are gone a long time ago."
" My appa was killed in an ambush by a rival faction. My eomma...she died of an illness shortly after. She didn't have the stomach for life once he was gone."
" I'm sorry." You whispered, the usual snark replaced by genuine empathy.
" Condolences, Sang-goo."
He let out a dry, hollow chuckle. " It’s a long time ago. The pain is healed, or at least it’s buried under enough concrete and money to stay quiet."
He turned his head then, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the air between you turn thick and electric.
" That’s why I’m so protective, you little headache. I watched what happens when a man in my world lets his guard down.”
“ My appa thought his family was safe. He was wrong. I won’t repeat his mistakes with the most vulnerable person in my life."
You felt a blush creep up your neck, but you tried to shake it off with a nervous laugh. " Well, I’m just a fake wife, remember? The whole wedding is just a stage play for two years. I’m not 'vulnerable,' I’m just an employee."
" The wedding is never fake." Sang-goo corrected.
" The papers are real. The ring will be real. And the contract...well, the contract says two years, but that doesn't mean it can't be extended."
" I don't want to extend this!" You replied quickly, though your heart was hammering a different rhythm against your ribs.
" I want to go back to my posters and my messy apartment!"
" That was my point." He said with a smirk playing on his lips.
" It’s up to us. Once the term ends, we decide if the 'stage play' is over or if we keep the curtain up. But for that to work, we need one rule." He leaned in closer, his scent of cedarwood and street food swirling around you.
" No one falls in love. If we keep our hearts out of the paperwork, the contract stays clean. No mess, no drama."
Sang-goo suddenly stiffened, realizing he was staring at your lips. He jerked his gaze away, clearing his throat and looking back at the bay.
" Not that I could ever fall in love with a crazy woman like you. I’d rather take a bullet to the skull than be tied to a 'duck' forever."
You felt a twinge of something and gave him a gentle shove. " Hey! That’s what I admire about you, Tuba-man. You’re so good with words. Don't worry, I won't fall in love with a grumpy, bossy jerk like you either."
You raised your hand, extending your pinky finger toward him.
Sang-goo stared at it as if you were holding a poisonous insect. " What is this childish move? Are we in kindergarten?"
" It’s a pinky promise!" You insisted, waving the finger under his nose.
" It’s a binding agreement between two people. You seal it, and if you break it, you have to face the consequences. It’s like a contract, but for people who have souls."
Sang-goo chuckled, a rich, dark sound. " A childish bind of contract. Fine."
He slowly extended his own hand. His pinky was twice the size of yours, scarred at the knuckle but steady. As your small finger looped around his, the contact sent a jolt of pure heat through your entire body.
" The promise is sealed." You giggled, your voice a bit breathless.
" Neither of us falls in love. Period."
Sang-goo rolled his eyes, but his mouth was quirked into a smirk. He didn't pull his hand away immediately. " And what if one of us breaks this 'sacred' seal? What is the penalty for losing your heart to the enemy?"
You thought for a moment, tapping your chin with your free hand. Suddenly, you gasped, your eyes lighting up.
" I know! If one of us falls in love, they have to pay for an entire week of street food! Every meal, every snack, every dessert!"
Sang-goo stared at you, waiting for the rest of the punishment. When it didn't come, he burst out laughing. " That’s it? That’s the punishment for breaking a life-altering contract? A few thousand won worth of fried dough and spicy sauce?"
" Hey!" You huffed, crossing your arms as you finally let go of his hand.
" To you, it’s simple. But for me, a week of full-course street food is worth two months of my salary at the coffee shop! It’s a high-stakes bet, Sang-goo!"
He shakes his head, his smirk widening into a genuine, handsome grin that reaches his eyes. " Fine. If I fall for the duck, I’ll buy out the whole market for a week. But if you fall for the 'tuba,' you better start saving your change."
" Deal." You whispered.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the two of you in the blue twilight. Sang-goo stood up, offering you his hand to help you off the bench. As you took it, he didn't let go right away, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a way that felt anything but "contractual."
He knew he was in trouble. He knew the "reaper" was being tamed by a girl with powdered sugar on her nose. But as he led you back to the car, Ahn Sang-goo decided that if he had to lose a bet, he wouldn't mind paying the price in street food as long as he got to eat it with you.
…
The drive to your parents' neighborhood was quieter than usual. The heavy, unresolved tension from the pinky promise still hung in the air, thick and sweet like the scent of the street food lingering on your clothes.
Sang-goo pulled the black sedan to a stop a block away from the modest house, his eyes already scanning the perimeter for the guards he had secretly stationed there.
" One night…" He said, his voice a low, commanding rumble.
" Tomorrow at exactly ten in the morning, my car will be here. Do not make me come looking for you."
" I know, I know." You said, unbuckling your seatbelt.
" You already said it ten times."
" And the most important rule." He added, turning in his seat to face you.
" You update me every hour. A text, a call, a carrier pigeon…I don't care. Just let me know you haven't managed to set the kitchen on fire or trip over your own feet."
You giggled, leaning back against the door. " You’re going to be so busy with your 'grim reaper' business, Sang-goo. You sure you want me blowing up your phone? I don't want to disturb your dark, brooding aesthetic."
" Your safety is more important than my work." He snapped, his jaw clenching.
" I have no desire to be a widower before I’ve even walked down the aisle. If anything happens to you, it’s a logistical nightmare for the contract."
" Aww." You teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
" You sound like a real husband, Sang-goo. All worried and protective. Are you sure you aren't already breaking our pinky promise?"
Sang-goo scoffed, though the tips of his ears turned a suspicious shade of pink. " Don't be delusional. Your words made all the hair on my arms stand up…it was that creepy. I’m protecting an investment, nothing more."
" Whatever you say, Mr. Chili-Face." You laughed, pointing at his reddening cheeks.
" You look like you're about to pop."
" I will be even more red if you don't shut your mouth and get out of this car." He countered, though there was no real bite in his voice.
You softened, looking at him with a small, sincere smile. " Thank you, Sang-goo. For the donuts, and the market, and for letting me say goodbye. It means a lot."
You waved your hand as you hopped out. " Take care of yourself! Don't be too grumpy!"
He rolled his eyes and looked out the opposite window, ignoring your wave. But the moment you closed the door and started walking toward your house, Sang-goo watched you in the rearview mirror.
" You also take care, you damn duck." He muttered to the empty car.
He waited until he saw you safely enter the front door before he slammed the car into gear and headed toward the glowing skyline of the city.
An hour later, the atmosphere at Ahn Enterprise was the polar opposite of the street market. The lobby was a cathedral of glass and steel, and the air smelled of expensive air filtration and fear. Sang-goo marched toward his private office, his long coat billowing behind him.
Juwon, his right-hand man and the only person bold enough to see past the scowl, fell into step beside him. " The clients for the Incheon shipment are in the boardroom, sir. We have the quarterly reports from the casino, and the lawyer wants a final word on the pre-nuptial security detail."
Sang-goo didn't respond. He sat in his high-backed leather chair and stared at his phone, which was currently sitting silent on the mahogany desk.
" Call the clients." Sang-goo ordered.
" Tell them I’ll be in the office in five minutes. I have...things to monitor."
Juwon immediately dialed the number, but as he waited for the connection, he caught sight of his boss's face. Sang-goo wasn't looking at the reports. A small, involuntary smile was playing at the corner of his mouth and a look of genuine amusement that looked completely alien on his lethal features.
" Sir?" Juwon teased, a smirk of his own growing.
" That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile like that without someone begging for their life first. Did the 'investment' do something funny?"
The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a glare that could have melted lead. " If you don't shut your mouth, Juwon, I might find a very permanent way to silence you. Get to work."
Juwon pursed his lips, trying desperately to stifle a laugh. " Of course, sir. So, how was the...non-business excursion? Did the future Mrs. Ahn enjoy the five-star restaurant you reserved?"
Sang-goo looked back at his phone.
Still no text. It’s been fifty-five minutes.
" We didn't go to the restaurant."
Juwon tilted his head, confused. " But you spent three hours with her. Where did you go? The opera? An art gallery?"
" We went to the market." Sang-goo muttered, flipping open a file to hide his face.
" She wanted street food. Claimed the fancy place was 'too expensive' and 'not filling enough.'"
Juwon was flabbergasted. He stared at his boss. A man who wore five-thousand-dollar shoes and drank whiskey was older than most of his employees, and tried to imagine him standing in a cloud of fish-cake steam.
" You? In the street market? Sir, you haven't stepped foot in a public plaza since you were ten. You hate germs. You hate crowds. You hate...people."
" I didn't have a choice!" Sang-goo snapped, slamming the file shut.
" I cannot handle her tantrums. She pesters and pouts until she looks like a damn duck, and I find it...more efficient to just follow her commands than to listen to the noise."
Juwon burst out laughing, leaning against the doorframe. " My god. You’re getting soft, Sang-goo. The Reaper of the Aegis is taking orders from a girl who likes cheap rice cakes. I never thought I’d see the day."
He paused, his eyes twinkling. " I suppose one day soon you'll be asking me for advice on how to romance a woman without making her feel like she’s under interrogation."
Sang-goo stood up, his hand resting near his holster as he stared Juwon down. " The only thing I’ll be 'romancing' is my gun, and I’ll be shooting it directly into your skull if you say another word."
Juwon immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, his mouth tucked into a tight line. " Understood. No romance. Only business. I was only joking, sir."
" Your jokes aren't funny." Sang-goo growled, though his eyes drifted back to the phone just as it buzzed with a notification.
Duck: I’m safe! Mom made spicy pork. It’s good but not as good as the market skewer you stole from that grandma. Don't work too hard, Tuba-man! 🦆
Sang-goo’s jaw tightened as he read the message. He looked at the drawing of the duck at the end and let out a huff of irritation, but he didn't put the phone down.
" Get the clients in here." He told Juwon, his voice returning to its cold, professional edge.
" And tell the kitchen to look up a recipe for Bavarian donuts. I want to see if our chef can actually make something that isn't 'art' for once."
Juwon nodded, hiding his grin as he walked out. He knew his boss better than anyone. The contract might have been for two years, but the way Sang-goo was clutching that phone told a much longer story.
…
The boardroom of Ahn Enterprise felt like an icebox, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the heavy, metallic tang of cold business. Around the long obsidian table sat some of the most dangerous men in the Pacific of men who dealt in the trading of smuggled goods, the movement of illicit narcotics, and the systematic dismantling of anyone who dared stand in their way.
Sang-goo sat at the head of the table, his eyes cold and distant as a representative from a Southern syndicate detailed the revenue reports from their latest joint venture.
" The expansion into the northern ports is nearly complete, Mr. Ahn." The man said, sliding a tablet toward him.
" But we have three senators who are becoming...expensive. We need to decide if we should continue the payments or take them down."
Sang-goo nodded, his face a mask of stoic authority. Beneath the table, however, his phone buzzed. It was an hourly update.
Since he was in a secure room, he figured it was safer to check it now than to let his mind wander to what "stupidity" you might be committing. He unlocked the screen and saw a video file. Thinking it might be a silent clip of your parents' house or a quick check-in, he tapped play.
He had forgotten one crucial detail that he had been listening to a tactical audio recording earlier. His volume was at the absolute maximum.
Suddenly, the silent, lethal atmosphere of the boardroom was shattered by a tinny, high-pitched, and aggressively off-key screeching.
" AND I WAS LIKE BABY, BABY, BABY, OOOOH! LIKE BABY, BABY, BABY, NOOOO! I THOUGHT YOU'D ALWAYS BE MINE, MINE—"
The sound echoed off the marble walls like a sonic grenade. Every head at the table snapped toward Sang-goo. The grizzled veterans of a dozen gang wars stared at him, their mouths slightly agape.
In the video, you were clearly using a wooden spoon as a microphone, your hair in a towel again, giving the performance of a lifetime to the Bieber classic. You hit a particularly glass-shattering high note just as Sang-goo’s fingers scrambled frantically to kill the volume.
Silence returned, heavier and more awkward than before.
A slow, deep crimson crawled up Sang-goo’s neck, settling into his cheeks. He looked like he wanted to swallow a bullet. Juwon, standing in the corner, had turned completely away, his shoulders shaking with the violent effort of suppressed laughter.
" It was..." Sang-goo cleared his throat, his voice tight.
" A security alert. A very high-frequency...auditory distraction technique. Continue."
The clients blinked, exchanged confused glances, and slowly returned to their discussion about the senators, though the tension in the room had shifted from "lethal" to "borderline absurd."
The meeting didn't wrap up until the stroke of midnight. As the last of the clients filed out, looking exhausted and probably still hearing the chorus of Baby in their nightmares, Sang-goo remained in his chair. He waited until the doors clicked shut before letting out a long, shuddering sigh.
" Fucking Bieber." He hissed, rubbing his eyes.
He looked at his phone again. The video was still there, paused on a frame of you making a ridiculous "rockstar" face. He hesitated, glanced at the door to make sure no one was looking, and tapped play again but this time with the volume pressed against his ear.
The thirty-second clip was a disaster. You were singing at the top of your lungs, clearly forgetting half the lyrics and replacing them with humming, but your eyes were bright and you looked...happy.
Completely and annoyingly happy.
A small, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of Sang-goo’s mouth.
" Stupid woman." He whispered to the screen.
He began to type a reply, his fingers flying across the keys with his usual grumpy efficiency.
[Sang-goo]: That was an assault on my eardrums. You are officially banned from singing within a five-mile radius of me.
[Sang-goo]: I’ve heard dying cats with more melodic range.
[Sang-goo]: Go to sleep before you cause a noise complaint in the entire district.
He locked his phone and looked up, only to find Juwon standing by the windows, clutching a stack of files and looking like he was about to burst.
" Get out." Sang-goo snapped, his stoic mask slamming back into place.
" Sir, I didn't say a word." Juwon said, his voice trembling with mirth.
" I can hear you thinking." Sang-goo growled.
" If a single word of this or if even the name 'Justin' spreads through the ranks, I will personally see to it that you are reassigned to the waste management facility in the docks. Permanently."
Juwon snapped into a crisp, overly-dramatic salute. " My lips are sealed, boss. The Reaper’s secret is safe with me."
He turned to leave, his steps quick. But as he reached the heavy mahogany doors, he couldn't help himself. He paused, looked back at Sang-goo with a wink, and began to hum.
" You know, sir…" Juwon said.
" It's a very sweet gesture, sending a video like that. Very romantic. Even if it did nearly cause a diplomatic incident with the Southern syndicate."
Before Sang-goo could reach for the heavy glass paperweight on his desk, Juwon vanished into the hallway.
A second later, the muffled sound of Juwon’s voice drifted back through the door, singing loudly and terribly:
" I THOUGHT YOU'D ALWAYS BE MINE, MINE!"
Sang-goo slumped back in his chair, his head in his hands. The wedding was in three days. He was a man who lived in a world of blood and shadows, yet he was currently being haunted by a pop song and a girl who used kitchen utensils as microphones.
" Two years." He muttered into his palms.
" I just have to survive two years."
But as he felt his phone buzz again with a heart emoji response, he realized the "Bieber fever" was the least of his worries. The real fever was the way his chest felt every time his phone lit up with your name. And that was a contract he had no idea how to break.
…
The morning air in your parents' kitchen was thick with the scent of fried garlic rice and dried fish, a comforting aroma that usually made your heart sing.
Today, however, it felt like a lump of lead in your stomach. You hadn't slept; every time you closed your eyes, you saw the "pinky promise" you made with a man who dealt in shadows, and the reality of your "disappearance" loomed over you like a thundercloud.
You cleared your throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Your parents looked up, and you felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made your eyes sting.
" Eomma, Appa..." You started, your voice hitching.
" I have something to tell you. I...I got a new job. I’m going to be the personal assistant to a high-level CEO."
Your parents’ faces lit up instantly.
" Oh, our daughter! We knew that marketing degree wouldn't go to waste!" Your eomma beamed while reaching over to pat your hand.
" It’s...it’s overseas." You added quickly, the lie tasting like ash.
" In...Switzerland. Yeah. The land of chocolate and neutral feelings. My flight is tomorrow morning."
The clinking of silverware stopped as the silence that followed was heavy.
Your appa lowered his spoon, his brow furrowed with concern. " Switzerland? That’s halfway across the world. You don’t even know the language. You can barely handle a winter in Seoul without three heat packs."
" I'll be fine!" You assured them, forcing a bright, and sunshine-fake smile.
" The company provides housing and security. I’ll call you every week. I’ll be careful."
Your eomma let out a long, weary sigh.
" We know you're an adult, but we worry. The last time we left you alone for a weekend, you almost burned down your apartment because you thought the 'self-clean' button on the oven was the 'pizza' button."
" I was hungry and the manual was confusing!" You squeaked, your cheeks flushing a deep scarlet as the embarrassing memory resurfaced.
Your appa leaned back, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to read between the lines of your story.
" And what about that man? The one who dropped you off yesterday in that car that costs more than this entire block?"
You stiffened, your heart doing a frantic tap-dance against your ribs. You couldn't exactly say, Oh, that’s Sang-goo. I puked on him while drunk, and now I’m paying off a life-debt by being his contract wife.'
" He’s...just a good friend." You cleared your throat, focusing intensely on a piece of egg.
" He works for the same company. He wanted to make sure I got here safely."
" What’s his name?" Your eomma asked, her "mom-dar" clearly pinging.
" Ahn Sang-goo." You whispered.
Your parents exchanged a look with the kind of silent communication that only comes from thirty years of marriage.
Your appa let out a low whistle. " Even the name sounds dangerous. Like he’s a character in one of those mafia movies your mother watches."
" He doesn't look like a 'good friend.'" Your eomma added, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper.
" He looked like a man who was counting the number of exit points in our yard. He was scanning the street like he expected an assassin to jump out of the bushes. He’s far too overprotective for a friend."
" He’s just...intense!" You defended, blushing even harder.
" He’s like that with everyone he cares about as a friend. He’s just very...thorough."
Your appa chuckled, a knowing glint in his eye. " I can read a fellow man's gestures, daughter. Your eomma is right."
" The way he looked at you. The way he held the door and watched you walk to the porch…that wasn't 'friendly.'"
" That look was possessive. Territorial. Like he’d already decided you belonged in his vault."
" Stop it! You're both being weird!" You pouted, shoving a piece of rice into your mouth to avoid further interrogation.
" Just be careful." Your eomma said, her tone suddenly becoming serious.
" Men like him...rich, dangerous men...they often live in worlds where the rules don't apply. If he’s involved in anything illegal or anything black market, he will only bring chaos to a girl like you."
" We don't want to see you put in danger because you’re dazzled by a fancy car and a handsome face."
You looked down at your lap, the weight of the truth pressing against your chest.
They were right. Sang-goo was chaos. He was in the black market. And you were currently walking straight into the center of his storm.
Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out under the table, shielding the screen from view.
[Tuba-Man]: I’m outside. You have three minutes to say your goodbyes and get in the car.
[Tuba-man]: If I have to wait one second longer, I’m going to personally come in and explain to your parents why we’re 'leaving' together. Or maybe I’ll just explode the house to save time. Move, duck.
You gasped, nearly dropping the phone. You knew he was exaggerating about the explosion (probably), but the threat of him walking into the kitchen and facing your parents’ "possessive and territorial" accusations was much scarier.
" I have to go!" You said, standing up so fast your chair nearly toppled.
" The company shuttle is here!"
" Now? But you haven't finished your rice!" Your eomma cried.
" I'll eat in Switzerland! I love you both!" You lunged at them, giving them a fierce, bone-crushing hug that was far too desperate for a simple job departure.
You lingered for a second, memorizing the smell of their home, before grabbing your small bag and sprinting for the door.
You burst out onto the sidewalk to see the sleek black sedan idling at the curb. The window rolled down just an inch, revealing Sang-goo’s dark, impatient eyes.
" Two minutes and forty seconds." He growled as you scrambled into the passenger seat.
" You’re lucky I’m in a good mood."
" You threatened to blow up my childhood home!" You panted, slamming the door.
" My parents think you’re a territorial mafia boss!"
Sang-goo smirked, his eyes flickering to the window where your parents were waving. He didn't wave back, but he shifted the car into gear with a certain deliberate smoothness.
" Your parents are smarter than you are, duck. Now buckle up. The 'stage play' is over. We have a wedding to attend."
As the car sped away, you looked back at your house one last time. The bickering was over for the moment, but as Sang-goo reached over and wordlessly handed you a fresh, cold ice tea, you realized that while you were leaving your family behind, you were entering a different kind of fire.
And for some reason, you didn't want to be anywhere else.
…
The moment the tires crunched onto the gravel of the Ahn estate, the atmosphere shifted from the bittersweet warmth of your parents' home back into the cold, sharp reality of Sang-goo’s world. The guards stood at attention, their faces blank masks of discipline.
" Good morning! Missed me?" You chirped, waving at the stone-faced men as you hopped out of the car.
Sang-goo didn't even look at them. He marched toward the front doors, his coat snapping behind him like a dark omen. He hadn't said a word since you’d left the neighborhood, but the set of his shoulders was so tense you were surprised his suit jacket hadn't ripped yet.
" Whoa, Tuba-man, slow down!" You panted, scurrying to keep up with his long strides.
" What’s wrong? Your eyebrows are literally touching. If they get any closer, they’re going to merge into one giant caterpillar."
Sang-goo stopped abruptly in the foyer, turning on his heel.
" The video…" He hissed, his voice vibrating with a dangerous level of irritation.
" You sent me a video of you screeching like a dying bird in the middle of a high-stakes tactical meeting."
You paused, then burst into a fit of giggles while clutching your stomach. " Oh my god! Did you play it? In front of everyone?"
" It was at maximum volume!" He growled then stepped into your personal space until you were forced to tilt your head back to see his face.
" I had the heads of three major syndicates staring at me while your voice echoed off the walls. I looked like a fucking clown."
" I was trying to romance you!" You laughed, leaning forward boldly until your nose almost brushed his lapel.
" I put in effort, Sang-goo. Did you like it? Did it make your heart go pitter-patter?"
Sang-goo shoved your shoulder lightly, though his hand lingered a second too long for it to be a true rejection.
" It was traumatic. It made my ears bleed. If you ever send something like that again while I am working, I will personally see to it that your phone is fed to a shredder."
" Fine, fine." You giggled, following him as he headed toward his office.
" I'll just send them when you’re alone. Right before you go to sleep. My voice can be your little lullaby."
" I’d develop a chronic sleeping disorder." He countered, not looking back.
" Your voice could kill a mosquito mid-flight. It’s a biological weapon."
" You only say that because you're in denial." You sang out, nudging his arm with your elbow.
Sang-goo stopped and gave you a look that would have withered a normal person. " Stop teasing me, duck. I am a very busy man with a very low threshold for pestering. Don't make me kill you three days before the wedding."
You stuck your tongue out at him, feeling braver than you had any right to be. " You won't. You can't! If you kill me, who’s going to be your beautiful, caring, loving wife?”
“ Plus, think of your heir! If I’m not the mother, the kid might end up with your grumpy face and look like a sour grape. My genes are the only thing saving your bloodline from terminal ugliness."
Sang-goo stared at you, genuinely perplexed. " What did your mother put in that breakfast? Did you inhale a bag of cocaine? You’re acting like a lunatic."
" I'm just happy because I know the truth." You grinned.
" Even if you hate my voice, you watched the whole thing. You didn't turn it off immediately, did you?"
" I deleted it the second the first 'Baby' left your mouth." He lied, his jaw clenching.
Your argument was interrupted by the sound of rhythmic footsteps approaching. Juwon appeared around the corner, carrying a thick, heavy envelope. He looked tired but satisfied.
" Kim’s transaction is finalized, sir." Juwon said, handing over the envelope.
" The full payment is inside. They were...surprisingly cooperative."
Sang-goo took the envelope, flicking through the stacks of high-denomination bills with a practiced thumb. " Good. Now get lost. I have enough headaches for one day."
But Juwon didn't move. Instead, his eyes slid over to you, scanning you from head to toe with a curious and amused glint. Sang-goo noticed the look instantly with his eyes narrowed, and his grip on the envelope tightened until the paper crinkled.
" And you must be the famous future Mrs. Ahn." Juwon said, a smirk spreading across his face.
" That's me!" You beamed, radiating sunshine in the middle of the dark hallway.
You thrust your hand out with a wide grin. " Nice to meet you! I’m the 'duck' he keeps complaining about."
As Juwon reached out to accept your handshake, Sang-goo’s hand shot out like a strike from a cobra.
Slap!
He swatted Juwon’s hand away with a loud crack.
" Hands. Off." Sang-goo hissed, his voice dropping into a territorial growl that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
" Get lost, Juwon. Or I’ll make sure you’re lost permanently."
Juwon barked out a laugh, quickly bowing his head to hide his delight at his boss's blatant possessiveness. " Understood, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ma’am."
As Juwon turned to leave, he started humming. It wasn't just any song.
He began to sing, loudly and clearly. " Baby, baby, baby, ooooh!"
" Juwon!" Sang-goo roared, but the right-wing man was already halfway down the hall, his laughter echoing off the marble.
You stood there, biting your lip to keep from exploding into another fit of laughter.
Sang-goo turned back to you, looking absolutely murderous. " Are you having fun? Flirting with my staff right in front of me?"
" I wasn't flirting! I was being polite!" You pouted.
" I just wanted to know him. He seems like he’s actually fun, unlike some people who act like they have a stick up their—"
" He’s a menace." Sang-goo interrupted, his eyes flashing with a strange and dark jealousy.
" He’s a pathological liar. He eats raw onions for breakfast and he...he doesn't believe in personal hygiene. Stay away from him."
You stared at him, then started giggling again. " You’re making that up! You’re just mad because he knows the lyrics to my song. I think I want to know more about Juwon. My instinct tells me we share the same humor."
" Your instinct is broken!" Sang-goo yelled, grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you toward the dining hall.
" You don't know anyone. You’re staying in this house, where I can keep an eye on your 'humor' before you turn my entire organization into a Bieber fan club!"
As he hauled you along, you noticed he was still holding your wrist firmly, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. He was acting like a total jerk, but the way he was breathing and telling you that the "territorial" look your parents noticed wasn't just an act.
" You're jealous!" You teased, skipping to keep up.
" I am annoyed!" He shouted back.
But as he pulled you into the room, he didn't let go of your hand. And for the first time, you didn't want him to.
Author's Note:
Bad news, everyone. After uploading this recent chapter, Crawling Back To You will be discontinued for a while because I accidentally deleted the file where I wrote the story. I mistakenly thought it was the wrong file that needed to be deleted, and now I’m still trying to find a way to retrieve it.
It’s honestly so frustrating because I lost everything, and there’s a chance I might have to start all over again if I can’t recover the file soon.
I’m really hoping I can get it back, but if not, the story will officially be discontinued for a while.
Thank you so much for your patience and understanding.
" You are safe in my heart and my heart will go on and on."
Summary: The story begins with you and Gwi-ma growing up together as childhood friends within royal families. Having been raised side by side, the two of you became inseparable over the years. Seeing the deep bond between you, your parents decided to arrange your marriage once you both came of age, ensuring that you would become the Queen of the Northern Kingdom while also strengthening the alliance between the two kingdoms.
Warnings: I can’t spoil everything through songs alone, but if you’d like, you can scroll down to see the suggested songs to listen to while reading the story.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and distant rain, and the Joseon night was alive with the chirp of crickets that seemed to mock your pounding heart. You clutched the hem of your crimson hanbok when the silk whispering against the palace floors as you slipped through the secret corridor behind the royal quarters.
“ Again?” You hissed under your breath.
“ You promised the last time would be the last foolish escape before the wedding, Gwi-ma. The ministers will have both our heads if they catch us.”
A low chuckle answered from the shadows when a strong hands caught your waist while pulling you against a warm chest clad in dark robes.
“ And yet here you are, my rebellious southern princess, running to me like always. Admit it…you missed me more than the court’s endless lectures on duty.”
You swatted his shoulder, though your fingers lingered on the embroidered dragon there.
“ Missed you? I missed not having to pretend I don’t want to throttle you every time you bow so perfectly to those old fools. ‘Yes, Your Majesty-to-be. No, I shall happily chain myself to the throne for the alliance.’ Liar. You hate it as much as I do.”
Gwi-ma’s laugh was soft, but his eyes held that familiar storm. He pressed his forehead to yours as his breath mingled.
“ Then why did you say yes, my love? You could have stayed in the South, safe from my ‘political life.’”
Your heart twisted. “ Because my heart is an idiot. And it belongs to you, you arrogant northern fool.”
The bickering was an old dance, a thin veil over the terror of what loomed about the grand wedding tomorrow that would bind your kingdoms and your fates. Secret nights like this had been your rebellion for years of stolen kisses by waterfalls and whispered promises under moonlight.
Conservative courts be damned. But tonight the bickering carried heavier tension when his hand trembled slightly against your back.
“ You’re worried.” You murmured then pulling back to search his face.
“ War rumors. Rebels in the hills. They know the palace layouts too well.” His jaw tightened.
“ If anything happens tomorrow—”
“ Nothing will. You’ll protect your queen-to-be, and I’ll pretend to be demure while secretly planning how to drag you away from all this once the alliance is sealed.” You forced a smirk.
You had never wanted to be Queen.
Only his.
He kissed you then in desperate and fierce as if the stars themselves might betray you.
…
The grand wedding ceremony dawned in blood and fire. Trumpets had barely sounded when the first screams tore through the palace. Rebellious factions stormed the halls like locusts when the arrows whistled, swords clashed, and hanboks stained crimson as courtiers and guards fell.
“ You!” Gwi-ma roared while shoving you behind a pillar as enemy soldiers burst into the courtyard.
His blade flashed while cutting down the first man who lunged. “ Stay close!”
“ Like I’d leave you to play hero alone!” You snapped back, snatching a fallen guard’s dagger. The blood sprayed across white stone while the people you had known since childhood lay dead.
They came for you specifically.
“ The southern whore!”
“ Take her hostage!”
Gwi-ma fought like a demon with his robes torn and blood that seeped from a deep stab wound in his side. He took blows meant for you while grunting as a club slammed into his ribs.
“ Don’t you dare touch her!”
You weren’t helpless. When two men grabbed your arms, you twisted, then drove your dagger into one’s throat with a cry. The other backhanded you, but you fought wildly, years of secret training with Gwi-ma paying off in blood. You killed him too with your hands shaking.
“ We have to go!” Gwi-ma gasped as he pulled you toward the outer walls.
His face was pale and sweat mixing with grime. “ The forest…falls. They won’t follow easily.”
You supported his weight as you fled while your heart shattered with every labored breath he took. “ You idiot. You promised you’d be careful. Look at you—”
“ Save your sermon for when we’re safe, love.” He wheezed while managing a pained grin. But his grip on your hand was iron.
This was supposed to be your wedding day, not this nightmare.
The forest embraced you in shadow and mist. Ancient pines loomed as you stumbled toward the roaring falls. The same hidden spot where you had shared so many secret nights as the water thundered below the cliff edge and a veil of spray rising like ghosts.
“ We’re almost—” Your words cut off as pain exploded in your arm.
An arrow when the assassin’s shot whistled from the trees and slammed into your shoulder with vicious force. You cried out while staggering backward toward the precipice.
“ Y/N!” Gwi-ma’s scream tore through the chaos. He lunged for you, sword forgotten, face a mask of pure horror and love.
The edge crumbled when you fell. The waterfall swallowed you whole. Icy water slammed into your body and dragged you down into churning darkness. The currents tossed you like a leaf as your wounded arm burned and was useless.
You fought but the river was merciless.
Gwi-ma...
Above the roar, you heard him screaming your name. It's raw and broken with his voice cracking with despair. The sound fueled your struggle even as blackness edged your vision.
A massive rock loomed in the torrent. You couldn’t avoid the impact. A white-hot agony split your skull as the blood clouded the water around you.
Your consciousness flickered then the world narrowed to cold, pressure, and fading light. You thought of his laugh in the secret corridors, his stubborn protectiveness, and the way he looked at you like you were his only kingdom.
Under the water, your lips moving in a final whisper lost to the falls as you breathed your truth.
“ I will always love you, Gwi-ma...”
Darkness claimed you.
Far above, Gwi-ma collapsed to his knees at the cliff’s edge, blood pouring from his wounds, voice hoarse from screaming. The kingdom burned behind him and his bride had vanished into the roaring abyss.
The tragedy was complete when the alliance wedding had become a funeral pyre, and the northern king’s heart fell with you into the depths.
…
Five years when the falls had taken you, yet here you lingered in the ether of what-ifs, and turning the man you loved fracture the world in your name. King Gwi-ma paced the grand hall like a caged tiger, his once-bright smile replaced by a permanent scowl etched into stone.
The boy who laughed at your secret escapes now ruled with iron as the courtiers knelt before him while trembling.
“ Your Majesty.” An elderly minister dared with his voice quivering.
“ The southern tribute has arrived. They beg leniency for the delayed shipment and famine struck their—”
“ Leniency?” Gwi-ma’s voice cracked like a whip.
He slammed his fist on the throne armrest. “ Burn the tribute. Hang the envoys. Let the South remember what happens when they fail their Queen’s kingdom.”
“ But they have done nothing wrong!” The minister protested.
Gwi-ma rose, robes swirling like storm clouds. “ Nothing? My lover vanished because of weakness. My weakness. Every delay is betrayal.”
His laughter was bitter and devoid of the playful bickering you once shared. “ You sound like my mother. Always soothing, always lying. Get out before I have your tongue.”
The hall emptied in terrified silence. He poured his agony onto the innocent, as if cruelty could fill the void where you had been.
Later, in the private gardens where you once stole kisses, his mother approached cautiously and the Queen Dowager’s face was lined with worry.
“ My son.” She said softly while placing a hand on his arm.
“ This path destroys you. Y/n would not want—”
He jerked away. “ Do not speak her name.”
The words lashed out, sharp as the arrows that had felled you.
“ You think tea and platitudes will soothe this? Five years, Mother. Five years of empty beds and false reports. I push you away because you remind me of hope I cannot afford. Leave.”
She persisted. “ You were a smiling boy once. Full of rebellion and love for that southern girl. Now you are a tyrant feared across both kingdoms. Come back to us.”
Gwi-ma’s eyes flashed with unrequited anguish. “ Us? There is no ‘us’ without her. I listen only to myself because everything else lies. The ministers lie. The scouts lie when they say no trace. Even you lie when you say time heals.”
He turned, shoulders rigid. “ The search parties double at dawn. If anyone suggests she is dead again, execute them.”
…
Night fell like a shroud. In the royal chambers, Gwi-ma dismissed all servants and collapsed onto the bed that still carried faint traces of your scent in his memory when the stoic mask shattered.
He clutched the jade hairpin you had left behind of the one you teased him about stealing during one of your secret forest runs.
“ You stubborn princess.” He whispered hoarsely.
“ Running ahead into danger again. I told you to stay close. Why didn’t you listen?”
Tears came unbidden, hot and furious. The tyrant who showed no mercy to his people wept like a broken child.
“ I should have died instead. I was supposed to protect you. One arrow, one fall, and half of me drowned with you.”
His fist pounded the wooden floor until knuckles bled while the anguish choked him. “ Come back. Yell at me. Call me an arrogant northern fool. Anything.”
Sleep claimed him eventually, exhausted from rage and endless hope. In dreams, you bickered under the falls of your laughter echoing, and your hand in his as you planned a future free of crowns. He reached for you, but only to wake to cold sheets and crushing disappointment.
Another dawn.
Another day without you.
He rose, eyes red-rimmed but jaw set in cruel resolve. Servants flinched at his approach when a young attendant that was new to the palace, accidentally spilled tea near his robes.
“ Fool!” Gwi-ma roared, grabbing the boy by the collar while the attendant whimpered with apologies.
“ All of you are useless. Search the southern borders again. Question every traveler. She is alive. My instincts scream it. She breathes somewhere, waiting for me to find her.”
The boy nodded frantically. “ Y-yes, Your Majesty.”
Gwi-ma released him, turning to the window overlooking the misty mountains. “ If she is gone forever…then this kingdom burns with me.”
His voice dropped to a broken murmur. “ I became this monster for you. Come back and scold me for it. Please.”
The alliance you both sacrificed for lay in ruins under his tyrannical grip. Rebellions stirred anew, and fueled by fear of the king who trusted no one. His mother watched from afar in heart heavy when knowing her son had become unreachable.
He's high on a throne of pain and isolated by the very love that once made him human. Yet he searched, relentlessly. Maps covered his war room then marked every river and every village. Bounty posters with your likeness circulated in secret.
He refused every marriage proposal or every political match. His heart remained yours, unrequited by absence, and burning in silent despair.
“ You were my life, Y/n.” He whispered to the empty air one evening, standing at the cliff where you fell as the wind whipped his robes.
“ Without you, every breath is treason against my own soul.”
The falls roared below. Gwi-ma, once your secret companion and laughing lover, now ruled a kingdom of ghosts when the smiling boy was dead.
In his place stood a tyrant sustained only by fragile hope and bottomless guilt. He would tear the world apart until he found you or until the pain finally killed what remained of him.
…
You drifted in and out of darkness for what felt like eternity when the roar of the waterfall still echoing faintly in your fractured mind. Then came the gentle lap of shallow water against stone, and a wrinkled face hovering above you.
“ Child! Oh, merciful heavens, you’re still breathing!” The old woman’s voice trembled as she waved frantically toward the riverbank.
“ Your Majesty! King Yuseong! Come quick!”
A tall figure splashed through the water, robes hitched up, fishing rod abandoned. Strong arms slid beneath you with surprising gentleness and lifting your broken body as if you weighed nothing. Pain flared from the arrow wound in your arm and the deep gash on your head, but his hold was steady and warm.
“ Easy.” The man murmured.
“ I’ve got you. Just hold on.”
You tried to speak, but unconsciousness claimed you again.
Months blurred in the modest infirmary of the Eastern Kingdom of herbs, bandages, and quiet prayers filled your days. The healers worked tirelessly under royal order. Your body mended slowly but your mind remained a locked chest.
The morning you finally woke, sunlight filtered through paper windows. You groaned when your head throbbing like war drums.
“ Easy, child.” The old woman, whom you now knew as Auntie Min hurried to your side with water.
“ You’ve been asleep for days this time. Thought we’d lost you again.”
You blinked at the wooden beams when the unfamiliar scent of pine and medicine. “ Where…am I? This isn’t the Southern Palace.”
Panic crept in. “ Who are you? What happened to me?”
Auntie Min hesitated, then sat on the edge of the mat. “ I found you half-drowned in the shallows near the river that feeds from the northern falls. Bloody mess you were…arrow in your arm, head cracked open on the rocks. I called the king and he carried you here himself.”
You touched the bandage on your head while wincing. The fragments flashed about the crimson hanbok, a man’s desperate scream, and freezing water. But it slipped away like mist.
“ I…I’m a princess. From the South. My parents are the King and Queen…they must be searching for me.”
Your voice cracked. “ Why can’t I remember anything else?”
Auntie Min paled, clearly terrified at sheltering royalty entangled in whatever chaos had thrown you into her river. “ Best not to force it, dear. The body needs time and the mind too.”
The door slid open when a man entered in a posture of regal yet unassuming, and dressed in deep green robes embroidered with subtle Eastern motifs.
The attendants and Auntie Min bowed deeply. You tried to sit up, but dizziness won. King Yuseong smiled and it eased something tight in your chest despite the confusion.
“ No need for formalities while you’re healing.” He said softly, kneeling at a respectful distance.
“ How are you feeling today, Princess?”
You managed a weak laugh that turned into a cough. “ Like I lost a fight with a mountain and the river finished the job. My head feels ready to split open again, and this arm…”
You gestured to the bandaged wound. “ It burns like fire every time I move. I must look terrible. Not exactly princess-like.”
His chuckle was low, then a spark of humor cutting through the heavy tension in the room. “ On the contrary. You’ve survived what most wouldn’t. That makes you more royal than half the court I deal with.”
He tilted his head while studying you with quiet intensity. “ I’m glad you’re awake. You had us all worried these past months.”
Auntie Min cleared her throat loudly, interrupting the lingering gaze between you. “ This is King Yuseong of the East, child. He’s the one who brought you here and ordered the healers to spare nothing.”
You bowed your head as best you could. “ Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m…Princess of the South. At least, that much I remember.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked by that same gentle smile. But you caught the shadow behind it. “ The South. I see. Once you’re strong enough and your memories return, I’ll arrange safe passage home. Your parents must be sick with worry.”
He lingered a moment too long on your face, as if memorizing it and you felt it too. An inexplicable pull toward this kind-eyed king who had carried you from death’s edge.
“ Bossy, aren’t you?” You teased weakly.
“ Planning my departure before I’ve even stood on my own feet. What if I decide I like your infirmary better than my palace? The view here doesn’t scold me about royal duties every five minutes.”
Yuseong’s laugh was genuine, but laced with melancholy. “ Careful, Princess. Keep talking like that and I might delay the preparations on purpose.”
He reached out, adjusting the blanket over your shoulders with careful hands when the brief contact sent warmth through your skin.
“ Rest. Argue with me when you have more strength. I find I rather enjoy it.”
Auntie Min muttered something about “dangerous flirtations” and busied herself with herbs.
Days turned to weeks. Yuseong visited often or sometimes with books from his library, and sometimes with fresh fruit.
“ You’re hovering again.” You accused in one afternoon while sitting up properly now.
“ Doesn’t a king have better things to do than watch me eat porridge?”
“ Plenty.” He admitted while leaning against the doorframe.
“ Yet here I am. Someone has to make sure you don’t try running back to that river on your own stubborn legs.”
You rolled your eyes while your heart was fluttering despite the tension. “ Arrogant. Just like—”
The thought died unfinished. Like someone you couldn’t remember and pain throbbed behind your eyes.
Yuseong noticed because he knew the truth would come one day. You would remember your northern lover or your almost-husband. He would lose this fragile closeness. Yet he stayed, savoring every sharp retort, and every shared silence.
“ I worry for you.” He confessed quietly one evening as lanterns glowed.
“ The world beyond these walls is cruel. If your memories bring pain…”
“ Then I’ll face it.” You whispered, meeting his gaze.
“ But for now…thank you for being here, Yuseong.”
He smiled, though his eyes held centuries of unspoken longing. “ Always, for as long as you’ll let me.”
Outside, the world moved on but in this quiet Eastern sanctuary, your slow recovery bloomed with tentative connection, fragile hope, and the looming shadow of a past you could not yet recall.
…
You woke again gasping, drenched in sweat, the same nightmare clawing at your mind when the blurry images of roaring water, a man’s broken scream, an arrow’s sting, and the sickening crack of your head against rock. Every night for five years. You clutched the blanket while breathing hard until the Eastern palace chamber came back into focus.
A soft knock.
“ Nightmare again?” King Yuseong’s voice, gentle yet teasing, filtered through the door.
You wiped your face quickly. “ Go away, Your Majesty. I’m perfectly fine wallowing in my own dramatic suffering.”
The door slid open anyway. He entered carrying a tray of warm tea and honey cakes, his robes simple for nighttime. “ Liar. Your screams could wake the ancestors. Here. Drink this before you bite my head off.”
You accepted the cup with a weak glare. “ Bossy. I told you to stop playing healer. You’re a king, not my personal attendant.”
“ And I told you I dismissed the healers because none of them argue with me as entertainingly as you do.” He sat on the edge of your bed with that familiar warm smile lighting his eyes.
Five years had healed your body. The arrow scar on your arm was faint silver and the head injury no longer throbbed. But the terror remained and you refused every offer to return South.
“ My father’s court is cold iron and fear.” You’d say.
“ Here…I can breathe.”
Yuseong never forced you. Instead, he gave you freedom. You lived simply by helping in village markets, wearing plain hanboks, and learning to cook mediocre rice cakes that made him pretend to choke just to make you laugh.
His kingdom thrived on his outgoing rule as he walked among farmers, asked about their children, and laughed with merchants.
Nothing like your father’s strict cruelty.
In the early days, when your legs still betrayed you, he had been there constantly.
“ Lean on me.” He’d say, strong arm around your waist as you took shaky steps through the garden.
When walking exhausted you, he crafted a rolling chair himself and pushed you along river paths for hours while pointing out birds and blooming lotuses.
“ You’re going to ruin your royal back.” You had complained once, cheeks warm.
“ Worth it to see the world put color back in your face.” He replied softly.
Tonight, under the glowing lanterns of the Lunar Celebration when the palace grounds sparkled. Fireworks would begin soon as you walked beside him now without aid, though your hand brushed his often.
“ You’re staring.” You accused lightly as you stopped near the pavilion overlooking the river.
“ I can’t help it. Five years ago you could barely sit up. Now look at you…arguing with a king under moonlight like it’s your life’s calling.” His voice carried that playful lilt, but you both knew this closeness had deepened into something inevitable.
You nudged his shoulder. “ Arrogant eastern fool. What if I decide to stay here forever and keep stealing your honey cakes?”
Yuseong turned fully to you, the teasing fading into raw sincerity. “ Then I’d be the luckiest man alive.”
“ Y/n…I love you. Not the southern royal title. Not the broken girl from the river. You. The one who makes me laugh, who challenges me, who makes this dull throne feel like home.”
“ I’ll wait forever if I must. I’ll keep pushing that ridiculous chair even when you don’t need it. Just…let me love you.”
Your breath caught. Five years of his patience, his quiet strength, and his unwavering care. The blurry past felt like someone else’s story.
“ I think I love you too, Yuseong.” You whispered.
“ You gave me a life when I had none. I don’t want to remember what broke me. I only want this. Us.”
His eyes darkened with emotion of joy mixed with the knowledge of what you had lost, though he never pushed. He cupped your face gently while the fireworks burst overhead in showers of gold and crimson and painting the sky in celebration.
He kissed you while your fingers curled into his robes. The world narrowed to his warmth, the taste of honey on his lips, and the thunder of your heart.
For the first time in five years, the nightmares felt distant.
Far to the North, King Gwi-ma stood alone on the highest balcony of his cold palace, the same fireworks blooming in the distance. The kingdom celebrated the Lunar Festival under duress of his tyranny ensured silence and fear. He clutched the jade hairpin until it bit into his palm.
“ You loved these, my love.” He whispered to the empty night.
“ You’d drag me out secretly, complaining the whole time about my ‘brooding king face’ ruining the view.” A broken chuckle escaped him.
“ Argue with me again. Call me arrogant. Please.”
Five years of searching and five years of refusing to believe you were gone. His instincts still screamed you lived, yet every lead turned to ash. He had become a monster because half his soul had vanished with you in those falls.
He watched another firework explode while remembering how your eyes would light up brighter than the gunpowder.
“ Where are you, my southern princess?” Despair choked him.
“ I should have died instead. Every morning I wake hoping to find you scolding me for oversleeping…and every morning the bed is empty.”
Unbeknownst to him, the woman he loved beyond life itself had just shared a kiss with another king. Her memories of him, of your secret love, the promised wedding, and the desperate escape were erased by trauma and river stones.
You had built a new life in the East and your heart slowly given to a man who cherished her present while Gwi-ma clung to a ghost.
The fireworks faded but Gwi-ma remained with his shoulders shaking in silent sobs, the tyrant king reduced to a man drowning in unrequited hope.
Back in the East, you rested your head against Yuseong’s chest, unaware of the northern storm still raging for you. Yet the past, though forgotten, was not gone. It waited and was patient as the river that once tried to claim you.
…
You leaned against the wooden porch of the small home Yuseong had built with his own hands, the thatched roof still carrying the faint scent of fresh pine after ten long years.
Fireflies danced over the quiet field, and the night sky stretched endlessly above your modest village, far from any royal banners or political storms.
A decade had softened the edges of your trauma, though the nightmares still came sometimes then quickly chased away by the warmth of the man beside you.
“ Papa, tell us the story about the stubborn fish again!”
Your five-year-old daughter begged while tugging at Yuseong’s sleeve. Your three-year-old son was already half-asleep against his father’s chest.
Yuseong chuckled, the sound low and fond. “ Again? Your mother claims she caught that fish with her bare hands, but we all know I had to dive in after her when she slipped and nearly turned our dinner into a swimming contest.”
You swatted his arm. “ Liar. I had it perfectly under control until you decided to play dramatic hero and soaked us both. The children should know their mother is the real provider here.”
He grinned, eyes sparkling with that familiar playful glint. “ Of course, my love. My mistake. Next time I’ll let you wrestle the river alone while I cheer from the bank like a proper useless husband.”
The children giggled before sleep finally claimed them as Yuseong carried them inside with the gentle strength that still made your heart ache in the best way. He had become the father you never knew you needed while watching him teach your son to carve wood or braid your daughter’s hair, you often thought:
I chose the right man.
Later, the two of you sat outside again, shoulders brushing, and a shared blanket draped over your laps as the stars glittered like scattered jewels.
You broke the comfortable silence first. “ Do you ever regret it, Yuseong?”
“ Giving up the throne. The kingdom. Your people. All for this quiet life…with me. We couldn’t even ask my parents’ consent. I’m still the lost southern princess who never went home.”
He turned to you slowly. “ Regret?”
He let out a soft laugh, but his voice grew serious. “ I might have regretted staying king if it meant waking up every day without you. I passed the crown to my brother because he carries the same heart for the people. He’ll continue what I started.”
“ But me? I’d rather build crooked shelves in a tiny house and hear my wife bicker with me over burnt rice than rule alone in a golden cage.”
You nudged him with your elbow, trying for comedy even as tears pricked your eyes. “ My rice is not burnt. It’s…artistically toasted. And you still hover like I’m going to fall into another river any second.”
“ Old habits.” He murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“ You scared me for two years just learning to walk again. I’d push that ridiculous chair across the entire kingdom if it kept that smile on your face.”
You had built this life on forgotten ruins about the memories of a northern king and a broken wedding reduced to nightmares without faces. Yet here, with Yuseong, you felt whole.
“ Thank you.” You whispered.
“ For everything. Carrying me from the river. Dismissing your healers to tend me yourself. Giving up a crown. I don’t know how to repay you for all that kindness.”
Yuseong cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. His touch was tender, full of years of restrained and then freely given devotion.
“ You already repaid me the moment you chose me. You gave a lonely king color in a world of gray. A love I never expected from someone who carried such pain. These two beautiful children…this home…you beside me every night. That is more than any throne could offer.”
You pressed your forehead to his. “ I love you, Yuseong. More than I thought my heart could hold after everything.”
“ I love you too...” He breathed as the words warm against your lips.
“ My stubborn, brave, beautiful wife.”
He leaned in, capturing your mouth in the sweetest kiss. It's slow and deep, it spoke of a decade of quiet mornings, shared laughter, and nights where he held you through the nightmares.
Your hearts beat in rhythm as his hand cradled the back of your neck as if you were still the fragile survivor he had once carried from the river.
When you finally parted, foreheads still touched as you let out a watery laugh. “ We should go inside before the mosquitoes decide I’m their royal feast.”
“ Always ruining our poetic moments with practicality.” He teased, but helped you up anyway when his arm was securely around your waist.
As you walked inside together, the small home glowing with low lantern light, you felt a pang of something unnameable of a distant sorrow for a life you could no longer remember, for a man whose name never surfaced in your mind. But it faded quickly in the warmth of Yuseong’s hand in yours and the soft breathing of your sleeping children.
This was your life now. Not a princess or not a queen. It is just a woman loved fiercely by the man who gave up everything for her. And in his arms under ordinary stars, it was more than enough.
…
The aroma of garlic and simmering broth filled the warm space. You stood in the modest kitchen of the small house Yuseong had built with calloused hands while humming softly while stirring the soybean paste stew.
A decade had shaped this peaceful life of two lively children, a husband who looked at you like you hung the stars, and a quiet existence far from palaces and politics.
The nightmares had faded to rare whispers. The river had taken more than your memories that night; it had given you a second chance.
A firm knock echoed through the wooden door.
You smiled, wiping your hands on your simple apron. “ Back already? Did the fish refuse to cooperate with the great former king again?”
You slid the door open, expecting Yuseong’s teasing grin and the children’s muddy hands. Instead, a tall stranger in a dark hooded cloak stood there with his face partially shadowed as your smile faltered.
Before you could speak, the man’s eyes widened beneath the hood. He blinked rapidly, as if seeing a ghost. Then he surged forward when his strong arms wrapped around you in a crushing embrace. The scent of horse, sweat, and old grief flooded your senses.
“ You’re alive…” He whispered.
“ My princess…I finally found you.”
Shock froze you for half a second, then panic surged. You shoved hard against his chest.
“ Get off me!” You snapped, pushing him with all your strength. He staggered back but didn’t release you fully, his grip desperate.
This was absurd. A random traveler hugging you like a long-lost lover?
“ Who do you think you are? Let go before I scream loud enough to bring the whole village down!”
He didn’t. Instead, he buried his face in your shoulder while his body trembled then hot tears soaked through your hanbok.
“ I looked everywhere…ten years. Every river, every village. I knew you weren’t gone. I knew it.” His voice cracked into raw sobs.
“ Don’t leave me again. Please.”
You used both hands and shoved him violently this time. He stumbled backward into the doorway, his eyes wide with confusion and pain.
You snatched the kitchen knife from the counter then pointed it at him with steady hands despite your racing heart. “ Stay back! I don’t know you. If this is some sick joke—”
The man slowly lowered his hood. Time had sharpened his features. His deeper lines around his eyes, a harsher jaw, strands of premature gray in his once-dark hair. Yet something distant tugged at the edges of your mind, too blurry to grasp.
He looked…devastated.
“ I am Gwi-ma.” He said hoarsely.
“ King of the North. Your childhood friend. Your secret companion under the moonlight. We were to be married that day. The wedding…the attack…the falls. It’s me, my love. I may look older, worn down by hell, but I am still the same man who waited for you.”
You stared, knife unwavering. There's no spark of recognition. Only confusion and a growing discomfort.
“ I don’t know any Gwi-ma. I don’t remember any wedding, any North. You’re mistaken. Please leave.”
His face crumpled. “ This isn’t funny, my love. Stop it. It’s cruel.”
He stepped closer while ignoring the blade. “ We ran away together the night before our wedding. You teased me about being an arrogant northern fool. You killed enemies to protect us. I screamed your name as you fell. I’ve visited that waterfall every single day for ten years.”
Your hand tightened on the knife. “ I said I don’t know you. If you don’t leave, I will stab you. I don’t care if you claim to be a king. This is trespassing. My husband and children will return soon.”
Gwi-ma fell to his knees right there on the dirt threshold, robes dragging in the dust when his tears streamed openly down his face. The once-tyrant king, reduced to this.
“ I became a monster after you vanished.” He confessed.
“ I hurt everyone. I drank until I blacked out in ditches. My mother begged me to take a queen. I refused. My heart was buried with you in that river. I lost hope only this year…and now I find you here, alive, looking at me like a stranger.”
You lowered the knife slightly, but your voice remained cold, firm. “ I’m sorry for whatever pain you carry. But I have no memory of you. The fall took everything except my parents’ faces and the South.”
“ I built a new life here in the East. A simple one. With a man who carried me from that same river and never asked for a crown in return.”
Gwi-ma’s shoulders shook. He reached out but stopped himself, fists clenched against the ground. “ We were secret lovers for years. Rebellious nights by the falls. You hated political life but chose me anyway. Your heart won. You said yes to becoming my Queen.”
His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “ I love you. My heart never forgot the one person who made it beat.”
The words should have stirred something, but they didn’t. It's only pity mixed with unease.
You exhaled shakily. “ Get up. This isn’t your home. My life cannot connect to yours anymore. Not the North. Not the South. It’s here, in the East, with my husband and our children.”
“ Whatever we had in the past is gone and it was washed away with my memories.”
He remained kneeling, staring up at you with shattered eyes. There would be no playful retorts or no fond swats on the shoulder. Only this about a man confronting the love of his life who had moved on completely, unknowingly.
“ Please, my love.” He begged one final time.
“ Just…remember something. Anything. Hit me if you must. Yell like you used to. Call me an idiot king. But don’t tell me it’s over when I just found you.”
Outside, distant laughter carried on the wind of your children returning with Yuseong, and they were probably arguing over who caught the biggest fish when the sound grounded you.
You stepped back as the knife was still in hand but lowered. “ I’m not her anymore. I'm not the same princess you lost. Go home, Gwi-ma. Live and stop waiting for a ghost.”
Gwi-ma rose slowly as if every bone ached. His eyes lingered on your face, and memorized what he had searched for a decade to find, but only to lose again in the cruelest way.
He turned toward his horse waiting by the path. But before he mounted, he looked back one last time.
“ I will always love you, Y/n.” He said quietly.
“ Even if you never remember. Even if this is the last time I see you. My heart was yours the moment we met as children. It will follow you into the afterlife if it must.”
You closed the door slowly, heart pounding with confusion and unexpected sorrow for a stranger’s pain. Inside, you leaned against the wood as the knife clattered to the floor.
Ten years of peace shattered in minutes by a ghost from a river you barely remembered. The woman he had torn kingdoms apart searching for now belonged to another man, and he remained chained to a throne that no longer wanted him.
…
The small house was quiet except for the occasional creak of wood and the distant call of night insects. You tucked the children into their beds, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads as their breathing evened out into soft, peaceful rhythms. You stepped outside to the porch where Yuseong sat, legs stretched out, and gazed at the stars with a cup of warm tea in his hands.
You settled beside him, shoulder brushing his. “ You look too thoughtful tonight. Planning to rebuild the roof again just to show off your ‘former king’ carpentry skills?”
He chuckled, the familiar sound easing some of the tightness in your chest. “ Only if my wife promises not to climb up there with me and lecture me about hammering properly. Last time you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“ Someone has to make sure you don’t fall and leave me a widow.” You teased while nudging him.
After a comfortable silence, you turned to him. “ Yuseong…do you know a man named Gwi-ma?”
He paused mid-sip with his brow furrowing. “ Gwi-ma? He's the King of the North. I’ve seen him three times at royal gatherings but never spoke to him. The man’s a tyrant…he's cruel to his own people, they say. I didn’t want any association with that kind of darkness.”
He studied your face. “ Why do you ask, my wife?”
You swallowed. Heavy tension coiled in your stomach. “ A traveler came earlier while you and the children were fishing. Hooded, exhausted. He…he said he was Gwi-ma then claimed I was his childhood friend. His lover. That we were supposed to marry, become King and Queen of the North.”
Your voice wavered. “ He knew I was the southern princess. He hugged me like I was a ghost returned to him. I pointed a knife at him and told him to leave. He looked…broken.”
Yuseong set his tea down slowly. “ I’ve heard the gossip. He had a childhood betrothed. Their wedding was supposed to seal a strong alliance. Something catastrophic happened that day when the rebels attacked."
" His bride vanished and many assumed she died. He…changed after that. Became the monster everyone fears.”
A sharp pain lanced through your skull.
You gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “ Yuseong—”
Blurry images slammed into you. A man’s face…his face is clear now. It's Gwi-ma. Laughing in secret corridors and stolen kisses by the falls, then his desperate scream as you fell. The escape through the forest with his bloodied side while protecting you with everything he had.
Your final whisper under the churning waves.
I will always love you, Gwi-ma.
You whimpered as you were clutching your head when the ache was blinding.
“ Y/N!” Yuseong’s voice cut through the fog. His strong hands gently shook your shoulders.
“ Come back to me. Breathe, love. I’m here.”
The memories flooded without mercy of secret rebellious nights. The political weight you never wanted but accepted for him. The wedding chaos, his wounds, your fight, and the fall.
Ten years erased is now crashing back in vivid color. The love. The promise. The half of your soul you had unknowingly abandoned.
When the pain subsided, you opened your eyes to find Yuseong’s worried face inches from yours. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You threw yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest.
“ I remember.” You sobbed.
“ Everything. The traveler wasn’t lying. Gwi-ma…he was my first love. My secret companion. We were going to marry that day. I chose him despite everything. And I fell…I thought I was dying and I whispered that I loved him.”
Yuseong held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair. His own pain was palpable in the slight tremor of his arms, yet he remained steady.
“ Your pain and his…it won’t heal until you face it.” He murmured against your hair.
“ You both deserve closure. Talk to him and clear the air between you.”
You pulled back, searching his eyes. “ Are you okay with this? With me seeing him?”
He smiled. “ He was your man before me. He waited ten years in hell for you. He deserves an answer from your own lips.”
Yuseong cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears. “ I’ll wait for you. Whatever decision you make or whether your heart pulls you back to your first love or back here to your husband and children…I will accept it.”
“ I wouldn’t mind if you chose him. He was your everything once. You gave me ten beautiful years I never thought I’d have. That is already more than I deserve.”
You pressed your forehead to his. “ You gave up a throne for me. You carried me when I couldn’t walk. You gave me children and a home. How can I—?”
“ Shh.” He kissed your temple.
“ We’ll face this together. But you need to face him too. Alone first. The Gwi-ma I heard stories about tore his kingdom apart searching for you. That kind of love…it deserves truth.”
You clung to him longer than necessary, and your heart split between two worlds. Yet here was Yuseong, steady and selfless, willing to lose you for your peace.
“ I love you...” You whispered fiercely.
“ That hasn’t changed.”
“ I know.” He replied softly.
“ And I love you enough to let you go if that’s what your heart truly needs.”
The night grew heavier with unspoken fears. Somewhere out there, Gwi-ma was likely drowning in fresh despair after your rejection. You had his memories back now while two children were sleeping inside and a man who had built you a home from nothing.
Closure.
The word felt like both salvation and a death sentence.
You stayed in Yuseong’s arms until the stars began to fade. The river has given you back more than just memories and it has returned a choice that could destroy two good men.
And you had no idea which path would hurt less.
…
Two days of travel gave you too much time to think when the weight of returned memories pressed on your chest like stones. You rode behind Yuseong on the horse, arms wrapped around his waist as the landscape shifted from lush eastern fields to the rugged northern mountains.
“ Stop brooding, wife.” Yuseong said over his shoulder, trying for lightness.
“ You’re squeezing me like I’m going to vanish. If you keep this up, I’ll start thinking you’re choosing the horse over me.”
You let out a weak laugh. “ Arrogant as ever. Maybe I’m just practicing how to hold someone who actually listens when I say I need time.”
He reached back and squeezed your hand. “ I listen. That’s why I’m bringing you here instead of locking the door and pretending that traveler never existed.”
His voice softened. “ Whatever happens inside those walls…I’ll be waiting. Take all the time you need.”
The Northern Palace loomed ahead, imposing and cold under gray skies when the guards at the outer gate froze when they saw your face while one dropped his spear with a clatter.
“ The…the Southern Princess?”
Whispers erupted like wildfire.
“ She’s alive?”
“ The King’s lost bride—”
Yuseong kept his hood low. At the inner gate he reined the horse to a stop. “ This is as far as I go. Face him. Say what you need to say.”
He helped you down, holding your hand a second longer than necessary. “ I love you. No matter what.”
You nodded, throat tight, and followed the guards. They led you through familiar-yet-unfamiliar halls. The guards trembled when they reached the royal chamber doors.
“ No one disturbs His Majesty when he’s like this…He might kill us for knocking.”
“ I’ve got this.” You said, dismissing them with a steady voice that belied your racing heart. You took a deep breath and knocked.
A furious roar came from inside. “ Whoever dares disturb me will feed the crows before sunset!”
“ It’s me, Gwi-ma. Y/n, Princess of the South.” You called softly.
Silence. Then heavy footsteps as the door slammed open. Gwi-ma stood there, disheveled, his eyes were red and swollen from days of crying. His once-regal robes hung loose. The man who had searched for you for a decade looked like he had finally run out of hope. His cold eyes met yours, but the pain behind them was bottomless.
“ What are you doing here?” He asked flatly.
“ You come to gloat? What’s the point if you still can’t remember me?”
“ I remember everything now.” You said quietly.
“ I want to talk.”
He let out a bitter chuckle as he stepped aside to let you in. “ Talk? There’s nothing left to say. You built a family in the East while I tore my kingdom apart searching for a ghost. You forgot me. You forgot us.”
His voice cracked despite the cold front. “ Ten years I waited, Y/n. Ten years I bled hope. And you were in another man’s arms, raising children that should have been ours.”
The dam broke when Gwi-ma’s shoulders shook as tears spilled freely. He turned away at first, then gave up hiding.
“ I died the day you fell into those waters. I should have saved you. Every night I called your name and the bed was empty. Every Lunar Festival I stood at that cliff watching fireworks you loved, whispering like a madman.”
He looked at you, utterly shattered. “ Out of everyone…you forgot me. Your heart erased the one who loved you most.”
“ I’m so sorry, Gwi-ma.” You whispered as your tears burned your own eyes.
“ The trauma took everything. The rebels, the escape, the fall…forcing the memories only brought blinding pain. I didn’t know. I truly didn’t remember until two nights ago.”
You stepped closer. “ I’m here to heal what we both carried for ten years.”
Gwi-ma crossed the distance in two strides and pulled you into a crushing hug. You let him when his familiar scent flooded your senses. You wrapped your arms around him and felt the broken king tremble against you.
“ I thought I’d never hold you again.” He wept into your hair.
“ Stay. Be my Queen. We’ll pick up where we left off. The wedding we never had—”
You pulled back gently, cupping his tear-streaked face while his eyes shone with desperate hope.
You shook your head.
The light in his eyes died instantly. “ Why?”
“ Ten years is a lifetime, Gwi-ma. Everything has changed. I’m married to Yuseong. We have two beautiful children. I built a simple, free life far from thrones and blood.”
“ I’ll accept your children.” He said desperately.
“ I’ll annul your marriage. You’ll be free to be mine again. We were meant to rule together. You chose me once…your heart won over duty. Choose me again.”
Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “ I’m here to say goodbye properly. So you can finally let go of the pain. I’m not your princess anymore. When I married Yuseong, I became simply me.”
“ There's no crowns or no kingdoms. I'm just a woman who found peace.”
Gwi-ma shook his head violently with fresh sobs torn from his chest. He pulled you back into his arms while clinging like a drowning man.
“ Don’t do this, my love. You are my life. I can’t survive another day without you. I still love you. I know deep down you still love me too. That eastern king was just…temporary. A dream while you forgot.”
You cried against his chest when your hands fisted in his robes. “ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But this is the end of our story. I need to let you go so you can live.”
He refused to release you, arms locked around your waist. “ Don’t leave me. Please, Y/n. I’ll die here without you.”
You gently pried at his hands. “ This is the right thing. For both of us. The moment I walk out that door, you must start walking too.”
“ Our first love doesn’t have to be our last. Maybe fate has someone waiting for you if you release the grudges and the ghosts.”
With one final and painful effort, you broke his grip then stepped back. Gwi-ma reached for you again but you kept moving toward the door.
“ No…Y/n, wait!” He screamed.
“ Don’t go! Please!”
You paused at the threshold while your tears streamed, but didn’t turn around. “ This is goodbye, Gwi-ma. Thank you for loving me through hell. Live, my northern fool. Find peace.”
You walked away as his broken screams of your name echoed down the palace halls.
“ Y/N! Come back! DON’T LEAVE ME AGAIN!”
The guards outside flinched at the sound of their king’s agony. You kept walking, heart shattered, knowing you had just killed the last remnant of the love that once defined you both.
Outside the gates, Yuseong waited exactly where you left him. He saw your tear-stained face and opened his arms without a word when you collapsed to him while sobbing.
He held you through the storm, pressing kisses to your hair. “ It’s done?”
You nodded against his chest. “ It’s done.”
The journey back would be long, but for the first time in weeks, the pull of two worlds had finally settled into one painful and necessary choice.
Behind you, in the cold Northern Palace with a king who had lost everything twice over fell to his knees while weeping for the only woman he would ever love.
…
Sixty years had passed since that painful day in the Northern Palace. The simple village life had been kind of sunlight filtering through leaves, grandchildren’s laughter echoing in the distance, and the steady warmth of the man who had chosen you every single day.
You sat beneath the sprawling old tree, its branches heavy with age and memory and much like your own.
Yuseong’s voice drifted from the house. “ Stop looking so peaceful out there! If I peel one more mango wrong, you’ll lecture me about ‘proper technique’ like I’m still a useless former king learning domestic life.”
You laughed softly. “ Hurry up, old man, or I’ll come in there and show you how it’s done. With these hands, I might drop the knife and blame the tree roots.”
“ Still arguing with me after sixty years…Some things never change.” He called back as you smiled while watching the wrinkles on your hands, your skin is thin and spotted with time.
Life had not been a fairytale. Gwi-ma had been your first love, but first love was not always the last. You had been lost, memories shattered by trauma, and in that fog, Yuseong had become your direction.
He carried you when you couldn’t walk. He waited when you broke. He gave up a throne without hesitation and built this home with calloused hands.
He deserved every piece of your heart.
The children were grown, with families of their own. The house had filled with grandchildren who called Yuseong “Grandpa Hero” and begged for stories of how he once pushed their grandmother around in a rolling chair.
Peace had finally settled after the grudges and ghosts were laid to rest.
Hoofbeats approached on the dirt path as you turned your head slowly. A man in simple traveling clothes dismounted. He approached with respectful steps with hands visible and empty.
“ Forgive the intrusion.” He said gently.
“ I am not here to cause harm or stir old troubles. I only came to deliver this.” He held out a worn wooden box, sealed with faded red thread.
“ My father, King Gwi-ma, instructed me before he passed away one year ago from illness. He wrote to you every day until the end. He asked that these be given to you when the time felt right.”
Your breath caught.
Gwi-ma’s son. The resemblance was faint but there…in the set of the jaw and the quiet sorrow in his eyes. You accepted the box with trembling hands.
The man offered a small and sad smile. “ He loved you until his last breath. Your name was the final word he spoke. I wish you peace, old lady.”
He bowed and rode away, leaving only the whisper of wind through the leaves.
Tears blurred your vision as the weight of decades pressed down. Even after you had walked away, Gwi-ma had remained caged by love.
You whispered broken apologies to the empty path. “ I’m sorry…I never wanted you to live half a life because of me.”
You opened the box. It has dozens of letters, yellowed with time, and each dated meticulously. Some are short and some pages are long. You picked up the final one, its ink steadier than you expected from a dying man.
My dearest princess, my southern rebellion, and my only love,
If you are reading this, then I have finally crossed the river without you. Do not cry too long. I have done enough of that for both of us.
Sixty years ago when you left me the second time in that cold chamber, I wanted to hate you. You chose another man. You built a family that should have been ours. You told me our story had ended.
For months, rage and despair nearly consumed me again. But your words stayed with me.
"First love does not have to be the last. Sometimes we must lose everything to find the right path."
I tried to hate you but my heart refused.
How could I hate the girl who once teased me for being an arrogant northern fool?
The woman who fought beside me with a stolen dagger while blood stained our wedding day?
The only person who ever made duty feel worth bearing?
So I did what you asked. I let go, as much as this stubborn heart allowed. I married the woman my mother chose. She is kind. She gave me a son who will rule better than I ever did. I treated her gently, because I knew you would disapprove if I hurt an innocent soul. But my love…it was always yours. Every night, even beside her, I spoke to your ghost.
The illness came slowly and there's no cure. As my body failed, I wrote to you daily. Some letters are angry and some are full of memories of our secret escapes, your laughter by the falls, or the way you’d swat my shoulder when I grew too serious. Some are simply “I miss you” repeated until the ink runs dry.
Today, as I lie here weak, I want you to know that I am not sorry for loving you even when it destroyed me. You were the brightest rebellion in my gray world. I waited ten years to find you, and then spent fifty more learning to live with the hole you left.
In the afterlife, I will wait again. Patiently this time. Perhaps the world will not be so cruel to our story there. Perhaps our paths will finally align without thrones, without wars, or without falls.
Until then, live brightly, my love. Laugh with the man who earned your present. Hold your children and grandchildren. And when your time comes, if you remember me kindly…come find me by the falls.
I loved you yesterday. I love you today. I will love you long after the stars forget our names.
Your northern fool, always,
Gwi-ma
You broke down completely, the letter trembling in your aged hands. Sobs wracked your frail body as decades of buried emotions surged forward. It's not regret for your choices, but sorrow for the man who had loved so fiercely and so alone.
A strong and familiar arms wrapped around you from behind. Yuseong had come outside as the mangoes were forgotten. He lowered himself beside you with some effort, joints protesting, and pulled your white-haired head to his shoulder.
“ Shh, love. Breathe.” He murmured.
“ Is that…from him?”
You nodded, unable to speak at first. He held you through the storm while one hand gently rubbing your back.
“ I’m sorry.” You whispered when the tears eased.
“ He never stopped. Even after I said goodbye…he waited his whole life.”
Yuseong pressed a kiss to your temple. “ He loved you the only way he knew how.”
A faint and bittersweet smile touched his lips. “ I can’t hate him for that. I got to live a lifetime with you. He got memories and letters. We both won and lost in our own ways.”
You leaned into him. “ You were there when I was broken. You stayed when I had nothing. Gwi-ma was my first love and my first fire. But you…you were my home. My direction when I was lost.”
“ And I would do it all again.” He said softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with a wrinkled thumb.
“ Even the mango peeling.”
A watery laugh escaped you despite the pain. “ Still competing with a dead king, old man?”
“ Always. Especially if it makes you smile.”
You held the box close to your chest as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in soft golds and pinks. The view was beautiful when your grandchildren were playing in the distance while your husband’s steady heartbeat beside you, and the final closure of a love that had spanned lifetimes.
Life was not a fairytale. First loves could break you. But sometimes, being lost led you to the person who would walk with you through the ordinary and quiet days that mattered most.
Gwi-ma had waited in this life. You would carry his memory gently now, with forgiveness and gratitude. And when your own time came, or perhaps the falls would echo with two voices again.
For now, you rested your head on Yuseong’s shoulder while your hands intertwined with the box of letters, and a bridge between past and present.
“ Thank you.” You whispered.
To both men, to the river that had taken and given, to the life that had allowed you to love twice in such different ways.
The wind carried your words away, gentle and forgiving under the old tree where peace had finally taken root.
Author's Note:
Hello, it's nice to be back. I apologized for being inactive again because I had a lot of school and personal problems this month. I'll start losing myself if I overthink everything, but I'm grateful for my hobby of writing fanfiction because it can really help to ease the insanity inside of my mind while also providing a temporary escape from this stressful life.
Anyway, it's been a while since I've written a full angst piece, so I decided to make you all cry again. Don't worry, I cried while writing this, so it's all even. Haha.
Take care and stay safe, everyone! 💕
Song recommendations:
• My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion
• Lifetime (Reimagined)- Ben&Ben
• Kalapastangan - fitterkarma
• Multo (Stripped Down) - Cup of Joe
• Bulong - December Avenue
• Kilometro - Sarah Geronimo
• End Of The Road - Boyz II Men
• On Bended Knee - Boyz II Men
• Shape of My Heart - Backstreet Boys
• Out Of The Woods (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift
Summary: Ahn Sang-goo is a highly respected mafia leader in Seoul. He was invited to his friends' bachelor party to have fun. However, Sang-goo did not find the night "fun". Instead, he considers it "disastrous" when your path crosses with his. That would mark the beginning of each other's nightmares.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, dark romance, age-gap, mature language, killings, chaos, threats, unresolved tension, slow burn, double meaning jokes, drinking, smoking, older man x younger woman
The sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon when a sound like a battering ram echoed through your small apartment. You groaned, the sound muffled by your pillow, as the rhythmic thud-thud-thud continued without mercy.
Your neck still ached from the "fake fainting" episode the day before, and your head felt like it was stuffed with the very cotton candy you’d dreamed about.
Stumbling to the door, you tripped over an empty donut box and yanked the handle open, squinting against the harsh morning light.
" What?! Is the building on fire? Are the donuts back?"
Your voice died in your throat. Standing there, looking like he’d stepped straight out of a noir film in a perfectly tailored navy suit was Ahn Sang-goo. His eyebrows were already knitted into a permanent scowl, and his gaze swept over you with visible physical pain.
You were wearing a pair of mismatched socks, sweatpants with a hole in the knee, and your hair looked like a bird had tried to build a nest in it during the night.
" You look…" Sang-goo started, his voice a low, vibrating rumble of disapproval.
" Like a catastrophe that survived a hurricane. Is this how you greet the man who holds your entire future in his hands?"
You yawned, not bothering to cover your mouth. " It’s six in the morning, Tuba-man. Why are you here so early? I don’t want to entertain a bad mood on my 'Good Mood Day.' I have a schedule. I was going to sleep until noon and then contemplate my existence over the leftover ice tea."
Sang-goo didn't move an inch. He simply reached out and placed a hand on the doorframe, effectively trapping you in his shadow. The sheer size of him always took you by surprise; he made your entire hallway feel like a dollhouse.
" Pack." He ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate.
" Pack what? My lunch?"
" Pack everything." He snapped.
" Starting today, you are moving out of this...this glorified closet. You are coming with me. You will live at the Ahn estate under my roof, where I can actually ensure you don't accidentally poison yourself with expired convenience store food or choke on a donut while I'm not looking."
Your sleepy eyes forced themselves wide open. You tilted your head, your hair shifting like a tectonic plate.
" Move out? Why? I like it here! The rent is cheap, the neighbors don't ask questions, and I know exactly which floorboards creak when a ghost walks by. I have a home, Sang-goo."
" You had a hovel." He corrected, his jaw clenching.
" Now, you are a responsibility. I need to monitor you. I am not risking my father's legacy on the off-chance that your 'cluelessness' lands you in a ditch before the wedding. Besides…" He added, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped over the threshold, forcing you to back up into the living room.
" It is only fitting. We are to be husband and wife. Husband and wife live under the same roof. It’s a basic concept, even for a duck like you."
You scurried backward, tripping over a rug, but he caught your elbow with lightning speed. You looked up at him, breathless, and saw a flicker of that same heat in his eyes before he masked it with a scowl.
" Aha!" You chirped, trying to break the spell.
You pulled your arm away and pointed a finger at him. " The wedding isn't for a week! I see what’s happening here. You just like my company, don't you? You realized last night that your big, empty mansion is lonely without my 'duck' energy. I make you happy, admit it!"
Sang-goo let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-strangled-sob. " In your dreams. I’d have more 'happiness' in a room full of hungry tigers. You are a migraine in human form."
" Oh, I get it now!" You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest and backing away toward the sofa.
You grabbed a decorative pillow and held it in front of you like a shield. " You want me there because you want to advance the honeymoon! You can't wait a week to get your hands on me! Sang-goo, you rogue! I’m not ready!"
Sang-goo froze, his hand halfway to his forehead. " What are you talking about?"
" My...my holes!" You wailed, fake-crying into the pillow.
" They aren't ready for your huge...straw...to inject the...syrup! I'm not ready to have a bloated stomach for nine months just because you couldn't control your impulses! Think of the disaster! Think of the pain!"
A string of very colorful, very expensive-sounding Korean curses tumbled out of Sang-goo’s mouth. He looked like he was vibrating with the effort not to lose his mind. He closed his eyes, taking a breath so deep his chest nearly hit yours.
" There is nothing…" He hissed through gritted teeth.
" That is going to happen. Bedding you would not be a 'pleasure,' it would be a form of medieval torture."
" I would rather stand in front of a firing squad and catch every single bullet with my bare teeth than have sex with you in your current state. You smell like strawberry sugar and sleep deprivation. You are not a temptation; you are a chore."
You stopped your fake-crying and pouted, your lower lip sticking out. " Ouch. That's a bit harsh. I’m a very high-quality chore."
Sang-goo let out a long, irritable sigh that sounded like a tire deflating. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on your meager belongings. " I don't care about your feelings. I care about my time. Grab your things. Now."
" If you don't move your damn ass in the next five minutes, I will drag you out of here by your socks and shove you into the back of my car myself."
" But my stuff—"
" Forget the stuff!" He roared, pointing toward the door.
" Everything in this junk house is replaceable. I can buy you a thousand versions of whatever is in this room. I am buying you a new life, and it starts with you getting into that car before I decide to fire my entire security team out of pure frustration!"
You looked at his red face, then at the sleek car waiting outside, and finally at your half-empty box of donuts. You realized that, despite his grumbling and his lethal glares, there was a strange, terrifying sort of safety in his presence.
" Fine." You muttered, shuffling toward your bedroom.
" But if your house doesn't have good pillows, I’m faking another faint. And this time, I’m staying down for three days."
" Just move!" He yelled, but as you walked away, a small, involuntary smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at the spot where you'd been standing, shaking his head.
He was supposed to be the most feared man in the country, and yet he was currently playing mover for a girl who thought he was a "tuba."
The two years were going to be a bloodbath, he was sure of it. But as he followed you into the hall, the silence of his mansion didn't seem quite so appealing anymore.
…
The black sedan glided through the iron gates of the Ahn estate, the tires crunching on gravel that sounded more expensive than your entire wardrobe. When the car stopped, a line of men in dark suits stood like pillars of salt. As Sang-goo stepped out, every single one of them dropped their gaze to the ground, their chins tucked against their chests as if looking at their boss would turn them into stone.
You stepped out beside him, squinting at the bowed heads. " Hey, why are you guys looking at your shoes? Is there a hole in the driveway? You can look at me, you know."
" My beauty isn’t on the ground; it’s up here on my head. I didn't spend ten minutes brushing my hair for the pavement to enjoy it."
One of the younger guards flinched, his eyes darting up for a micro-second before Sang-goo’s shadow loomed over him.
" Don't listen to her." Sang-goo growled, his hand clamping firmly onto your upper arm.
" Do not follow any orders from this crazy girl. If she tells you to jump off a bridge to find a 'pretty rock,' you stay exactly where you are."
He didn't walk; he hauled you toward the massive front doors.
" And you…" He hissed into your ear, his breath hot and smelling of mint and irritation.
" Stop trying to recruit my men into your circus. They have work to do."
" They look stressed, Sang-goo! They need a hobby. Or a hug." You chirped, but then the doors swung open, and your voice died.
The mansion wasn't just a house; it was a cathedral of excess. Marble floors so polished you could see the terrified expression on your own face reflected in them; chandeliers that looked like frozen explosions of diamonds; and vases that probably cost more than a small country's GDP.
You walked through the foyer with your mouth hanging open, your head spinning as you tried to take in every museum-quality artifact.
" Wow." You whispered.
" You're really...big."
Sang-goo stopped, his eyebrows shooting up. " Excuse me?"
" The mansion!" You corrected quickly, gesturing wildly.
" It’s huge! I feel like I should be wearing white gloves and a velvet rope just to stand here. Do you actually live here, or do you just haunt it?"
He didn't answer, instead dragging you down a long hallway lined with dark wood and gold accents until you reached a set of double doors. He pushed them open to reveal a room filled with books, leather chairs, and a desk that looked like it was carved from a single ancient tree.
" Is this my room?" You asked, already eyeing the plush leather sofa.
" It's big enough. I could put my bed here, a kitchen there, and I’d still have room for a bowling alley. This is basically the size of my old apartment complex."
Sang-goo walked behind the desk, the power dynamic shifting the moment he sat in his high-backed chair. " This is my office. Where I work. And no, it is not 'livable.' It is a workspace."
He leaned back, his eyes tracking you with a mix of fascination and annoyance. " But I suppose to someone like you, a broom closet would feel like a ballroom. It’s a pity, really, being so...limited."
You huffed, crossing your arms. " Hey, I’m fine being poor! At least my life isn't one foot in the grave. I sleep soundly because no one wants to assassinate me for my collection of mismatched socks. Can you say the same, Tuba-man?"
Sang-goo’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. " Are you insulting my life? Blaming me because my world isn't 'colorful' and filled with cheap donuts?"
" I’m just telling the truth." You said, stepping closer to the desk.
" You have all this gold and marble, but you look like you’re waiting for a funeral. Maybe that’s what’s missing. You don't have anyone to tell you your tie is crooked."
" My tie is never crooked." He snapped, though his hand instinctively went to his collar.
He glared at you, pointing to a chair. " Sit down. Stop standing there like a statue. You're annoying me just by existing in my line of sight."
" I'm a very pretty statue." You muttered, flopping into the chair.
" How much longer? I feel like two years will end tomorrow and I’ll finally be free from you. I can go back to my normal life where people don't growl at me before breakfast."
Sang-goo let out a long, weary sigh. " I pray for that day more than you do. I’ll be lucky if I’m not in a mental institution by the time this contract expires."
" My mind is already fraying at the edges just from the forty-eight hours I’ve known you. Dealing with a 'wife' like you is a one-way ticket to a padded cell."
" Well, at least we can go to the mental institution together." You replied with a sweet, sharp smile.
" We can bicker over the color of the straitjackets."
" I will pay for the most exclusive, farthest institution on the planet. Just so I never have to see your pouting face again.” He groaned, rubbing his temples.
" I'll find you! I’m like a heat-seeking missile for grumpy men!"
The bickering was cut short when the office door opened. Mr. Park walked in, looking slightly disheveled but professional. " My apologies, Sang-goo. I was delayed by a few court cases that required my immediate attention."
You turned in your chair, eyes widening. " You work in the court?"
Mr. Park blinked, adjusting his glasses. " Yes, I am a senior legal counsel. I represent the Ahn family in various judicial matters."
You gasped, looking immensely proud of yourself. " Oh! So you're like the owner of the league? Do you get to meet the NBA superstars? Can you get me LeBron’s autograph?"
The silence that followed was absolute. Mr. Park stood flabbergasted, his mouth slightly open as he tried to process the leap from 'legal court' to 'basketball court.'
Sang-goo, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to slam his head onto the mahogany desk. He let out a low, guttural sound of pure suffering.
" Ignore her, Park." Sang-goo whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
" She is the most nonsense person currently drawing breath on this continent. Do not engage. Do not explain. Just...start the briefing before I lose the ability to speak."
Mr. Park swallowed hard, clearing his throat and opening a thick leather folder. He looked at you, then at Sang-goo, seeing the way the two of you were vibrating with a tension that was half-fury and half-something much more complicated.
" Right." Park began, his voice shaky.
" Let’s discuss the settlement. Once you are married next week, there are several clauses regarding public conduct, the heir, and the division of assets after the twenty-four-month period..."
As the lawyer began his dry recitation, you caught Sang-goo looking at you. He wasn't scowling for once; he was watching the way you chewed on your lip as you tried to understand the legal jargon.
For a split second, the "mafia boss" disappeared, replaced by a man who looked terrified of exactly how much he was starting to notice about you. Then, he realized you’d caught him looking, and the scowl returned with a vengeance.
The game was on, and the next two years were going to be the longest, loudest, and most confusing years of his life.
…
The office grew quiet as the briefing finally tapered off. To be honest, your mind had checked out somewhere around the third clause of the "Asset Liquidization Protocol." You had been busy wondering if a mansion this big had a room dedicated solely to snacks, or if the gargoyles on the balcony had names.
Sang-goo scrawled his signature with a flourish that looked like a sharp blade. He slid the heavy parchment across the mahogany toward you, his eyes tracking every movement of your hand.
You didn't even blink. You grabbed the fountain pen, scribbled your name in bubbly letters that looked like they belonged on a birthday card, and pushed it back.
Mr. Park let out an awkward, strangled cough. Sang-goo, however, simply closed his eyes and began massaging his temples with a rhythmic intensity.
" You didn't read it." Sang-goo stated, his voice dangerously low.
" I signed it! That’s what you wanted, right?" You flashed a wide smile at Mr. Park, who took the paper as if it were a holy relic.
" My lady…" The lawyer said, his voice hesitant.
" Once these signatures are dry, there is no turning back. You are bound for twenty-four months. You are aware that this contract includes everything from your residency to the...biological expectations?"
" Yeah, yeah. Two years, one baby, lots of donuts. I got the gist." You chirped.
Mr. Park looked at Sang-goo, saw the boss's face turning a shade of crimson, and decided his work here was done. " I shall...file these immediately. Goodnight, Sang-goo. Goodnight, Ms. L/n."
The door clicked shut, leaving you alone in the vast, shadow-filled office with a man who looked like he was about to combust. Sang-goo stood up, his presence filling the room like a storm front.
" Why?" He barked.
" Why didn't you read it? I could have written that I own your soul. I could have written that you have to scrub the floors with a toothbrush every Tuesday. Are you truly that brainless?"
You pouted, leaning back in the plush chair. " I trust you. You’re a big, scary mafia man. You have a reputation to keep. If you cheated a poor girl like me, it would be bad for your 'image,' right?”
“ Plus, I believe in karma. My eomma always said karma is a mirror. If you do something bad to me, the universe will do something twice as bad to you. It’s the law of the world."
Sang-goo let out a dark, rich chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from your chair. He leaned down, his hands gripping the armrests, trapping you.
" Karma…" He repeated, the word a smoky vibration in the air.
" That is the most childish thing I have ever heard. In my world, there is no 'universal mirror.' There is only action and consequence."
“ If someone crosses me, I don't wait for the stars to align to punish them. I am their karma. I am their revenge."
" Well, my world is different." You rebutted, refusing to look away even though your heart was hammering against your ribs.
" In my world, people share their fries and say 'bless you' when someone sneezes. Maybe you should try visiting sometime."
Sang-goo sighed, a heavy, weary sound. He pulled back, pacing the length of the Persian rug. " You need to be wise, not 'cute.' Starting next week, you are the wife of the head of the Aegis.”
“ My enemies are vultures. They look for vulnerability. They look for cracks in the armor. My life isn't lived on soft pillows and cartoon-cat t-shirts. It’s chaos and blood."
He stopped and looked at you, his eyes intense. " I don't want to come home and find a cold corpse because you were too 'clueless' to realize someone was trying to poison your ice tea. I need you to learn."
You rolled your eyes, feeling a surge of stubbornness. " Then you'd be a pretty useless husband, wouldn't you?"
Sang-goo froze. He turned slowly, his brow arched so high it was nearly in his hairline. " What the fuck did you just call me?"
" Useless." You said dreamily, staring at the ceiling.
" I mean, what’s the point of a king if he can’t protect his queen? If the queen falls, the whole palace collapses because the king was too busy being grumpy to watch the door.”
“ A husband should protect his wife because she’s his source of life."
Sang-goo let out a cynical snort. " Where did you get that? Some trashy romance novel?"
" Actually…" You smiled, pointing a finger toward the far wall where a framed piece of calligraphy hung.
" I read it right there. On your wall."
Sang-goo followed your finger. He stared at the ancient script, which indeed spoke of the duty of protection and the strength of the household. He muttered a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
" I don't even know where to start with you." He groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.
" It’s like being handed a ten-thousand-piece puzzle where all the pieces are the same color and half of them are missing. You are a damn disaster."
" Hey! Where did you get that quote?" You asked, leaning forward with a smirk.
Sang-goo stopped, then slowly pointed toward a different section of the wall where a philosophical text about the complexity of leadership was displayed.
" I also read it on the wall." He muttered, his jaw clenching.
He shook his head, looking at you with a mixture of exhaustion and a strange, burgeoning curiosity he refused to acknowledge.
" I wish I had more patience. I’m going to need a miracle to handle your stupidity for seven hundred days."
" I wish I had more patience for you, too!" You chirped.
" You're just mimicking me now."
" Nope! That was a good quote. Since I didn't read it on a wall, I’m using yours. It’s a merger, remember? Sharing assets."
Sang-goo let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a huff. He walked to the door and yanked it open, gesturing for you to follow.
" Follow me, pest." He ordered, though his tone had lost its lethal edge, replaced by a weary sort of resignation.
" I’m taking you to your room. I need at least six hours of peace before I have to deal with your 'wisdom' again. If you wander out in the middle of the night looking for a snack and get tackled by a guard, don't say I didn't warn you."
" Can I have a snack, though?"
" Go to sleep!"
As you followed him through the dark, silent halls of the estate, you watched the broad set of his shoulders.
He was a king of chaos, sure, but as you noticed him subtly slowing his pace so you wouldn't trip on your oversized sweatpants, you realized his "armor" had more cracks than he liked to admit. And you were just the person to start prying them open.
…
Sang-goo came to a halt in front of a pair of towering double doors made of dark, polished cherry wood. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed them open, stepping aside to let you enter first.
The room was vast, less like a bedroom and more like a royal suite. A king-sized bed with a canopy of charcoal silk sat against the far wall, flanked by nightstands carved from obsidian.
The floor was covered in a rug so thick and soft that your toes practically disappeared into the fibers. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the manicured gardens, currently bathed in the silver glow of the moon.
" Wow." You breathed, spinning in a circle.
" It’s...it’s like a movie set. But it feels so cold." You hugged yourself, looking at the minimalist, ultra-modern decor.
" I don't really want anything this luxury, Sang-goo. It’s too much. It feels like I’m sleeping in a jewelry box."
Sang-goo leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. The golden light from the hallway caught the sharp line of his jaw.
" Everything in this house is a reflection of the Ahn name. You aren't in that cardboard box apartment anymore. You represent me now. I’ll orient you on the 'concept' of my life tomorrow, but for now, accept that this is your standard."
" Can I decorate?" You asked, eyes lighting up as you spotted a pristine, empty wall.
" Since it’s my room for the next two years, I should make it feel like home."
Sang-goo rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. " What is there to decorate? This room was designed by an interior architect I paid more than your yearly salary. It is elegant. It is refined. And yet, you have the audacity to think you can improve it?"
" I want to put up my posters!" You chirped, ignoring his grumpiness.
" I have my JB posters and my Seventeen collection. A little color would really pop against all this...gray."
Sang-goo’s scowl deepened until his eyebrows practically met. " JB? Seventeen? I never realized a grown woman and someone I am legally tethered to was still obsessed with Justin Bieber and a boy group that looks like they share one haircut."
You puffed out your chest, giving him a sassy look. " First of all, Justin was my first love. The Bieber fever is real, and there is no cure. And Seventeen? They are the reason I smile! Don't be a hater, Tuba-man."
Sang-goo stepped into the room, his eyes scanning you with genuine concern. " Are you sick? If you have a fever, I’ll call the house doctor. I can’t have you dying of a virus before we even sign the marriage registry."
You let out a loud, bubbly laugh that bounced off the high ceilings. " I’m not sick, you dummy! 'Bieber fever' is just what we call the fandom. It means I love him. It’s a passion! A lifestyle!"
Sang-goo huffed, a sharp sound of disbelief. " I don’t understand why women like you obsess over men who look like they spend more time on their eyeliner than I do on my tactical drills. They look...soft. They look gay."
You snapped, pointing a finger directly at his nose. " Don't you dare! Don't call them gay like it's a bad thing or like they aren't talented! I love them with all my heart and soul. Their music is what keeps me alive in this cruel, grumpy world you live in. In fact…"
You added with a mischievous glint in your eye. " They are my husbands."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Sang-goo took a step forward, his shadow swallowing yours.
" They are what?" He asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register.
" My husbands…" You repeated defiantly.
" Hoshi, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Justin...they were there for me first."
Sang-goo’s eyes darkened, a predatory spark dancing in the depths of his pupils. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, close enough that you could smell the lingering scent of tobacco and expensive whiskey on his breath.
" Let’s get one thing straight, duck. I am the husband. Not the Canadian pop star, and not the thirteen boys in makeup. I am the one who bought you the donuts, I am the one who is protecting your life, and I am the one whose name will be on your ID next week."
You didn't back down. You leaned in even closer, your hearts practically beating against each other in the narrow space between you.
" They are my first husbands. You? You're just the second one. And you're fake. You're just a contract husband with a permanent headache."
Sang-goo’s jaw clenched so hard you heard the bone pop. He looked like he wanted to argue, or perhaps do something much more impulsive, like kiss the sass right off your lips.
" I don't want to see another man’s face on these walls." He hissed, his gaze dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes.
" It’s boring. It’s tacky. And it’s disrespectful to the head of this house."
" You're just boring." You pouted, pulling away and flopping onto the giant bed.
" You probably don't even like music. You probably just listen to the sound of people crying and money being counted." You rolled onto your side, looking at him with a challenge.
" Once I find out what you're 'stanning' or who you love, I swear I’ll get my revenge. Everyone has a favorite. What’s yours? Do you secretly love Celine Dion? Are you a closeted fan of trot music?"
Sang-goo let out a dry, humorless chuckle as he straightened his suit jacket. " Good luck with that. My life is a closed book, and I don't waste my time on 'fandoms.'”
“ If you can actually find something I love other than silence and order, I’ll give you a reward. Maybe I’ll even give you that divorce a few months early."
Your eyes lit up with sudden, frantic hope. " Really? A divorce for a secret? Oh, you're on, Tuba-man. I always win. I’ll have you sing 'Baby' by next month."
Sang-goo rolled his eyes and turned toward the door. " Go to sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, and I need you to have enough brain cells functioning to understand the security protocols. Goodnight, pest."
He walked out, the heavy doors clicking shut behind him with a finality that felt like a challenge.
Once he was out in the hallway, Sang-goo didn't move. He stood in the shadows, his hand resting on the wooden paneling. He was breathing harder than he should have been after a simple argument. He was angry like genuinely and irrationally angry.
Why do I care? he thought, his fist clenching at his side.
Why am I bothered by a bunch of boys on a poster?
He had never been a jealous man. He had never cared what the women in his life did in their spare time as long as they were available when he wanted them.
But the idea of you looking at another man’s face while you lived under his roof or even if that man was a celebrity halfway across the world felt like a personal insult.
It felt like a crack in his control.
He didn't know what this feeling was. He told himself it was just his pride as the leader of the Aegis. He told himself it was the stress of the shipment and the lawyer’s predictions. But as he walked toward his own lonely bedroom, the image of you laughing and calling those strangers your "husbands" burned in his mind like a fever he couldn't break.
He didn't know it yet, but the "missing piece" he had been looking for wasn't a child or a legacy. It was the chaos you brought into his silent world. And as much as he claimed to hate it, Ahn Sang-goo was already starting to crave the noise.
…
The second day of your "residency" at the Ahn estate began exactly how Sang-goo feared it would: with a headache.
Sang-goo was a man of precision. He woke at 5:00 AM, trained for an hour, and had his first briefing by 7:00 AM. By 9:00 AM, his patience was already wearing thin. He stood in the dining hall, the steam rising from his black coffee as he glared at the grand staircase.
" Where is she?" He barked at the head maid.
" The lady has not emerged from her suite, sir." The woman replied, her head bowed.
" There has been...music, but no sign of her since last night."
Sang-goo let out a sharp, irritated hiss, the sound of a snake preparing to strike. " Unbelievable. She thinks this is a vacation. She thinks she can just lounge around like a pampered house cat while I have a syndicate to run."
He didn't wait for an answer. He stormed up the stairs, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic, each one a silent promise of the lecture he was about to deliver. He reached your door and didn't bother to knock.
It was his house, his wing, and his sanity on the line. He threw the double doors open, his mouth already forming a scathing remark about punctuality.
The words died in his throat.
The room was filled with the upbeat, driving rhythm of Seventeen’s "Rock with You." And in the center of the expansive marble floor, you were having the time of your life.
You were wrapped in a single, fluffy white towel that looked precarious at best, tucked just above your chest. Your hair was damp, sticking to your neck in dark curls, and you were mid-spin, using a hairbrush as a microphone as you belted out the chorus with more passion than pitch.
Sang-goo stood frozen, his hand still gripped on the door handle. He was flabbergasted. He had seen women in every state of undress like lingerie models, high-end hostesses, actresses draped in silk but he had never seen anyone look so...unbothered. So raw.
You didn't even notice him. As the song transitioned into the heavy, bass-thumping beat of "Ash". Your movements became more frantic, a little dance that involved a lot of hip-swaying and hair-flipping.
Sang-goo’s eyes, usually sharp and calculating, began a slow, traitorous journey from the top of your head down to your bare, damp shoulders, tracing the line of your collarbone before dropping to the pale skin of your legs.
He had to admit, silently and with a surge of annoyance, that you had a good body. You weren't the polished, surgically-enhanced type he usually bedded; you were soft, real, and vibrant.
The air in the room suddenly felt like it was being sucked out through a vacuum. A strange, unfamiliar heat coiled in his gut. It's a heavy, pulsing tension that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the fact that he was a man and you were nearly naked in his bedroom.
He realized he was staring. He realized he was watching.
" Is this the 'life-saving' music you were talking about?" He finally drawled, his voice coming out lower and huskier than he intended.
You spun around so fast you almost lost your footing on the wet tile. Your eyes went wide, and for a split second, you just stared at him, the hairbrush still raised to your lips like a holy relic. Then, the reality of the situation crashed down.
" AAAAAHHHH!"
" Shut up!" Sang-goo barked, finally snapping out of his trance.
He stepped into the room, slamming one of the doors behind him to muffle the sound. " Shut your mouth unless you want the entire security detail and the kitchen staff to think I’m murdering you!"
You clutched the towel to your chest with one hand, pointing the hairbrush at him with the other. " You pervert! You creep! You Tuba-creeper! You can't just barge in here without my consent! This is my room! My sanctuary! My stage!"
" It is my house!" Sang-goo roared back, his face flushing a deep crimson that he tried to pass off as rage.
" I have been waiting downstairs for two hours. Two. Hours. I have shipments being seized in Incheon, I have a lawyer drafting your 'fake' life story, and my 'wife' is upstairs doing a solo concert in a towel!"
He paced a small circle near the bed, refusing to look back at you, though his peripheral vision was doing a very good job of keeping track of every inch of exposed skin.
" You are wasting my time." He hissed, his back to you.
" If you moved like a normal human being with a sense of urgency, the briefing for your new life would be done. We would be halfway through the security protocols. But no, you had to have a K-pop party."
" You could have knocked!" You screamed, your voice muffled as you tried to shimmy toward the closet while keeping the towel secure.
" A normal person knocks! A gentleman knocks! A man who isn't a secret voyeur knocks!"
Sang-goo turned, his jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was trying to bite through a steel cable. He caught a glimpse of your shoulder and immediately looked at the ceiling.
" I am not a gentleman." He growled, the heavy sexual tension in the room vibrating between you like a live wire.
" I am a man whose patience is currently held together by a single thread, and you are pulling on it with both hands. Move. Quickly. If I have to come back in here and find you still 'rocking with' those boys, I don't know what I’ll do, but I promise you won't like it."
" Get out!" You shrieked, throwing a decorative silk pillow at his head.
He caught the pillow effortlessly, his eyes finally dropping to yours for one long, suffocating second. He looked like he wanted to say something or do something. But instead, he just threw the pillow back onto the bed.
" Five minutes." He said, his voice a low, dangerous warning.
" If you aren't downstairs in five minutes, I’m dragging you down exactly as you are. Towel and all."
He turned on his heel and marched out, slamming the door so hard the glass in the windows rattled.
Once he was in the hallway, Sang-goo leaned his back against the wall and let out a long, shaky breath. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked down at his hands; they were trembling.
What is wrong with me? he thought, closing his eyes.
He had bedded some of the most beautiful women in the world without a second thought, yet one look at a clumsy, singing girl in a towel had him feeling like a teenager with his first crush.
He hated it. He hated the way you smelled like soap and defiance. He hated the way you didn't look at him with fear. But mostly, he hated that he was already counting the seconds until he could see you again.
" Stupid woman." He whispered, though the words lacked their usual bite.
He straightened his blazer and walked away, unaware that the "patience" he kept talking about had already run out a long time ago.
…
The dining room was silent, save for the rhythmic clink-clink-clink of your fork against a porcelain plate that probably cost more than your previous year’s rent.
You were seated at one far end of the mahogany table, and Sang-goo was at the other, looking like a grim monarch presiding over a very small, very hungry kingdom. He had barely touched his coffee, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of exasperation and something unreadable.
" Are you even listening?" Sang-goo grumpily asked, his voice echoing in the vast space.
" I am trying to explain the gravity of your situation. This isn't a game. I inherited this empire from my appa because I am his only son.”
“ With that comes weight. Connections, power, and a target on my back that has been there since I was old enough to hold a gun. My enemies call me the grim reaper for a reason."
You swallowed a mouthful of perfectly fluffy omelet and looked at him through a mess of bedhead. " I heard the part about the reaper. It's very edgy and very dramatic."
" Do you have a scythe, or do you just use that grumpy face to scare people to death?"
Sang-goo’s jaw tightened. " I am serious. Once we are married next week, we are legally one entity."
" My assets are yours. My enemies are yours. I have already drafted the trust for the heir with half of my personal wealth will be theirs from the moment of birth.”
“ I intend to be a good husband and a present father, but that requires a level of sacrifice you haven't grasped yet."
You pushed your plate away, the humor suddenly draining from your face. " I don't care about your money, Sang-goo. Keep your gold and your empires."
" I only care about my safety while I’m under this roof, and the safety of the child once I’m actually...you know, carrying it."
Sang-goo’s expression softened for a fraction of a second. A rare glimpse of the man behind the mafia mask. " I understand that. I am not a monster who abandons his family. I will protect you both if shit happens. That is my word as an Ahn."
" Okay." You said, leaning forward.
" So what about my life? What happens to me once I’m Mrs. Ahn?"
Sang-goo set his coffee cup down with a deliberate, heavy click. " Aside from residing here, you must cut off your connections. No social media. No random outings. You must become a ghost to the world outside these gates."
Your eyes widened, your heart dropping into your stomach. " What? No! That’s completely unfair! You’re telling me I have to stop talking to the people I love? My parents, my siblings...my friends? They’re going to think I was kidnapped! They’re going to be terrified!"
" I have already sent my men to monitor your family's home." Sang-goo said coolly, though his fingers tapped restlessly against the table.
" They are safe. As for your friends, I will grant you one day. Twenty-four hours to say goodbye properly. Tell them you’re going abroad for a high-paying job. Tell them whatever you want, but by tomorrow night, you are dead to the world."
You let out a hollow, bitter laugh. " So I’m a wanted woman now? I’m marrying a mafia leader and my prize is a life of solitary confinement? This is a nightmare."
" It is two years." He countered.
" Think of it as working overseas. You’ll return with enough money to buy your family ten houses."
" But I’m not a liar, Sang-goo!" You muttered, your voice cracking.
" I hate lying to the people I love."
Sang-goo sighed deeply, the sound of a man who had lived in the shadows for too long. " In my world, lying is as natural as breathing.”
“ If you don't lie, you die. If you tell the truth to the wrong person, everyone you care about becomes a bargaining chip. Lying is how I keep people alive."
You pouted, your lower lip trembling. The gravity of the contract you’d scribbled your name on was finally setting in. " I want to back out. I don't want this. Keep your donuts, keep the mansion…I want my life back."
You stood up abruptly, your chair screeching against the marble floor. Before you could take two steps, Sang-goo moved with a predatory speed that made your breath hitch. He caught your wrist in a firm, heat-filled grip, pulling you to a halt.
" You can’t escape." He hissed, his eyes burning into yours.
" You said yes. You signed the papers. If you walk out those gates now, it’s a breach of contract. I won't just sue you…I'll have to hand you over to the legal team, and you’ll end up in a real prison where the food isn't this good and the 'reaper' won't be there to protect you."
You looked at your wrist, then up at his stern and handsome face.
" If I just hadn't puked on you..." You whispered miserably.
" If I had just stayed home that night, I wouldn't be stuck with a tuba-man who wants to erase my existence."
A flash of something crossed Sang-goo’s face. He let go of your wrist while looking away as if he couldn't bear the sadness in your eyes. He cleared his throat, his voice losing its iron edge.
" I'll...I’ll have a box of Bavarian donuts delivered this afternoon." He muttered.
" And the ice tea. The super duper cold kind. A whole cooler of it."
Your eyes lit up despite your tears. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you lunged forward and threw your arms around his middle, burying your face in his expensive silk vest.
Sang-goo froze, his entire body turning to stone. He looked down at your head, his arms hovering in the air as if he were afraid that touching you back would break a spell.
" You already know what makes me happy." You whispered into his chest.
" I’m glad you memorized it, even if you’re a grumpy jerk."
Sang-goo opened his mouth to snap a rebuttal, to tell you to get off him, to remind you that he was a dangerous man. But the words wouldn't come. He just stood there, smelling the scent of your shampoo, feeling the warmth of your body against his.
You suddenly pulled back, wiping your eyes and giving him a small, watery smile. " The breakfast was great, but the news was terrible. I lost my appetite. I’m going upstairs to cry and think about which Bieber poster I’m going to smuggle in here."
You turned and ran toward the stairs before he could respond. Sang-goo watched you go, his hand slowly coming up to touch the spot on his chest where you’d leaned. He stood in the silent dining room and the "grim reaper" feeling more human than he had in years.
" Pabo." He whispered, but he was already reaching for his phone to call the bakery.
He had a kingdom to run, but for some reason, getting those donuts felt like the most important mission of his life.
Author's Note:
Heya, here's the second installment of Crawling Back To You. The characters' interactions are becoming increasingly chaotic. I'm laughing as I write this because I'm completely innocent of Y/n in this story.
I don't know the main plot of this, but I hope to finish it before I return to school (to destroy my mental health again because of one of my professors).
Summary: Ahn Sang-goo is a highly respected mafia leader in Seoul. He was invited to his friends' bachelor party to have fun. However, Sang-goo did not find the night "fun". Instead, he considers it "disastrous" when your path crosses with his. That would mark the beginning of each other's nightmares.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, dark romance, age-gap, mature language, killings, chaos, threats, unresolved tension, slow burn, double meaning jokes, drinking, smoking, older man x younger woman
The neon lights of Seoul’s Gangnam district usually felt like a crown to Ahn Sang-goo. As the heir to the nation’s most formidable crime syndicate, the city was his playground, and its inhabitants were merely background actors in his high-stakes life.
But tonight, the air felt like lead.
Inside the VIP lounge of Aether. The champagne flowed like water, and the bass from the bachelor party thrummed through the floorboards. Sang-goo sat in the center of the madness, a king on a velvet throne, yet his expression was carved from granite.
His lead enforcer had just botched a shipment of high-end electronics at the Incheon docks. It wasn’t just about the money, it was about the image. In this world, a single crack in the foundation invited every rival bottom-feeder to start clawing at the walls.
" Sang-goo, relax! It’s a party!" His friend shouted over the music while gesturing toward a group of models.
Sang-goo didn't even blink. He had the money, the cars, and the girls, yet a hollow ache rattled in his chest.
A missing piece he couldn't name.
He stood abruptly, the sudden movement causing his bodyguards to snap to attention.
" I need air." He growled.
He stepped out of the club’s side exit into the cool night air, expecting silence.
Instead, he found chaos.
You were stumbling along the brick wall, humming a song that was wildly out of tune. When your eyes landed on the tall, broad-shouldered man in the bespoke charcoal suit, you didn't see a mafia boss.
You saw a very sturdy-looking pillar.
" Hey...you're shiny." You giggled while lurching forward.
Sang-goo froze as you bridged the gap with your hands landing flat against his chest. His men stepped forward, hands reaching for their holsters, but Sang-goo held up a sharp hand to stop them since he was paralyzed by the sheer audacity of it.
No one touched him without permission.
No one.
" Get your hands off—"
" Shh." You interrupted as you leaned in close. The scent of cheap tequila and strawberry lip gloss hit him.
" You smell like...expensive soap and anger."
His eyes narrowed, a vein pulsing in his temple. " You are three seconds away from a very unpleasant night, lady."
You didn't listen. Instead, your face went pale. Your eyes widened, and before Sang-goo could process the shift in your expression and the unthinkable happened. With a wet, miserable sound, you emptied the contents of your stomach directly onto his lapels.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the distant muffled beat of the club seemed to stop. Sang-goo stared down at his ruined five-thousand-dollar suit, his face twisting in a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust. He let out a low, guttural gag while his hands hovering in the air as if he were afraid to touch himself.
" You...you wretched, tiny..." He couldn't even find the word.
You, meanwhile, wiped your mouth and beamed at him, your eyes crinkling with drunken joy. " I feel...so much better. You're a good...bucket."
" I am going to kill you." Sang-goo hissed with his voice trembling with rage.
" I am going to bury you in the Han River."
But as he looked at you then he saw how vulnerable you were. Your heels were broken, your hair was a nest, and you were tilting dangerously toward the pavement.
The ruthless leader in him wanted to leave you there, but a strange, nagging sense of duty stopped him. If he left you, some predatory "gentleman" from the club would pick you up, and
Sang-goo, for all his sins, didn't deal in that kind of cruelty.
" Take this drunk woman." He barked at his men, gesturing toward his second car.
" Take her to the nearest luxury hotel. Find a female staff member. Pay her whatever she wants to scrub this woman and put her in something clean. Buy her new clothes. If I see her in this state again, I’ll fire all of you."
His men scrambled to obey, lifting you gingerly as you began to whisper nonsense about wanting to buy a pet penguin. Sang-goo watched like a brooding owl, his arms crossed over his chest, shivering slightly as the foul odor of the puke wafted up to his nose.
As the car sped away, he looked down and saw a small plastic card glinting on the asphalt. He picked it up.
It was your ID.
He intended to toss it in the trash, but his eyes lingered on your photo. In the picture, you weren't covered in vomit or swaying; you were smiling. A bright, genuine, slightly defiant look that hit him right in that hollow space in his chest. He stood there for a long minute, the cold wind whipping his hair, before shoving the ID into his pocket.
" I swear…" He muttered to the empty street.
" If I ever see her again, I’m sending her a bill for the suit, the hotel, and the emotional trauma."
He turned and walked toward his private car, his mind already spinning. He told himself he wanted revenge. He told himself he wanted his money back. But deep down, for the first time in years, the "missing piece" didn't feel quite so empty.
He had a name now.
And Ahn Sang-goo always got what he was owed.
…
The ghost of that night refused to leave Sang-goo alone. For three weeks, he buried himself in the gritty logistics of the Busan ports and the cold numbers of his offshore accounts.
He worked until his eyes burned and his muscles screamed, all to drown out the memory of your drunken laughter and the lingering scent of strawberry lip gloss.
It worked, mostly. Until his lead lawyer, a man who had served his appa with the loyalty of a Doberman, sat across from him with a folder that had nothing to do with crime and everything to do with bloodlines.
" You need an heir, Sang-goo. The Board is whispering. A leader without a legacy is just a temporary placeholder." The lawyer said.
" I’ll adopt." Sang-goo snapped while flicking a gold lighter.
" I’ll find a kid with some spine, raise him in the dirt, and hand him the throne. I don’t need a wife. I don’t 'do' commitment. I like women who understand that our time expires when the sun comes up."
The lawyer didn't flinch. " Legally? It’s a nightmare. Structurally? It leaves you vulnerable to a coup from the secondary branches of the family."
" Sang-goo, If you don't have a biological heir and a stable household, you’re practically inviting a bullet to the back of the head. The image of the organization depends on your strength as a patriarch."
Sang-goo froze. The word vulnerable tasted like ash in his mouth. He sighed, a heavy, defeated sound, and leaned back.
" Fine. I’ll find a perfect woman to be my wife. We’ll get a contract, she’ll give me an heir, I’ll pay her a fortune, and we’ll divorce. Simple business."
But as the lawyer left, Sang-goo didn’t reach for a catalog of socialites or actresses. His hand went to his desk drawer as he pulled out your ID.
He told himself it was because you owed him. You owed him for the suit, the hotel, the dry cleaning, and the three weeks of sleep he’d lost thinking about your ridiculous face.
It was a debt collection.
Nothing more.
...
The drive to your neighborhood was an exercise in misery for him. Sang-goo sat in the back of his black sedan, watching the buildings get shorter and the streets get narrower.
" Is this even a road?" He grumbled as the car jolted over a pothole.
" This isn't an apartment complex; it’s a cardboard box factory. I’m going to catch something just by breathing the air here."
He stepped out of the car, adjusting his velvet blazer, his men fanning out behind him like a wall of dark ink. He approached your door and knocked, not a polite rap, but a thunderous and authoritative boom that made the cheap wood groan.
The door creaked open.
There you were.
You looked nothing like the girl in the club. Your hair was up in a messy clip, and you were wearing an oversized, faded t-shirt with a cartoon cat on it. You squinted at him, shielding your eyes from the sun.
" Can I help you? If you’re selling insurance, I don’t even have enough assets to insure my toaster." You said flatly.
Sang-goo’s world stuttered. Up close, without the tequila haze, you were...infuriatingly cute. He felt a surge of denial so strong it made him stiffen.
" You don't recognize me?" He asked, his voice dropping into a lethal, offended register.
You huffed, crossing your arms. " Look, Mr. Tall-and-Grumpy, if I knew who you were, I wouldn't be asking your name. Are you lost? The country club is three districts over."
Sang-goo’s jaw tightened so hard it ached. " I’m the man you have a massive debt with."
Your eyes went wide, and you looked at him with a mix of horror and confusion. " Debt? I don't have any credit cards! I pay for everything in cash and coupons! I’ve never seen you in my life!"
" Three weeks ago. Aether. You puked on a suit that costs more than this entire building." He hissed, leaning into your space.
The memory hit you like a freight train.
You gasped, your hands flying to your cheeks. " Oh no...oh, no. The shiny man."
Then, your face went pale, and your eyes started to well up with dramatic, panicked tears. " Wait...did we...did we do the...thing? Is that why you're here? Because something happened?"
You started to wail, a high-pitched, whiny sound that made his men look at their shoes in embarrassment. " I’m not ready to be a mother! I can’t even keep a succulent alive! Oh, cursed soju! Why must you be so delicious and so treacherous!"
" Shut up!" Sang-goo barked, his face turning a shade of purple.
" Nothing happened! I would never bed a woman as loud and disorganized as you! Stop crying!"
You stopped instantly, blinking at him with wet lashes. A small and relieved smile broke across your face. " Oh. Thank God. I'm not pregnant. You’re just a mean guy with an expensive suit. Phew."
He felt a vein throb in his forehead. You were stressing him out more than a federal investigation.
" Listen to me, you tiny headache. You owe me for the suit, the hotel stay, the clothes I bought you, and the hush money I had to pay the server. You can’t afford to pay me back in won. So, you’re going to pay me back in a different way."
He stepped past you into your tiny apartment, glancing around with a look of pure disdain. " You are going to sign a contract. You will become my wife. You will produce an heir within two years to secure my father’s legacy. After that, you're free."
You tilted your head, looking at him with genuine, baffling confusion. " You want me to...sign for a wipe and a chair? Is this a furniture delivery thing? Sir, I told you, I don't have money for new chairs, and I don't have a baby, so why would I need wipes?"
Sang-goo closed his eyes and took a long, shaky breath. " W-I-F-E. Wife. Marriage. And a baby. An heir. A human child!"
The silence hung in the air for exactly three seconds. You clutched your chest, your eyes rolling back into your head.
" A marriage? A baby? With you?" You let out a dramatic, Victorian-style gasp and promptly collapsed.
Sang-goo lunged forward, catching you before your head hit the linoleum. You were surprisingly light, and he could feel the heat of your body through the thin t-shirt, and his heart did a treacherous little flip.
" Stupid woman." He muttered, though his grip on you was unexpectedly firm.
He looked up at his men, who were standing in the doorway like awkward statues. " Get out! All of you! Before I decide to use you for target practice!"
They bolted, slamming the door behind them. Sang-goo looked down at your unconscious face, cursing himself under his breath. He had already submitted your name to the family lawyer.
The civil ceremony was scheduled for next week. He had picked you because he thought you’d be an easy mark, someone he could control with money and intimidation.
But as he carried you over to your lumpy sofa, he realized he had made a catastrophic mistake. You weren't easy. You were a chaotic whirlwind that had already destroyed his suit, his dignity, and his peace of mind.
" Why did it have to be you?" He whispered, his thumb accidentally brushing against your lower lip as he laid you down. He pulled his hand back as if burned, his heart racing.
He was going to make you agree.
He was Ahn Sang-goo; he got everything he wanted. But as he looked around your cramped, messy living room, he had the sinking feeling that for the first time in his life, he was the one who was in over his head.
…
Thirty minutes of silence had filled the cramped apartment, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock and Sang-goo’s heavy, rhythmic breathing. You lay on the sofa, your eyes squeezed shut so tight they were starting to twitch. Your neck felt like it was being held at a ninety-degree angle by a brick, and the pins and needles in your arm were becoming unbearable.
Finally, you couldn't take it. You let out a loud, frustrated groan and bolted upright, rubbing your sore neck.
" Why are you still here?!" You shrieked, pointing a finger at the man sitting regally in your only decent wooden chair.
" Don't you have a mafia to run? People to intimidate? A life?"
Sang-goo didn't even flinch. He was looking at his gold watch, his legs crossed perfectly.
" The transaction isn't settled." He said.
" I told you, I’m not leaving until I get what I want. I can sit here for eternity if I have to."
You huffed, flopping back against the cushions. " Ugh! Usually, the fake fainting works! I’ve been doing that for years. Debt collectors see a woman drop dead on the floor and they get scared of a lawsuit or a police report, and they run away for at least a month. It’s my signature move!"
Sang-goo’s eyes flickered toward you then a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it looked more like a snarl. " I wasn’t born yesterday, you amateur. I’ve dealt with people who’ve faked their own funerals to get out of paying me. A little dramatic swoon isn't going to make me go anywhere. In fact, it just gave me time to admire how poorly you maintain this dump."
" Hey!" You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest.
" It’s vintage! It’s cozy!"
" Stop doing that." He snapped.
" Doing what?"
" Pouting. You look like a damn duck."
You puffed out your cheeks even more, leaning toward him. " I’m a cute duck! People pay to see ducks at the park! You're getting the view for free!"
Sang-goo hissed under his breath, rubbing his temples as if a migraine were currently drilling into his skull.
" This is it." He muttered to himself.
" This is karma. All those years of being a ruthless bastard, and the universe sends me a girl who thinks she's a waterfowl."
" What did you say?" You squinted at him.
" I said…" He raised his voice, leaning forward so his face was inches from yours.
The sudden proximity made the air in the room vanish. You could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes and smell the expensive, woody scent of his cologne.
" That you are going to agree to be my wife. You are going to sign the papers, move into the estate, and we are going to produce an heir for my appa’s legacy. End of story."
You pushed his shoulder which felt like pushing a marble statue and turned your head away. " Marriage is for people who love each other! You know, flowers, slow dancing, not being threatened with a lawsuit or a shallow grave!"
Sang-goo let out a dry, humorless laugh. " Love? Love is for people with too much time on their hands. In my world, marriage is a merger."
" It’s a strategic alliance to retain power. You have no money, no family, and no prospects. I have everything. It’s a fair trade."
" No." You said firmly.
His eyes darkened, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping ten degrees. " I could kill you right now. I could have my men erase your existence before the sun sets."
" Go ahead!" You challenged, throwing your arms out.
" Either you kill me or you torture me, I don't care! At least in the afterlife, I won't have to listen to you grumble about your expensive suits! I’m not tying myself to a man I don't know."
" For all I know, you're a serial killer or a psychotic stalker who's obsessed with me and using this 'legacy' thing as a cover story!"
Sang-goo looked like he wanted to scream. He stood up, pacing the tiny length of your rug. " Obsessed? With you? I’ve had more stress in the last four hours than I’ve had in the last four years! I’ll probably die of a heart attack by thirty-five if I have to spend every day with you!"
" Good! Then I'll be a rich widow!" You retorted.
" I'm still saying no!"
Sang-goo stopped. He took a long, deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He was a negotiator and he just needed to find your price. Every person had a price. He looked at your small, empty kitchen and your worn-out furniture.
" What do you want?" He asked.
" Money? A house? A fleet of cars? Name it."
You paused. You looked at him, then at your stomach, which chose that exact moment to let out a loud, pathetic growl.
You had been living on instant noodles for a week.
" I want..." You started, your voice trailing off dreamily.
" I want a Bavarian-flavored donut. The one with the powdered sugar that gets everywhere and the thick cream inside."
Sang-goo blinked. " A donut?"
" And…" You added, your eyes lighting up with sudden passion.
" A super duper cold ice tea. Not lukewarm. I want it so cold that the condensation drips down the cup and gives me a brain freeze." You smiled at him, a genuine, hopeful expression.
" That’s what I want right now. I’ve been craving it for months, but the good bakery is too far away and I’m broke."
Sang-goo stared at you in dead silence for a full minute. He had offered you a life of luxury, millions of won, and protection from the underworld.
And you wanted...a donut.
He started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a dark, rich laugh that vibrated through the room. " That’s it? That’s the price of your hand in marriage? A cheap pastry and a sugary drink?"
You nodded vigorously. " They're really good donuts, Sang-goo."
He smirked, reaching for his phone and dialing his lead enforcer.
" I hate to say this..." He said into the phone, his eyes locked on yours with a terrifying intensity.
" I want every Bavarian donut in this city. Every single one. And I want the coldest ice tea ever brewed. If it's not freezing, don't bother bringing it. I want this house flooded with them within the hour. Move!"
He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He leaned over you again, his hand resting on the back of the sofa, trapping you.
" One hour." He whispered, his breath warm against your cheek.
" And once you eat that donut, you’re mine. No more fainting. No more ducks. Just my wife."
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. The donuts sounded great, but the way he was looking at you...that felt like a much more dangerous craving.
…
The tiny apartment was currently a crime scene of powdered sugar and condensation. True to his word, Sang-goo had his men deliver enough Bavarian donuts to feed a small army, along with a literal cooler filled with ice-tea bottles nestled in a mountain of crushed ice.
Sang-goo sat on your rickety wooden chair, looking like a misplaced god in a thrift store, watching you with an expression of pure and unadulterated judgment.
You were on your fourth donut, inhaling it with a ferocity that suggested you hadn't seen sugar in a decade.
" You're going to make yourself sick." He muttered.
" Mmph." You responded, your mouth full of cream.
You held out a half-eaten donut toward him, a glob of Bavarian filling threatening to drop onto his polished leather shoes.
" Wanna bite? It's life-changing."
Sang-goo recoiled as if you were offering him a live grenade. " I do not eat...street pastries. And I certainly don't eat things that have been handled by someone with the table manners of a stray raccoon."
He watched and horrified as you wiped a thick layer of powdered sugar off your upper lip using the back of your hand.
He let out a low, pained groan. " Disgusting. Do you have no concept of being a woman? Or even a functioning member of society?"
" I'm a happy member of society." You corrected, taking a long, loud slurp of the ice tea. The sound of the straw hitting the bottom of the cup echoed in the silence.
You let out a satisfied sigh and leaned back against the sofa. " Alright, Mr. Mafia. You win. You got me the donuts, you got me the brain freeze. You have my 'yes.'"
Sang-goo’s eyes narrowed. He stood up, towering over you, the shadow of his broad shoulders blocking out the dim light of your living room.
" This isn't a game, woman." He said.
" You think this is just about donuts and tea? Marriage is a responsibility. You aren't just signing a piece of paper so you can live in a mansion and eat pastries."
" As my wife, you have a role. You have to please me, satisfy the image of this organization, and most importantly, you have to produce that heir."
You continued to chew, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. You didn't seem intimidated by his "mafia boss" persona anymore, which frustrated him to no end. He was yapping about responsibility, and you were focused on the strawberry jam donut tucked in the corner of the box.
" Mister Shiny…" You said, finally swallowing.
" I flinched because you yelled at me, not because I'm scared. I get it. I’ve been through a failed marriage before…I know it’s a lot of work."
" But let’s be real. We aren't 'in love.' This is a business deal. It's fake."
" It is not fake." He snapped, leaning down so his face was inches from yours.
You could see the frustration burning in his eyes, but beneath that, there was a spark of something else.
" It is a legal, binding marriage. In the eyes of the law, the church, and the underground, you will be mine. There is nothing 'fake' about the child we are going to create."
You shrugged. " Fine, I'll be a good wife. I heard that as long as the wife is responsible and does her role, the husband stays happy. I can do that. I can organize your ties and tell the chef what you like for breakfast."
Sang-goo let out a sharp and cynical bark of a laugh. " You really don't understand the concept of marriage at all, do you? Especially a marriage to a man like me."
" If you knew I was this 'clueless,' then why are you here?" You shot back, poking his chest with a sugar-dusted finger.
" Why did you come here like some desperate suitor, buying me donuts to convince me? You could have picked anyone. You could have picked a sophisticated lawyer or a cold-hearted heiress who knows 'the concept.'"
He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around your wrist to stop your poking. His grip was warm, sending a jolt of electricity straight up your arm. He clenched his jaw, his gaze dropping to your sugar-stained lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes.
" I didn't have a choice, crazy girl." He hissed.
" I gave your name to my lawyer before I realized how truly...challenging you are. The papers are already being drawn up. The civil ceremony is next week. I am stuck with you, and you are stuck with me."
You pulled your wrist back, feeling the lingering heat of his skin. You picked up another donut, unbothered.
" Two years. I can handle your temper for two years. I have a lot of patience, Sang-goo. I’ve lived in this apartment with a leaky ceiling and a neighbor who plays the tuba. You're just a louder version of that."
" I am not a tuba!" He roared, then stopped, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. He took a breath, trying to regain his dignity.
" And you aren't just a roommate. You are a mother. My child’s mother."
You paused, your expression softening into something more serious. " I’m not a human incubator, Sang-goo. You talk about it like it's a transaction, but pregnancy is the most challenging thing a woman can go through."
" You don't get it. You’re a man. You just...stick, release, and then you’re done. You just stand there while the woman experiences the pain, the disaster of her body changing, and the actual birth. You don't get to act like it's easy."
The room went quiet. Sang-goo looked at you, really looking at you, and for the first time, the grumpiness faded from his eyes.
He stepped closer, his voice losing its edge. " I’ll be there. I’m not my father. I might be a bastard, but I’m not a ghost. I’ll support you. I’ll stand by you as the father of that child."
The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. For a second, you forgot about the donuts. You forgot about the debt and you just saw a man who was just as lost as you were.
Then, you blinked and shoved the last piece of the donut into your mouth. " Whatever. Just make sure the hospital has good ice-tea."
Sang-goo closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against your wall. He looked like he had aged twenty years in a single afternoon.
" God give me strength. I'm going to have a heart attack before the wedding." He whispered to the ceiling.
He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, his velvet coat billowing behind him.
" Clean yourself up. My car will be here at eight tomorrow morning. Don't be late, and for the love of everything holy, don't bring a donut.”
…
The heavy oak doors of the Ahn estate didn't just open; they groaned under the force of Sang-goo’s fury. He stormed through the marble foyer, his footsteps echoing like gunshots against the pristine floors. His men trailed behind him, a phalanx of black suits and bowed heads, until Sang-goo spun around with a look that could have curdled milk.
" Get out!" He roared, the sound vibrating in the high ceilings.
" Every single one of you! If I see a shadow in this hallway in the next ten minutes, I’ll start shooting!"
The enforcers didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled, their professional stoicism dissolving into a frantic retreat as they left their boss alone in his sprawling, silent fortress.
Sang-goo’s head felt like it was currently being roasted over an open flame. His tie was loosened, his hair was disheveled, and the phantom scent of powdered sugar seemed to be mocking him from the very air he breathed.
He marched to the mahogany liquor cabinet, bypassing the crystal tumblers entirely. He grabbed a bottle of vintage, single-malt whiskey. The kind that cost more than your entire apartment building and ripped the cork out with his teeth.
He took a long, burning swig straight from the bottle, the amber liquid stinging his throat in a way that felt almost grounding. After a second heavy pull, he leaned against the cold marble countertop and lit a tobacco pipe, the thick, aromatic smoke swirling around him.
" I'm so fucked up." He muttered to the empty room, his voice a gravelly rasp.
" I am the head of the Aegis. I have survived three assassination attempts this year. And I am currently being held hostage by a woman who thinks a donut is an acceptable dowry."
He cursed under his breath, the smoke curling around his brooding face. He had chosen you. Out of all the women in Seoul, the socialites who knew how to carry a conversation, the models who knew how to walk in a room, or the daughters of other bosses who understood the silence of life.
He had picked the one woman who had puked on him and then demanded a brain freeze as a condition for her hand in marriage.
A soft knock at the door signaled the arrival of his lead lawyer, Mr. Park. The older man entered the kitchen with a calm that only comes from decades of dealing with the Ahn family’s volatility.
" The civil ceremony is finalized, Sang-goo." Park reported, adjusting his glasses.
" The paperwork is ready. If you wish to move the date up to tomorrow, the judge is on our payroll. We can start the ceremony as soon as you bring the bride in."
Sang-goo let out a sharp, cynical bark of a laugh, smoke billowing from his lungs. " Advance it? Are you insane? I need every second of this week to mentally prepare for the disaster I’m bringing into this house. I chose a stupid woman, Park. A clueless, loud, disorganized disaster."
Park walked over to the counter, looking at his client with a practiced, neutral expression. " Perhaps that is your advantage, Sang-goo."
Sang-goo lowered his whiskey bottle, his eyes narrowing dangerously. " What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
" It means…" Park said, unfazed by the lethal tone.
" That clueless woman is easy to manage. She doesn't understand the inner workings of the organization. She doesn't have a family of her own to use as leverage against you."
" She is...moldable. You can control her, manipulate the situation to ensure the heir is produced without the legal drama of your previous...entanglements."
Sang-goo’s jaw tightened. He remembered his last long-term "arrangement." It had ended in a flurry of lawsuits and a very public scandal in the law courts.
That woman had been as sharp as a razor and twice as cold, trying to claw her way into the board of directors before he’d cut her off. She had called him manipulative and abusive; he had called her an opportunistic parasite.
" That bitch only wanted the vault keys." Sang-goo growled, taking another swig of whiskey.
" But this one...she’s different. She isn't calculating. She’s just...there. Like a thumb that’s constantly being stubbed."
Park chuckled softly, a rare sound in the Ahn mansion. He reached out and patted Sang-goo’s shoulder. A gesture of familiarity that few others would dare.
" She might be clueless, Sang-goo, but I have a feeling she will bring a change to this house that you aren't prepared for."
Sang-goo recoiled from the touch, his eyes flashing with stubborn pride. " No one changes me. My eomma gave up on me before I hit puberty because I was too 'repulsive' to follow her rules. I gave my appa a heart attack because I refused to be his puppet."
" I get what I want, and I do it my way. No little woman with a donut habit is going to 'change' Ahn Sang-goo."
The lawyer smiled, a knowing, almost pitying look that made Sang-goo want to throw the bottle at him.
" You should be careful with your words, Sang-goo. The end of the day comes for us all, and yours might come when you realize those words are tasting a bit bitter."
" Two years is a very long time to spend in the company of someone who doesn't fear you."
" She should fear me." Sang-goo hissed.
" But she doesn't…" Park countered, heading for the door.
" She thinks you’re a 'shiny man' and a 'loud tuba.' Two years of that...things develop. Feelings you don't expect. Tensions that don't just stay in the boardroom."
" Get out, Park." Sang-goo barked.
" Goodnight, Sang-goo. I’ll see you at the signing." The lawyer said, his smile lingering as he vanished into the hallway.
Sang-goo stood alone in the vast, expensive silence of his kitchen. He looked at the whiskey bottle, then at the tobacco pipe resting in the tray.
The way your wrist had felt under his thumb, and the way your sugar-coated lips had looked when you laughed at him.
He took one last, long drink, the alcohol fueling his defiance.
" He’s wrong." He whispered to the shadows.
" He’s dead wrong. I’m going to prove it. I’ll get the heir, I’ll pay the debt, and I’ll throw her back into that cardboard box apartment without a second thought."
He gripped the bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. " No one tames me."
But as he walked up the grand staircase to his cold, empty bedroom, he couldn't help but check his pocket since your ID was still there.
And for the first time in his life, the most powerful man in Seoul felt like he was the one walking into a trap, one made of strawberry lip gloss and powdered sugar.
Author's Note:
Hello, I'm back again. I wrote a new fanfiction story, and the new unlocked character is Ahn Sang-goo. I was cackling while writing this because of the characters' lines. I make it funny, but the tension remains and grows as the story progresses.
How do you grieve for a love that did not even exist?
Summary: Your parents decided to enroll you in a Taekwondo class so that you would be prepared to defend yourself if necessary. However, your world collided with Thomas Arashikage, which may bring something unexpected into your life.
The fluorescent lights of the Taekwondo dojang in Seoul buzzed overhead like judgmental fireflies. You stood stiff as a board beside Master Kim, your new trainer, while two dozen pairs of eyes drilled into you. Some trainees sized you up with mild curiosity while the others looked like they were already calculating how fast you’d quit.
Your parents had dragged you here after one too many playground incidents back home and convinced you that learning to kick would magically turn you into a self-defense machine. Right now, all you wanted was to melt into the polished wooden floor.
“ Everyone, this is our newest trainee.” Master Kim announced in his booming voice with his crisp dobok making him look every inch the authority figure.
“ She just moved to Seoul. Treat her well. No hazing unless you want extra laps.”
A few snickers rippled through the room. You kept your gaze glued to your bare feet while your cheeks are burning.
Master Kim launched into the rules without mercy. “ Respect the dojang. No talking during instruction. No phones. No eating. Break any rule and you’ll run ten laps, do fifty push-ups, or both. Serious violations? You’re out. This is discipline, not a playground.”
His eyes swept the room then landed on you. “ Understood?”
You nodded so fast your neck hurt.
The warm-up started immediately in basic stretches, forward bends, and side lunges. Your muscles screamed in protest; you weren’t used to any of this. While the others moved with practiced fluidity, you wobbled like a newborn giraffe. Every time you tried to touch your toes, your hamstrings staged a full rebellion.
Master Kim noticed.
“ Keep breathing. Slow and steady. You’re not racing anyone.” His voice carried encouragement, but the burn in your thighs made it hard to believe him.
After what felt like an eternity of awkward high kicks that barely cleared the ground, he finally called a short break. You collapsed onto the edge of the blue mat, chest heaving, and sweat already sticking your hair to your forehead.
Tomorrow was going to be hell. You watched the veteran trainees flow through their routines and envy twisted in your gut.
Then someone plopped down right beside you.
You flinched so hard you nearly toppled over.
“ Today’s training feels like my limbs are filing for divorce.” A low voice muttered beside you.
“ I want to quit and become a convenience store clerk. But nooo…I have to be the greatest assassin the world has ever seen. Dramatic, right?”
You turned your head slowly. The guy sitting next to you had a sharp jawline, messy dark hair damp with sweat, and a side profile that could probably launch a thousand fan cams. He looked maybe a year older than you. He’s handsome in that annoyingly effortless way.
He must have realized he’d been monologuing out loud because he let out a short, self-deprecating chuckle. “ Sorry. I'm talking to myself again. It happens when the legs are dying.”
He extended a hand. “ Thomas Arashikage. Yeah, I know that it sounds like I walked out of an anime. Blame my mom’s obsession with ninja movies.”
You hesitated, then shook it. “ I’m…Y/n L/n.”
Thomas grinned in bright and surprisingly warm. “ Y/n. Nice. I noticed you the second you walked in with Master Kim. You had that fresh-meat deer-in-headlights look. A classic newbie.”
You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “ That obvious, huh? I’m just nervous. Not used to people staring like they’re waiting for me to trip over my own feet.”
He nodded while leaning back on his hands. “ You’ll get used to it. The first month is always brutal. Everything hurts. You question your life choices. Then one day you realize you can actually do a proper roundhouse without falling on your face.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “ And when that happens, you get to show everyone your hidden skills. We all have them, you know. Something that makes us different. I can’t wait to see yours.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. Most people just gave polite small talk and Thomas spoke like he actually meant it.
Before you could respond, Master Kim clapped his hands. “ Break’s over! Back to basics…front stance, chamber, and kick! Newbie, watch and copy the form.”
You groaned internally and pushed yourself up. Thomas stood too while stretching his arms overhead with a dramatic wince.
“ See you on the other side of the pain, Y/n.” He said while flashing another grin.
“ Try not to murder your calves on the first day.”
You rolled your eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. “ No promises. And stop talking about being an assassin. That’s weird.”
He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “ It’s aspirational! You’ll see. One day I’ll be so good, even Master Kim will fear me.”
“ Thomas!” Master Kim barked.
“ Less talking, more kicking.”
Thomas shot you a quick wink before jogging back to his spot. You tried to focus on the next set of stretches, but your mind kept drifting to the guy who’d just casually declared his dream of becoming the world’s greatest assassin while complaining his legs were about to file for divorce.
The session dragged on and every muscle protested. You caught Thomas glancing your way a couple of times. Once when you nearly lost balance on a side kick while his mouth twitched like he was fighting a laugh. Another time when you finally landed a decent front kick then he gave a tiny thumbs-up that somehow made the burn in your thighs feel slightly less apocalyptic.
By the end of the hour, you were a sweaty and aching mess. As everyone bowed out and started gathering their things, Thomas appeared beside you again, towel slung over his shoulder.
“ Not bad for day one.” He said, voice low so only you could hear.
“ Most newbies look like they’re fighting invisible ghosts. You only looked like you were fighting one ghost.”
You snorted. “ Thanks. I think.”
He smirked. “ Anytime. Just don’t quit before you discover that hidden skill of yours. I have a feeling it’s going to be impressive.”
You opened your mouth to retort like something about how his assassin dreams were probably just an excuse to wear all black, but the words caught in your throat. There was something in the way he looked at you, not judging like the others had at the start.
His gaze lingered a second too long while yours did the same. Then he broke it with another chuckle.
“ See you tomorrow, newbie. Try not to die in your sleep from soreness.”
You watched him walk away, heart doing a stupid little flip that had nothing to do with the workout. As you gathered your bag, one thought looped in your mind that this training was going to be a lot more complicated than your parents had promised.
...
A week into training, the dojang in Seoul had stopped feeling like enemy territory. Your muscles still ached, but the routines were slowly becoming familiar.
Thomas Arashikage was the main reason while other trainees kept to their cliques or shot you occasional pitying looks when you messed up a stance and he always made time for you.
“ Y/n, your high kick looks like you’re trying to swat a very slow mosquito.” He teased one afternoon while demonstrating the proper form with effortless grace.
“ Higher. Pretend the air offended your ancestors.”
You glared, sweat dripping into your eyes. “ Easy for you to say, Mr. Future Greatest Assassin. Some of us weren’t born with legs that cooperate.”
He laughed with that bright and infectious sound that always pulled a reluctant smile from you. “ Hey, my legs filed for divorce last week, remember? We’re in this together.”
Master Kim’s sharp voice cut across the mat. “ Arashikage! Y/n! Less comedy hour, more focus. And Y/n, laugh any louder and you’ll be running extra laps for disturbing the peace.”
Thomas winked at you behind the trainer’s back. Your stomach hurts from trying to stifle the next burst of laughter.
From then on, he became your default partner for pair drills. When you struggled with the chambering motion for a roundhouse kick, he’d open his palms patiently, and letting you practice the snap against his hands.
“ Again. You almost had it. Don’t rush, feel the balance.”
You failed the next three times and nearly toppled over. Instead of frustration, Thomas just grinned. “ See? Progress. Last week you would’ve face-planted. Patience and determination, newbie. You’ve got both. I can tell.”
His long-suffering patience was almost annoying. No matter how many times you botched a routine, he’d correct your posture with gentle hands on your shoulders or elbows, voice steady and encouraging.
“ You’re going to make it. Everyone starts somewhere. I even looked like a drunk giraffe on day one.”
By the end of the first month, the closeness between you had deepened into something comfortable yet electric. Thomas started initiating small outings after training with nothing dramatic, just “sightseeing” as he called it. The first time, he dragged you to Namsan Tower after a grueling session, claiming the view would “reset your soul after all those kicks.”
You went because you trusted him. He never pushed boundaries and never made you feel unsafe. You wandered the trails around the tower, the city lights of Seoul sparkling below like scattered jewels. Thomas pointed out silly landmarks and made up ridiculous stories about them.
“ See that building? That’s where I’ll establish my secret assassin headquarters. Top floor. With a vending machine that only dispenses ramyeon at midnight.”
You snorted while bumping his shoulder. “ You’re ridiculous. And my parents would kill me if they knew I was out with a boy instead of ‘focusing on training and the family business.’”
He raised an eyebrow, teasing. “ Secret rebel, huh? Don’t worry, I won’t tell. We’re just friends appreciating nature. Very wholesome.”
But it didn’t feel entirely wholesome anymore.
The outings multiplied. A quiet walk along the Han River at dusk, where he challenged you to a stone-skipping contest and lost spectacularly, blaming “wind interference” while you laughed until tears pricked your eyes.
Another time, he took you to a small park near the dojang, sitting on a bench as cherry blossoms drifted down even though it wasn’t peak season yet. He’d bring snacks and you’d talk about everything and nothing.
About his dream of mastering every martial art under the sun, your reluctance about inheriting the family business and silly trainee gossip.
Every meeting, the connection grew heavier. Thomas would catch your eye during training and flash that crooked smile that made your pulse stutter. When he guided your form, his touch lingered a fraction longer than necessary when his warm palms steadying your waist during balance drills. You’d pull away first with your heart racing while telling yourself it was nothing.
Yet the unfamiliar feeling in your chest refused to be ignored. A flutter whenever he laughed at your terrible jokes. A quiet warmth when he waited for you after class, towel in hand, and ready with another ridiculous comment.
“ Nice job today. Your kicks are starting to look less like panicked flailing and more like actual Taekwondo.”
You tried to dismiss it. It was unnecessary and your parents had been clear about focusing on training or no distractions. The family business needed a capable heir, not someone mooning over a boy with assassin fantasies.
Thomas was just a good friend.
That was all.
But the more time you spent with him, the louder your heart argued otherwise. During one sunset walk along a quiet trail outside the city, he stopped to pick a small wildflower and tucked it behind your ear without thinking.
“ There. Now you look like a proper Seoul adventurer.” He said softly, his fingers brushing your cheek as he pulled back. His eyes held yours a beat too long, dark and searching.
You swallowed, stepping back with a forced laugh. “ Flirting with the newbie again, Arashikage? Careful, or I’ll tell Master Kim you’re distracting me from my hidden skills.”
Thomas chuckled, but it sounded a little strained. “ I wouldn't dream of it. Just…appreciating the view.”
It's about friendship or something deeper.
You didn’t know yet.
And Thomas didn’t push. He just stayed close, patient as ever and letting the slow burn simmer.
Back at the dojang the next day, he partnered with you again, correcting your stance with that same steady patience. “ See? Determination. You’re getting better every day.”
You met his gaze, the familiar flutter returning. “ Thanks to my annoying personal coach.”
He grinned. “ Anytime, Y/n. Anytime.”
Master Kim barked another warning about noise, but neither of you could stop the quiet laughter that followed.
...
The years blurred together in the Seoul dojang like the steady rhythm of kicks against pads. What began as shy glances and clumsy stretches had evolved into something far more serious.
You and Thomas Arashikage became the school's go-to pair for side missions by escorting VIPs through crowded streets while retrieving stolen training equipment from shady contacts or quietly handling minor disturbances involving rogue trainees who thought they could use their skills for petty crime.
Thomas had been the one to drag you into it.
“ No way I’m pairing with anyone else.” He’d declared to Master Kim while flashing that signature grin.
“ Y/n and I already know each other’s moves. We’ll get it done clean.”
You’d bickered the entire first mission. “ Your ‘concrete plan’ was just ‘run at them and look intimidating,’ Thomas. I almost got elbowed in the face!”
“ Hey, it worked, didn’t it? And you looked cute when you were panicking.” He’d dodged your half-hearted swipe while laughing until Master Kim threatened extra drills.
The missions grew harder. Promotion came after a successful takedown of a mid-level fence dealing in illegal combat gear. Suddenly you were facing real threats of high-profile criminals and corrupt officials using martial arts connections for smuggling rings or even a few powerful businessmen with bodyguards who knew how to throw a punch.
The work was exhausting of long nights tailing suspects through neon-lit alleys in Gangnam, tense stakeouts in rainy Han River parks, and the constant edge of knowing one wrong move could end badly.
Yet Thomas made it bearable. He always arrived with detailed plans sketched on crumpled napkins about the entry points, escape routes, and signals only the two of you understood.
“ Stick close. I’ve got your back.” He’d murmur before every op, his hand briefly squeezing yours in reassurance. His patience never wavered, even when you froze during your first real confrontation with armed thugs.
He’d pulled you behind cover with his calm voice. “ Breathe. We improvise together. You’re not doing this alone.”
Your admiration deepened into something heavier and more consuming. The way he moved in combat mirrored the quiet strength he showed when guiding your form back in training.
Late nights after missions by sharing cheap convenience store meals on rooftops overlooking the city, the tension between you thickened like summer humidity. The unspoken words hung in every lingering glance, every accidental brush of shoulders, every soft “good work today” that felt like so much more.
You couldn’t ignore it anymore. The flutter in your chest had become a constant ache when his body language screamed the same. The way he always chose the seat closest to you, how his eyes softened when no one else was looking, and the protective edge in his voice during dangerous moments.
He felt it too.
You were sure of it.
One humid summer night, after a particularly grueling mission dismantling a small extortion ring, the two of you ended up at a quiet street food stall near Hongdae. Steam rose from tteokbokki and grilled skewers while the air was thick with spicy scents and distant K-pop beats. You sat on plastic stools, shoulders brushing, and sharing a plate of hotteok dripping with honey.
The words spilled out before you could stop them.
“ Thomas…what is this between us?” Your voice was quiet but steady with your heart hammering.
“ I can’t keep pretending. I’m slowly falling for you. All these years…the missions, the laughs, the way you look at me when we’re alone. I think you feel it too.”
He stiffened beside you, skewer paused halfway to his mouth. The easy humor drained from his face. For a long moment, and only the sizzle of food on the grill filled the silence.
“ I…didn’t know.” He muttered finally and set the food down. His shoulders slumped.
“ I wasn’t sure what I truly felt. Or maybe I was scared to admit it.” He ran a hand through his hair with his eyes fixed on the flickering stall light.
“ I want to pursue you, Y/n. God, I do. But I’m terrified you’ll become a barrier to my plans. We’re too different. You’ve got the family business waiting…the one your parents drilled into you. I want to be the best assassin this country’s ever seen. Make my parents proud. Prove I’m not just some loudmouth with dreams.”
Your chest tightened. “ Thomas—”
He cut in gently with his voice laced with regret. “ I don’t want to be the reason you fall. We’re still young. There are so many opportunities ahead. Your parents already forbid you from even being friends with guys like me. If they found out…I won’t let myself become the obstacle that ruins everything you’ve worked for.”
The street noise faded into a dull roar. You felt the crack in your heart widening.
“ I’ll fight for you.” You said, voice trembling but determined.
“ Just don’t leave me to do it alone. We’ve faced worse together on missions. We can face this.”
Thomas shook his head slowly and pain flashing across his handsome features. “ I have too many dreams, Y/n. Being the greatest…it’s everything I’ve trained for. I can’t ask you to give up everything for me.”
His gaze met yours. “ Don’t do that. I won’t allow it.”
Tears pricked your eyes. The boy who had made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who had patiently corrected your stances a thousand times, and who had planned every mission to keep you safe…he was pulling away.
“ After everything? The years, the way you looked at me, the touches that lingered…you showed me all those mixed signals and now you say you don’t know?”
“ I’m sorry.” He whispered.
“ I’m really sorry for leading you on. For not being clear. I do like you, Y/n. More than I should. But my main priority right now is my dreams. I can’t let anything or even this derail that. Not yet.”
The hotteok turned cold on the plate and your appetite vanished. All those moments of his laughter echoing in the dojang, his steady hands guiding yours, and the quiet nights where the city felt like it belonged only to the two of you crashed against the wall he’d just built.
You wanted to argue, to fight like you did on missions when the odds were bad. But the look in his eyes told you he’d already made his choice, at least for now. The slow burn that had warmed you for years now left only embers and smoke.
“ Fine.” You said quietly while standing on shaky legs. The unresolved tension lingered, sharp and painful, but neither of you were willing to close the distance or walk away completely.
“ Just…don’t expect me to pretend nothing happened.”
Thomas didn’t stop you as you left the stall, the Seoul night suddenly colder despite the summer heat. He remained seated, shoulders hunched with the weight of his ambitions and fears heavier than any opponent you’d faced together.
The walk home blurred with unshed tears. Years of partnership, laughter, and deepening connection had led here to a confession met with hesitation, and to feelings laid bare under streetlights only to be gently that devastatingly set aside.
Yet deep down, the spark refused to die completely. You wondered if the next mission would feel the same or if everything had just changed forever.
...
The rejection hits like a poorly executed axe kick and leaves you sprawled on the mat of your own emotions. That night at the street food stall when Thomas’s words had carved a clean line between you.
“ I like you too…but my dreams come first.”
You couldn’t breathe the same air as him after that.
The very next morning you packed your bag at the training camp outside Seoul and left without a word. No note or no goodbye. Every time you pictured his face, the pain flared fresh. Seeing him in the dojang while hearing his voice call out corrections to someone else, would have been unbearable.
So you ran.
Thomas tried multiple times.
Texts lit up your phone for weeks and missed calls.
Thomas: Y/n, talk to me.
Thomas: What did I do wrong?
Thomas: At least let me explain properly.
A voice message where his usual cocky tone cracked.
“ Newbie…don’t disappear on me like this.”
You deleted every one. You avoided every training session he might attend then switched your schedule or changed your number after the third month. When he showed up at your family’s business office once, you slipped out the back door before he could spot you.
Eventually, he stopped trying and the silence that followed was worse.
Then came the cruelest punchline.
During a rare visit back to the old dojang to collect forgotten gear, you overheard trainees whispering. Thomas had been reassigned to a new partner. A sharp, confident girl named Mina who moved like liquid steel and laughed at his jokes even louder than you once had.
They looked good together and the kind of partnership that didn’t need years to build; it simply clicked.
Fate had a vicious sense of humor.
The love you once carried for him curdled into something hollow, cold, and edged with hate. Not the dramatic, screaming kind. It was just a quiet ache that sharpened every time his name crossed your mind.
You threw yourself into training until your body screamed louder than your heart. Muscles tore and rebuilt stronger and techniques that once felt impossible became second nature. You pushed until bruises bloomed like dark flowers across your skin and your lungs burned with every breath.
Years slid by in a blur of sweat, blood, and silent rage.
Now, at twenty-four, you moved through the shadowed underbelly of Seoul as a full-fledged operative in the Cobra Organization. The same syndicate your parents had quietly served for decades.
The work was illegal, ruthless, and paid in secrets and blood. You handled high-value extractions, eliminations of rival players, and protection details for men whose smiles hid knives.
Your loyalty was absolute because Cobra gave you purpose when everything else felt empty.
But the hollow never filled. No matter how many successful missions you completed, no matter how many powerful targets fell because of your precise kicks and colder calculations, the ache remained.
Thomas Arashikage had become a ghost you couldn’t exorcise. You wondered, in the quiet hours before dawn, whether he was still at the old training camp grinding through routines, or if he had finally clawed his way up to become the “greatest assassin” he once joked about.
Had he and Mina become legends together?
Did he still sketch ridiculous plans on napkins?
Did he ever think about the shy newbie who once laughed until her stomach hurt?
You had cut every thread of communication. No social media or no mutual contacts. You trained alone, worked alone, and lived alone. After Thomas, the idea of letting anyone close felt like inviting another rejection you wouldn’t survive.
Your heart has hardened into something efficient and sharp. It's perfect for Cobra and useless for anything softer.
Tonight, you leaned against the cold railing of a rooftop in Itaewon, city lights glittering below like indifferent stars. Another mission completed about a corrupt official who had crossed Cobra one too many times and now slept permanently in the Han River.
Your body ached from the fight, but it was the familiar and welcome kind of pain.
The kind you could control.
Still, memories crept in uninvited.
You remembered Thomas’s steady hands adjusting your stance years ago.
“ Patience and determination, Y/n. You’ve got both.”
A bitter laugh escaped your lips and carried away by the night wind.
“ Greatest sense of humor, fate.” You muttered to the empty rooftop.
“ Really funny. You gave me the perfect partner, then turned him into the greatest lesson I never asked for.”
Your phone buzzed about the new orders from Cobra. Another target and another night of shadows and precision. You straightened, pushing the ghost of Thomas down where it belonged. It is buried beneath layers of skill, loyalty, and the cold armor you’d built around your heart.
Somewhere out there, Thomas was probably chasing his dreams with someone who didn’t remind him of complicated feelings. Maybe he had succeeded or maybe he was happier.
The thought twisted like a knife, but you welcomed the sting. Pain keeps you sharp and hate keeps you moving. You had chosen your path the day you walked out of that camp while he had chosen the night he couldn’t choose you.
Two assassins with the same dreams, now walking opposite directions.
You pulled your hood up and disappeared into the Seoul night, footsteps silent, heart still quietly breaking in the same place it had years ago.
And the worst part? Deep down, beneath the hate and the hollow, a tiny treacherous part of you still wondered what would have happened if he had just said 'yes.'
...
The dim glow of holographic displays flickered across the underground conference room buried beneath a nondescript building in Seoul’s Itaewon district. Cobra’s inner sanctum smelled of cold steel and faint ozone from the projectors.
You stood at attention in your black tactical gear, mask pulled down, while Snake Eyes, which is your master, the silent legend who had taken you under his wing years ago that outlined the mission on the central table.
“ Storm Shadow.” Snake Eyes signed and spoke. The words clipped and precise. His masked face revealed nothing, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.
“ He is Cobra’s greatest threat right now. His rogue team has sabotaged three major operations in the last six months."
" He hit our weapons shipment in Busan. He exposed our contact in the National Assembly. He moves like a ghost and strikes like lightning. We need him eliminated.”
You absorbed every detail without interruption. Intel on Storm Shadow’s known patterns of his white uniform, dual swords, preference for close-quarters kills, and history with the Arashikage clan.
The name tugged at something buried deep in your chest but you dismissed it. Plenty of operatives used codenames inspired by old ninja lore. It couldn’t be him because the Thomas Arashikage you once knew was probably still grinding through dojang routines or playing house with his new partner somewhere far from this life.
The man who had rejected you, who had let you walk away with a shattered heart, and would never rise to become Cobra’s public enemy number one.
You accepted the mission without hesitation. “ I’ll handle it.”
Snake Eyes studied you for a long moment, then continued. “ You’ll track him through his last known sighting in the mountains near Chuncheon. Use the old training camp ruins as a possible staging point. He’s been spotted near former Arashikage-affiliated sites. Strike when he’s isolated. No witnesses and no mercy.”
He laid out the plan in meticulous detail about the infiltration routes, potential ambush points, and contingencies if Storm Shadow called in reinforcements. You memorized every variable, already mentally refining the strategy with your own touches while using the rainy season terrain for cover, and exploiting his possible overconfidence in hand-to-hand.
Years of relentless training had sharpened you into one of Cobra’s most reliable blades and this promotion would cement that.
“ Success here elevates your rank significantly.” Snake Eyes said.
“ Higher clearance. More critical missions. The trust of the higher-ups. Benefits that will make your parents proud of the legacy they passed to you.” He paused, then added with quiet intensity.
“ I fought to assign you this. Don’t make me regret choosing you over more experienced operatives. Be grateful for the opportunity.”
You met his gaze steadily and nodded. “ I won’t disappoint you, Master. This mission will succeed.”
A faint smile touched the corners of Snake Eyes’ mouth. The closest he ever came to open praise. “ Good. You’ve come far from that shy trainee who could barely chamber a kick. I see the fire in you now. Use it.”
You offered a small, controlled smile in return, but inside, something heavy pressed against your ribs. A vague unease you couldn’t name. The name “Storm Shadow” echoed again in your mind while stirring old ghosts you had buried under layers of cold discipline and hollow loyalty.
You pushed the feeling down. The distraction was unacceptable because you had spent years forging yourself into someone unbreakable precisely to avoid this kind of weakness.
The briefing ended with final coordinates and encrypted comms protocols. As you turned to leave, Snake Eyes placed a hand on your shoulder which was a rare physical contact from the silent master.
“ Remember why you fight for Cobra.” He said quietly.
“ Loyalty above all. Personal feelings have no place on the battlefield.”
You swallowed and nodded once more. “ Understood.”
Outside the conference room, the corridor’s sterile lights felt too bright. Your footsteps echoed as you headed toward the armory to prepare your gear.
It wasn’t fear of the target because you had faced dangerous men before and emerged victorious.
This was something older, deeper, and unresolved.
Memories you had long suppressed flickered unwanted of laughter that once made your stomach hurt, patient hands correcting your stance, late-night street food and lingering gazes full of things neither of you had named.
The rejection that had turned warmth into ice, and the years of training through pain until hate became your sharpest weapon.
You shook your head sharply.
It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Storm Shadow was the enemy ruining Cobra’s plans. The organization that had given you purpose when your heart had gone hollow. Killing him would be justice for every mission he had sabotaged and every plan he had derailed.
And yet, he weight in your chest lingered like an old injury flaring before a storm. You told yourself it was nothing more than pre-mission nerves. You had cut Thomas Arashikage out of your life completely.
Whoever this Storm Shadow was, he was just another name on a list. Another obstacle between you and the rank you had bled for.
You loaded your weapons with mechanical precision. The cold metal felt grounding and familiar. As you stepped into the elevator that would take you to the surface exit, you whispered to the empty space with a voice barely audible.
“ I won’t be distracted. Not by ghosts or not by anyone.”
The burn of an old wound you thought had scarred over is now itched beneath the surface and threatening to reopen at the worst possible moment.
Somewhere out there, Storm Shadow moved through the shadows, unaware, or perhaps all too aware that the past was about to collide with the present in the most painful way possible.
You exhaled slowly, steeling yourself.
This mission would change everything.
One way or another.
...
The next day, rain lashed the mountains near Chuncheon like a punishment. You moved through the target compound like smoke in a black tactical gear blending with the shadows of Cobra’s rival guards. Snake Eyes’ voice crackled low and steady in your earpiece while feeding instructions with clinical precision.
“ Stay low. Guards at three o’clock. Use the service corridor. Storm Shadow is confirmed inside in white gear and dual katana. Do not engage until you have isolation.”
You obeyed without question while slipping past patrols with practiced silence. Your heart beat steady from yesterday’s briefing still coiled but manageable.
This was your chance. A rank, trust, and proof that the hollow years had forged something unbreakable.
Then chaos erupted ahead.
A figure in pristine white ninja gear carved through the guards with terrifying efficiency. Dual katanas flashed like lightning and bodies dropping before they could scream. You didn’t hesitate. This was the target as you lunged from the shadows while aiming a brutal strike at his exposed flank.
He moved faster than you thought.
A powerful kick slammed into your ribs, shoving you hard into the nearest concrete wall as the pain exploded across your back. Before you could recover, Storm Shadow vanished down a side passage and his white uniform melted into the downpour.
Snake Eyes’ voice snapped through the earpiece. “ You had the opening. Why didn’t you finish him?”
You pushed off the wall while breathing through the ache. “ He was too fast, Master. A direct assault would have alerted the entire compound. I need better positioning so I won’t miss it again.”
A pause. Then, grudgingly. “ Acceptable. End him quickly. Do not disappoint me.”
You gave chase.
The pursuit led deep into a narrow in a forgotten alley between crumbling warehouse ruins, the old training camp grounds long abandoned and overgrown.
The rain hammered down in sheets and turned the ground to slick mud. Visibility dropped to almost nothing but your instincts screamed danger. He was here, waiting, and turning the alley into his trap.
Until light footsteps whispered behind you.
You spun, katana whipping up just in time to block his descending blade. Steel rang against steel and the impact vibrated through your arms when the fight ignited instantly.
He was good, devastatingly good.
Strikes came in fluid like Arashikage sequences. A familiar pattern that clawed at the edges of your memory. You parried, countered, landed solid hits to his torso and shoulders while absorbing punishing blows to your own ribs and thighs. The pain blurred with adrenaline as your mind kept screaming one impossible name, but you shoved it down.
Focus on mission and promotion because the past had no place here.
Rain soaked you both, turning white and black fabric dark and heavy. You saw your chance. With a desperate twist, you hooked your blade under the edge of his mask and yanked it free.
Time fractured.
Thomas Arashikage’s face is older, sharper, and scarred faintly along the jaw stared back at you while the rain streamed down his cheeks. Those dark eyes you once knew so well widened in shock.
Your heart dropped like a stone into an endless well. After all these years, the boy who made you laugh until you cried. The partner who guided your hands with endless patience. The one who had rejected you so gently it still burned.
Storm Shadow or Thomas Arashikage.
He recovered faster than you did. In a blur, he trapped you with his body pressing yours against the cold, wet alley wall and one katana at your throat while the other pinning your sword arm. You struggled, muscles straining, but his weight and leverage held you immobile. The rain poured between you, mixing with the metallic taste of blood from a split lip.
His voice that cut through the downpour. “ Who are you?”
You met his gaze. “ I am that someone will change after they get hurt by a person they were supposed to trust.”
His eyes searched for yours with confusion and something deeper flickering there.
You smirked, cold and bitter. “ If you want to kill me now, do it. I’m not afraid of death.”
Storm Shadow didn’t hesitate. His free hand shot up and tugged your mask down in one sharp motion. The moment your face was revealed, his dark eyes widened further, and raw shock replaced the assassin’s calm while the rain traced paths down his stunned expression.
For several heartbeats, neither of you moved. The alley, the rain, and the distant sounds of the compound are all faded.
“ Y/n…” He breathed, voice cracking on your name like an old wound reopening.
“ Why are you doing this?”
You lifted your chin, refusing to let the tremble in your chest show. “ It's none of your business if I do this. I don’t care if Cobra is the government’s enemy or not. I only care about myself and the promotion this kill brings.”
He laughed in a bitter, hollow sound that hurt more than any strike he had landed. “ I never expected this. The girl who once had so much fire in training…lowering herself to Cobra just for the higher-ups’ approval? For rank?”
“ I don’t care what you think anymore.” You said firmly, though your voice wavered at the edges.
“ You’ve been gone too long from my life. I don’t see you the way I used to. You’re just a mission now. And I should end you right here.”
Thomas stared at you, the katana at your throat never wavering, yet his grip seemed less certain. Heavy angst thickened the air between your bodies, the old slow burn now laced with years of pain and silence.
“ The old you would never be happy knowing what you’ve become.” He murmured.
You laughed, sharp and broken. “ The old me died the day you hurt her”
His expression twisted. “ Just because I let you go doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt too. It doesn’t mean only you carried the pain.”
The words landed like another kick to the ribs. His warmth bled through wet fabric. His scent that faintly familiar beneath rain and blood and stirred memories you had tried to kill.
You wanted to scream, to fight, or to demand why he had chosen his dreams over you like why he looked at you now with the same longing that once made your chest flutter.
Instead, you remained trapped, the promotion, Cobra’s trust, and your hardened loyalty warring violently against the ghost of the boy who once called you “newbie” and promised you’d discover your hidden skills.
The rain kept falling, washing nothing away. Neither of you moved to strike the killing blow. The mission, the years, the rejection, and all of it suspended in this single and agonizing moment of rediscovery.
...
The rain pounded relentlessly in the narrow alley, turning the ground into slick mud that mirrored the chaos inside you. Thomas stood frozen after recognizing your face with his dark eyes wide with a storm of emotions that matched the downpour. His body still pinned you against the cold wall, katanas keeping deadly proximity, but the fight had shifted into something far more dangerous.
You saw the opening when his gaze softened and was distracted by the ghost of the girl he once knew. Years of training took over. You twisted free with a sharp elbow strike to his ribs, then unleashed a barrage of hits. Each blow landed with the weight of every lonely year, every suppressed memory, and every hollow promotion you had chased to fill the void he left.
Thomas accepted them. He didn’t counter or didn’t dodge. He simply absorbed the punishment while grunting softly as your strikes connected with his chest, shoulders, and arms. The rain mixed with the blood from fresh cuts on his lip.
“ Fight back, Thomas!” You screamed.
“ Be fair! Stop standing there like some martyr and fight me!”
He finally blocked your next flurry, strong hands catching your wrists mid-swing. His voice was low but steady despite the pain.
“ I won’t ever hit someone who’s still part of me.”
You chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow and wet. “ How noble. I can hit or kill someone who used to be part of my life. Especially when he made sure I learned how to survive without him.”
With a raw scream torn from your chest when you attacked again. The blades clashed as your katana sang through the rain as you pressed forward blindly and emotions blinded you to everything except the ache that had festered for years.
You were deaf to Snake Eyes’ urgent voice crackling faintly in your discarded earpiece, deaf to reason, and deaf to the mission.
“ I won’t hesitate to kill you if you keep refusing to fight!” You snarled while swinging again.
Thomas dodged or parried with minimal effort. His white uniform now stained and clinging to his frame.
“ Then do it.” He said quietly but his eyes never left yours.
“ I’ll accept my death if that’s what you want. At least I’ll die fighting for what’s right. Unlike you…fighting only to please the ones who own you.”
The words sliced deeper than any blade. You grabbed your katana with both hands and drove it forward in frustration. The tip slammed into the brick wall beside his head with a sharp crack and missed him by inches. He flinched slightly but refused to show fear. His dark eyes remained locked on you, calm amid the storm.
“ I’m tired of this, Thomas.” You whispered harshly.
The rain streamed down your face, mingling with the first hot tears you refused to acknowledge.
“ I’m tired of carrying the pain you caused. Look at me, Thomas. This is your fault. I wouldn’t have walked this path if you had just been brave enough to risk everything. I was willing to risk it all for you…my family’s expectations, the business, or everything.”
“ But you were deceitful. You made me believe the fairy tale was real with every smile, every lingering touch, every ‘you’ve got hidden skills’ speech. You toyed with my emotions and then chose your precious dreams.”
He shook his head slowly while the water dripped from his lashes. “ I never played with your feelings, Y/n. I felt the same. I loved you. But we were too young. I didn’t want you risking your future for me when I saw so much potential in you. I didn’t want to be the reason you fell.”
His voice cracked with old regret. “ You don’t know how much I regretted not taking that risk. How guilty I felt every day after you started avoiding me. I wanted to love you properly…but the timing was never right for us.”
Your eyes glistened with unshed tears that finally spilled over, hot against the cold rain.
“ Liar.” You choked out.
Thomas stepped closer while the alley was shrinking around you both.
“ If you really want Cobra’s approval so badly…” He murmured.
“ Then finish me. Get the recognition you crave from them.”
He reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. He guided the tip of your katana until it rested against the pulse point on his neck. His skin was warm beneath the cold steel.
“ I’ll never be mad at you for ending me. I’m glad…after all these years, I got to see you again. I’m sorry for hurting you, Y/n. Truly.”
You trembled violently as the blade shook in your grip.
“ Shut up, Thomas.” You whispered brokenly.
“ Just…shut up.”
He only stared at you with that defeated, open gaze with his dark eyes full of quiet sorrow, acceptance, and something deeper that made your heart twist painfully with no anger or no defense.
Just the man who had once patiently taught you to believe in yourself, now offering his life without resistance. But the frustration boiled over. With a choked cry, you threw the katana aside and it clattered uselessly into the mud.
“ I can’t do it.” You gasped.
The dam broke.
You pressed your forehead against his chest while your shoulders shook as years of suppressed pain flooded out in harsh and wrenching sobs.
Thomas didn’t hesitate as his arms came around you instantly, strong and steady, then pulling you close despite the rain, the blood, the mission, and the years apart. His embrace was warm and chasing away the cold that had settled in your bones since the day you walked out of that training camp.
After all this time, you finally felt the warmth you had been desperately seeking. The hollow in your heart cracked open wider, but this time it wasn’t empty. It hurt because it was filled with everything you had tried to kill about the laughter, the patience and the slow burn of feelings that refused to die.
You cried harder while your fists weakly clutching his soaked white uniform, face buried against him as sobs wracked your body.
“ Why…why did you let me go?” The words muffled against his chest.
Thomas held you tighter, one hand gently cradling the back of your head while the other stroking your back in the same soothing rhythm he once used during difficult training sessions.
His own breathing was uneven. His voice was thick when he finally spoke. “ I never stopped thinking about you, newbie. Never.”
Snake Eyes’ voice had long gone silent in the earpiece. The mission, the promotion, and Cobra’s expectations. All of it felt distant and meaningless against the reality of Thomas’s heartbeat under your cheek.
For the first time in years, you weren’t alone in the pain.
Yet nothing was resolved because the past still loomed and Cobra waited for a kill that would never come tonight. Your loyalty, your hardened heart, and his dreams while they all hung in fragile balance.
You cried until your throat burned and your legs trembled, safe for the moment in the arms of the man who had both broken you and somehow still felt like home and neither of you moved to pull away.
...
The rain continued its merciless assault on the narrow alley, but the world narrowed to the warmth of Thomas’s arms around you and the violent pounding of your own heart.
Your sobs had begun to quiet into shaky breaths against his soaked chest when the sharp, deliberate sound of clapping cut through the downpour like a whip.
Both of you stiffened instantly.
Snake Eyes stood at the mouth of the alley, his masked face tilted in mocking amusement, and black tactical gear gleaming wet under the faint alley light.
When a slow and sarcastic clap echoed off the walls.
“ How touching.” He drawled.
“ The angst between you two is so sweet it’s making me cry. A real clingy movie scene. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to sit through the rest of this melodrama.”
Before you could react, he raised his pistol with cold efficiency and aimed it straight at your head.
Thomas moved faster than thought as he shoved you hard to the side while his body twisted to take the bullet meant for you when the shot cracked through the rain.
Thomas grunted as the bullet slammed directly into his chest while the blood bloomed dark against his white uniform. He staggered and collapsed to the muddy ground, clutching the wound with a wet gasp.
“ Thomas!” You screamed.
Snake Eyes turned the gun toward you without hesitation and his finger tightening on the trigger. Rage and grief exploded inside you when you snatched your discarded katana from the mud and lunged.
The blade sliced clean across his neck in one vicious arc. Snake Eyes dropped to his knees while his hands flew to the gaping wound as blood poured between his fingers. His eyes widened behind the mask in shock.
“ I’m done with your bullshit.” You snarled.
“ Done being your obedient dog, chasing rank and approval while you pull the strings.”
With a final, decisive swing, then you beheaded him. The masked head rolled across the wet ground with a sickening thud. You drove your katana downward, stabbing it viciously into the severed head to pin it in place like a grotesque trophy then you rushed to Thomas’s side.
He lay on his back in the mud as the rain washed over the growing pool of blood around him. His hand pressed weakly against the chest wound while his breath coming in shallow and labored gasps.
“ We’re going to the hospital right now.” You said desperately while trying to lift him.
“ Hold on. Just hold on.”
Thomas groaned. “ Maybe…I can’t make it, Y/n. The bullet…hit something fatal.”
“ Don’t say that!” You cried, tears mixing with rain on your cheeks.
“ Fight, Thomas. You have to fight!”
He gave you a sad and gentle smile. The same patient smile he used to give you during difficult training sessions years ago. His bloodied hand rose shakily to cup your face while his thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness.
“ I’m really glad…before I died…I got to see you again.” He whispered.
“ You’re not dying!” You screamed while clutching his hand.
“ Don’t you dare say that. You’re going to live!”
His eyes fluttered and struggled to stay open. “ I always…loved you. Take care of yourself…newbie.”
“ No…no, Thomas, please!” You broke down completely while sobbing as you begged him to keep fighting and to stay with you.
“ Don’t leave me again. Please. I can’t lose you like this. Not after everything.”
His hand went limp in yours. His chest rose once more, then stilled completely. The light in his dark eyes dimmed and vanished. You screamed his name, crying so hard your throat felt raw while rocking his body in the rain as if sheer will could bring him back.
You didn’t hear the soft beeping nearby.
A planted explosive had reached its final timer. The blast erupted in a deafening roar of fire and debris, swallowing the alley, the bodies, and both of you in white-hot agony.
At least in the afterlife, you were together.
Til death do us part.
…
Your eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp.
Bright afternoon light filtered through the high windows of the Taekwondo dojang. The familiar scent of polished wood and faint sweat filled your lungs. You were lying on a stack of spare mats in the corner and the break area where trainees sometimes napped between sessions.
Storm Shadow—no, Thomas Arashikage stood over you, hand extended, his handsome face lit with mild concern and amusement. His dobok was clean, hair slightly messy from training, no blood, no rain, and no wounds.
Your eyes widened in pure shock. “ Thomas…we…we died. The bomb…Snake Eyes shot you…I beheaded him…then the explosion…”
He blinked, then burst out laughing with the bright and infectious sound you remembered so well echoing through the quiet dojang.
“ What are you talking about, pabo?” He flicked your forehead lightly with his finger that made you wince.
“ Snake Eyes? Seriously? That’s the dumbest codename I’ve ever heard. You must’ve had one hell of a nightmare.”
You sat up quickly, heart still racing. “ It felt so real! You died in my arms…I couldn’t save you…then the bomb went off and we both…”
Thomas tilted his head, still chuckling as he pulled you to your feet. “ You’ve been sleeping the entire break. Master Kim is already mad because your ‘nap time’ exceeded the limit. He’s probably planning extra punishment laps for both of us if we don’t show up soon.”
You stared at him, still convinced the nightmare had spilled into reality. “ But…you got shot protecting me. I cried so hard begging you to live. We died together…”
He laughed again, softer this time, and without warning you threw your arms around him in a tight hug. Thomas stiffened for a second in surprise, then relaxed and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.
“ You are important to me, Thomas.” You muttered against his chest.
“ I feel so empty without you in my life. Please don’t ever leave.”
Thomas chuckled warmly while his one hand gently rubbing your back. “ Hey…I’m not going anywhere. I won’t.”
He pulled back slightly while he cupped both of your cheeks with his palms then thumbs brushing away the faint traces of tears you hadn’t realized were there. His dark eyes sparkled with that familiar mix of teasing and sincerity.
“ I won’t go anywhere because we’re still attending so much training together. We’re partners, remember?”
You narrowed your brows, confused. “ What do you mean?”
He laughed again and flicked your forehead once more, but lighter this time. “ You’re already forgetting reality because of that nightmare? We’re still here in the Taekwondo school, chasing the same path. You, me, Master Kim yelling at us for being late. No bombs. No Snake Eyes. No dying.”
The relief hit you like a wave. All the bad happenings about the rejection, the years apart, Cobra, the mission, and the painful death had been nothing but a terrible dream.
Your reality was this when Thomas was standing right in front of you, healthy and smiling, still your partner after all these years of training side by side.
You sighed deeply as you leaned into his warmth again. “ It felt so real…I thought I lost you forever.”
Thomas embraced you tighter while resting his chin on top of your head. “ It was just a bad dream, Y/n. You’re safe. We’re both safe. And I’m not letting you go that easily.”
Master Kim’s distant voice barked from the main training area, calling for everyone to return. Thomas grinned and took your hand while tugging you gently toward the mats.
“ Come on. Move your ass before we both get extra punishment. The nightmare’s over. This is us training together…is the real thing.”
You squeezed his hand, heart finally steadying as the last remnants of the nightmare faded. All of it had been a cruel illusion.
In reality, Thomas was still here. Your partner and our constant. For the first time in the dream’s aftermath, you allowed yourself a small and genuine smile.
The two of you walked back to the training floor together, shoulders brushing, ready to face whatever routines and whatever future came next.
No more running and no more hollow hearts. Just the two of you, chasing the same path, one kick at a time.
Author's Note:
Hello, I’m back. I sincerely apologize for being inactive and not posting or updating for the past month. Over the past few weeks, I lost my spark for writing and the motivation to create or share anything related to my passion. I felt overwhelmed and burned out, so I decided to take a short break. I realized I couldn’t write properly if I wasn’t in a good place emotionally, physically, and mentally.
I also didn’t want to disappoint my readers by uploading something that didn’t meet the quality you deserve, especially if I forced myself to write. On top of that, I’ve been dealing with some personal challenges, particularly in school, which made things even more difficult.
I want to express my deepest gratitude to those who checked on me. I truly didn’t expect so many of you to reach out and let me know you missed me...it means more than I can say.
That’s all for now. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding. I may not be as active as before, but I’ll do my best to post whenever I can.
Summary: You were abducted by your appa’s debt collectors, taken as collateral to force him to finally pay what he owes. Trapped under their control, you become nothing more than leverage in a dangerous game. But everything takes a turn when one of the boss’s assassins starts taking an unusual interest in you.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, DARK THEME, HEAVY SMUT, AU, explicit content, mature language, age-gap, possessive behavior, teasing, enemies to fuck, abduction, voyeurism, sexual tension, power imbalance, mutual pining, negotiating, erotic, heavy tension, nudity, ownership, manhandling, domestic, dirty talk, degradation, deflowering, worshipping, oral (BOTH), fingering, jerking off, choking, overstimulation, squirting, markings, PiV, unprotected, breeding kink, dry humping, stockholm syndrome, assassin x chaebol heir, older man x younger woman (LEGAL)
The warehouse smelled of rust and old motor oil and the kind of place where Seoul’s glittering skyline felt like a rumor. You woke to the bite of zip ties against your wrists and the low hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Your head throbbed and when your vision cleared, the first thing you saw was him.
Park Chang Yee sat on a metal chair three meters away, legs spread, elbows on his knees, and watching you like you were a painting he hadn’t decided whether to burn or frame. Black turtleneck, sleeves pushed to the forearms, and veins standing out against pale skin with a fresh cut above his left eyebrow hadn’t quite scabbed yet.
He looked dangerously bored.
You tried to speak but your mouth tasted like copper and fear. “ Who…who are you?”
He tilted his head.
“ The man your father owes eight hundred billion won to.” His voice was low, almost gentle, but the way people speak right before they ruin something beautiful while you’re the interest.”
You laughed once then stopped when his expression didn’t change. “ This is insane. My appa will—”
“ What will your appa do?” Chang Yee stood slowly then unfolding like smoke.
He crossed the distance in four steps and crouched in front of you so your knees almost brushed. Up close he smelled faintly of gun oil and cedar.
“ He’ll call every politician he owns? Send the private army? He already tried. They all said no.”
One finger lifted your chin but not rough and just inevitable. “ You’re collateral, princess. Nothing personal.”
His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth absently like he didn’t realize he was doing it. You flinched anyway, he noticed while his pupils flexed.
“ Don’t.” You whispered.
He didn’t move his hand. “ Don’t what?”
“ Don’t touch me like that.”
A slow, crooked smile. “ Like what?”
You hated how your pulse jumped under his fingers and hated that he could probably feel it. “ Like you’re thinking about something else.”
He leaned closer and his breath ghosted your cheek. “ Maybe I am.”
The silence stretched thick and electric. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, too loud and too fast. His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower and to the way your chest rose and fell against the silk of your ruined blouse then he exhaled through his nose like almost a laugh.
“ You’re shaking.” He murmured.
“ I’m cold.”
“ Liar.”
He straightened abruptly and walked away, leaving the air between you colder than before. You hated how empty the space felt without him in it.
Hours blurred. He brought you water in a plastic cup and held it to your lips when your hands stayed bound. You drank because you had to while his knuckles grazed your throat each time.
Accidentally, maybe or probably not.
“ Why are you doing this?” You asked once.
“ Because someone has to.” He wiped a stray drop from your chin with the pad of his thumb.
“ And I’m very good at following orders.”
“ You don’t seem like the obedient type.”
His eyes darkened. “ You have no idea what type I am.”
The night fell or maybe it was just the lights dimming. He cut the zip ties and your wrists bloomed red and raw. He caught one in his palm before you could pull away while studying the marks like they were his signature.
“ Does it hurt?” He asked.
You nodded.
“ Good.”
You stared at him. “ You’re sick.”
“ Probably.” He pressed his thumb into the most tender spot and you hissed but he didn’t let go.
“ But you’re still breathing. That’s more than most people get from me.”
He released you and stepped back as he paced then stopped by the single narrow window that showed nothing but black. “ Your appa’s taking his sweet time.”
“ He’ll come.” You said.
Chang Yee laughed. “ He’d better. Because the longer you’re here…”
He turned then looked at you like he was starving and you were dinner. “…the harder it gets to remember why you’re still wearing clothes.”
A heat crawled up your neck. You hated it but you hated him more. “ You wouldn’t.”
“ Wouldn’t I?” He crossed back to you in three strides and braced one hand on the wall beside your head while the other hovered near your cheek, not touching.
“ I promised my boss I’d be patient. I’m trying. Fuck, I’m trying.”
His voice cracked on the last word but enough to make your stomach twist.
You swallowed. “ Then try harder.”
He laughed again but softer and more dangerous. “ Careful, princess. You keep talking like that and I might think you want me to fail.”
You didn’t answer. Because part of you was wondering what it would feel like if he did. He stayed there, close enough that you felt the heat rolling off him, and close enough that every breath you took tasted like cedar and gunmetal and bad decisions. His eyes traced your face like he was memorizing it for later or for when the lights were off and for when the orders changed.
“ You’re prettier when you’re scared.” He said quietly.
“ I’m not scared.”
Another lie.
He leaned in until his lips were a heartbeat from yours. “ Then prove it.”
You froze as he waited.
The warehouse lights buzzed and somewhere far away a car horn sounded like an ordinary Seoul life moving on without you.
Chang Yee exhaled as he pulled back.
“ Not yet.” He muttered, more to himself than to you.
He dragged a hand through his hair while his knuckles white. “ Not fucking yet.”
He walked away again and left you there with your wrists throbbing and your mouth tingling from nothing at all. You stared at the empty space he’d left as you wondered how long “not yet” would last and wondered if you wanted it to end.
...
The boss’s office reeked of expensive cigars and cheaper cologne, the kind of smell that clung to power like damp rot. Chang Yee didn’t knock as he just shouldered the door open, let it bang against the wall, and dropped into the leather chair opposite the desk like he owned the place.
“ I'm done babysitting for today.” He drawled while stretching his long legs out until the toes of his boots almost kissed the edge of the mahogany.
“ The princess ate the bibimbap. All of it. She even licked the bowl like a stray cat. Progress, right?”
The boss or Mr. Kang to everyone who wanted to keep their tongue as he leaned back in his chair while steepling fingers the color of old nicotine stains.
“ That’s actually good. Very good. You’re building rapport. Keep feeding her. Keep being the nice, misunderstood killer who just happens to have her locked in a soundproof basement. Stockholm’s a hell of a drug. When she starts looking at you like you hung the fucking moon, we’ll have leverage your father-in-law can’t ignore.”
Chang Yee snorted. “ She’s not looking at me like anything yet. Mostly like she wants to stab me with the plastic spoon.”
“ Give it time.” Kang tapped ash into a crystal tray shaped like a screaming skull.
“ Just don’t cross the line, Chang Yee. I know that look you get. The second a pretty thing’s in arm’s reach and you turn into a rabid raccoon humping the furniture.”
Chang Yee’s mouth is curved. “ I only fuck the ones who want it or at least pretend to. Just to keep things interesting.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “ And yeah, I’ve been lucky. Every captive so far? Gorgeous. Ten out of ten. I ride them until the novelty wears off, then I hand them back in one piece. Mostly.”
Kang’s eyes narrowed to slits. “ Not this one.”
“ Why the sudden morality lecture? You didn’t give a shit when I broke that Japanese heiress’s wrist because she bit me.”
“ That was different. She wasn’t collateral. This girl is currency. An untouched currency. Her appa needs to feel the fear, not hear rumors that his only daughter came back walking funny because Park Chang-yi couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Chang Yee exhaled through his nose. “ Until when, exactly? I’m not running a daycare.”
“ Until the old man wires the full eight hundred billion. Could be tomorrow. Could be next month. Could be never, if he decides to play hero and send a SWAT team instead of a cashier’s check.” Kang smiled in thin as a blade.
“ But for now, I trust you. You’re the only one I trust with something this valuable.”
Chang Yee rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “ Great. I kill people for a living and now I’m officially the princess’s nanny. Do I get a frilly apron? Maybe a pacifier for when she has tantrums?”
Kang actually laughed. “ You’ll survive. And when this is over, you get fifty percent of the recovery fee. That’s what…four hundred billion in your pocket? Pocket change for you, sure, but enough to buy a small island and stock it with all the pretty things you want to ruin.”
“ You’re good at pretending.” Kang said mildly.
Chang Yee didn’t smile back. He stared at the ceiling, at the faint water stain shaped like a bleeding eye. “ I could be putting a bullet between some politician’s teeth right now. Instead I’m cutting crusts off sandwiches and pretending I give a shit if she likes strawberry jam.”
“ That’s why you’re still alive.”
Chang Yee pushed up from the chair. “ Whatever. I’m going back down there before she decides to hang herself with the bedsheets out of boredom.”
“ Play nice.” Kang called after him.
“ No bite marks and no bruises that don’t come from zip ties.”
Chang Yee flipped him off without looking back.
The stairwell down to the sub-basement was concrete and cold, each step echoing like a countdown. He paused outside the reinforced door while keycard in hand and listening. Inside, you were humming some old trot song in an off-key, fragile and the kind of sound a person makes when they’re trying very hard not to cry. It hit him low in the gut, unexpected and ugly.
He swiped the card as the lock hissed open. You were sitting cross-legged on the thin mattress, knees drawn up, and wearing the oversized hoodie he’d thrown at you yesterday because the basement stayed at seventeen degrees. Your hair was a mess since the mascara tracks had dried on your cheeks sometime yesterday and you hadn’t bothered wiping them off. You looked up when he stepped inside but you didn’t flinch this time. You just watched him with those big and bruised eyes.
“ Dinner’s in an hour.” He said, but his voice was rougher than he meant.
“ Don’t eat the bowl again. It’s disgusting.”
You tilted your head. “ You watched me eat?”
“ Security feed.” He leaned against the doorframe while his arms crossed.
“ You licked your fingers like it was caviar. Classy.”
A tiny, defiant smile flickered across your mouth. “ It was good. Better than the hotel food Appa always orders.”
He stared while you stared back. The air thickened, sudden and stupid. He could cross the room in four steps. He could pin your wrists above your head against the mattress. He could find out exactly how sweet that mouth tasted when it wasn’t wrapped around sarcasm. Instead he stayed put with jaw tight while he was breathing shallowly.
“ You’re staring.” You said softly.
“ So are you.”
Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then snapped back up with a pink crept across your cheeks. “ I’m not.”
“ Liar.”
He pushed off the frame, took one step closer then another, but you didn’t move and didn’t breathe. He stopped just short of touching distance. It's close enough you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, and close enough he could see the flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat.
“ I could hurt you.” He said quietly.
“ I know.”
“ But I haven’t.”
The words hung there. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair off your forehead with his knuckles that made you shivered, not from the cold.
“ Don’t tempt me.” He murmured.
You swallowed. “ I’m not.”
Another lie.
He let his hand fall as he stepped back and turned away before he did something permanent.
“ Eat when I bring it.” He said over his shoulder.
“ And stop humming. It’s annoying.”
The door clicked shut behind him. Outside, he leaned his forehead against the cold steel and cursed under his breath.
Fifty percent wasn’t going to be worth this, not even close.
…
Two days had crawled by like wet concrete setting around your ankles. Seoul’s billboards and news tickers now screamed the face of a missing chaebol heiress with a 50 billion won reward for safe return and being alive only. Your appa had thrown money at the problem the way he always did.
“ Look at him.” Kang said while nodding at the screen where your father stood outside the family estate and barking orders into three different phones at once.
In Mr. Kang’s office, the surveillance feeds played on a wall of monitors like a private cinema of failure. A grainy footage of black SUVs tearing through Gangnam, private security combing alleys, and even a helicopter buzzing low over the Han River like it might spot you hiding in the water. Chang Yee leaned against the desk with his arms folded while one boot tapped an impatient rhythm. Mr. Kang sat with his feet up, sipping whiskey from a glass etched with a coiled snake.
“ He’s aged ten years in forty-eight hours. Pathetic.”
Chang Yee huffed a laugh without humor. “ He’s got more money than a bank and he’s still playing hide-and-seek like a toddler. He should’ve just paid up on day one.”
Kang picked up the burner phone then dialed and he put it on speaker.
It rang twice.
Your father’s voice cracked through the line before the second ring finished. “ Who is this?”
“ Evening, Chairman.” Kang purred.
“ Nice weather for a manhunt, isn’t it? Though I hear the reward’s not bringing in many bites. Maybe you should up it to a hundred billion. Or here’s a novel idea…pay the fucking debt.”
A choked sound. “ Kang...you son of a bitch. Why her? Why did you drag my daughter into—”
“ Because you forgot how interest works, old man.” Kang swirled his glass.
“ And because watching you squirm is more entertaining than cable. If you’d wired the money like a grown-up instead of pretending the problem would vanish, your little princess would be home picking out new handbags right now.”
“ Please.” The word came out wet and broken.
“ Don’t hurt her. She’s innocent. She has nothing to do with—”
“ Unless she pisses off the wrong person while she’s a guest in my house. She’s been very…cooperative so far.”
“ Oh, relax. I’m not touching the hair on her pretty head.” Kang glanced sideways at Chang Yee while smirking.
“ I’ll pay. All of it. Just…name the account. I’ll transfer right now. Just don’t—”
“ Good boy.” Kang’s tone dripped with mock affection.
“ Smart choice. Send it to the usual offshore. And if I hear one whisper of police, one SWAT boot near this building, one fucking anonymous tip…I put a bullet through that sweet mouth of hers. Understand?”
“ Yes. Yes. I swear. No authorities. Please, just—”
Kang ended the call mid-plea as he dropped the phone onto the desk like it was dirty then sighed theatrically. “ Well. That’s that. Looks like your nanny gig might wrap up in the next twenty-four hours, Chang Yee. Daddy’s finally remembering how to open his wallet.”
Chang Yee pushed off the desk. “ Thank fuck. I was starting to forget what a kill felt like instead of folding laundry.”
Kang’s eyes glittered. “ Are you sure about that? You seemed pretty cozy down there.”
Chang Yee’s shoulders stiffened. “ What the hell does that mean?”
Kang tapped a key and one of the smaller monitors switched feeds in the basement cam that timestamped forty minutes ago. There you were, sitting on the mattress in that oversized hoodie, knees up while looking small and impossibly soft. Chang Yee stood over you while saying something low. His hand hovered near your cheek. Then he pulled back like he’d been burned, jaw locked, and breathing hard. The camera angle caught everything and that including the very obvious strain against the front of his black cargo pants when he finally turned away.
Kang paused the footage as he let the image hang. Chang Yee stared at the frozen frame as his throat worked once.
“ I’m proud of you.” Kang said almost sincerely.
“ That’s some Olympic-level self-control. Most men would’ve had her bent over that mattress by day one.”
“ I don’t feel anything.” Chang Yee bit out.
“ You’re seeing shit that isn’t there.”
Kang barked a laugh. “ I saw your dick trying to salute her through denim, kid. Don’t gaslight me. I’ve got 4K.”
“ Guilty. But I’m not the one who got hard just from breathing the same air as her.” Kang leaned forward with his elbows on knees.
Chang Yee’s fists clenched at his sides. “ You’re a fucking pervert.”
“ You know what? When this is over or when she walks out that door and back to her penthouse life…maybe you should take your shot. Properly. Fuck her until she forgets her own name. Mark her up so deep no other man will ever touch what’s yours.”
“ Shut up.”
“ Denial’s a river in Egypt, Chang-yi.”
Chang Yee spun on his heel while stalking toward the door. “ I’m going to check on her and make sure she hasn’t chewed through the cuffs out of boredom.”
Kang called after him and was still chuckling. “ Tell her Daddy’s paying up! Maybe she’ll give you a thank-you kiss. Or more. Your call.”
The door slammed.
He swiped the card as you looked up from the mattress with hair mussed and eyes wide and wary and something else he refused to name.
Down the concrete stairs, Chang Yee’s boots echoed too loud. He paused outside your door, keycard in hand, and forehead pressed to the cold metal for three long seconds. His pulse hammered in his ears as he could still feel the ghost of your warmth from earlier in how you’d leaned, just fractionally, and into the space between you like you didn’t know better or like you trusted him not to snap.
“ Food in ten.” He said.
“ And your father’s finally pulling his thumb out of his ass. Might be going home soon.”
Your lips parted with a hope flickered across your face. “ Really?”
He nodded once but he didn’t trust himself to say more.
You stood as you took one hesitant step toward him. “ Thank you. For…not hurting me.”
He laughed. “ Don’t thank me yet, princess. I haven’t decided if I’m done playing nice.”
Your breath caught when he stepped inside and let the door click shut behind him while the room shrank to the size of your heartbeat.
He didn’t move closer but he didn’t move away, either.
…
The transfer hit Mr. Kang’s account was like a meteor of eight hundred billion won, clean and obedient, timestamped barely six hours after the call. Kang threw his head back and laughed until the snake-etched glass on his desk rattled.
“ Look at that! Daddy dearest came through. Wire transfer with no funny business on the surface that almost makes me proud.”
Chang Yee stood by the window with his arms crossed while staring at the rain-smeared Seoul skyline like it owed him money. “ Great. I’ll pack her up and drop her at the front gate like lost luggage. Done.”
Kang’s laughter died into a slow, oily grin. “ Not so fast, nanny.”
Chang Yee turned while one of his brow lifted.
“ Fresh intel.” Kang spun his monitor around and a grainy drone footage showed blacked-out vans circling the industrial district two kilometers out in tactical gear with night-vision optics. Your father’s private security firm and currently moving like they knew exactly where the basement was.
“ He broke the only rule that mattered. No authorities. No backup. Yet here we are, about to have a very loud reunion.”
Chang Yee exhaled through his teeth. “ So what now?”
“ Change of venue.” Kang leaned back.
“ Take her to your hideout. The one in Gangwon-do with no paper trail, no cameras, and middle of fucking nowhere. This place is burned. They’ll breach in under an hour if they push.”
“ Why me?” Chang Yee’s voice was flat, but his knuckles whitened on his biceps.
“ You’ve got twenty trigger-happy idiots downstairs. Let them play with a meat shield.”
“ Because you’re the only one I trust not to fuck this up.” Kang tapped his temple.
“ And because I already slid fifty percent into your account. Four hundred billion, tax-free, and spendable. Spoil her rotten if you want. Buy her pretty dresses or buy yourself a conscience. Whatever keeps her breathing until I decide what to do with the old man next.”
Chang Yee stared at the screen while the vans were closer now. He could almost hear the rotors. “ Stay alive, old man.”
Kang chuckled. “ Bad grass dies slow. Go.”
Chang Yee didn’t wait for more wisdom as he took the stairs three at a time, boots slamming concrete, and pulses already hammering from something that wasn’t just adrenaline. The basement door hissed open. You were curled on the mattress, knees to chest, and hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like armor. When you saw his face, you sat up fast.
“ We’re leaving.” He said with no preamble.
“ Now. Grab nothing. We’re gone in sixty seconds.”
Your eyes widened. Your hope flickered and fragile as moth wings. “ You’re…sending me home?”
He laughed once. “ Your appa’s a piece of shit. He broke every promise he made. So no, princess. Not home. He gets to chase a little longer.”
The hope snuffed out but it was replaced by something rawer. You scrambled backward until your spine hit the wall.
“ No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Chang Yee stepped inside and the door shut behind him with a pneumatic sigh. “ We don’t have time for this.”
You lunged, not for the door, but for him. A small fists pounding his chest, his arms, and anywhere you could reach. “ Let me go! Let me—!”
He caught your wrists easily. “ Stop. Moving.”
You didn’t. You twisted, kicked, and screamed into his shoulder. The sound was muffled against black wool, but it vibrated through his bones.
“ Fuck—” He grunted and his annoyance spiking into something hotter.
“ I said stop.”
You bit his forearm through the sleeve hard. He hissed. Without warning, he then bent an arm under your thighs, and hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of rice. You shrieked, legs kicking air, and fists hammering his back.
“ Help! Someone—!”
The stairwell swallowed the sound. He moved fast down the corridor, through the service exit, and into the underground parking. The black Genesis G90 waited and the engine was already idling. He yanked the passenger door open as he dumped you inside then he slammed it shut. You lunged for the handle but he caught both wrists in one hand and produced zip ties from his pocket with the other.
“ No…no…no—”
“ Quiet.” He tore a strip of duct tape then pressed it over your mouth.
Your eyes went huge above the silver strip while your tears spilling fast. You thrashed as he braced a knee on the seat, pinning your legs, and leaned in close. A cedar and gun oil and sweat while his breath fanned your cheek.
“ I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” He muttered.
He pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket and doused it with a small bottle of clear liquid from the glovebox. The sharp and chemical sweetness hit you before the cloth did.
You jerked your head but it's useless.
He cupped the back of your skull and pressed the cloth to your nose. “ Breathe.”
You fought it but you held your breath until your lungs burned then your instinct won as you inhaled. The world tilted and softened at the edges. His face blurred above you that something unreadable flickering in them.
“ Shh.” He whispered as your limbs went heavy.
“ It's just for my job.”
Your head lolled against the seat while your eyelids fluttered and the last thing you saw was his hand brushing hair from your forehead and thumb lingering on your temple like he was memorizing the shape of your fear.
Then black.
He sat back, breathing hard, and staring at your slack face. The tape over your mouth rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Zip ties had left red crescents already as he dragged a hand down his own face and he cursed once.
Outside, distant sirens began to wail. He slammed his door, threw the car into gear, and peeled out of the garage. Tires screamed against concrete and rain lashed the windshield. Seoul’s lights smeared into red-white streaks as he merged onto the expressway north. Gangwon-do was four hours away if he pushed it or longer if he had to dodge checkpoints. He glanced at you still out, head tipped toward him and lips parted beneath the tape. You are vulnerable, soft, and His.
His grip tightened on the wheel until the leather creaked. Four hundred billion in the bank and the only thing he could think about was how badly he wanted to peel that tape off and hear you say his name just once without hate in it.
He laughed under his breath.
“ Fuck me.” He muttered to the empty highway.
The bad grass might die slow but this was going to kill him faster.
…
You woke to the smell of pine and salt air, the kind that clings to old wood and distant ocean. Your head throbbed like someone had used it as a drum. Your wrists burned as the zip ties again but tighter this time and cut into skin already raw. You were lashed to a wooden chair with your arms behind the backrest while ankles bound to the legs. Duct tape still sealed your mouth and pulling at the delicate skin every time you tried to breathe through your nose.
Muffled whimpers escaped anyway as you rocked the chair, scraping it against rough floorboards, and hoping the friction might snap the plastic. All it did was grind the ties deeper while the pain flared hot up your forearms. You froze, tears pricking while hating how small the sound felt in this big, and empty room.
A movement and a rustle under the thick white duvet on the low bed across from you.
Your eyes snapped wide.
Chang Yee emerged like sin given skin and only black boxer briefs clinging low on narrow hips with no shirt or no shame. His sweat gleamed on his torso in the weak morning light filtering through slatted blinds. Six? No. Eight packs carved sharp under taut skin, and a faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. His emo fringe fell across one eye that damp at the tips. His stubble shadowed his jaw and caught gold while his silver hoops glinted in both ears. He looked carved from marble and made bad decisions.
You jerked your gaze to the ceiling but it's too late. Since your peripheral vision betrayed you because you are tracing the cut of his obliques and the way his muscles shifted when he rolled his shoulders.
He groaned, low and gravelly while scrubbing a hand through his hair. “ Can you at least let a man sleep? For five fucking minutes without the chair symphony.”
You mumbled furiously behind the tape and aroused in a way that made you want to disappear. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, stood, then stretched with his arms overhead, back arching, and every line of him pulling taut. Your breath hitched so hard it hurt when he crossed the room in three strides then towered. You kept your eyes fixed on a knot in the wood floor. His fingers hooked the edge of the tape then he peeled it away slowly and careful not to rip skin as you whimpered anyway with your lips stinging.
The second your mouth was free…
“ Let me go. My appa already paid. You got the money. Take me home.”
Chang Yee crouched until your faces were level. Cedar and sweat and gun oil rolled off him in waves. “ If your appa had kept his word instead of playing cowboy with his private army, you’d be tucked in silk sheets right now, hugging your little stuffed bear, or whatever rich girls do. Play with Barbie dolls?”
“ I’m not a damn kid.”
He chuckled. “ It could’ve fooled me. You look like one. Big eyes. Pouty mouth. Throwing tantrums when you don’t get your way.”
You jerked against the ties as the chair creaked. “ Untie me.”
He stayed crouched, forearms braced on thighs, and watching you struggle like it was premium entertainment. His arms crossed now, biceps bulging, and posing like some Greek statue that wandered off a plinth and into hell.
“ At least put on clothes.” You snapped while your cheeks were burning.
“ This isn’t a Bench body event.”
Another low laugh. “ I ran out. Thanks to you.”
You blinked. “ What?”
“ You don’t remember?” He tilted his head with a mock patient.
“ Halfway up the coast you decided my jacket looked like a perfect place to empty your stomach. All that convenience-store ramyeon? Projectile. You ruined my only shirt and pants too. Lucky for both of us my boxers stayed dry. Otherwise you’d be getting the full show right now.”
Your mouth dropped open. “ I…I threw up on you?”
“ Like a fire hose. You were out cold two seconds later, but the smell? Chef’s kiss.” He straightened while gesturing at himself.
“ Hence the current uniform. At least be grateful you still have clothes. I wouldn’t mind returning the favor. Fair’s fair.”
You glared then mortified heat crawling up your neck. “ Pervert.”
He smiled. “ Guilty.”
You yanked at the zip ties again then you hissed.
He noticed then his expression flickered like something almost soft then shuttered. “ Stop that. You’re only hurting yourself.”
“ Then untie me!”
“ So you can what? Run into the woods in your bare feet? Scream for help? Nearest neighbor’s twenty kilometers and they’re fishermen who don’t give a shit...” He stepped closer and close enough his bare thigh brushed your knee while you froze.
“ Or maybe you just like the view.”
Your gaze darted to the sweat-slick plane of his stomach, then snapped away. “ I hate you."
“ Yeah?” He leaned in then his voice dropped to velvet gravel.
“ Your pupils say something different.”
Heat pooled low in your belly as you squeezed your thighs together. “ Get away from me.”
He didn’t. He just stayed there, breathing the same air, and watching your chest rise and fall too fast.
“ Where’s your duffel bag?” You demanded and desperate for anything normal.
“ The one you had when we left.”
“ I left it at Kang’s. You were thrashing like a feral cat. I had to prioritize not crashing the car over fashion.” He shrugged.
“ Guess we’re both roughing it. You in yesterday’s clothes. Me in…this.”
His thumb brushed a tear track from your cheek. You flinched but he didn’t pull back.
“ You’re shaking.” He murmured.
“ I’m cold.”
“ Liar.”
Silence stretched. His gaze dropped to your mouth that was still red from the tape then lower as he traced the frantic flutter at your throat.
“ I could keep you like this.” He said quietly.
“ Tied up. Helpless. Mine.”
Your breath caught. “ You wouldn’t.”
His eyes darkened. “ Don’t tempt me, princess.”
He straightened abruptly then turned away as he grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and slung it over one shoulder.
“ I’m going to shower. Try not to bleed out while I’m gone.” A pause at the bathroom door.
He glanced back with a half-smile and half-warning. “ And if you manage to get free? Run. Because next time I won’t be so polite.”
The door clicked shut while you sat there with your heart was slamming, wrists bleeding, and skin too tight. You are wondering why the thought of him coming back wet, half-naked, and still looking at you like you were his next meal that made the fear feel almost sweet.
…
Hours bled into one another in the dim cabin while the only clock the ache in your bladder that had started as a whisper and grew into a scream. The zip ties had long since turned your wrists into fire with every tiny shift sent fresh sparks up your arms. You’d tried to hold it and really tried. But biology didn’t care about dignity or captivity.
“ Chang Yee” You called.
“ Please, I need to pee. Like right now. If you don’t untie me I’m going to make another mess and you’ll have to clean that too.”
A long and martyred groan from the bed. The blanket heaved like it was personally offended. Then he appeared with hair wrecked, eyes narrowed to slits, and still in nothing but those black boxers that left far too little to the imagination. He stalked over while expressing pure murder.
“ You’re literally killing me.” He muttered but his voice was thick with sleep and irritation.
He reached behind you and one brutal snap in plastic parting like wet paper under his fingers. You yelped as circulation roared back in a painful rush. Before you could even rub your wrists, he scooped you up but in bridal-style this time like you weighed nothing.
“ I can walk!” You protested.
“ Shut up.” He kicked the bathroom door open.
“ I don’t trust you not to bolt or grab a toothbrush and stab me. You’re sneaky when you’re desperate.”
“ I’m not sneaky. I’m desperate to pee.”
He dumped you onto your feet beside the toilet as you wobbled. He crossed his arms and leaned against the sink while he's watching you.
You stared at him. “ Get out.”
He didn’t move.
“ I need to sit on the toilet. Privacy. A basic human decency. Ring any bells?”
“ Your skirt covers everything below the waist. I’m not gonna see shit.” His tone was flat.
“ Unless you’re planning to put on a show.”
“ You’re such a pervert.”
“ I'll turn around, then.” He rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful.
“ Happy?”
He pivoted as his broad back to you with his arms still crossed like a grumpy statue. “ Make it quick. I drove eight fucking hours straight last night. I want to beauty sleep.”
You exhaled shakily as you lifted your skirt, hooked thumbs in your underwear, pushed them down, and sat. The relief hit like a drug as the hissing stream that seemed to last forever. Your shoulders dropped and eyes closed. When the last trickle stopped, you stood, and tugged everything back into place then flushed.
The sound made him turn while his face was thunderous.
“ My turn.” He grunted.
You spun so fast your skirt flared. Faced the wall. “ Fine. Just…hurry.”
He stepped up to the toilet as you heard the soft rustle of fabric, then the unmistakable sound of him aiming. The curiosity makes you glance at the mirror which is a big mistake. The angle was perfect or terrible or depending on definition.
There he was in thick and half-hard already with veins standing out that flushed dark at the tip.
Your brain short-circuited then a scream tore out of you before you could stop it.
Chang Yee was startled. The stream jerked wildly while splashing the floor, the rim, and everywhere but inside the bowl. “ Fuck!”
He cursed again, finished in a hurry, shook himself, tucked back in, and flushed with more force than necessary. Then he rounded on you. In two strides he had you pinned with your back to the cold tile wall, his forearms bracketing your head, and body crowding yours until there was no air left that didn’t smell like him.
“ What the hell is your problem?” He snarled.
“ You keep fucking interrupting me.”
“ I-it was an accident!”
“ Accident?” He leaned closer.
“ Explain.”
You swallowed. “ I…looked in the mirror. To check my face. Or…or something. And I saw…reflection. Of you. And…it.”
He stared then barked a short and disbelieving laugh. “ You saw my dick.”
You nodded miserably.
He dragged a hand down his face. “ Damn you, woman. You just made it worse.”
“ Worse?”
He stepped even closer but he managed. His hips pressed forward. You gasped at the hard and insistent length digging into your stomach through thin fabric.
“ I’ve been hard since the second I carried you out of that basement.” He said.
“ Three fucking days of blue balls because I promised not to touch you. And now you scream like I’m the monster when you’re the one staring.”
“ I’m sorry.” You whispered.
“ It won’t happen again.”
He closed his eyes as he breathed through his nose then opened them again and it's blacker than before.
“ No.” He pressed harder and a deliberate roll of hips that dragged the thick ridge of him up your belly.
“ You need to understand exactly how hard I am. So next time you think about peeking, you remember this.”
Your teeth sank into your lip because the friction was obscene. You could feel every throb and every vein through the cotton that made your thighs clenched involuntarily. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder then buried his face in the crook of your neck as he inhaled like he was drowning and you were oxygen.
“ Fuck.” He breathed against your skin.
“ I’m so goddamn hungry for you. Three days of watching you sleep, watching you eat, watching you breathe, and not touching. Not even once.”
His mouth moves while his teeth grazing your pulse point. Then a slow and sucking bite. Not hard enough to bruise but just enough to make your knees buckle. You whimpered while he groaned into your neck. His hips rolling again and the head of him nudged just under your navel while smearing damp heat through his boxers.
“ Did you feel that?” He rasped.
“ That’s what you do to me. Every fucking time you look at me with those big innocent eyes. Every time you fight me. Every time you say my name like you hate me and want me at the same time.”
“ I don’t—”
“ Don’t lie.” Another grind as you felt him twitch.
“ You’re soaked through your panties right now and I can smell it.”
A heat flooded your face as your core clenched around nothing. He lifted his head then looked down at you with his eyes fever-bright and pupils blown.
“ I could take you right here.” He said quietly.
“ Against this wall. Skirt up then underwear shoved aside as I bury myself so deep you forget your own name.”
Your breath hitched.
“ But I won’t.” He stepped back then a cold air rushing between you.
He turned away as he adjusted himself roughly then walked to the sink and splashed water on his face like it might cool the fire under his skin. You stayed pressed to the wall while your legs were trembling and lips tingling where his teeth had been.
He glanced back once. “ Next time you need to pee? Ask nicer or I might not be so polite about it.”
Then he left the bathroom as the door clicked shut. You slid down the tile until your butt hit the floor and buried your face in your hands. You wondered how long “not yet” could possibly last when every inch of you was already screaming 'yes'.
…
Ten or maybe fifteen minutes passed in suffocating silence. The bathroom door creaked open as Chang Yee stepped out with his skin slick with fresh sweat and chest heaving like he’d run a marathon instead of jerked off in the shower while the water droplets clung to the dark trail below his navel. He didn’t look at you. He just crossed the room, dropped onto the thin mat, yanked the blanket over himself, and turned his back like you didn’t exist.
You stayed on the floor with your knees drawn up and arms wrapped around yourself while the snow tapped the window like impatient fingers. The cabin had no heater worth mentioning as the cold seeped through the cracks and raised goosebumps along your bare legs.
“ Chang Yee.” You whispered.
A muffled groan.
“ Chang Yee.”
The blanket shifted. One dark eye appeared. “ What?”
“ It’s freezing. Can I…share the blanket? Just a little?”
He didn’t move. “ It’s cold out there. Deal with it.”
“ You’re not even a gentleman. You’re such a prick.”
“ I've been called worse.” His voice was muffled by the blanket.
“ It doesn’t sting anymore.”
You pouted. Then an idea. Since there's no zip ties or no tape. It’s just you, him, and one very small blanket. You stood then padded over as you lifted the edge and slipped underneath before he could react.
He jolted upright. “ What the fuck are you doing?”
“ I’m cold!” You tugged more the blanket over your shoulders.
“ And you’re selfish. It’s big enough for both of us if you stop hogging.”
“ It’s not big enough.” He growled.
“ And this…” He gestured between your bodies.
“...is a dangerous fucking move.”
“ It’s not dangerous if you just share a corner.” You scooted closer for emphasis.
He cursed under his breath in creative and multi-syllable Korean that would’ve made your eomma faint. Then, grudgingly, he flicked a small triangle of blanket your way.
“ Fine. But stay on your side. Because I haven’t recovered from your little bathroom peep show yet.”
You pursed your lips. “ Whatever.”
He turned his back again as his broad shoulders rose and fell. You lay down too while facing away, spine to spine, and the scant warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric like a promise.
Then the time blurred. Later in hours? Minutes? You woke to heat as delicious and bone-melting heat at your back. You sighed then arched into it like a cat. Your hand moved on instinct by sliding over something flat and hard ridges of muscle and warm skin. You traced lower while following the V of his hips then curled your fingers around something long, thick, and slightly damp at the tip.
Your brain rebooted as you froze.
He was already awake and staring.
You yanked your hand back like it burned. “ I-I didn’t…I was asleep!”
Chang Yee’s chuckle was low and dangerous. “ Baby, you were squeezing my cock like it owed you money and tracing my abs like you were reading braille.”
Heat exploded across your face. “ I didn’t mean—”
He moved fastly. His one arm hooked your waist then flipped you, pulled you onto his lap in a single fluid motion that made your thighs straddled his hips. Your clothed core settled directly over the rigid length of him while throbbing through his boxers and your thin panties.
You gasped.
He leaned in while his teeth grazed your earlobe. “ You woke me up hard again, princess. And now you’re gonna feel exactly what your wandering hands did.”
Before you could speak, his mouth crashed onto yours. Your eyes flew wide then fluttered shut. Your hands flew to his face, fingers threading into damp hair, and pulled him deeper while your tongues met in clumsy at first, then hungry. He groaned into your mouth as the sound vibrated down your spine. Your hips rolled without permission while seeking friction against the thick ridge pressing up into you. He broke the kiss with a wet sound and forehead to yours while breathing ragged.
“ You want this?” His voice cracked.
“ Say it.”
You only stared at him.
“ Once you say yes, baby…I’m not stopping. Not for anything.”
He groaned like you’d punched him in the gut.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, then a slow nod.
Next second you were on your back and mat soft beneath you, while his weight pinning you deliciously. His mouth on your throat as you gasped, arched, and hands clutched his shoulders. He stripped you with ruthless efficiency as your hoodie yanked over your head, skirt shoved down your legs, and panties dragged off and tossed somewhere in the dark. You are naked, exposed, and shivering not from cold anymore.
His gaze raked over you. “ Fuck. Look at you.”
Then his mouth was on your breast by sucking hard and his tongue flicking the peak until you moaned brokenly. He switched sides with his hand and kneaded the other while pinching until you bucked. Then lower as he kissed down your stomach with an open-mouthed kiss and he spread your thighs with rough palms. He looked up at you once with his eyes black with want then lowered his head.
The first lick was slow, flat, and from entrance to clit.
You cried out.
He growled at you. “ So fucking sweet.”
His fingers parted you like pages in a forbidden book. He cursed when he saw how untouched you were. It's pink, slick, and clenching around nothing. His one finger slid inside then you whimpered at the stretch, and the unfamiliar fullness. He pumped in gently at first, then deeper and added a second.
Your hips jerked. “ Chang Yee—”
He crawled back up and kissed you deep while letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “ Not yet, baby. I want you to come all over my cock the first time. But tonight?”
He sucked your clit into his mouth at the same time he thrust faster. You keened when the coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter then he pulled away as you whined while the actual tears were pricking.
He nipped your jaw. “ It was just an oral. You owe me later.”
You stared at him unfazed, aching, and dripping onto the mat while he smirked.
“ I'm gonna teach you how to return the favor, princess. Nice and slow.”
Then his head was between your thighs again and the snow outside kept falling while the silent witness to the line you’d just crossed.
There's no going back.
…
Chang Yee rolled onto his side and the thin mat creaked beneath him. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down in one impatient motion. His cock sprang free in thick, flushed dark, and slapping wetly against the ridges of his abdomen. He's an average length, maybe, but girthy enough that your eyes widened involuntarily with a neat thatch of dark pubic hair framed the base and a bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit.
You only stared.
He caught you looking then smirked in laziness and predation. “ First time seeing one up close, baby?”
You swallowed. Nodded once. “ It’s…bigger than I thought.”
“ Flattering.” He caught your wrist and guided your hand to wrap around him, but your fingers didn’t quite meet.
“ Stop gawking like it’s art. Touch it.”
You bit your lip then started slowly with tentative strokes up and down the velvety length while he hissed through his teeth.
“ Fuck, your hand’s so small.” His voice dropped an octave.
“ Keep going. Just like that, princess. Nice and steady.”
Heat pooled low in your belly at the praise as your thighs clenched together instinctively then he noticed with his eyes darkening.
“ Good girl.” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then fisted the length of it gently, not pulling, just holding.
“ Now open that pretty mouth. It's time to taste me.”
You hesitated then parted your lips. He guided your head down until the blunt head brushed your tongue. It's salty and hot that made you flinch at the unfamiliar taste.
“ No teeth.” He coached.
“ Hide them behind your lips. Use your tongue and swirl it around the tip…yeah, fuck, just like that.”
You obeyed then you sucked tentatively. The lewd and wet sounds filled the cabin that obscene against the soft patter of snow outside. Chang Yee groaned while his hips twitching then he pressed your head down deeper.
Your throat spasmed then you gagged with eyes watering and hands flying to his thighs. He pulled out immediately as the strings of saliva connected your lips to his glistening cock. He looked down at your wrecked face while your cheeks flushed, tears clinging to lashes, and smiled like a man who’d won something priceless.
“ That’s enough oral for tonight.” He rasped.
“ It's just a prep. Now lie back, baby. I’m gonna take what’s mine.”
He eased you onto the mat. Your heart hammered so hard you were sure he could hear it as he brushed his thumb across your swollen lower lip.
“ It’ll hurt at first.” He warned.
“ But I’ll promise to be gentle.”
He spat into his palm then stroked himself while he's coating the head until it shone and he notched himself at your entrance before he pushed. The stretch burned as you whimpered that made your nails digging into his shoulders.
“ Shh, princess. Breathe.” He sank another inch then another. Until he bottomed out as he buried to the hilt and his hips flush against yours.
You felt impossibly full, split open, and claimed by him. He stilled as he forehead pressed to yours while breathing hard and giving you time. After a long minute he rolled his hips as you whimpered again because the drag inside you was both painful and something darker but sweeter.
“ Fuck, you’re so tight.” He hooked your legs around his waist. You clung automatically and your feet dug into the small of his back.
He started moving in shallow thrusts at first, then deeper and faster while the wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the small room. You clawed down his back when the red lines bloomed under your nails. He groaned into your mouth while kissing you messy and desperate with your tongues tangling while he fucked you open.
“ You’re so fucking beautiful.” He muttered against your lips.
“ You're so perfect. I could keep you here forever, baby. I quit the kills or quit everything. Just to live inside you like this…every day and every night.”
Your heart stuttered at the words that were both dangerous, obsessive, and domestic in the most twisted way. He caught your hands then he laced your fingers with his before he pinned them above your head as he kissed you again while his hips snapped harder.
A heat coiled tight in your belly.
“ Faster.” You gasped.
“ Please, Chang Yee…”
He smirked. “ That’s my girl.”
He obeyed then his thrusts turned brutal like he's chasing something primal while you felt him everywhere.
“ I’m close.” He growled.
“ I'm gonna fill you up, princess. I'll breed this tight little cunt until you’re dripping me for days.”
The words hit like lightning as your walls fluttered around him.
“ Cum with me, now.” He ordered.
In one sharp and brutal thrust, he's burying himself to the root that made you shattered. A pleasure crashed through you as you cried out, back arching, and thighs shaking as you came hard around him. A slick gushed between you, soaking the mat, and running down your thighs. He followed a heartbeat later while groaning your name like a prayer. His cock was pulsing, thickening, and flooding your womb with hot spurts of cum. Again and again. It's so much it leaked out around him. He stayed buried deep until every last drop was inside you, marking you, and owning you.
Only then did he ease out and roll to the side. He pulled you against his chest immediately while your face tucked into the crook of his neck. His softening cock slipped free as a warm trickle followed and pooling between your thighs. He pressed a kiss to your forehead in soft and almost reverent.
“ Rest, baby.” He murmured into your hair.
“ You did so good.”
You shivered, not from cold anymore but from the ache between your legs. From the sticky heat still leaking out of you. From the way his arms locked around you like he’d never let go. Outside, the snow kept falling while from the inside of the cabin, you were warm, full, claimed, and terrifyingly-dangerously content.
Author's Notes:
Yey! Another character unlocked someone who had made a long-standing request for Park Chang Yee, which I had almost forgotten. But thank goodness I opened the comment, read it, and saw the request.
Thanks to @123iris for requesting! I hope you like it. 😊😇
Anyway, I believe I am experiencing a technical issue because I am unable to use my Tumblr when I open it, but thankfully, I did not delete the VPN app on my phone, so I can continue to use and post here. I'm not sure what's wrong with the PH server, but I hope they'll fix it soon.
Summary: You’ve been a fan of LBH since your teenage years, back when your fangirl heart first chose him. Now, a raffle from the product he endorses opens a once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet him. Will you be one of the lucky fans…or the luckiest of them all?
The fluorescent lights of the SM supermarket in Quezon City buzzed overhead as you stood frozen in the snack aisle, staring at the promotional standee like it had personally called your name. Lee Byung-hun or LBH himself smiled down at you from the glossy cardboard with all sharp jawline and effortless charisma and holding up a pack of the new spicy ramyeon variant he was endorsing.
The banner screamed "LBH x Fiery Ramyun Challenge! Submit your entry for a chance to win a Meet & Greet on April 20, 2026!"
Your heart did that stupid flip it always did when his face appeared unexpectedly. It had been like this since you were ten, curled up in your family's old living room in Manila, and watching G.I. Joe: Retaliation on a pirated DVD.
The moment Storm Shadow shed his shirt during that intense fight sequence. His lean muscle and scars mapping his back like a story you wanted to read forever then something inside you had bloomed.
Not creepy or obsessive in the bad way. Just...awe, pure, and hormonal-teenager awe that never quite faded.
You binge-watched everything after that. A Bittersweet Life, I Saw the Devil, and Masquerade. Even the rom-coms you pretended were beneath you.
Your friends teased you mercilessly.
" Y/n, who even is this oldman making you act like a lovesick puppy?" They'd say while laughing and you'd just shrug while your cheeks were burning.
Because how do you explain that admiring someone from afar feels safe? Is it his talent and his quiet intensity that made your world feel less heavy?
Especially now.
The cancer had come quietly two years ago about your leukemia that caught early. Chemo sucked, but the doctors were good. The scans were clear and remission. Still, every check-up carried that whisper “For now.”
You told yourself it was fine, you had time, and you had faith. But deep down, you wanted one thing before whatever came next which was to see him. Just once in person and to say “thank you for the nights his films kept the dark away.”
The contest entry was your shot. Fans were going wild online like elaborate TikToks, dance challenges, and mukbangs with the ramyun styled like art installations.
You? Introverted and socially anxious? The idea of filming yourself in public made your stomach knot.
But you did it anyway.
The next day, you dragged your two best friends Mika and Jessa to the same supermarket and they were already giggling.
" You're really doing this, Y/n?" Mika asked while your phone was ready.
" In front of all these titas buying groceries?"
" Yes. Shut up and record."
Jessa snorted. " Our introverted queen is about to go viral for a Korean ahjussi. Historic."
You bought three packs and found the life-sized standee near the snacks aisle. LBH in a sleek suit with his signature half-smile that still made your knees weak.
" Play the BGM of Till I Meet You and cue the voice-over line."
You positioned yourself beside the standee while ramen in hand like a sacred offering. The instrumental swelled in soft, hopeful, and aching. You stared at cardboard LBH then channeled every viral Pinoy meme. You whispered dramatically to the camera while your voice cracked with nerves and cheesiness.
" Kapag inlove ka...tumitigil ang mundo mo."
Then you froze, literally. They stood stock-still like the world had paused while eyes wide on the standee and ramen clutched to your chest. A beat or two then you "unfroze" while gasping theatrically and fanning yourself as if his presence had scorched the air.
People stared while the titas group whispered and a kid pointed. You ignored them because this was for him and for the tiny chance. You did variations about one where you "fainted" against the standee, one where you slow-motion bowed like he was royalty, one where you held the ramen like a heart and mouthed "para sa'yo, oppa" with exaggerated eyelash flutters.
By the fourth take, Mika was wheezing. " You're unhinged. I love it."
Jessa high-fived you. " If this doesn't win, the judges are blind."
Back in your tiny apartment, you edited late into the night. The clips layered over the BGM and text overlays in cute fonts of "My world stops for Lee Byung-hun" with heart emoji. As the timeline rendered, you leaned back and stared at the ceiling then imagining it.
You while approaching the event stage with your legs are jelly then LBH turned with that famous smile and his eyes are warm.
" Hi." You'd say with your voice barely above a whisper.
" I've been your fan since Storm Shadow. Thank you for...everything."
He'd nod or maybe sign something or maybe say "Gamsahamnida" in that low and smooth voice.
You'd walk away floating and peaceful or maybe you'd blurt something dumb like “Your abs in Retaliation ruined me for other men" then die inside.
You laughed alone while your cheeks were burning. God, the blush wouldn't quit. Your eyes drifted to the window and a meteor streaked across the Manila sky then you caught yourself grinning at the empty room with your cheeks are hot.
" I'm stupid and I know it. But when do I use drugs? What is this trip? A badtrip?" You snorted like an idiot as you remember the line of the local movie you've watched, but the blush wouldn't fade. His handsomeness should come with a warning label.
Then you closed your eyes and prayed.
“ Kung pwede lang po, Lord. Just once…let me see him. Let this be my little gift before...whatever.”
…
The results dropped at exactly 3 p.m. on April 1, 2026. You were sprawled on your bed, iPad propped against a pillow, refreshing the brand’s official page like your life depended on it. Ten announcement photos and ten grids of winners’ names. You scrolled slowly while your heart was doing that stupid flip every time you didn’t see “Y/n L/n” staring back.
First photo. Nothing.
Second. Nope.
By the ninth while your palms were sweaty.
“ Maybe I didn’t make it.” You muttered.
“ It’s fine. It was a long shot anyway and dignity intact. Sort of.”
Then the tenth photo loaded. There at the bottom row in the third column.
Y/n L/n.
You screamed while the iPad nearly launched across the room. You jumped off the bed while doing a full spin then collapsed back down crying, happy, and ugly tears that made your nose run. After weeks of second-guessing that mall performance and after ignoring the side-eyes from strangers while you froze dramatically next to a cardboard Lee Byung-hun, your dignity was finally and gloriously saved.
You screenshot it then cropped everyone else out except your name that slapped a big red circle around it and posted to your MyDay story.
yyy.nnn02
I WON??? 😭💥 April 20, see you soon, oppa 🖤 #LBHinManila #Finally”
Mika’s reply came in thirty seconds.
mika.mowt225: BITCH YOU DID IT??? I’M SCREAMING!!! PERO TAENA BEH SAMA MO KO TAGA RECORD AKO OH...DESERVE KO NG CREDITS GAGA KA...CHARENG. BAKA BIGLA MONG SUNGGABAN AH, MAGTIRA KA SA IBA!!! 😭✨
Translation: But bitch you must include me here. I was there too, recording you...that's why I deserve the credits you dumbass bitch...chareng. You might suddenly eat him, you should leave it to others.
jessa_gotdmoney: GAGO BEH WORTH IT YUNG PAG-EMOTE MO SA MALL KAHIT MUKHA KANG TANGA...EME. CONGRATS AND LOVE U, BADENG! 😘
Translation: Fuck sister it's all worth your acting in the mall even though you looked like an idiot...eme.
Your close circle flooded the replies with fire emojis and all-caps congratulations. Even your mom texted.
Mama Smart: Anak, proud ako pero wag kng mahiya huh. Magpakitang gilas k.
Translation: My child, I'm proud of you and don't be shy ha. Show off your skills.
You laughed through the tears.
Yeah, you were going to meet him.
April 20 arrived like a fever dream. You stood in front of your full-length mirror at 3 p.m., already dressed for the 6 p.m. call time, and immediately hated everything. The white blouse felt too plain. You swapped it for the cream one then decided it washed you out. Back to white.
Jeans? Too casual.
Black skirt? Too try-hard.
You ended up in high-waisted black trousers and the softest off-shoulder top you owned while your hair down in loose waves because you remembered reading somewhere that he liked natural looks in interviews. You checked your teeth, your breath, and your posture as you spun once.
“ You can do this.” You told your reflection.
“ Don’t faint. Don’t cry. Don’t propose marriage on sight. Just…say thank you like a normal human.”
You grabbed your tote (containing one tiny signed Polaroid from 2019 you’d never had the guts to show anyone, just in case), phone, lip balm, and left before you could change again.
SM Mall of Asia was already a war zone by 4:30. Fans of every age waved lightsticks, held banners “병헌 오빠 사랑해”, and practiced their screams. You spotted teenagers in school uniforms, aunties in sun visors, and guys who looked like they’d been dragged here by girlfriends.
You slid into the upper box seat they’d assigned. It's a good view of the stage and the giant screen and close enough to feel part of it, far enough that if you embarrassed yourself, maybe only God would notice.
At 6:00 sharp when the lights dimmed. The arena erupted when he walked out in a tailored charcoal suit, no tie, top button undone, and hair swept back just enough to look effortlessly devastating. The screams hit like a physical wave. You stood with everyone else while screaming until your throat burned and hand pressed to your chest because your heart was trying to break free.
He was even more beautiful in person. He's taller, sharper jawline, and that half-smile that could end wars.
The Korean-Filipino host Lianne, she's bubbly and fluent, took the mic. “ Everyone, Lee Byung-hun!”
He bowed deeply. “ Annyeonghaseyo. Thank you for the warm welcome.”
His English was crisp, accent subtle but present, and voice so low it vibrated through the speakers and straight into your bones.
The interview flew by and the most questions about No Other Choice, his intense new thriller, teasers about the film he was shooting now, and something action-heavy. He answered thoughtfully by switching smoothly between English and the occasional Korean phrase the host translated.
Every time he spoke, you felt it in your chest like a bass dropping.
Then came the VIP Q&A.
A girl in front shouted. “ Oppa, are you still single?!”
The arena lost it.
He laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “ I'm still single. Still…looking for the right person.”
They scream while they are offering marriage proposals in Tagalog.
“ OPPA, TAENA AKO NA LANG!!!” Translation: Oppa, please choose me!
“ PAKASALAN MO AKO!!!” Translation: Marry me!
" ITO NA BUBUKAKA NA!" Translation: I'm going to spread!
“ SAGOT KO NA DINNER SA JOLLIBEE BASTA MIX AND MATCH!!” Translation: I will treat you to dinner of mix and match at Jollibee!
“ IKAW NA ANG ICING SA IBABAW NG CUPCAKE KO, OPPA!!” Translation: You are the icing on top of my cupcake, oppa!
" KUNG SA KOREA MAY 'SARANGHAE', DITO SA PINAS MARAMING MAPANGHE!" Translation: In Korea they have 'Saranghae'. But in the Philippines, there's a lot of 'Scornful' here!
The interpreter relayed it as LBH’s eyes widened then he burst out laughing while his head was thrown back, hand over his mouth. The sound was devastating, warm, and real.
He leaned into the mic. “ That…doesn’t sound bad. Maybe I should try.”
Pandemonium.
He gamely attempted tongue twisters “Nakakapagpabagabag” mangled adorably then played silly games with lucky fans pulled onstage about a relay race with giant inflatable spoons and a blindfolded “Trying the Filipino snack” challenge. Every time he smiled or clapped or high-fived someone while the tension in your stomach coiled tighter.
At 8:00 p.m., it came too soon. He stood center stage while breathing a little hard from the games, suit jacket off now, and sleeves rolled to the elbows.
“ Thank you, everyone.” He spoke in English with his softer voice.
“ I’m so grateful to meet all of my Filipino fans tonight. I wish I could stay longer…but time is short. I promise, I’ll come back soon.”
" Mahal ko kayo!"
He bowed deeply, flashed a peace sign, and the awwws were immediate.
“ See you in the meet-and-greet!”
The lights came up while your section started moving toward the backstage queue. You were shaking when the line snaked slowly as the security checked bags and handed out wristbands while you kept replaying lines in your head.
Don’t ramble.
Don’t cry.
Don’t stare at his hands.
Finally, it's your turn. He stood behind a long table, still in the rolled-sleeve shirt, and smiling at each fan like they were the only person in the room.
When you stepped up, his gaze lifted and locked. For one terrifying second, the world narrowed to just his eyes.
“ Hi, oppa.” You managed.
“ Hi.” His voice was quieter up close and velvet.
“ Thank you for coming.”
You slid your phone forward for the photo op. “ I’ve been your fan since Storm Shadow. That scene…you were incredible. I binged everything after. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”
He tilted his head slightly. “ Storm Shadow? That was a long time ago.”
“ Yeah. I was fourteen. I was hormonal and it ruined my life.”
He chuckled. “ I’m sorry…or you’re welcome?”
You laughed despite yourself. “ It's definitely the second one.”
The photographer called for the pose as you stepped beside him. His arm brushed your shoulder as he leaned in for the shot. You smelled cedar and something clean while your brain was flatlined.
Click.
He turned back to you. “ What’s your name again?”
“ Y/n L/n.”
“ Y/n…” He repeated.
“ Pretty name.”
He turned back, pen in hand for your photocards. “ What should I write?”
You blanked. “ Just…your name? Or whatever you want.”
He thought for a second then wrote in neat Hangul + English:
To Y/n L/n,
응원해주셔서 감사합니다.
건강하시고, 늘 웃음 가득하세요.
LBH
Your face burned. “ Thank you. And…thank you for everything, really.”
He smiled. “ Take care, Y/n. Fighting.”
He gave a tiny fist pump. You walked away on numb legs with a photo ticket clutched like gold while Mika and Jessa were waiting outside the cordon and jumping.
“ SPILL, BEH”
“ I didn’t faint.” You whispered.
“ Progress!”
You looked back toward the stage doors. He was already greeting the next fan, but for a split second, you swore he glanced your way again. Maybe imagination or maybe not. Either way, your heart hadn’t stopped racing and maybe it never would.
…
Weeks blurred into a soft, golden haze after April 20. Your phone wallpaper stayed the same about the meet-and-greet selfie. Him smiling that half-smile while you looking slightly stunned beside him and cheeks flushed under the event lighting.
Every time you unlocked your screen while waiting for the elevator then during lunch and right before chemo, you felt it again. The brush of his arm then the low timbre of “Fighting” and the way he’d said your name like he meant to remember it.
It was enough, more than enough.
It's reality, though, refusing to stay dreamy.
Bills piled higher every month. Groceries, utilities, meds and everything climbed while your auditor salary at the biggest conglomerate in the country stayed stubbornly flat. You stared at your payslip one Tuesday and muttered “Thanks, government. I really appreciate the new yacht fund.”
Chemo sessions continued and spaced just far enough to let you function, but the fatigue clung like humidity. You powered through audits, triple-checked spreadsheets, then came home to your tiny Quezon City apartment, and crashed.
Normal life. It's boring but safe. Until the afternoon you needed a break. You pushed away from your desk on the 28th floor of the BGC tower with your neck stiff and eyes burning from Excel glare.
“ Five minutes.” You told yourself.
“ Snacks. Caffeine. Sanity.”
The building’s basement convenience store was crowded with BPO night-shift workers on smoke breaks and call-center agents in matching polos laughing too loud. You spotted two guys from accounting huddled with women who weren’t their wives while their rings were glinting and hands wandering.
You shook your head and disgusted.
Why do they get married if they're just going to cheat with someone else’s spouse?
You’d never understood it and never wanted to. Being single meant zero drama and zero heartbreak. Just you, your spreadsheets, your quiet fandom, and the occasional prayer that the cancer stayed gone.
You reached for the last chilled bottle of calamansi soda on the bottom shelf until a large hand closed over yours at the exact same second. You frowned then froze when the hand was warm, steady, and familiar in a way that made no sense, then you looked up.
Lee Byung-hun blinked down at you with a baseball cap pulled low, black mask tugged under his chin, and eyes widening in matching surprise.
Time did that stupid movie thing about slowed, colors saturated, and background noise dropping to a dull hum.
He yanked his hand back like he’d been burned. “ Mianhae.”
Your brain short-circuited. “ It’s…you.”
He gave a small and sheepish laugh. “ Yeah. Me.”
He gestured at the bottle still clutched between you. “ It's the last one. You take it.”
“ No…no, you were here first.” You tried to hand it over as your fingers brushed him again.
He shook his head. “ Anii…”
You pushed it toward him. “ Please.”
He gently pushed back then you pushed harder. Suddenly you were in a full-on and ridiculous tug-of-war over a 500-mL soda bottle in the middle of a convenience store. Neither of you noticed the cashier staring or the BPO girls filming discreetly.
He firmly tugged once as you stumbled forward then your chest collided with his. It's solid, warm, and his expensive cologne flooded your senses. Your face smashed against the soft cotton of his hoodie for half a heartbeat.
You sprang back like you’d been shocked. “ Oh my Gosh…sorry!”
He looked equally mortified as he hands up. “ No, I’m sorry. I pulled too hard.”
A beat. Then, softer. “ You okay?”
You nodded frantically. “ Fine. Great. Peachy.”
He studied you for a second then recognition clicked. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “ Y/n?”
You nearly dropped the bottle. “ You…remember?”
“ Of course.” He tilted his head.
“ The girl from the meet-and-greet. You said Storm Shadow ruined you for other men.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth. “ I said that out loud?”
He laughed. “ You did. It was cute.”
Your face felt like it was on fire. To cope, you slapped your own cheek. “ Am I dreaming?”
He chuckled again. “ No. It's real. Very real.”
He glanced around as he lowered his voice. “ I’m staying another week. Short vacation. Haven’t been here since…2003? 2004? Coron, Palawan.”
Your jaw dropped. “ You’ve been here before?”
“ I was young. First time out of Korea for fun. It's a beautiful place.”
“ I wasn’t even born yet.” You blurted.
He squinted as he was doing a quick math then laughed louder. “ You’re making me feel ancient.”
“ No…no! You look…timeless.” You winced.
Smooth, Y/n.
He grinned and unbothered. Then he reached past you, grabbed the soda, and headed for the counter.
“ Hey…wait!”
He paid in cash and turned back while holding the bottle out. “ Here. It's my treat and consider it payment for almost stealing it.”
You took it while his fingers brushed yours again when the current electricity zipped up your arm.
“ Thank you.” You whispered.
“ You’re…really kind.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “ Least I can do after body-slamming you into the fridge section.”
You snorted despite yourself. “ Technically I slammed into you.”
“ Details.” His eyes flicked to your tote bag then the company ID dangling.
“ You work here?”
“ Auditor. Glamorous life of spreadsheets and existential dread.”
He smiled. “ Sounds honest. I like that.”
A group of office workers walked in as he tugged his cap lower instinctively.
You stepped closer without thinking and shielding him a little. “ You should go before someone recognizes you.”
He nodded. “ Probably.”
A pause.
“ It was good seeing you again, Y/n.”
Your heart did a pathetic flip at your name in his voice. “ You too. Um…enjoy Palawan or Philippines 2.0?”
“ Maybe I’ll try somewhere new this time.” He hesitated.
“ If you have recommendations…”
You blinked. “ Me?”
“ You’re from here.” Another small smile.
“ And you seem trustworthy.”
Your mouth went dry. “ I…yeah. Sure. I mean…if you want.”
He pulled out his phone and opened the contacts. “ Give me your number. I’ll message if I need local tips.”
You stared. “ You’re serious.”
“ Very.”
You rattled off your digits, fingers trembling. He typed them in, saved it under “Y/n (Soda Thief)”.
He showed you the screen then you laughed.
“ See you around.” He said softly.
Then he tugged his mask up, gave a tiny wave, and slipped out past the shelves. You stood there holding the calamansi soda like it was made of gold while your heart was hammering so loud you were sure the cashier could hear it.
Your phone buzzed thirty seconds later.
Unknown number:
Thanks for the save and the drink. -BH
You pressed the bottle to your burning cheek and grinned like an idiot in the middle of the convenience store.
Normal life just got a lot less normal.
…
The soda incident should have been a one-off. A cute and impossible memory to tuck away with your meet-and-greet selfie and call it fate’s little joke. You were wrong when the first message arrived that same evening while you were still staring at the calamansi bottle like it held the secrets of the universe.
BH Oppa: Made it back to the hotel without getting mobbed. Thanks again for the save. How’s the soda? 😏
You stared at the screen for a full minute before typing back.
You: Still cold. Still traumatized from the fridge collision. You?
BH Oppa: Bruised ego only and surviving.
And just like that, the chat window became a quiet lifeline.
He sent photos of a blurry shot of Manila Bay at sunset from his hotel balcony, a plate of kwek-kwek he’d bravely tried, and a candid of him in a baseball cap pretending to hide behind a street sign.
You sent back snippets of your life of the endless Excel grid on your second monitor, a blurry selfie of you mid-yawn at 2 a.m. during chemo prep, and a photo of the BGC skyline from your office window.
BH Oppa: You work too late. Go sleep.
You: Says the guy who probably has 5 a.m. call times.
BH Oppa: It's different. I’m on vacation while you’re not.
You: Semantics.
BH Oppa: Take care of yourself, Y/n. Seriously.
The reminders came gently, consistently.
BH Oppa: Eat something real, not just instant ramen.
BH Oppa: Don’t skip breakfast.
BH Oppa: Rest when you can.
Each one chipped at the wall you’d tried to keep up.
You told yourself. “ This is temporary. He’s bored. He leaves in a week. Don’t get attached.”
But the messages didn’t stop. They flowed too easily in banter about bad traffic, shared complaints about rising prices, and him teasing your “very serious auditor face” in the one selfie you’d sent.
You laughed at your phone in the middle of meetings when Mika caught you once and raised both brows.
“ Who’s making you smile like that?”
“ No one.” You lied while your cheeks were warm.
Then came the ask.
BH Oppa: When are you free? I want to walk around BGC. You know the good spots. Be my unofficial guide?
Your stomach dropped.
This was crossing a line. Celebrities didn’t ask nobodies to hang out, not really. This had to be politeness, pity, and a language-barrier misunderstanding.
You typed three different excuses before settling on one.
You: This week is packed with deadlines. Sorry 😅 Maybe next time?
BH Oppa: No problem. Next time then. Take care.
Relief flooded you then guilt since he didn’t push. But he didn’t stop either.
Three days later…
BH Oppa: Are you not busy? I saw a ramen place that looked like your vibe. I thought of you.
A photo followed of steaming tonkotsu under neon lights.
You groaned into your pillow.
Why is he so…nice?
Another ask two days after that.
BH Oppa: Weekend? Just coffee. No pressure.
You: Family thing came up. Rain check?
BH Oppa: Understood. Family first. Let me know when you’re free.
You stared at the message for twenty minutes while your conscience screamed.
He’s literally Lee Byung-hun. He’s asking to spend time with YOU. And you’re dodging him like he’s trying to sell you timeshares.
By Friday night, guilt had turned into full-blown haunting. You paced your apartment while your phone clutched like evidence.
He’d been nothing but kind, patient, and funny. But here you were, treating his friendship like a grenade.
You flopped onto the couch and typed before you could overthink it.
You: Hey. I’m free on Sunday. If the offer still stands…I can show you around BGC?
The reply came in under thirty seconds.
BH Oppa: It stands. Thank you. 😊 Where should we meet?
You suggested the High Street at 10 a.m. that public enough to feel safe and casual enough not to scream “date.”
BH Oppa: Perfect. See you on Sunday, my tour guide.
You locked your phone and pressed it to your forehead.
What are you doing, Y/n?
Sunday morning arrived with cruel sunshine and zero mercy for your nerves. You changed outfits four times. Landed on jeans, a soft white tee, sneakers, and a light denim jacket.
It's simple, unthreatening, and not trying too hard.
You arrived ten minutes early, heart doing gymnastics. The High Street was alive with joggers, brunch crowds, and dogs in tiny clothes. You leaned against a lamppost while pretending to scroll your phone while scanning for a familiar cap.
He appeared at 9:58. Black cap, black mask, oversized hoodie, and sunglasses. Somehow still devastatingly recognizable if you knew what to look for. He spotted you immediately as he pulled the mask down just enough to smile.
“ Morning, Y/n.”
“ Morning.” Your voice cracked on the second syllable.
He fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing.
“ So. Where to start?”
You started safely off the Burgos Circle fountain, then the weekend market stalls. He asked genuine questions about the street food, the traffic, and your favorite hidden spots. You answered honestly and surprised at how easy it felt once you started talking.
At a coffee stand, he insisted on paying.
“ You already owe me a soda debt.” You teased.
He laughed. “ Then this is interest.”
You walked side by side while your shoulders almost brushed. Every accidental touch sent sparks up your arm and you hated how much you noticed.
Somewhere between a bookstore and an art installation, he asked quietly. “ Why did you keep saying no?”
You froze mid-step.
He continued, eyes on the path ahead. “ I thought maybe I made you uncomfortable. At the store or the event.”
“ No.” You said quickly.
“ It’s not that.”
“ Then?”
You sighed. “ You’re you. And I’m me. It felt wrong to take up your time…like I was taking advantage.”
He stopped walking then he turned to face you fully.
“ You’re not taking anything. I asked because I wanted to see you again.” A small and crooked smile.
“ Is that so bad?”
Your throat tightened. “ It’s temporary. You’ll go back to Korea. And I’ll be…here. With spreadsheets and hospital bills.”
His expression softened. “ It doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves right now.”
You looked away while blinking fast. “ I’m trying not to get used to this.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then, softer. “ I’m trying not to either.”
The words hung between you.
You swallowed. “ Okay. Let’s…keep walking.”
He nodded. “ Lead the way.”
You continued through BGC. Past the Mind Museum, along the boardwalk, and grabbing halo-halo when the heat hit. He took off the sunglasses eventually, trusting the crowd’s indifference, and laughed at your terrible attempt at a Korean tongue twister.
He let you ramble about your favorite movie scenes of him without teasing (much). By late afternoon, you were both tired, sitting on a bench overlooking the lagoon while ice cream melted in your hands.
“ Thank you.” He said quietly.
“ For today.”
You nudged his shoulder. “ You’re welcome, tourist.”
He nudged back. “ You’re a good guide.”
A comfortable silence settled and the kind that felt dangerous. You glanced at him with his profile sharp against the golden light and felt the slow burn in your chest flare brighter.
“ Don’t fall.” You reminded yourself.
But you're too late. Because when he left, this was going to hurt like hell and you were already too far gone to care.
…
The messages had become a habit, the first thing you checked after waking and the last before sleep. A quiet thread stretching across time zones and turning days into something warmer.
BH Oppa: I landed a small role in a drama. Nothing big. You?
You: Surviving another audit cycle. Excel is my new nemesis.
BH Oppa: Fight them. You’re stronger.
You: Says the guy who fights actual bad guys on screen.
BH Oppa: Those are fake. Your spreadsheets are real evil.
He sent good-morning texts at odd hours and photos of dawn runs in some empty park or a shot of his breakfast with a caption.
Every message chipped at the wall you’d built.
He’s leaving. This is temporary and you won't fall harder.
You were already falling.
You caught yourself smiling at nothing in the middle of meetings. Mika noticed and Jessa cornered you once.
“ You’re glowing. Spill.”
“ It’s nothing.” You lied.
“ It's just…a friend.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
Sunday in BGC had cracked something open. He wasn’t the untouchable idol anymore. He was quiet in crowds and shy when cameras flashed nearby, but quick with dry humor that matched your kanal-level sarcasm perfectly. When a jeepney nearly sideswiped you both on a narrow street, he’d deadpanned. “Philippine traffic: the real action movie.” You’d laughed until your sides hurt.
He understood your jokes, your exhaustion, and your silences. And somehow, despite the oceans between you, he made you feel seen.
Then the message came on a Thursday night.
BH Oppa: Tomorrow is my last day. My flight is on Saturday morning. Can I see you one more time?
You didn’t hesitate.
You: Yes. Where?
BH Oppa: Intramuros? I want to see the old city.
You met him at the Fort Santiago gate at 9 a.m., both in caps and masks that blended into the tourist crowd. He wore a simple linen shirt, sleeves rolled, and looking unfairly good even in disguise.
“ Lead the way, historian.” He said while his eyes were crinkling.
You walked him through the cobblestone streets while pointing out San Agustin Church, Casa Manila, and the Baluarte de San Diego. He listened intently then asked questions about the Spanish colonization, the earthquakes, and the way the walls had held through wars. Outside was the Manila Cathedral, you both paused on the stone steps. The afternoon sun turned the façade golden while the bells tolled softly somewhere.
“ It’s beautiful.” He murmured.
“ So unique.”
You nodded. “ It’s my favorite.”
He glanced sideways. “ Is it open to everyone? Even…someone like me?”
“ Every church here welcomes anyone. God doesn’t check passports or religions.”
He smiled out of nowhere. “ Do you want to get married here someday?”
Your face ignited.
“ I-uh…when I was a kid, yeah. I still do, kind of.” You laughed, awkward.
“ The vibe…it feels like every moment would stick forever. With the right person.”
You frowned. “ Wait. How did you know this is my dream church?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “ I…scrolled your feed once. When I was bored in the hotel. I found a post of yours years ago. You're standing right here with a caption about ‘waiting for the right guy to bring you to this church so God could bless your hearts as husband and wife.’”
Mortification crashed over you like cold water. “ Oh my God. You saw that? That was so cringe. I was, like, twenty-one and dramatic. Delete that from your memory, please.”
He laughed. “ It was sweet, to be honest.”
You buried your face in your hands. “ I’m never posting again.”
The laughter faded then silence stretched and thick with something unspoken then he reached for your wrist.
You froze.
Gently, he removed the simple wooden bracelet on his own arm. The one you’d noticed every time he moved and smooth beads worn from years of wear. Without a word, he fastened it around your wrist as the wood was warm from his skin.
You stared. “ What…why?”
He met your eyes. “ A souvenir. This will be my thank you gift for guiding me and for treating me like a person, not just like a celebrity.”
He gestured vaguely at the invisible weight of fame. “ I found peace here. With you.”
Your throat closed. “ This is…sacred to you.”
“ I can buy or wear another bracelet...” His voice dropped.
“ But I can’t buy another moment like this.”
Tears pricked fast and hot. He looked at you and the world narrowed to just his face, the faint lines at his eyes, and the way his gaze softened.
“ Later I will pack. Then I'll go to the airport and go back to Korea.” He swallowed.
“ If you miss me…touch this and feel me there.”
A tear slipped then another. He leaned in and wrapped both arms around you. You stiffened for half a second before melting against him. His hoodie smelled like cedar and clean cotton and him. He held you like you might break while one hand cradling the back of your head.
He murmured something in Korean against your hair that words you didn’t understand but felt anyway.
When he pulled back while his thumbs brushed your cheeks and wiping your tears. “ I can’t make promises, Y/n. I don’t want to break your heart. You deserve to live your life…fully. Without waiting."
You nodded while crying harder now in ugly and hiccuping sobs.
He smiled sadly as he pulled you back into his chest. “ Let it out.”
You did as you clung to his hoodie and soaked the fabric while he rubbed slow circles on your back and whispered. “ You’ll be okay. You’re strong.”
After a while he eased back just enough to look at you. “ I transferred money to your account.”
Your eyes snapped wide. “ What? No, you can’t…”
“ I already did.” He said in firm, but gentle.
“ For your treatment. For bills or whatever you need.”
“ You shouldn’t—”
“ I can’t watch someone important to me suffer when I can help.” His voice cracked the tiniest bit.
“ Money comes back, but life…doesn’t.”
“ Thank you.” You choked.
“ But I…”
“ You’re my friend, Y/n.” He said it like it was the simplest and the most important truth.
“ I don’t want my friend hurting or suffering.”
You laughed through sobs. “ Some friends are making me ugly-cry in front of Manila Cathedral.”
He chuckled while his thumb was sweeping another tear. “ You're still pretty.”
You swatted his arm weakly. “ Stop.”
He caught your hand and he held it a second longer than necessary then let go. The bells tolled again as the time moved whether you wanted it to or not.
He stood, offered his hand. “ One more walk? Before I have to go.”
You took it while his fingers laced through yours like they belonged there. You walked slowly back through the streets past Plaza Roma, past the old cannons, and past tourists who didn’t notice the quiet heartbreak unfolding between two people pretending everything was fine.
In the car, he stopped.
“ Take care of yourself.” He said.
“ Really. Eat, rest, and fight.”
You nodded. “ You too. Don’t overwork. And…come back someday?”
His smile was small and wistful. “ If life lets me.”
One last hug was tight and too short then he stepped back and tugged his cap lower.
“ Text me when you get home safe.”
“ I will.”
He walked away with shoulders straight and pace steady until he disappeared around the corner. You stood there and bracelet warm against your wrist while your chest was hollow and full at the same time.
The cathedral bells rang again as you touched the beads and felt him.
He's still here even after he is gone.
…
The airport goodbye lingered like smoke. You touched the wooden bracelet every night before sleep while tracing the beads until your fingertips went numb, then forced yourself to stop. He was gone. Back to Seoul, back to spotlights and schedules and a life that didn’t include late-night Taglish banter or halo-halo dates in BGC.
You made the decision on the third day after his flight.
Cut it clean.
You archived the chat thread without reading the last messages. You turned off notifications from his number and told yourself it was mercy for both of you.
Your worlds didn’t overlap since he was in the sky while you were on the sidewalk.
The cancer scans, audit deadlines, hospital co-pays, and the slow grind of hoping for remission held that they didn’t belong in his orbit then letting the thread stay open would only make the eventual silence hurt worse.
He messaged anyway.
BH Oppa: I landed safe and the jet lag is evil. How’s your day?
You stared at the notification until it faded but you didn’t reply.
BH Oppa: I saw a calamansi soda in a convenience store here and I thought of you. Are you okay? How's your chemo sessions?
Your heart twists as your fingers hovered then you locked the phone.
BH Oppa: You’re quiet. Busy? Or…something else?
BH Oppa: Answer me. Please, Y/n. I just missed talking with you. To be honest, my life is boring without hearing your funny jokes and stories about your country.
You cried in the shower that night and the hot water drowned the sobs.
Don’t answer. Don’t make it harder.
The messages kept coming gently but he was never demanding. A photo of autumn leaves in Namsan then a short clip of him practicing lines with his voice low and tired. “I miss the humidity and miss the chaos with you.”
You read them in secret while your chest was aching then delete the notifications like evidence.
Then on May 22 was the last one.
BH Oppa: I get it. If this is what you need, I accept it. You’re still important to me, Y/n. You always will be.
BH Oppa: Take care of yourself, really. Don't forget your sessions.
BH Oppa: If you ever want to talk again, my line doesn’t close.
BH Oppa: I am happy that our paths have crossed. I hope you will never forget me because you are already etched in my mind.
BH Oppa: If you would give me a chance to talk to you again, I would clarify everything. But if it's just this far, I will accept it completely without any hesitation.
BH Oppa: Thank you so much for the time you gave me. Even in a short time, you made me feel things I thought I would never feel again.
BH Oppa: 나는 당신이라는 사람이 마음에 들고, 당신에 대해 더 알고 싶어요.
BH Oppa: 안녕히 가세요.
No emojis. No teasing. Just quiet surrender.
After that silence. Your phone felt heavier without his name lighting up the screen. You stayed his fan silent and devoted. The way you’d always been before the soda bottle, before Intramuros, and before the bracelet that still lived on your wrist because taking it off felt like betrayal.
You bought tickets to his new drama premieres online, streamed every interview, and collected magazine clippings like contraband. Whenever he appeared on variety shows or press junkets, you watched with the volume low with your heart clenched.
He never said your name but he talked about you.
In a November magazine spread.
“ There was someone in the Philippines…she showed me places and treated me like a normal person. She made me laugh in ways I hadn’t in years. I think about her sometimes and wonder if she’s okay.”
Fans exploded online.
“ Who is she???”
“ Oppa has a mystery girl in the Philippines???”
“ Protect her at all costs.”
You scrolled through the theories in the dark, half-smiling and half-crying.
They’ll never guess it’s the auditor with stage-three medical bills and a delulu fan account.
Then came January. A press conference for his upcoming film as he sat beside his female co-star. She's beautiful, poised, and the chemistry crackling even in still photos.
The moderator asked the inevitable.
“ Are the dating rumors true?”
He looked at the camera straight through it and almost like he knew you were watching.
“ Yes.” He said softly.
“ We’re together.”
The room erupted in flashes and cheers while his co-star blushed as he reached over and squeezed her hand. You sat frozen on your couch while your laptop balanced on your knees.
You were happy.
The ache was there but underneath it bloomed something gentler. A relief, maybe. Or acceptance. He deserved someone who could stand beside him in the light without hiding and someone whose world matched his.
You whispered to the screen. “ I’m glad you found your own happiness, oppa.”
You didn’t cry that night, not really. Just let a few tears slip while you touched the bracelet one last time.
The next morning you opened Instagram on his official account and posted a simple photo of him and her with their backs to the camera while walking hand-in-hand along a Han River path at dusk with a caption in Korean and English.
l.jiun03
새로운 시작에 감사드립니다. 사랑해요. 감사합니다. ♥️😘
♥️1.1M 💬507k 🔁395k
Translation: Thank you for the new beginning. I love you. Thank you.
The comments flooded as you liked the post from your private fan account with no comment and just the heart. Then you archived every screenshot of his messages and moved the meet-and-greet selfie to a hidden folder.
You keep supporting as you buy the endorsed products and streamed his OSTs on repeat during chemo sessions while whispering “fighting” to yourself when the needles went in. You’d keep the bracelet, keep watching his movies, keep cheering silently when he won awards, and keep touching the wood when the chemo side effects hit hard and the nights felt endless.
Because loving him from afar has always been your default setting.
And now it felt…peaceful.
If there was another life or some parallel universe where you weren’t sick and where you weren’t ordinary, where your paths crossed without walls as you’d walk straight to him with no hesitation or no excuses.
But in this one?
You’d love him quietly.
You treasure the bracelet.
You smile at every interview clip and let him be happy. Because sometimes the most beautiful things are the ones you hold with open hands and then release.
Because some loves don’t need to be loud.
Because some loves are quiet anchors.
Because some loves teach you how to hold space for someone else’s happiness even when it isn’t yours.
You touched the wooden beads one final time before bed.
“ Be happy, oppa.” You murmured then you turned off the light and for the first time in months when the silence didn’t hurt.
Author's Notes:
Heya, guys! I’m finally back after disappearing for a few days. I’ve been really busy and honestly a bit unmotivated lately. On top of that, Tumblr decided to stop cooperating for about 2–3 days, so I couldn’t upload or even save my drafts. Thankfully, I tried using a VPN and it somehow worked. Maybe there was just an issue with the server in my country during those days and I have no idea why, when, or how it happened. But I’m just glad everything seems to be back to normal now.
Anyway, this story is about being a fan who isn’t rich enough to attend fan meetings or when the artist rarely holds events in your country. I was also inspired by the Snickers PH raffle where people had to post a photo while holding their product next to a poster of Kim Mingyu. I saw many of my fellow Filipinos posting their entries, and they were all incredibly creative (and very brave) for recording them in public places like 7-Eleven. Honestly, I could never…haha.
So expect twists, more twists, and a bit of a rollercoaster ride in this story. And as usual…they don’t end up together in the end. I’m sorry if that disappoints some of you, but you already know how I love my bittersweet endings. 😅🤭
Description:
You are a former journalist who now works as a criminal vlogger, recording crime scenes and sending your footage to network companies willing to take the risk of broadcasting your work. After getting into an accident caused by driving under the influence, you meet Officer Hwang. However, this policeman has a dark secret that makes you willing to risk your life again just to uncover the truth. Will your mission be worth it, or will there be a twist after you discover the deepest part of him?
Warnings:
This is a mature story that contains strong language and explicit content, which may not be suitable for younger audiences, especially as it deals with mental health issues and violence. However, this story is purely fictional. If you feel uncomfortable or triggered while reading, please scroll past and disregard this content.
The penthouse bathroom was all marble and muted gold, the kind of sterile luxury that felt like a cage with better lighting. Young-il stood shirtless in front of the full-length mirror when the steam was still clinging to the glass from the scalding shower he’d just taken.
He tilted his head while studying the reflection like it was a new acquisition. There's no slicked-back cop hair today since he’d scrubbed In-ho’s meticulous style away with shampoo that smelled like cedar and violence, then blasted it with the blow-dryer until dark strands fell forward, messy, and almost boyish.
A few locks curved over his forehead while softening the sharp edges In-ho always tried to sharpen. Young-il dragged a hand through the damp waves and smirking at the difference.
“ Much better.” He murmured.
“ You always looked like you were auditioning for a funeral, In-ho.”
The blue pill bottle sat open on the counter. It’s In-ho’s prescription, the one that was supposed to keep the “other” quiet. Young-il had swallowed two an hour ago, dry, and grinning the whole time.
The medication tasted like chalk and surrender.
In-ho hated it, but Young-il loved winning.
He flexed his fingers then rolled his shoulders. The body felt loose, responsive, and his. No nagging voice in the back of his skull or no moral lectures. Just silence and the low thrum of anticipation. In-ho was out cold, probably dreaming of paperwork and regret. Two days or maybe three before he clawed his way back to the surface and he has plenty of time.
Young-il pulled on a black cashmere sweater and slim dark jeans, boots that cost more than most people’s rent. There's no badge and no gun, just clean skin and the faint scent of expensive cologne masking yesterday’s copper tang.
He’d showered twice after the highway kill, once to get the blood off and once because he wanted to smell like someone you might let close. He grabbed the bouquet from the kitchen island. A white roses and blood-red tulips wrapped in matte black paper. It's simple, expensive, and threatening in its beauty. He tucked inside was a small card and the handwriting neat but unfamiliar.
Midnight. Abandoned textile factory, Yeongdeungpo. Come alone. You’ve been looking for me. I’ve been looking for you.
There's no signature because he didn’t need one.
Young-il slipped the card between the stems then left the building through the service exit and drove with the windows down. Seoul was waking up in street cleaners hosing sidewalks and delivery scooters whining through alleys, but he felt like the only thing alive.
Your apartment building looked smaller in daylight in a shabby chic. He parked across the street, killed the engine, and watched. You were pacing in front of the window while the phone pressed to your ear and free hand gesturing wildly. Even from here he could read the frustration in your shoulders and the way you kept dragging fingers through your hair like you wanted to rip answers out of your skull.
Good. Doubt was fertile ground.
He crossed the street and bouquet in hand while his footsteps silent on the cracked pavement. At your door he crouched, set the flowers on the mat, wedged the note securely between petals then he jabbed the doorbell three times in quick succession, sharp and impatient like someone who expected to be answered.
He didn’t wait.
He vaulted the low railing and dropped into the narrow alley beside the building, and pressed himself against the wall while his heart rate is steady and he breathes quietly.
The door opened as you stood there in a hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair a mess, and eyes narrowed to slits then you looked down at the bouquet like it had personally insulted you.
“ What the actual fuck.” You muttered.
You bent as you snatched the flowers up while your fingers brushed the card and you pulled it free then read it. Your eyes widened as your pupils blew and your mouth parting on a sharp inhale then you slammed the door so hard the frame rattled.
Young-il smiled into the shadows. He could picture it that you are spinning, phone already redialing Min-joon while your voice tight with adrenaline and suspicion. Telling him about the flowers, the note, the location, and wondering if this was bait or a trap or both.
He stayed hidden another minute. It's long enough to hear your muffled voice through the thin walls, sharp and urgent then slipped back to his car. The engine purred awake, but he didn’t drive away immediately. Instead he leaned his head against the seat with eyes half-lidded while replaying the moment your face changed when you read the card.
Fear. Curiosity. Anger. All at once.
Beautiful.
He’d first noticed you through In-ho’s eyes that night on the empty streets, siren flashing, and your taillights defiant red. In-ho had been focused on the ticket, the law, and the chase.
While Young-il had been focused on you. On the reckless tilt of your head and the smirk you’d thrown in the rearview like a dare. When In-ho hesitated at the crash or when he’d pulled you from the wreck while his hands steady but heart tripping as Young-il had almost taken over right then.
Almost, but he’d waited. He waited until the hospital discharge and when In-ho had quietly buried your violations under a stack of forms and a few well-placed favors. Young-il had worn the mask that day, spoken to the colleagues, and signed the release.
All so you could walk out free.
All so you could keep running toward him.
And last night when In-ho’s control had slipped just enough, Young-il had snatched the wheel as he snatched the name and snatched the moment.
Now he wanted more.
He wanted your voice cracking on his real name.
He wanted your fingers curled in his sweater instead of a taser.
He wanted to see if you’d still look at him with that same reckless hunger when you finally understood who or what you’d been chasing.
The radio crackled on low about the news recap of last night’s body near the expressway while another predator is gone and another stain scrubbed clean.
Young-il turned the volume down.
He didn’t need reminders.
He needed you.
And tonight, at midnight, in a rotting factory that smelled of rust and old dye, he’d finally let you see.
Not In-ho.
Him.
He pulled away from the curb while smiling slowly and satisfied. The city blurred past. And somewhere behind him, in your apartment, you were already moving while phone in one hand, keys in the other, and heart hammering with the kind of fear that tasted dangerously close to wanting.
…
The apartment felt smaller after the call ended. Min-joon’s voice still echoed in your skull in half warning and half apology. You stared at the bouquet on the kitchen counter like it might sprout teeth while the white roses stained red at the edges that it's pretty and poisonous.
The note lay beside it, handwriting too neat and too deliberate.
Midnight. Abandoned textile factory, Yeongdeungpo. Come alone.
Your fingers twitched toward your phone again, but you stopped. There's no more calls and no more backup. You’d already asked, but he’d already said no. You paced back and forth across the worn hardwood while your mind screamed two opposing verdicts.
Don’t go. It’s bait. It’s a trap. You’re not invincible.
Go. This is the break. This is the origin story. This is the root you’ve been clawing for months to find.
The second voice won. Because you were tired of circling, tired of red string and blurry plates and identical faces that refused to make sense, and tired of waking up tasting copper and curiosity in equal measure.
You changed in black hoodie, dark jeans, and boots you could run in. Taser in the right pocket and a small folding knife on the left while your phone is silent and keys clenched like brass knuckles.
One last look in the mirror.
“ You’re an idiot.” You said in your reflection.
Your reflection smirked back.
…
Yeongdeungpo’s industrial graveyard smelled like rust and wet concrete. The textile factory loomed ahead as the windows shattered like broken teeth, and chain-link fence sagging in defeat as the moonlight bled through holes in the roof and painted jagged silver stripes across the floor inside.
You arrived at 11:47 p.m.
It's early and cautious.
You slipped through a gap in the fence, boots crunching softly on broken glass. Inside, the air was thick in mildew, old dye, and something faintly metallic that made your stomach turn. The machinery hulked in the shadows like sleeping beasts when you found a spot near a rusted loom while back to a concrete pillar and eyes scanning every dark corner.
Your heartbeat wasn’t steady anymore. It was a drumline gone rogue.
11:58.
Nothing.
You exhaled through your nose. “ Come on. I’m here. Alone. Fair play.”
Silence answered then footsteps from the distant and echoing off high rafters.
You straightened. “ Show yourself. Stop fucking around.”
The steps paused then a shadow flickered in tall, broad, and sliding between two machines before vanishing again.
Annoyance flared hotter than fear.
“ I’m serious.” You called, but your voice cracked quiet.
“ If this is a game, I’m leaving. I didn’t come here to play hide-and-seek with a coward.”
Another step then closer then a cold metal kissed the small of your back. You froze when a leather-gloved fingers slid up your spine and almost reverent until they curled around the front of your throat, not choking while he is just holding and possessive.
Your breath snagged when a voice is mechanical and distorted through some cheap modulator that brushes your ear.
“ I’m here.”
You swallowed while the glove tightened a fraction. “ I came alone. Like you asked.”
A hot breath ghosted your neck as your skin prickled and every hair standing at once.
“ You should stop chasing me.” He said.
“ I’m doing the police a favor. Cleaning up their failures. They can’t or won’t deliver justice. So I do.”
“ You don’t get to decide who lives and dies.”
A dark chuckle vibrated against your back. “ Neither do they. The higher they climb, the bigger their heads get. Rules bend. Blind eyes turn. I will just make it permanent.”
The knife pressed harder, not cutting, but just reminding. You felt the rest of him too while his chest flush to your spine, hips aligned, and something unmistakably hard digging into your lower back.
You gasped despite yourself as he laughed again.
“ See?” He murmured while his mask brushing the shell of your ear through whatever mask he wore.
“ Maybe you’re not obsessed with the case anymore. Maybe you’re obsessed with me.”
“ Fuck you.” You hissed.
“ I’m here for the truth. For the pattern. For why.”
The gloved hand slid higher while his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “ You’re not even a journalist anymore. You wer fired and blacklisted. Yet here you are, running toward the dark instead of away from it.”
He inhaled like he was tasting you. “ You smell too good for someone who’s supposed to be afraid.”
Heat flooded your face, your chest, and lower. Because you hated it and you hated him more.
“ I expose rot.” You said through clenched teeth.
“ That’s all.”
The ridge of his mask pressed harder against your neck like he was nuzzling, savoring. “ Then stay away from this one. Walk out right now and I’ll let you see my face. One day. When I decide you’ve earned it.”
You laughed. “ You think I’d trust a masked murderer with trust issues?”
“ I don’t trust journalists.” His voice dropped to a growl.
“ But maybe you’re different enough to change my mind.”
The knife eased back while the hand on your throat loosened.
“ Leave.” He said.
“ I’ll watch you the whole way home. Make sure no wolves follow. I’m the only one allowed to chase you.”
The pressure vanished as you stumbled forward two steps while legs are shaking then adrenaline and something far more dangerous flooding your veins.
You didn’t look back and you ran. Your boots pounding concrete and breath ragged while heart slamming against your ribs. Through the broken fence, across the empty lot, into your car, and engine roaring to life.
You didn’t stop until you hit the main road.
Only then did you glance in the rearview.
Nothing.
No headlights.
No shadow.
Just your own wide eyes staring back, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and lips parted like you’d been kissed instead of threatened. You gripped the wheel until your knuckles ached then underneath the fear that was deep, shameful, and undeniable. You were already wondering what his real voice sounded like.
What his real hands felt like without leather.
What his face looked like when he finally stopped hiding.
You cursed under your breath then you drove faster, but the heat between your thighs didn’t fade. And somewhere behind you, in the dark of the factory, Young-il leaned against a rusted machine while his knife was still warm in his hand and mask hiding the slow with a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
He adjusted himself through his pants while groaning low when the pressure only made it worse.
“ Fuck.” He muttered to the empty dark.
“ You’re going to ruin me, my little journalist.”
He laughed once then disappeared back into the night.
…
The door slammed behind you with more force than necessary when the apartment swallowed the sound and leaving only the low hum of the fridge and your own ragged breathing. You leaned against the wood for a second, eyes closed, and trying to shove the factory out of your skull.
It wouldn’t leave.
The cold bite of the knife against your spine when the leather glove curling around your throat, not choking, but just claiming. When the heat of his body pressed flush and so you couldn’t pretend you didn’t feel it. When the hard length digging into your lower back, shameless, and unapologetic. When the distorted chuckle that vibrated through your ribs like he knew exactly what it did to you.
You’d run.
You’d fucking run and he’d let you.
That was the part that kept looping, over and over. A serial killer that someone who’d opened eight throats without hesitation had you cornered, vulnerable, and alone in a rotting factory at midnight.
One flick of the wrist and you’d have been another body for the morning news. Instead he’d whispered in your ear, smelled your neck like you were dessert, told you to leave, and promised to watch you home.
Why?
You dragged both hands down your face while groaning loud enough to echo off the walls. Your phone was already in your hand before you could talk yourself out of it.
Min-joon answered on the second ring. “ You’re alive. Good start.”
“ I met him.”
A beat of silence. Then, quieter. “ The killer?”
“ Yeah.”
“ Talk.”
You paced the living room while you spilled it, but leaving out the part where his hips rolled just enough to make sure you felt every inch of him.
You told Min-joon about the knife, the distorted voice, and the taunt that you should stop chasing because he was doing everyone a favor. The way he’d laughed when you snapped that he had no right to play judge and executioner and the promise that if you walked away as he might one day show you his face.
Min-joon listened without interrupting. When you finished, he exhaled long and slow.
“ He’s fucking with your head.” He said finally.
“ A classic move. He let you get close enough to taste danger then pull back. He makes you question everything about your instincts, your mission, and yourself. He wants your attention splintered. He wants you chasing smoke instead of evidence.”
You dropped onto the couch, head tipping back against the cushions. “ I’m so fucking frustrated, Min-joon. There’s nothing. No prints. No leaks. No slip-ups. I’ve been at this for months and I have jack shit.”
“ Maybe it’s time to quit. Hang up the vigilante-vlogger hat, get a real job, pay rent like a normal person instead of hunting psychopaths who do the city’s dirty work better than the police ever could.”
He didn’t laugh, but didn't argue right away. He just let the words sit.
“ You’re burned out.” He said eventually.
“ That’s all this is. Lay low, step back, and breathe for a minute. The case isn’t closed until there’s a body in cuffs or a confession on record.”
“ If there’s no trail right now, there will be. There always is. You just need distance so you can see it when it appears.”
You stared at the ceiling. “ Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just…live. Normal job. Normal hours. No more red string on the wall. No more wondering if the next bouquet is laced with anthrax.”
He snorted. “ You won’t last a week. You don’t pick cases you can’t solve. You don’t start fires you can’t put out. You’re hooked. You always are.”
You huffed a tired laugh. “ I hate that you know me.”
“ You’re not wrong about needing a break, though.” He added.
“ Take it. Rest. I’ll keep an ear to the ground. If anything breaks, you’ll be the first to know.”
“ Thanks.” You muttered.
“ For everything. Two years of this insane side gig and you never once told me I was crazy.”
“ You’re not crazy. You’re relentless. There’s a difference.” A small chuckle.
“ And honestly? I enjoy the chaos. Keeps my own life from getting boring.”
You smiled despite yourself. “ You’re enabling me.”
“ Guilty. Now go to sleep. Or at least pretend to.”
“ Yeah. Night.”
You ended the call.
The phone hit the couch cushion with a soft thud. You groaned again in longer and louder then scrubbed both hands over your face, exhaling like you could push the whole night out through your lungs.
Your gaze drifted in the bouquet sat on the kitchen counter where you’d left it while the white roses and red tulips mocked you with their perfect petals. You stood up then crossed the room in three strides and snatched the whole thing up.
“ Fuck you, you piece of shit.” You hissed at the empty air.
You shoved the flowers into the trash bin head-first. The stems snapped as the petals crushed then the note went in last and crumpled into a tight ball.
You stared at the bin like it might fight back.
“ I’m going to find you.” You said quietly with more promise than threat.
“ One way or another. Mask or no mask. Voice or no voice. I’ll see your face. I’ll hear the real you. And when I do—”
You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to because underneath the anger, underneath the exhaustion, and underneath the very reasonable fear. But curiosity still burns and it's hotter than before.
You wanted to know why he’d let you go.
You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like without distortion.
You wanted to know if that hard press against your back had been deliberate provocation or if he’d been just as affected as you were.
You turned off the kitchen light as you walked to the bedroom then dropped face-first onto the mattress without bothering to change and even as sleep finally dragged you under while one thought looped on repeat.
He’d let you run, but he’d also promised to watch and the part of you that refused to quit. The reckless, stubborn, and stupid part that you couldn’t decide whether that promise felt like a threat…
…or foreplay.
…
The next morning hit like a hangover you didn’t earn. Sunlight sliced through the half-closed blinds, stabbing your retinas while you sat cross-legged on the couch in yesterday’s hoodie, laptop balanced on your thighs, and LinkedIn open like a battlefield.
You scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled.
Marketing coordinator that requires five years experience. Junior analyst in master’s preferred. Administrative assistants that must speak fluent Mandarin and have “proven ability to thrive in fast-paced environments.”
Every listing felt like a personal rejection letter. Your eyes burned as your coffee had gone cold three cups ago then you rubbed your temples and muttered.
“ There has to be something that doesn’t require me to be twenty-five with a decade of experience and a side hustle in rocket science.”
Another refresh then a new posting popped up at the top of your feed and timestamped barely an hour ago.
Executive Secretary in Oh Enterprises Group at Seoul, Gangnam-gu.
You clicked before your brain could catch up.
The description was short, almost curt:
Seeking a highly organized, analytical individual to manage high-volume executive correspondence, financial summaries, and strategic scheduling for the CEO. Strong preference for candidates with accounting/finance background or pre-law coursework.
Excellent written and verbal communication in Korean and English required. Salary commensurate with experience + full benefits package. Confidentiality agreement mandatory.
You blinked.
Oh Enterprises. One of the biggest private conglomerates in Korea. A tech, real estate, logistics, and the kind of company that owned half the skyline and pretended it didn’t.
The CEO was notoriously reclusive with the name Oh Young-il appearing in headlines maybe twice a year, always flanked by bodyguards and vague references to “global expansion.”
You skimmed the requirements again.
Pre-law coursework.
Your undergrad minor.
You had the language skills. You could analyze patterns faster than most people breathed. Accounting wasn’t your forte, but you’d survived enough freelance gigs faking financial timelines for exposés that you could bullshit your way through basic ledgers if needed.
Your finger hovered over “ Easy Apply” then you thought of the factory. The knife, the leather glove on your throat, the hard press of him against your back, and the distorted voice promising to watch you home.
You thought of the trash bin still holding crushed roses.
You thought of Min-joon’s voice last night. “You’re hooked.”
“ Fuck it.” You muttered.
You attached your CV that is slightly polished, slightly sanitized with no mention of vigilante vlogging or near-death experiences and hit submit.
Then you waited and waited.
After twenty-three minutes later your inbox pinged.
Subject: Interview Invitation – Executive Secretary Position
Dear [Your Name],
Thank you for your application to Oh Enterprises Group. We are pleased to invite you to an in-person interview tomorrow at 10:00 AM.
Please arrive at the address below. Bring two copies of your CV and any relevant certifications. Dress code: business formal.
Oh Enterprises Headquarters
Level 42, Gangnam Finance Center
Teheran-ro 123, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
We look forward to meeting you.
Best regards,
Human Resources Department
Oh Enterprises Group
You stared at the screen for a full ten seconds then you whooped in loud, embarrassing, triumphant, and fist-pumping the air like you’d just won the lottery instead of a job interview that might actually pay rent.
“ Normal life, here I come.” You said to the empty apartment while grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.
…
Meanwhile, forty-two floors above the city, Young-il stood at the floor-to-ceiling glass of his corner office with a tumbler of single malt in hand. Seoul sprawled beneath him in neon veins, traffic like slow blood and the buildings that belonged to him or soon would.
His HR director, Ms. Choi, fifty-two and unflappable, stood just inside the doorway with a tablet in hand.
“ Sir, the applicant you flagged has submitted. CV matches the parameters exactly. Interview scheduled for tomorrow, 10:00.”
Young-il didn’t turn as he took a slow sip of whiskey while letting the burn settle.
“ I’ll conduct the interview personally.”
Ms. Choi blinked once before recovering. “ Of course, sir. I’ll inform the team. Will you require any specific preparation?”
“ No.” He swirled the glass.
“ Just make sure the conference room on 42 is ready. And clear my morning after 11:00.”
She bowed. “ Understood.”
The door clicked shut behind her then Young-il exhaled through his nose while his lips curved. He’d planned every step since midnight in Yeongdeungpo.
Since he’d felt you tremble, not just from fear, but from something hotter, and something that matched the pulse he’d felt against his palm when he held your throat.
Since he’d walked away hard and aching, while cursing under his breath because you’d gotten under his skin faster than any kill ever had.
In-ho was still gone and he's drugged into silence by the blue pills Young-il had doubled down on. Two or maybe three more days before that sanctimonious prick clawed his way back and tried to wrestle control.
There's plenty of time. Young-il had watched you for weeks. Your public records, private messages, delivery logs, and even the trash pickup schedule outside your building.
He knew you were broke. He knew you were tired and knew you were looking for an exit from the red-string chaos you’d built around yourself.
So he gave you one.
A legitimate job, a salary that would stop the eviction notices with benefits and stability, a reason to stay in Seoul instead of running, and proximity.
Every day on his office and his schedule. His voice is unmodulated, unmasked, close enough to learn the cadence, the timbre, and the things the mask had hidden.
He’d let you see pieces and he let you wonder and let you get comfortable then when the moment was right, he’d let you see the rest. Young-il drained the whiskey in one swallow and he set the glass on the ledge with a soft clink. He stared at his reflection in the glass in messy hair still falling forward and eyes darker than In-ho ever let them be.
“ You’re mine now.” He murmured to the city and to the girl somewhere below who thought she was finally escaping.
He laughed once.
It's perfect alignment.
Always.
…
The mirror in your tiny bathroom had never felt more judgmental. Standing there in the charcoal blazer and pencil skirt you’d dug out from the back of the closet is the business formal, as requested while turning left, then right, then left again like the outfit might suddenly confess its sins.
The blouse was crisp white, tucked neatly, top button undone because you refused to strangle yourself for a job. Your hair pulled into a low and sleek bun with minimal makeup.
You exhaled hard enough to fog the glass.
“ Stop looking like you’re about to commit fraud.” You muttered to yourself.
“ You can do this. You’ve lied to worse people than HR.”
You smoothed the blazer lapels for the hundred-and-third time. You checked the hem then adjusted the single silver stud in your ear then checked again while your nerves weren’t just fluttering and they were doing full acrobatics in your stomach.
You needed this job. You needed the paycheck, needed the routine and needed something or anything to drown out the memory of leather gloves on your throat and a hard cock pressed against your spine in a rotting factory at midnight.
You also needed to never see Oh Young-il again.
Because if the CEO turned out to be him or if those sharp eyes and that slow and knowing smirk were waiting behind the desk while you were going to combust on the spot. It's awkward didn’t begin to cover it and you still hadn’t decided whether you wanted to punch him or climb him.
You grabbed your bag, gave the mirror one last glare, and left before you could change your mind.
…
Gangnam Finance Center rose like a middle finger to gravity. Forty-two stories of smoked glass and steel arrogance. You tilted your head back, mouth falling open as you stood on the sidewalk, craning to see the top.
“ Holy shit.” You breathed.
“ That’s…excessive.”
You’d known Oh Enterprises was big. You hadn’t known it was this big.
The lobby was colder than a morgue. The marble floors, towering ceilings, and a reception desk the size of a small yacht. Security eyed you like you might be carrying explosives in your sensible heels.
“ Interview.” You said while flashing your phone with the confirmation email.
“ 42nd floor.”
They scanned then nodded and they let you through. The elevator ride felt eternal while your palms were damp. You wiped them on your skirt, fixed your posture, and practiced your polite smile in the mirrored wall.
By the time the doors opened on 42, your heart was trying to escape through your ribs. A woman in a tailored navy suit which is Ms. Choi, according to her badge that waited just outside the elevator bank.
“ You must be our 10:00.” She said, offering a small, efficient bow.
“ Right on time.”
You bowed back, deeper than necessary. “ Yes. Hi. Thank you for having me.”
She remembered your name from the email. Good sign. Then she added, almost casually.
“ The CEO will be conducting your interview personally today.”
You froze mid-step.
“ I’m sorry?”
“ His schedule opened up.” She continued smoothly.
“ He expressed interest in meeting you himself.”
Your mouth went dry. “ But…isn’t that HR’s job? Screening applicants, I mean.”
Ms. Choi’s smile didn’t falter. “ It is. But when the CEO volunteers, we accommodate. Consider it a rare opportunity. Most candidates never meet him at all.”
You forced a tight smile. “ Right. Opportunity. Not terrifying at all.”
She tilted her head. “ You seem nervous.”
“ I’m not nervous.” You lied.
“ I just think interviews should be consistent. That’s all.”
She studied you for half a second longer, then nodded. “ Fair enough. Ready?”
No.
“ Yes.”
She slid open the heavy frosted-glass door. The office beyond was obscene with the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping three sides while Seoul sprawling below like a toy city. A long black table, minimalist furniture that probably cost more than your entire life and one enormous leather swivel chair facing away from you with the back broad and familiar.
Ms. Choi cleared her throat. “ Sir, the candidate has arrived.”
A single hand lifted in long fingers and a casual flick that was dismissive. She bowed once more and left then the door whispering shut behind her.
Silence.
You swallowed then bowed anyway, even though he couldn’t see it.
“ Good morning, sir. My name is—”
The chair turned. Oh Young-il looked up at you with those same dark and unreadable eyes. The same messy hair falling forward and the same faint smirk is already curling the corner of his mouth. He leaned back while his elbows on the armrests and fingers steepled.
“ Small world.” He said softly.
Your voice died mid-sentence as he tilted his head and studied you like you were a balance sheet he hadn’t decided whether to approve.
“ Last time we met, you didn’t trust me at all.” His tone was light, almost playful.
“ You took pictures of my license plate. You practically accused me of identity theft on the side of the highway.”
Heat crawled up your neck.
He leaned forward slightly. “ Now the table’s turned. I’m the one who gets to decide whether you’re worth my time…or just another waste of it.”
You stared and he stared back. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker, and every inch between you crackled. It's the same as the factory, same as the gas station, and same as every time his eyes had found yours and refused to let go.
You forced your chin up.
“ I’m here for the job.” You said, voice steadier than you felt.
“ Not for games.”
His smirk deepened. “ Then convince me you’re more than a pretty face with a suspicious streak.”
You exhaled through your nose. “ I’m excellent at analysis. I can read patterns faster than most people read emails. I speak both languages fluently. I’ve handled high-pressure deadlines and confidentiality agreements before.”
“ Vague.” He murmured.
“ I want specifics.”
You met his gaze dead-on. “ I once traced a money trail through sixteen shell companies in three countries inside forty-eight hours. No software. Just public records and a lot of coffee. If you need someone who can spot discrepancies before they become problems, that’s me.”
A beat.
He leaned back again. “ And if I need someone who can keep secrets?”
Your stomach flipped.
“ I’ve kept the worse ones.” You said quietly.
His eyes darkened.
“ Sit.” He said.
You did while perching on the edge of the chair opposite him like it might bite. He studied you for another long moment.
“ Tell me why you left your last job.”
You almost laughed.
“ Creative differences.” You said dryly.
“ My boss didn’t appreciate my commitment to transparency.”
Young-il’s mouth twitched. “ I can respect that.”
Silence stretched again, but longer this time.
He finally spoke.
“ You’re hired.”
You blinked. “ Just like that?”
“ Just like that.” He stood then he circled the desk as he stopped behind your chair, but close enough that you could smell cedar and whiskey and danger.
His hand settled lightly on the backrest while his fingers brushing the nape of your neck through the thin layer of your bun. He's not touching your skin, but close enough to make every nerve scream.
“ Probationary period.” He murmured.
“ Two weeks. You report directly to me. You work late when I say. You keep your mouth shut about anything you see in this office. And you don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.
“ And if I do?”
His smile was slow. “ Then we’ll have a very different conversation.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears.
He stepped back. “ HR will email the contract. Start Monday. 8:00 sharp.”
You stood on unsteady legs then bowed once. “ Thank you, sir.”
He watched you walk to the door. Just before you reached it, he spoke again.
“ One more thing...”
You paused as you looked back. His eyes dragged over you.
“ You clean up nice.” He said.
You felt the heat bloom across your chest, your throat, and lower.
You didn’t answer and you just left. But the echo of his voice followed you all the way down in the elevator because you knew in bone-deep and skin-tight certainty that…
This wasn’t an escape.
This was a trap and you’d just walked right into it.
Author's Note:
Heya! Here's Chapter 3 of Double Life. I know it's been a while since I updated this, and I have a lot of stories in my drafts that are lined up, but I'm not sure which one to upload first haha.
" I will love you still from the depths of my soul."
Summary: You thought it was only temporary. Maybe it just a fleeting spark or a moment of body heat. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized he was serious and truly wanted to settle down with you. He was simply waiting for you to be ready. Then, one night at his penthouse in Hannam-dong, Hyun-pil made the evening even more special. Neither of you expected it to turn out more romantic than a candlelight dinner and a slow dance.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, HEAVY SMUT, AU, explicit content, mature language, age-gap, possessive behavior, obsession, fluff, romantic, candlelight dinner, slow dance, domestic, after care, lots of kissing, light angst, confusion, trust issue, teasing, sexual innuendo, power imbalance, sugar daddy-baby relationship, spoiling, mutual pining, erotic, heavy tension, nudity, ownership, male domination, messy, rough, dirty talk, degradation, nicknames, (M receiving), older man x younger woman (LEGAL), Dom! Jin Hyun-pil x Sub! Reader
You woke up to a body that felt like it had been through a war zone. Specifically, one waged between your thighs while the soreness had escalated overnight from “manageable ache” to “full-blown catastrophe.” Every tiny shift sent fresh heat pulsing through your overworked cunt, and a throbbing reminder that Hyun-pil had fucked you like your pussy was the only thing keeping him breathing.
It's non-stop and relentless like he’d been holding his breath for centuries and finally found oxygen.
You didn’t even try to stand while the bed had become your kingdom as the pillows fortressed around you and sheets tangled like crime-scene evidence. The bathroom trips were strategic missions in crawl, wince, shuffle, curse, and repeat.
Food? You’d starve before voluntarily moving more than necessary.
Around 2 p.m., the doorbell chimed.
You yelled from the depths of your blanket cocoon while your voice hoarse. “ It’s open! Come in and bring mercy!”
The door clicked and footsteps then that low and amused chuckle that still managed to make your stomach flip despite everything. Hyun-pil appeared in the bedroom doorway while his arms were loaded with glossy paper bags from every high-end brand in Gangnam. He took one look at you sprawled, hair a disaster, legs carefully not moving, and his smirk bloomed slow and wicked.
“ Well, damn.” He drawled while setting the bags on the dresser.
“ I said I’d make sure you couldn’t walk for days. Didn’t think you’d take it so literally.”
You glared weakly. “ This is your fault, you feral animal. My pussy feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. I blame you entirely.”
He laughed and kicked off his shoes before crawling onto the bed like he owned it. Which, at this point, he basically did.
“ Proud of my work.” He said, voice dripping satisfaction.
He leaned down then brushed a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead. “ I brought supplies. Food…an actual food, not cup ramen. New clothes that won’t chafe. Makeup, skincare, painkillers, and some topical cream the pharmacist swore would help with…overuse.”
His eyes flicked down meaningfully. “ I figured I owed you after turning you into a beautiful, bed-bound mess.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt your head.
His hand shot out fast then pinning your chin gently but firmly. “ Keep rolling those eyes at me, kitten, and I’ll flip you over and give them something real to roll back about.”
You swallowed. “ You wouldn’t dare. I can’t even spread my legs without crying.”
He grinned. “ Challenge accepted.”
“ No!” You swatted his chest weakly.
“ Calm your dick down, Hyun-pil. I’m literally out of commission. You broke me. Take responsibility and behave.”
Hyun-pil laughed again but soft this time then collapsed beside you while pulling you into his arms without asking while you winced at the movement, but the warmth of him. The solid wall of his chest that it felt too good to fight while he buried his face in the crook of your neck while inhaling deep like you were his favorite drug.
“ I miss you.” He muttered against your skin.
“ All fucking day at the office, every meeting, every email…only thing in my head was you. How you looked spread out on my sheets. How tight you got when I hit that spot. How your pussy clenched around me like it never wanted to let go.”
You smacked his shoulder, but harder this time. “ Yah! Pervert!”
He chuckled into your neck as the vibration traveled straight down your spine despite the soreness.
“ What? It’s true. I couldn’t focus and I keep thinking about coming back here, checking if you’re still leaking my cum or maybe licking it out slowly until you beg me to stop.”
“ Hyun-pil!”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes dark, sincere beneath the teasing. “ I’m serious. I wanted to cancel every meeting and stay in bed with you all day. Work can burn for all I care. But…”
He sighed while his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip. “ I have a responsibility, shareholders, and boring shit.”
You softened. “ You’re really whipped, huh?”
“ Completely.” He said with no hesitation then he pressed a kiss to your temple in gentle and reverent.
“ I never thought I’d be this gone for someone. But here I am. Bringing you care packages like a lovesick idiot. Worrying if you iced properly. Checking my phone every five minutes for a text saying you’re okay.”
You laughed. “ You’re ridiculous.”
“ Says the girl who can’t walk because I fucked her stupid.” He nuzzled closer.
“ Stay still and let me take care of you.”
He reached over the side of the bed as he rummaged in one bag and pulled out a small tub of cream. “ Turn over. Ass up…slowly.”
You groaned but obeyed while wincing the whole way as he knelt behind you and warm hands gentle then he pushed your oversized sleep shirt up. The cool cream met heated and swollen skin while his fingers massaged it in with careful strokes.
“ Better?” He asked softly.
You hummed. “ Getting there.”
He leaned down, kissed the small of your back. “ Good girl.”
The praise hit differently when you weren’t tied up and screaming. He settled beside you again then pulling you half on top of him and careful of every sore spot. One arm banded your waist while the other stroking your hair slowly while the soothing passes.
“ Sleep.” He murmured.
“ I’m not leaving until you can walk without looking like a drunk penguin.”
You snorted into his chest. “ Romantic.”
“ Practical...” He kissed your forehead.
“...and selfish. I want you healed so I can ruin you again properly.”
You smacked him one last time weakly and playfully.
He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “ Rest, kitten. I’ve got you.”
And for once, you believed him.
Completely.
…
You woke in the hazy purple of evening as the room dim except for the faint glow of Seoul’s skyline bleeding through the half-closed blinds. Hyun-pil was still asleep beside you while the chest rose slowly and steadily while the one arm slung possessively across your waist like he’d chained you to him in his dreams.
Every time you twitched so much while he grumbled low in his throat and tightened his hold then pulled you flush against the hard planes of his body.
It was disgustingly intimate.
Your heart did that stupid flutter-skip thing again.
The one that has been happening more and more lately. You stared at the silver strands falling across his closed eyes, the faint lines at the corners from years of frowning at balance sheets and boardrooms, and the way his lips parted just enough to let out soft breaths.
That this version of him, the one who kissed your temple like scripture and fucked you like apocalypse was permanent.
And you thought, with a pang that felt dangerously close to hope.
I’m actually falling for my sugar daddy.
The wish came right after, quiet and sharp.
Please don’t change. Don’t turn cold when this stops being convenient. Don’t make me regret letting you in.
Then, because apparently self-preservation was still on vacation and a much filthier thought slithered in.
You bit your lip while his grip had loosened just a fraction in sleep. Then slowly, you slid your hand down the ridges of his abdomen then past the elastic of his boxers until your palm met the thick and hot ridge of his cock.
It's already hard and it's twitching under your touch like it recognizes you.
You stifled a laugh against his shoulder.
How the fuck is he hard while unconscious? Wet dream? My name on repeat in his head?
Your curiosity and sheer brattiness won.
You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once in one lazy and light. Then again, but slower and feeling him swell even more in your grip while Hyun-pil groaned as his hips jerked once into your hand.
“ Stop…teasing…” He muttered, voice wrecked with sleep.
“ Unless you’re ready to be fucking wrecked again.”
You feigned innocence while your thumb was circling the leaking tip. “ I’m not doing anything.”
“ Bullshit.” His eyes cracked open.
“ My cock doesn’t get this hard on its own around you. It’s fucking sensitive to you. One look, one brush, or even one goddamn breath and I’m leaking. So pull your hand away, kitten, or I swear—”
You didn’t pull away. Instead you tugged his zipper down then fished him out and let his length spring free. It's angry red at the head while the veins were pulsing and a fat bead of pre-cum glistening at the slit.
Your mouth watered.
Hyun-pil hissed through his teeth. “ You little…either suck it or jerk it, but stop staring at it like it’s a goddamn museum piece.”
You smirked then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He cursed, snatched it up then glanced at the screen, and groaned louder. “ Investor. Tokyo time zone. I have to take it.”
He answered while his voice shifted to crisp and professional boardroom mode in under a second.
“ Yes, the Q4 projections are conservative, but…ah…conservative for a reason.”
You didn’t stop.
Your hand wrapped around him again in slow and teasing pumps from base to tip. Hyun-pil’s breath hitched mid-sentence while his free hand shot out and gripping your wrist in warning. You smiled sweetly up at him then you leaned down and took him into your mouth.
His entire body locked.
“ Right, the merger timeline. We’re looking at…fuck…early next quarter.” He managed while his voice cracked on the last word then he shot you a glare that promised murder and orgasms in equal measure.
You hollowed your cheeks then slid down further by taking him deeper until your nose brushed his pelvis. You gagged softly and quietly enough the phone didn’t pick it up then pulled back slowly as your tongue dragged along the underside while tracing every throbbing vein.
Hyun-pil’s knuckles whitened around the phone.
Hyun-pil’s breathing turned ragged. “ Yes, I understand the concern. We’ll…shit…circle back with revised numbers by Monday.”
You popped off just long enough to drag your tongue flat over the slit by lapping up the pre-cum like candy, then kissed down the shaft in soft and open-mouthed until you reached his balls. You sucked one gently into your mouth, rolling your tongue, then the other in all while staring up at him with wide and innocent doe eyes while he bit his fist hard to muffled the moan that tried to escape while his hips twitched upward involuntarily.
“ Apologies.” He gritted into the phone, voice strained.
“ Brief…technical issue on my end.”
You laughed softly around his balls as the vibration made him jerk then you gripped his shaft again by rubbing the leaking head against your cheek like you were comparing sizes. His cock dwarfed half your face while you giggled quietly and wickedly.
Hyun-pil’s breathing turned ragged while his free hand tangled in your hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life. You took him back into your mouth deep, messy, and gagged again on purpose this time. You sped up in bobbing, sucking, tongue swirling, and hand twisting at the base. He was close and you could feel it in the way his thighs tensed and the way his cock throbbed against your tongue.
In one last deep plunge as your nose to his pelvis then he broke. His hand clamped on the back of your head, shoving you down until your lips kissed skin. He came hard in silent and violent as the thick ropes shooting straight down your throat while he forced out calm and measured sentences to the investors.
“ Yes…I believe that covers the…contingency clauses…”
“ Perfect. I’ll have to legally send the updated terms. Thank you…yes…good night, Mr. Park.”
You tapped his thigh frantically before he released you immediately.
The second the call ended beep as he threw the phone across the room like it personally offended him. Then he hauled you up in fast and rough until you straddled his lap while your knees bracketed his hips.
“ You…” He growled while his hands gripping your ass so hard you’d bruise.
“...are a very naughty little slut.”
You grinned while you were breathless, lips swollen, and chin wet. “ I was just saying hi.”
“ Hi?” He squeezed harder while pulling you down until your soaked folds dragged along his still-hard cock.
“ You nearly made me cum in the middle of a nine-figure negotiation, you filthy tease. Look at you…drooling for it even after I fucked you raw for two days straight.”
He smacked your ass.
“ Behave.” He snarled.
“ Behave and rest. Or I’ll fuck you right now with sore pussy and all…and you’ll be limping worse tomorrow. I might even have to carry you to the ER myself just to explain how my baby girl’s cunt got so ruined.”
You whimpered in half fear and half want as your hips rocked instinctively against him.
He groaned, head falling back. “ Fuck. You’re impossible.”
You leaned down then kissed the corner of his mouth. “ You love it.”
“ I love you.” He muttered raw and unplanned like the words slipped out before he could cage them.
You froze and he also froze then he pulled you down against his chest hard while his arms were hanging around you like iron.
“ Don’t say anything.” He rasped into your hair.
“ Just…stay. Let me hold you before I ruin you again.”
You buried your face in his neck while your heart is hammering.
“ I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered.
His grip tightened.
“ Good girl.”
And in the quiet that followed while your bodies tangled, breaths syncing, and the city humming far below as you realized the wish you’d made earlier?
It might already be coming true.
…
Midnight crept in through the half-open blinds and painting silver stripes across the rumpled sheets. You stirred slowly and reluctantly because the soreness between your legs had dulled to a low and constant hum, but the warmth beside you hadn’t. Hyun-pil’s arm was still locked around your waist and being possessive even in sleep, but he wasn’t asleep.
You cracked one eye open.
He was propped against the headboard, laptop balanced on his stomach while the blue glow carving sharp angles across his face. His silver hair was messy, glasses perched low on his nose while his fingers flying across the keys in that quiet, and focused rhythm he used when the world narrowed to numbers and deadlines.
He's serious and quiet.
It's beautiful in a way that makes your chest ache.
He paused mid-sentence then he caught you staring.
You smiled in sleepiness and teasing. “ Still working? It’s literally the middle of the night, you workaholic.”
Hyun-pil’s lips curved. “ I need to finish today’s bullshit so tomorrow I can stay here. No calls. No emails. Just you.”
He closed one eye in mock seriousness. “ And making sure that pretty pussy of yours gets proper aftercare instead of me railing it again.”
Heat flooded your face. “ Yah!”
He chuckled then shut the laptop with a soft click as he set it on the nightstand then rolled toward you like a predator deciding playtime was over. Before you could protest, he bear-hugged you by full body, his arms caging and face buried in your neck.
You yelped. “ Hyun-pil!”
He peppered kisses across your cheek, jaw, throat in deliberate and ticklish. His stubble scraped like fine sandpaper.
“ Stop…your beard…tickles—!”
He pressed harder on purpose, growling playfully against your skin. “ Good. Laugh for me, kitten.”
You dissolved into helpless giggles by tapping his shoulder uselessly until he finally relented. Only to nuzzle deeper into the crook of your neck and inhaling like you were oxygen.
Your fingers found his hair as the silver strands soft as silk between them. You combed them slowly and he just…purred. It's an actual and content rumble in his chest.
You whispered half to yourself. “ I could pet you like this forever.”
“ Mm.” He pressed a kiss to your pulse.
“ Your hand fits perfectly here. Soft and warm.” His voice dropped in velvet dark.
“ It fits even better when you’re gripping it while I fuck you so deep you forget how to breathe.”
You gasped dramatically and scandalized then smacked his shoulder. “ Pervert!”
He laughed that muffled against your skin then snuggled closer while tucking you under his chin like you belonged there. The silence settled. Only heartbeats. His steady while yours is too loud and too fast.
You broke it first.
“ Hyun-pil?”
“ Hm?”
You swallowed. “ Earlier…you said you love me.”
His muscles clenched just for a second. Then he exhaled long and slow.
“ I meant it.”
You waited.
He shifted then propped on one elbow so he could see your face in the dim light. “ I know it’s fast. I know we started on a fucking website. I know you still wake up wondering if tomorrow I’ll wake up bored. If I’ll ghost. If this is just…convenient.”
His thumb traced your cheekbone. “ I know you overthink until 4 a.m. sometimes. I’ve seen the way your eyes go distant when you think I’m not looking.”
You chuckled. “ You read my mind too well.”
“ Because I'm watching you.” His thumb traced your cheekbone.
“ When someone matters, you watch. You memorize. What makes them smile. What makes them flinch? What keeps them awake. Because if you really want to be close…you learn them. Even when they’re difficult. Even when they push.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs and loud enough you were sure he heard it.
You tried for light. Playful. “ Your future partner is going to be really lucky.”
His eyes darkened. “ You’re lucky.”
You froze. “ What?”
“ If you’re ready…if you want to step out of sugar baby and daddy and into something real…you’re the lucky one. Because I already see you as mine. Partner, lover, or hatever word fits. You fit me. Figuratively.”
His gaze dropped. “ Literally.”
You buried your face in his chest while burning, shy, and overwhelmed. “ Don’t say things like that if you don’t plan to follow through.”
His hand cupped the back of your head gently but firm. “ Why wouldn’t I?”
You pressed closer then hid while your voice muffled against his skin.
“ Because I’m scared. Not because of losing the money. I don’t care about that anymore. I’m scared that…maybe right now it feels real, but six months from now, or a year, or whenever you get tired…you’ll realize I was just a phase. A warm body.”
“ And I’ll be the idiot who fell too deep while you were just…playing. You’re rich, powerful, and you could have anyone…much younger, fresher, or less complicated. And when that day comes, I’ll be left hoping for a promise you never meant to keep.”
Silence then his fingers caught your chin and tilted your face up.
“ What I said wasn’t sugarcoating.” His voice was low and rough with honesty.
“ I meant every word. I’ll choose you. Over and over. Yes, there are women out there younger. More beautiful by magazine standards and fresher, but none of them are you.”
He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip.
“ You smile like the sun just peeked through the clouds. You laugh like you’re surprised joy still exists. You overthink until you’re drowning in it and then you still try to be brave.”
“ You’re naturally beautiful without trying. Naturally chaotic without apologizing and every tiny thing you do…biting your lip when you’re nervous, rolling your eyes when I’m being an ass, or gripping my hair when I’m inside you…it makes my heart do stupid shit it hasn’t done in years.”
“ You make this stone heart…” He pressed your palm over his chest
“...skip when you smile. When you laugh. When you look at me like I’m worth trusting even though life taught you not to.”
His gaze never wavered.
“ If I ever fail you or if I break that promise…you can curse me. Hate me. Hell, kill me. I’ll deserve it. But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”
Tears pricked your eyes.
You laughed. “ You’re insane.”
“ Only for you.” He kissed your forehead and lingering.
“ So take your time. Overthink or be scared. I’ll wait. But when you’re ready…I’m claiming every part of you. No more websites. No more arrangements. Just us.”
You curled tighter against him while your heart is racing, but lighter.
“ Promise?”
He wrapped both arms around you.
“ Promise.”
And in the quiet of your tiny studio while the heartbeats were the loudest thing in the room and you believed him.
Just a little, but enough.
…
The digital clock on your nightstand glowed 4:07 a.m., red numbers mocking your insomnia. Midnight had come and gone, and now the city outside was that eerie pre-dawn hush that only distant delivery scooters and the occasional siren breaking the silence.
Hyun-pil was still propped against the headboard and laptop closed now while his arms folded behind his head like he was contemplating world domination or just the best way to ruin you again. His silver hair caught the faint streetlight filtering through the blinds, turning him into some kind of nocturnal god.
You shifted as he noticed immediately.
“ Still awake?” His voice was gravel from lack of sleep and too much growling earlier.
“ I blame you.” You muttered.
“ My body clock thinks we’re in a different time zone.”
He chuckled and sat up straighter. “ Then I’ll feed you. Early breakfast, midnight snack, or whatever you want to call it at this hour.”
You propped on your elbows. “ I’ll help.”
“ No.”
You frowned. “ I’m not paralyzed. I can chop vegetables or—”
“ Bed rest.” He pointed one long finger at the mattress like it was a royal decree.
“ You’re still sore. I made sure of that. So stay put and let me handle it.”
“ I’m fine.” You insisted and already swung one leg over the edge.
“ See? I'm moving and walking like a functioning human.”
His eyes narrowed in dark, amused, and dangerous. “ Keep being stubborn kitten and I’ll tie you to this headboard again. But this time I won’t be gentle about it.”
You froze mid-motion as the heat crawled up your neck then you bit your lip then slowly sank back against the pillows while your cheeks were flaming.
Hyun-pil’s smirk was instant.
“ Good girl.” He leaned over then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and lingering just long enough to make your heart stutter then stood.
“ Stay. Food in thirty and no arguments.”
He padded barefoot to your tiny kitchen while his broad shoulders filling the doorway. The overhead light snapped on and warm yellow spilling across the counter.
You heard cabinets open, the soft clink of a pan, and the fridge door sucking shut. He moved like he belonged there in efficiency and confidence with sleeves rolled to his elbows while his silver hair catching the light every time he turned.
You watched because you couldn’t help it. The way his back flexed when he reached for spices and the casual strength in his forearms as he cracked eggs one-handed.
The quiet focus that made him look…domestic.
Safe like someone who'd stay.
Your chest tightened in sweet ache and dangerous hope.
Before you could talk yourself out of it as you slid off the bed then winced at the pull between your thighs, but you ignored it and shuffled across the cold floor in nothing but his oversized T-shirt that hit mid-thigh. You wrapped both arms around his waist from behind as your cheek and pressed to the warm plane between his shoulder blades.
Hyun-pil stilled then he chuckled.
“ What’s this?” He kept stirring whatever was sizzling in the pan, but his free hand covered yours on his stomach.
“ Suddenly clingy at four in the morning?”
You hugged tighter. “ Maybe I’m hungry.”
“ Mm.” He turned his head just enough to catch your eye over his shoulder.
“ Hungry for food…or for something else?”
Your face burned against his back. “ Shut up.”
He laughed in quiet and rumbling through his chest into yours. “ Every woman’s secret code for ‘feed me or fuck me.’ Which one is it, kitten?”
You buried deeper. “ Both?”
“ Greedy.” He paused while the spatula hovering then set it down. He turned in your arms until you were chest to chest while his hands settling on your hips.
“ But seriously…why the sudden attachment?”
You peeked up at him through your lashes. “ You look…husband material like cooking at four a.m. while taking care of me. It’s unfair.”
His expression softened before the smirk returned. “ Husband material, huh?”
He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “ If that’s what you see when I’m making you eggs…I’ll take it.”
You pressed your forehead to his sternum. “ Don’t get cocky.”
“ Too late.”
Then, because you were apparently possessed, your hands wandered and slid up his chest then traced the hard ridges of his abs through thin fabric.
Lower then lower.
Hyun-pil sucked in a breath.
“ Kitten.” He warned as his voice dropped an octave.
“ Hm?” You purred against his spine while your fingers are dipping just under the elastic.
“ Stop being touchy...” He warned while his voice was gravel-rough.
“...unless you want me to show you exactly how touchy I can get.”
You purred in actual and involuntary sound then you kept going. But your fingers brushing the waistband of his sweatpants while feeling him thicken beneath the fabric.
He snapped.
In one smooth motion he spun you at the back to the counter while your hips pinned by his, and hands braced on either side of your head. His mouth hovered over yours and it's close enough to taste coffee and mint on his breath.
“ You really get off on pushing me, don’t you?” His voice was velvet danger.
“ You are touching me while I’m trying to be a good boy and feed you. My cock’s already hard because you can’t keep your hands to yourself when I’m supposed to concentrate.”
He stole a quick, filthy kiss while his teeth grazing your bottom lip. “ If I get distracted, you might not eat food tonight. You’ll get something else. Something thick. Something that’ll fill you up so good your stomach rounds out in nine months.”
You gasped with half-laugh and half-moan then he kissed you again but it's hungrier this time. It's deeper while his tongue sliding against yours in a slow and filthy promise and when he pulled away he caught your bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle tug then released.
“ Bed.” He ordered in voice wrecked.
“ Now. Food in thirty. Behave or I swear I’ll bend you over this counter and prove my point.”
Your eyes widened. “ You—”
He laughed and spun you around then swatted your ass once in a light and playful way.
“ Brat.” He muttered fondly.
“ Go.”
You huffed dramatically and exaggerated then stomped back to the bed (as much as one could stomp while limping). You flopped down with crossed arms and a pout he could probably see from the kitchen.
Hyun-pil glanced over his shoulder while smirking.
“ Keep pouting like that and I’ll come over there and give that mouth something better to do.”
You threw a pillow at him. It missed wildly because he caught it one-handed then tossed it back onto the couch and went back to cooking while whistling low under his breath like the smug bastard he was while you buried your face in the sheets while smiling despite yourself.
Twenty-three minutes later he appeared with a tray. Steaming rice, perfectly fried eggs with runny yolks, kimchi, sesame spinach, and a small bowl of doenjang jjigae that smelled like comfort itself. He set it on the nightstand then crawled back into bed and was careful not to jostle you too much.
“ Eat.” He ordered softly.
“ Then sleep. Then maybe…I’ll let you touch me again without punishment.”
You picked up chopsticks while still flushed and still smiling.
“ Bossy.”
“ Damn right.” He stole a piece of kimchi from your bowl.
“ Husband material, remember?”
You rolled your eyes then leaned into his side anyway. He kissed your temple, but soft this time.
“ Eat, kitten. Then let me hold you until the sun comes up.”
And just like that at 4:38 a.m., a tiny apartment, and a tray of homemade food while his arm around your shoulders while you felt something dangerously close to home.
You weren’t just falling.
You were already at the bottom and fuck if the landing didn’t feel like home.
…
Days blurred into a soft routine as your soreness fading like a bruise under careful fingers and replaced by the quiet thrill of stolen hours. Hyun-pil never missed a single end-of-shift pickup. Whether you finished at the upscale Gangnam café or the 24-hour convenience store in Mapo with his black Mercedes would materialize like magic. His engine purring while the tinted windows reflecting neon signs and him leaning against the hood in a dark coat looking like he’d stepped out of a noir film.
Tonight was no different. You slid into the passenger seat and still in your work apron while smelling faintly of coffee grounds and ramyeon broth. He didn’t comment on it then just reached over that buckled you in himself like you were precious cargo then drove.
Not toward your studio.
Toward Hannam-dong.
You raised an eyebrow. “ Another house?”
He smirked without looking at you. “ Penthouse. For better view.”
The elevator ride up was silent except for the soft ding of floors and the way his thumb kept circling the back of your hand and when the doors opened directly into the apartment, your breath caught.
It's floor-to-ceiling glass and Seoul sprawled below like spilled jewels as the Namsan Tower blinked red and Han River a dark ribbon threaded with bridge lights.
The living room was minimalist: low black leather sofas, a single abstract painting that probably cost more than your entire life savings used to be, and a fireplace that wasn’t lit because it was still summer but looked romantic anyway.
Hyun-pil shrugged off his coat. “ Drink?”
You shook your head while walking straight to the window. “ You keep trying to convince me to quit.”
He came up behind you and close enough you felt his heat through your thin shirt.
“ I keep trying because it’s logical. Your account balance could sustain you comfortably for decades. You don’t need to drag yourself through night shifts anymore.”
You turned, leaning back against cool glass. “ I want to earn my own money. Not just…spend yours. I only touch what you send for big things in rent and that emergency fund. Daily stuff? My paycheck. Always has been.”
He sighed in long, fond, and exasperated. “ You’re slowly killing yourself. Night shifts are vampiric. Awake when the world sleeps, sleeping when it lives. Your body isn’t meant for that long-term.”
You laughed. “ My body survived four jobs at once just to keep the lights on and creditors from breaking down my door. Two jobs now feels like retirement.”
His jaw tightened. “ You were killing yourself then, too.”
You stepped forward then wrapped both arms around his waist while your cheek against his chest. “ Stop worrying. I’m okay. Really.”
He embraced you back while his chin resting on your head. “ Stubborn.”
“ You love it.”
A low chuckle vibrated through him. “ I really do.”
He guided you to the wide balcony as the cool night air kissed your skin as you leaned on the railing beside him and shoulders brushing while watching the city breathe.
“ Why do rich people buy so many houses in the same city?” You asked suddenly.
Hyun-pil laughed. “ What?”
“ You had that mansion where you got jealous and fucked me stupid. Now this penthouse. Both in Seoul. Why not Jeju? Busan? Paris?”
He leaned on the railing too while his elbows touched yours. “ This one was an investment property at first. It's a prime location, insane view, and good asset appreciation. Then I saw the city from up here one night and thought…yeah. I want to bring someone here someday.”
His voice softened. “ Turns out that someone is you.”
You blushed and he noticed.
“ You're blushing again.” He teased then turned to face you fully.
“ Cute. You get all shy when I say romantic things.”
“ Shut up.” You shoved his shoulder weakly.
He caught your wrist then tugged you closer until your bodies aligned. “ Make me.”
You glared up at him half-heartedly. “ You’re impossible.”
“ And you’re beautiful when you’re flustered.”
He kissed you then one hand cupping your jaw while the other sliding to the small of your back and pressing you flush against him. There's no rush and no teeth or desperation. Just lips moving like they’d memorized each other and your fingers fisted his shirt then pulled him closer even as you rose on tiptoes.
The city lights blurred behind your closed eyelids as the wind tugged at your hair while his cologne wrapped around you like smoke. This quiet and aching tenderness was the most romantic thing anyone had ever given you.
You’d remember it forever. The tasted of him, the hum of Seoul far below, or the way his heartbeat stuttered when you sighed into his mouth and when you finally broke apart while panting and foreheads pressed together then you laughed breathless and giddy.
He laughed too and pulled you into his arms again. You fit perfectly under his chin while his heartbeat thumped steady against your ear. Neither of you spoke for a long time, just held each other while the night watched.
You whispered that barely audible. “ I don’t want this to end.”
His arms tightened. “ It won’t.”
You tilted your head back. “ Promise?”
He kissed the tip of your nose. “ Promise.”
You smiled then turned in his embrace so your back was to his chest while his arms were banding your waist and together you faced the glittering city.
“ I used to hate nights.” You murmured.
“ They felt empty. Lonely. Now…they feel like this.”
“ Like what?”
“ Safe. Full. Yours.”
He pressed his lips to your temple. “ Good. Because I’m keeping you through every single one.”
You laughed. “ Even when I’m old and gray and can’t walk without a cane?”
“ Especially then.” His voice dropped.
“ I’ll carry you. Feed you. Fuck you slow and sweet until you forget how old we are.”
You elbowed him lightly. “ Pervert.”
“ Your pervert.”
You leaned your head back against his shoulder. “ I like the sound of that.”
He hummed. “ Good. Get used to it.”
The wind picked up and it's cooler now. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over your shoulders without asking. It smelled like him in wood, spice, and safety.
You pulled it tighter. “ You really love me stubborn, huh?”
“ I love you every version.” He kissed the shell of your ear.
“ Especially the one that argues with me about working night shifts while wearing my coat at 2 a.m. on a penthouse balcony.”
You turned in his arms again until you faced him. You rose on tiptoes then kissed him once more in soft, lingering, and full of everything you hadn’t said yet. When you pulled back while your eyes are shining then you whispered.
“ Then keep loving me. All the versions.”
His thumb brushed your cheek.
“ Always.”
And under the beautiful Seoul sky that witnessed a thousand other love stories while the two of you stood wrapped in each other, wishing the night would never end.
…
The rest of the night unfolded like something out of a movie you’d have rolled your eyes at, except now you were living it, and every second felt too real to dismiss. Hyun-pil tugged you back inside the penthouse while the fingers laced with yours as the thumb stroked slow circles over your knuckles. The moment the glass door slid shut behind you and sealed out the night wind as you stopped breathing.
Candles.
Dozens of them in tea lights and slim tapers that flickering in perfect symmetry across the low dining table and white roses in a crystal vase. Two place settings while the soft jazz drifting from hidden speakers then the entire living room glowed warm gold against the dark city beyond the windows.
You gasped and turned to him. “ You…prepared this?”
Hyun-pil’s smirk was softer than usual and almost shy. “ Instead of work. Today’s special.”
Your heart did a painful little flip. “ You never said anything.”
“ Surprises are better when you don’t see them coming.” He pulled out your chair with exaggerated gallantry.
“ Sit, kitten.”
You sank down and still staring at the candles like they might vanish if you blinked as he lifted the silver cloches with a flourish. Steak in a perfect medium-rare, seared crust, and herb butter melting over the top. The twirled tagliatelle in truffle cream sauce and grilled asparagus.
Your absolute favorite meal and the one you’d rambled about three separate times while half-asleep in his arms.
Your mouth fell open.
“ You kept saying you’d kill for steak and pasta.” He said then he sat across from you.
“ Figured I’d save your life instead.”
You pressed both hands to your burning cheeks. “ You’re such a romantic. I never would’ve guessed.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table while his eyes are glittering. “ You’ve only seen the jealous and feral side. There’s more to me than pinning you to counters and making you scream.”
You laughed. “ Clearly.”
He gestured at the plate. “ Eat before it gets cold. I slaved over a hot stove for you.”
You picked up your fork, cut into the steak while the juices pooled immediately and took the first bite.
“ Oh my gosh.”
He raised an eyebrow.
You closed your eyes, humming around the mouthful. “ This is obscene. You’re lying. You didn’t cook this.”
“ I did.” He cut into his own steak with casual precision.
“ Businessman by day. Chef by…well, whenever I want to impress a stubborn girl who refuses to quit her night shifts.”
You pointed your fork at him. “ You’re spoiling me rotten.”
“ Good.” He smirked.
“ Get used to it.”
The soft music swelled about something slow and jazzy while saxophone curling through the air like smoke. You ate in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes while stealing glances at each other over candle flames.
Every time your eyes met, he smiled in a small, private, and devastating way. When your plates were nearly clean, he stood then crossed to the wine fridge and returned with a chilled bottle of vintage Krug and two flutes.
You watched him pour as the bubbles rose like tiny stars.
He handed you a glass. “ To us.”
You clinked then took a sip. The champagne was crisp, expensive, and effervescent on your tongue.
“ How is it?” He asked.
“ Still a drink.” You grinned.
“ But one that costs half my old monthly salary.”
He laughed while his head was thrown back and genuine. “ Stubborn to the end.”
You stuck your tongue out.
He set his glass down as he extended his hand.
“ Dance with me.”
You stared at it like it might bite. “ I can’t dance.”
“ Neither can I.” His smile was wicked.
“ We’ll look ridiculous together. Perfect.”
You huffed in dramatic and let him pull you up. He tugged you close in chest to chest with one hand low on your back while the other cradling yours. You swayed more than danced barefoot on cool hardwood while his heartbeat steady under your ear then he spun you once slowly and carefully.
You stumbled back into his arms, laughing, and smacked his chest. “ You liar! You’re good at this.”
“ I’m good at everything.” He deadpanned.
You blushed so hard your ears burned. “ Stop making it dirty!”
He laughed and pulled you closer while swaying gently. Your head found his shoulder again as the candles flickered and something the city glittered far below while his cologne wrapped around you like a blanket.
“ Why?” You whispered against his shirt.
“ Why all this?”
Hyun-pil’s hand slid up to cup your chin gently then tilting your face to his.
“ Because it’s been three months since you messaged me back that first ‘Hello.’”
His thumb brushed your bottom lip.
“ Three months since you turned my entire world sideways. I was…existing. Work, meetings, and empty houses. Then you came along…stubborn, sarcastic, beautiful and suddenly everything had color again.”
“ You brought light into places I thought were permanently dark.”
Tears pricked your eyes while he bit his lip like he was fighting his own.
You tried to tease through the lump in your throat. “ Cheesy.”
“ I’ll be cheesy for you forever if you let me.”
You laughed then he leaned in. The kiss started slowly as the lips were brushing and breath mingling then deepened while it's a gentle hunger as the tongues were sliding lazy and reverent. Your hands fisted his shirt as he slid into your hair and cradled the back of your skull like you were fragile and priceless. When you parted while panting and foreheads pressed then he whispered against your mouth.
“ I know something that’ll make tonight even more special.”
You blushed scarlet. “ You’re filthy.”
He laughed and kissed you again quickly and playfully then he stepped back and dropped to one knee while your heart stopped as he took your left hand gently and reverently.
“ Three months ago I paid for your time.” He said quietly.
“ Now I’m asking for your forever. No more sugar. No more arrangements. Just you and me. Real and official. My girlfriend. My partner. My woman.” His voice cracked.
“ I love you so much it hurts. Say yes. Please., Y/n.”
Tears spilled over before you could stop them while Hyun-pil’s eyes shimmered as he bit his lip harder and fought his own tears.
You nodded then managed a broken. “ Yes, Hyun-pil.”
He surged up then crushed you against him while both of you laughing and crying at once. His arms banded tight around your waist while yours looped around his neck while you buried your face in his shoulder and sobbing happily into expensive silk. He pulled back just enough to kiss you deeply and desperately while tasting salt and champagne and joy. When you parted while gasping as he rested his forehead against yours.
“ Saranghae, Y/n.” He whispered.
You smiled through tears. “ Nado saranghae, Hyun-pil.”
He kissed you again but slower this time while the hearts syncing in the quiet glow of candlelight and city night. And somewhere in the middle of that kiss and swaying gently to music only the two of you could hear as you knew…
This was the moment everything changed, not with contracts or money or jealousy. But with a whispered “yes” a ringless promise and the absolute certainty that neither of you would ever let go.
Author's Note:
Hey everyone, I’m finally back! I know it’s been back-to-back posts, but I’m catching up on the updates I missed last week since I was swamped with my studies. I finally had some time to breathe and upload the stories that were sitting in my drafts.
Thank you so much for your patience and all the support. You truly mean a lot to me. xoxo
I Don't Understand But I Luv You // Kim Gyu-pyeong
" Happiness is the same price as 'red-bottoms'."
Summary: You were not born into wealth, which is why your eomma has to work day and night just to provide for your needs. Growing up in hardship made you determined and almost desperate to rise above your circumstances and change your social status.
Then you meet Kim Gyu-pyeong, your professor. He steps into your life unexpectedly, offering support, opportunities, and even covering the things you struggle to afford. What begins as convenience slowly turns into something more complicated.
How long can you keep using a man who only wants the genuine version of you being not the ambitious, guarded one chasing money and security? And how long will it take before you realize that he is no longer just a stepping stone, but someone who has quietly become important in your life
Words: 7k+
The late shift at the small café near campus always smelled like roasted beans and faint vanilla. You wiped down the counter for the third time tonight as the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as the clock ticked past 10 PM. Your eomma thought you were buried in group reports again with another white lie stacked on the pile as your guilt gnawed at you, but so did the tuition bill sitting like a brick in your bag.
The bell above the door chimed when Kim Gyu-pyeong stepped in while his coat dusted with early autumn chill with the same as every Tuesday and Thursday. He's in mid-forties, salt-and-pepper at the temples, and always in a crisp button-down under that wool coat.
He taught literature at your university and he's your actual professor in one elective you barely passed because you were too exhausted to focus. But here, he was just the ahjusshi who ordered the same black americano, no sugar, and lingered until closing reading old novels.
“ Evening.” He said while his voice was low and steady.
He slid onto his usual stool. “ You look like you’re about to collapse.”
You forced a laugh and already pulled the shot. “ Surviving. You know how it is.”
He watched you work quietly. You’d grown used to the banter with him teasing your clumsy latte art and you firing back that his taste in coffee was tragically boring. But tonight the air felt thicker.
You set the cup down harder than intended as his foam sloshed. “ Sorry.”
He caught your wrist before you could pull away. Not tight and just enough to stop you. His thumb brushed the inside of your pulse point, accidental or not, and heat shot straight up your arm.
Your breath hitched. “ Professor—”
“ Gyu-pyeong.” He corrected you softly.
“ Here, it’s just Gyu-pyeong.”
You swallowed as the café was empty except for the hum of the fridge and your heartbeat then you tugged your hand free, but slowly.
“ You always stay this late. Don’t you have…papers to grade? A life?”
He leaned forward on his elbows. “ Grading can wait. This…”
He gestured vaguely at the dim space at you “…is more interesting.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned. “ Flattery won’t get you free refills.”
“ I wouldn't dream of it.” His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second then back up.
“ But you should know that you’re wasting talent wiping counters.”
The words landed like a slap and a caress at once. You gripped the rag tighter. “ I’m doing what I have to do. My eomma works three jobs so I can be here in prestigious school, remember? Her dream is my prison sentence.”
He didn’t flinch at the bitterness. “ And your dream?”
You hesitated since no one asked that, not really. “ To graduate. Get a job that pays enough to pull her out of that exhaustion. Maybe…leave this behind, not be the kid whose appa forgot we existed.”
Gyu-pyeong’s expression softened with something raw flickering behind his eyes. “ I came from worse. Single mother, two jobs, me sleeping on the floor so she could have the bed. I get it.”
You looked away while your throat was tight. “ Then why did you lecture me like I’m throwing my future away?”
“ Because you’re not.” He reached into his coat then pulled out a folded pamphlet as the university’s scholarship program seal stared up at you.
“ You are qualified. You're a working student with good grades despite everything and financial need documented. I sponsor part of it. I can recommend you to the dean. Full coverage. No more late shifts.”
Your hands shook as you took it. “ You’re serious.”
“ Dead serious.” He leaned closer as the counter was the only thing between you.
“ I want to see you walk across that stage next year. No more excuses. No more lies to your eomma.”
Your tears pricked fast and hot. Before you could think, you rounded the counter and threw your arms around him while he stiffened with his whole body rigid while his breath caught against your hair. You felt the hard line of his chest and the warmth bleeding through his shirt, and the faint cedar of his cologne.
You froze. Oh damn.
You jerked back, bowing low. “ I’m…I’m so sorry! I just…thank you. Really. No one’s ever…I didn’t mean—”
He caught your shoulders, gentle but firm and pulling you upright while his hands lingered. “ Don’t apologize.”
His voice was rougher now and darker while his thumbs brushed slow circles over your collarbones through your thin café polo and every nerve lit up like live wire. You stared at his mouth while he stared at yours.
“ You shouldn’t—” You started with your voice barely a whisper.
“ Shouldn’t what?” He stepped closer as the counter dug into your lower back.
“ Help you? Or want to?”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. “ Both. You’re my professor. And…old enough to be—”
“ Careful…” He murmured, but there was a smile in it.
“ Call me ajusshi and see what happens.”
You laughed. “ You’re impossible.”
“ And you’re stubborn.” His hand slid up then cupped the side of your neck.
“ But brilliant. Ambitious. Beautiful when you’re angry about it.”
The heat pooled low in your belly. You know it's wrong but your body didn’t care.
You tilted your head into his palm. “ This is a bad idea.”
“ Probably.” His thumb traced your jaw.
“ But I’ve spent weeks watching you fight. Watching you smile through exhaustion. Watching you pretend you don’t notice me staring.”
You did notice every time.
“ I can’t accept it if it comes with…strings.” You said and hating how small your voice sounded.
“ No strings.” His forehead rested against yours and close enough to feel his breath.
“ Just this…stop killing yourself. Let someone help. Let me help.”
You closed your eyes. “ And if I say yes?”
“ Then I’ll make sure you graduate. And after…” He exhaled, ragged.
“ After, we see what happens when there’s no counter between us. No shifts. No secrets.”
The tension crackled as the comedy was forgotten and only raw want left. You wanted to shove him away and you wanted to pull him closer and wanted both at once. You opened your eyes while his were dark while pupils were blown and waiting.
“ Okay.” You whispered.
“ Recommend me and help me.”
His grip tightened for one heartbeat then loosened as he stepped back and exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for years.
“ Good girl.” He said.
You shivered.
He picked up his untouched coffee. “ Lock up soon. Text me when you get home safe.”
You nodded.
At the door, he paused. “ And next time? Don’t hug me like that unless you’re ready for what comes after.”
The bell chimed behind him as you stood there while your heart was hammering and the pamphlet clutched like a lifeline. Tomorrow you’d tell your eomma you got a miracle. But tonight, you tasted something dangerous on your tongue and you wanted more.
…
The dean’s office smelled like old paper and instant coffee. You shoved the pamphlet across the counter like it was burning your fingers, Gyu-pyeong’s neat signature glaring up from the bottom corner as the secretary’s eyes widened.
“ Professor Kim’s recommendation?” She murmured and already reached for the stamp.
“ You’re fast-tracked. Exam in two days. We’ll email.”
You walked out numb while your legs were shaky. Two days later the email pinged while you were pretending to study in the library stacks.
Subject: Scholarship Examination Schedule
You have been scheduled for the merit evaluation this Friday, 2 PM. Bring ID and academic transcript.
You stared at the screen until your eyes watered then you ran home.
One week you crawled like wet cement. Every notification made your heart lurch. You barely slept or barely ate and kept catching yourself touching the phone like it might vanish.
Until it came.
Subject: Scholarship Award Notification
Congratulations. After review of your academic record, financial documentation, and examination results, you have been accepted into the Full Merit Scholarship Program effective immediately. Tuition and mandatory fees waived for the remainder of your degree. Maintain a 3.5 GPA or higher to remain eligible.
You read it three times then four.
The sob ripped out before you could stop it. Your eomma was in the tiny kitchen stirring ramyeon when you burst in while your phone thrust forward like evidence while your tears streamed hot down your cheeks.
“ Eomma…look…look…”
She dropped the spoon then read then blinked then read again then she pulled you into her arms so hard your ribs ached.
“ My baby.” She whispered while her voice was cracking.
“ My smart, stubborn baby.”
You cried into her shoulder until the noodles boiled over. She didn’t care. She just kept stroking your hair while murmuring how proud she was, how you’d done it clean, and how she always knew you would.
That night she splurged your favorite, which is samgyeopsal from the street cart near the subway, extra perilla leaves, ssamjang dripping. You ate cross-legged on the floor like when you were small and laughed through greasy fingers while she scolded you for talking with your mouth full.
She never asked who recommended you and just squeezed your hand then said. “ Focus now. Don’t let this slip.”
“ I won’t.” You promised.
“ Never.”
Monday morning the campus felt different. It's lighter like the air itself had exhaled. You spotted Gyu-pyeong first as he leaned against the literature building’s brick wall while scrolling his phone with his coat open against the crisp October wind. He looked up the second you turned the corner like he’d been waiting as you jogged over and breathless.
“ I got it.”
He straightened with his one eyebrow arched. “ Of course you did.”
You laughed. “ They emailed last week in full ride and no more night shifts or no more lying to my eomma.”
He pocketed his phone as he stepped closer. “ Told you.”
You wanted to hug him again badly. Instead you shoved your hands in your pockets.
“ Thank you. Seriously like thank you thank you thank…”
He groaned and dramatic as he rolled his eyes so hard you saw the whites. “ Yah. Stop. You sound like a broken record.”
“ But—”
“ No buts.” He flicked your forehead lightly.
“ I helped. You earned it. End of discussion.”
You rubbed the spot, pouting. “ You’re so mean.”
“ And you’re so dramatic.” His mouth twitched.
“ Cute, though.”
Heat crawled up your neck as you glanced around and no one was close.
Your voice dropped. “ I’m not stopping.”
He tilted his head. “ Stopping what?”
“ Working hard.” You met his eyes.
“ Scholarship covers tuition. Not the rest. Not the life I want. I’m getting out of this for good. Whatever it takes.”
Something shifted in his expression as the amusement faded then replaced by something darker and hungrier.
“ Whatever it takes…” He echoed.
“ It's a dangerous word.”
You stepped closer and close enough that his coat brushed your sleeve. “ I know.”
He didn’t move back. “ You’re playing with fire, kid.”
“ I’m not a kid.” Your chin lifted.
“ And you’re not my professor right now.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “ Careful.”
“ Or what?” You smiled.
“ You’ll scold me? Give me extra reading?”
His laugh was short and rough. “ You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“ Then show me.”
Silence stretched taut between you as the wind tugged at his coat and at your hair. Somewhere a bell rang as the class started but neither of you moved while his hand lifted and hesitated then two fingers hooked under your chin while tilting your face up.
“ You think you can handle me?” His voice is like gravel.
“ Think you can use me the way you’re planning?”
Your breath caught. “ I’m not using—”
“ Bullshit.” His thumb brushed your lower lip once.
“ You’ve been eyeing me like prey since the café. Don’t pretend.”
Your pulse roared in your ears and you didn’t deny it. His gaze dropped to your mouth and lingered.
“ I should walk away.” He muttered.
“ Right now.”
“ But you won’t.”
“ No.” He leaned in until his lips hovered a whisper from yours.
“ I won’t.”
You felt the heat of him, the faint cedar-and-coffee scent and the way his breathing had gone uneven.
“ Then don’t.”
For one heartbeat the world narrowed to that inch of space or to the promise of teeth and tongue and bad decisions then he pulled back.
“ Not here.” His voice was strained.
“ Not like this.”
A disappointment and triumph twisted together in your chest.
“ Scared, Professor?”
He smirked. “ I'm terrified that you’ll ruin me.”
You laughed. “ Good.”
He stepped away fully then adjusting his coat like armor.
“ Library. Third floor. Quiet section. Eight tonight and bring your ethics paper draft. We’ll…discuss revisions.”
You raised an eyebrow. “ Revisions.”
“ Among other things.” His eyes raked over you once.
“ Don’t be late.”
You watched him walk away with long strides and shoulders tense like he was fighting every step not to turn back.
Your lips still tingled where his thumb had been.
You had the scholarship.
You had a plan.
And tonight, you were going to start rewriting more than just your paper. The rest of the day blurred in classes, notes, and forced smiles. But under it all hummed something electric and something inevitable.
You weren’t poor anymore and you were just getting started.
…
The office door clicked shut behind you for the fourth night this week. Gyu-pyeong’s desk was a war zone like stacks of midterms, recommendation letters, and grant proposals threatening to avalanche. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, turning everything faintly yellow. He looked up from his laptop, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and tie loosened like he’d been strangling himself with it.
“ You’re late.” He said.
“ Traffic.” Lie. You’d been in the hallway mirror practicing the exact angle to let your cardigan slip off one shoulder.
“ Where do you want me?”
His gaze flicked to the empty chair beside him then away. “ There. Sort the third-years’ essays. Red pen for grammar, blue for content. Don’t bleed all over them.”
You dropped your bag and shrugged out of the cardigan slowly as the thin camisole underneath clung just right in the low neckline, and lace trim you’d bought secondhand because it looked expensive. You stretched, arms overhead, and back arching as the fabric rode up an inch while exposing the dip of your waist.
He cleared his throat.
“ Problem?” You asked innocently.
“ Nothing.” His voice was tighter than usual.
He shoved a stack toward you. “ Start here.”
You sat close as your thigh brushing his under the desk while he stiffened but didn’t move away. For an hour it was quiet except for pens scratching, pages turning or the occasional tap of keys, then you “accidentally” dropped your pen.
It rolled under his chair then you leaned down while hair falling forward and chest pressing against the desk edge. When you straightened while your fingers grazed the inside of his knee as you retrieved it.
“ Sorry.” You murmured while your lips curving.
His jaw clenched. “ Be careful.”
“ Always am.”
You caught him looking twice then forcing his eyes back to the screen.
Good.
The next day in the corridor outside his lecture hall, you spotted Min-ho from your study group. He's tall, has an easy smile, and always too eager.
Perfect.
You laughed too loud at something he said, touched his arm, and let your fingers linger. From the corner of your eye you saw Gyu-pyeong step out, folder in hand, and he froze in mid-stride.
Min-ho grinned. “ Are you free later? Coffee?”
“ Maybe.” You purred.
“ If you’re lucky.”
Gyu-pyeong walked past without a word. But his shoulders were rigid and knuckles white around the folder.
That night, back in the office as the air felt thicker.
“ You’re distracting.” He said suddenly.
You blinked up from the papers. “ Me? I’m just sitting here.”
“ You know what you’re doing.”
“ Do I?” You leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and your chin in your hands as the camisole dipped lower.
“ Enlighten me, Professor.”
He exhaled through his nose. “ Those boys. Min-ho. The others. They’re not serious.”
You rolled your eyes. “ And you are?”
He flinched. “ I’m saying you deserve better than someone who only wants one thing.”
You stood and rounded the desk until you were beside his chair that close enough to feel the heat off him.
“ Then who should I want? Someone who watches me all the time but won’t touch me? Someone who helps me out of pity and then acts like my dad?”
His head snapped up. “ That’s not—”
“ Isn’t it?” You leaned down as your palms flat on the arms of his chair and caged him while your hair brushed his cheek.
“ You care so much. Why?”
“ Because...” He stopped then swallowed.
“ Because you’re throwing yourself away.”
You laughed. “ I’m taking what I can get. No one else is offering.”
“ Someone is.” His voice cracked on the last word.
“ Right here. But he can’t and you know why.”
Fuck the code of ethics, power imbalance, career suicide, and all the reasons stacked like bricks between you.
You straightened. “ Then stop acting like you own me.”
“ I don’t—”
“ You do.” You stepped back.
“ You lecture. You warn. You watch. But you won’t do anything. So yeah…I’ll flirt with whoever I want. Maybe I’ll fuck one of them too. At least they’re honest about what they want.”
His chair scraped back then he stood them suddenly and he's towering. For a second you thought he might grab you. Instead his hands fisted at his sides.
“ Don’t.” He said.
“ Don’t what?” You lifted your chin.
“ Be honest? Like you?”
He looked like you’d slapped him.
You turned, snatched your bag. “ I’m done for tonight. Enjoy your ethics, professor.”
You walked out and didn’t look back as the hallway was empty and cold while your heart hammered so hard it hurt. But behind the closed door, Gyu-pyeong sank back into his chair.
“ Fuck.” He breathed.
He dragged both hands through his hair.
“ I’m sorry.” He muttered to the empty room and to the ghost of you.
“ I’m so fucking sorry.”
He stared at the spot where you’d stood, at the faint scent of your shampoo still hanging in the air.
“ She’s playing you, Gyu-pyeong.” He told himself.
“ She’s young. Desperate. Angry. She doesn’t mean it.”
But the jealousy burned anyway like an acid in his throat. Min-ho’s hand on your arm, your laugh for someone else, and the way you’d looked at him like he was nothing. He wanted to chase you, drag you back, pin you to the desk and show you exactly what he’d been holding back for weeks while kissing the defiance off your mouth until you forgot every other name.
He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
“ She’s not yours.” He whispered.
“ She never was.”
He thought of your eyes and thought of the café, your hug, and the way you’d trembled when he almost kissed you. He thought of the life you were clawing out of. The mother worked herself to the bone, the father who vanished, and the hunger in you wasn't just for money.
And he hated himself for wanting to be the one to feed it.
He dropped his head into his hands. “ You’re an idiot, Gyu-pyeong.”
Outside, you leaned against the wall ten meters away while breathing hard as your hands shook. You’d pushed too far or exactly far enough and he was cracking because you could feel it.
Jealousy was a leash and you just had to keep tugging.
You wiped your eyes, which are your angry tears, frustrated tears and victorious tears, but they didn't matter. Tomorrow you’d come back sweeter, softer, apologetic, and let him think he’d won a little ground then you’d push again.
Because you weren’t stopping, not until he broke. Not until he gave you everything like his money, status, and him.
Whatever it took.
You straightened your cardigan, smoothed your hair.
Game on.
…
The days blurred into a dangerous routine. Gyu-pyeong’s office became your second home after dark and after everyone else had gone. He told himself it was just paperwork while you told yourself it was just business. He thought you’d backed off after that fight. That the sharp edges of your flirtation had dulled, but he was wrong.
You leaned over his desk to “point out” a typo in a recommendation letter, your blouse gaping just enough that he could see the black lace bra you’d worn on purpose. Your hair fell forward, brushing his forearm.
You stayed there longer than necessary, lips close to his ear when you whispered. “ You missed a comma here, Professor. Sloppy.”
His pen froze mid-signature. “ Watch your tone.”
You smiled sweetly. “ Or what? You’ll dock my nonexistent pay?”
He exhaled hard through his nose but he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. “ Sit down.”
You were on the edge of his desk instead of the chair while your legs crossed so the hem of your skirt rode up your thigh. “ Better?”
His eyes flicked down once then snapped back to the paper like it had personally offended him. “ You’re impossible.”
“ And you’re predictable.” You reached over and plucked the pen from his fingers as you twirled it.
“ You like it.”
He snatched it back as his fingers brushed yours, lingered and neither pulled away.
“ Stop.” He said with a voice that was rough and not convincing.
You tilted your head. “ Make me.”
He didn’t. Instead, the next day a small velvet box appeared on the corner of his desk while you were sorting files. Inside a delicate silver bracelet. It's simple, elegant, and the kind you’d stared at through a boutique window two weeks ago when you thought he wasn’t looking.
You lifted it, letting it catch the light. “ What’s this?”
“ Payment.” He muttered, not meeting your eyes.
“ For overtime.”
You laughed. “ Overtime doesn’t come with jewelry.”
“ It does when I say it does.” He finally looked up and the dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept.
“ Put it on.”
You did slowly as you held out your wrist so he could see how it sat against your skin.
“ Looks good.” He said quietly.
You stepped closer. “ You’re spoiling me.”
“ I know.”
Another week. A new coat from cashmere, soft as sin that left draped over your chair in the empty lecture hall. “It’s getting cold” as the note read. It's unsigned and you knew his handwriting anyway. Then earbuds like the exact wireless ones you’d complained about wanting after yours broke during a late-night study session. Then a leather-bound planner because you’d once said your cheap one was falling apart.
Each gift wrapped in plausible deniability, professional courtesy, and mentor generosity. But the way his gaze lingered when you wore them? Anything but professional. You accepted every one with a wide, grateful smile. Inside, triumph sang. The pieces were falling into place. A little longer and you’d have enough like your savings, connections, and proof you didn’t belong in hand-me-downs and worry lines like your eomma’s.
People whispered as you heard the murmurs in hallways like She’s always in his office. Look at that necklace…bet it’s real silver. Gold digger.
You didn’t care and let them talk.
At least you were using your brain along with your face.
Until eomma noticed. You came home late with new earrings glinting under the kitchen bulb while she was washing dishes.
“ Where’d those come from?” She asked without turning.
“ Online sale. Cheap.”
She dried her hands then turned while her eyes were sharp. “ And the bracelet? The coat? The money in your wallet you think I don’t see?”
You shrugged. “ It's a part-time stuff. Helping Gyu-pyeong sunbae with paperwork and he pays well.”
Her mouth thinned. “ Ahjumma Park saw you in the high-end place in Gangnam. You and a man. He's older.”
You forced a laugh. “ That was him. Dinner after a long session. He insisted and said it was thanks for the help.”
She stepped closer. “ You’re my daughter. I know when you’re lying.”
“ I’m not—”
“ Listen to me.” Her voice cracked just a little.
“ He’s kind. I know that. The scholarship. The food. But he’s still a man. And you’re young. Beautiful. Innocent in ways he might not see.”
You bristled. “ He’s not like that. He’s not creepy.”
“ Maybe not yet.” She reached out and touched the bracelet on your wrist like it might burn her.
“ But men don’t give gifts like this without wanting something. Even good ones.”
You pulled your hand away and gentler than you felt. “ You’re overthinking. Without him I’d still be drowning in tuition. You’d still be killing yourself at three jobs. I’m helping him back. That’s all.”
She searched your face. “ Promise me you’re being careful.”
“ I am.”
“ Promise me you won’t let him take more than you want to give.”
She hugged back and didn’t believe you, but she let it go.
That night in his office, you wore the new coat. It's unbuttoned but just enough. He looked up from grading then froze.
“ Did you like it?” You asked while spinning once as the wool flared around your thighs.
His throat worked. “ It suits you.”
You walked over as you perched on his desk again but closer this time while your knee brushed his.
“ You’re losing control, Gyu-pyeong-ssi.”
He didn’t deny it and he just stared at the way the coat framed your collarbones and the way your lips curved.
“ I know what you’re doing.” He said quietly.
“ Do you?”
“ You think I don’t see it?” His hand lifted then settled on your knee.
“ The flirting. The touches. The way you smile when I give you things.”
You didn’t flinch. “ And yet here we are.”
His thumb traced a slow circle. “ I should stop.”
“ But you won’t.”
“ No.” His voice dropped.
“ I won’t.”
You leaned down while your lips a breath from his. “ Then don’t pretend you’re the hero. You’re just another man who wants something.”
His grip tightened. “ And you’re just a girl who knows how to take it.”
You smiled against his mouth and close enough he could feel it. “ Exactly.”
He pulled you in then, not gentle or not professional. His fingers threading into your hair while his mouth crashing over yours like he’d been starving for it. You tasted coffee and restraint then he finally snapped. When you broke apart while both breathing hard as he rested his forehead against yours.
“ This is wrong.” He whispered.
You touched his jaw. “ Then why does it feel right?”
He laughed. “ Because I’m an idiot who’s already lost.”
You kissed him again in slower, deeper, and let him taste the victory you didn’t name. The campus slept as the line between mentor and lover dissolved under your hands.
You didn’t care about right or wrong anymore. You only care about the weight of his wallet, the heat of his mouth, and how much further you could push before he gave you everything.
…
The office door was locked and the blinds half-drawn. The only light came from the desk lamp casting long shadows across scattered papers and the half-empty bottle of soju neither of you had touched. You straddled his lap in the leather chair and coat discarded somewhere on the floor. Your fingers toyed with the knot of his tie while his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
“ Stop.” He rasped as his voice wrecked.
“ We can’t—”
You leaned in while your lips brushing his jaw. “ You keep saying that.”
Kiss.
“ But your body’s saying something else.”
Another kiss then lower while your teeth grazing the pulse in his neck. He hissed and hips jerked up involuntarily against yours as you rolled against him and felt him harden fully beneath you.
“ Look at you…” You murmured against his skin.
“ So hard for your student. So ready to break every rule you preach.”
His fingers dug in harder. “ Don’t.”
“ Why not?” You tugged the tie loose as the silk slid free. You draped it around your own neck like a collar then pulled his head forward until your foreheads touched.
“ Once you give in, I’m yours. No one else gets this. No Min-ho. No one. Just you owning me…right here, on your desk where you grade papers and pretend you’re noble.”
His breathing came ragged with his eyes dark and his pupils blown. “ You’re playing with fire.”
“ Then burn me.” You rocked harder.
“ Or are you scared you’ll like it too much?”
Something snapped then he surged up, hands under your thighs, and lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the desk as the papers scattering and pen clattering to the floor as he shoved your skirt up then panties yanked aside in one rough motion with no preamble nor gentleness.
“ You want this? Huh?” He growled and freeing himself with shaking hands.
“ Then take it.”
You arched when he pushed in and filled you in one brutal stroke while you gasped his name while he groaned yours like a curse. The desk creaked under the force. He fucked you like he’d been holding back for years like he's chasing something he couldn’t name. You met every thrust as your nails raking down his back through his shirt and legs wrapped tight around his waist.
“ Fuck, Gyu-pyeong…” You moaned while your head was thrown back.
He buried his face in your neck and teeth on your skin. “ Say it again.”
“ Gyu-pyeong…harder…”
He gave it to you until the world narrowed to slick heat, slapping skin, and broken gasps. Until you clenched around him, crying out as you came while shaking, trembling, and his name torn from your throat. He followed seconds later as he spilled inside you with a choked sound that was half sob and half prayer. You both stayed like that for too long after the aftershocks faded. He pulled out slowly then he fixed your clothes with trembling hands and kissed your forehead like you were fragile.
“ I’m sorry.” He whispered.
You smiled against his lips. “ Don’t be.”
Weeks passed in a haze of stolen hours. His apartment now in late nights when he couldn’t stand the silence of his own place. Hotel rooms when he was too impatient to wait.
Always him giving and always you taking.
He fell hard and irrevocably.
He remembered every detail of that first night and the way your body shook when you came, how you rode him later on the chair like you’d done it a thousand times, and hips rolling in perfect rhythm while he stared up at you, wrecked and reverent. He’d gripped your waist while his thumbs pressed into the soft skin above your hipbones and memorizing the feel of you coming apart again on top of him.
He knew.
He knew you saw him as a ladder. A wallet with a heartbeat. He knew the smiles, the moans, and the whispered “I need you” were currency. And still he let you climb, because the alternative was losing you entirely.
He started carrying the ring in his pocket. It's a simple platinum band with one diamond is modest, but flawless. He’d slip it onto his pinky sometimes when you weren’t looking, twisting it, and imagining the day he could slide it onto your finger instead.
Your graduation next year when there's no more taboo and no more forbidden. Just him and asking you to stay. Promising he’d give you everything like the money, the life, and the love without you ever having to pretend again.
He just had to survive until then.
Tonight he sat alone in his apartment. You’d left an hour ago and said you had a group project. Probably another lie or probably meeting someone younger and shinier. He didn’t ask as he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it to the lamplight as the diamond caught fire. His throat closed as he pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes hard while his breathing was shallow.
“ You’re pathetic, Gyu-pyeong.” He muttered to the empty room.
He pictured you while laughing in some café with a boy who didn’t know your favorite ramyeon topping, who didn’t know how your voice cracked when you talked about your eomma, and who didn’t know the exact spot on your neck that made you whimper.
He pictured you wearing this ring while smiling, not the calculated one you gave him now, but real. He pictured you saying “yes” and then he pictured you saying “no” because all you’d ever wanted was the climb, not the man holding the rope.
A tear slipped free then another a he swiped them away angrily.
“ One year.” He told the ring while his voice cracked.
“ Just one more year.”
He slid it back onto his pinky then twisted it until it hurt. He’d wait and he’d bleed for it because even if you never loved him the way he loved you or even if you walked away the second the ink dried on your diploma, he’d still rather have this pain than nothing at all.
He closed his fist around the ring and tried not to think about how much longer he could pretend it was enough.
…
The auditorium lights were too bright while the applause was too loud, but Gyu-pyeong barely registered any of it. He stood at the back row in the faculty section with a black robe hanging heavy on his shoulders while watching you march across the stage like you owned every inch of polished wood beneath your heels. You looked radiant in the black gown, cap tassel swinging, and diploma clutched like a weapon. When the dean called your name, the crowd cheered louder than for most.
You’d graduated Summa Cum Laude and snagged the department award for outstanding thesis, even got a special mention for community service hours no one knew you’d somehow squeezed in between everything else.
He clapped until his palms stung with pride burned in his chest in sharp and bittersweet. You deserved this. Every sleepless night, every lie to your eomma, and every calculated smile you’d aimed at him. He knew the cost. Still, seeing you up there with chin high and eyes shining that made something inside him crack open wider.
After the ceremony were the families hugging, graduates taking selfies, and mortarboards sailing into the air. He searched for you in the sea of black robes while his heart was hammering like he was the one who’d just walked the stage. There in a near the fountain as you stood with your eomma. She was smaller than he remembered, but her smile was enormous while her hands clasped under her chin as she looked at you like you’d hung the moon.
He smoothed his tie and he walked over.
“ Congratulations.” He said with the voice steadier than he felt.
Your eomma turned first with her eyes widened, then softened. “ Professor Kim! You came.”
“ Of course.” He bowed slightly.
“ I wouldn’t miss it.”
She grabbed his hands while her tears were already gathering. “ Thank you. Truly. Without your help…the scholarship and the support…she wouldn’t be standing here like this. You gave my daughter a future.”
He swallowed. “ She earned it. I just…saw what was already there.”
You stood beside her and cap off now as your hair slightly mussed from the wind. You caught his eye and smirked in just a flicker and small enough your eomma wouldn’t notice.
But he did. That smirk said something like “ Pathetic. Look at you, tripping over yourself in front of my mother.”
His stomach twisted as he forced a polite smile.
“ Actually…” He said.
“ There’s one last thing. About the department paperwork we never quite finished. Could I borrow her for a few minutes?”
Your eomma waved a hand. “ Of course, of course. Go. Celebrate later.”
You followed him without a word. Down the side path, past the blooming cherry trees, and to the quiet corner behind the old music building where students rarely wandered with no cameras or no crowds, and it just wind rustling leaves and the distant echo of celebration. The second you were out of sight, he turned, then cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you like a man finally allowed to breathe.
You gasped against his mouth in half shock and half laugh then shoved at his chest. “ Yah…not here!”
He pulled back just enough to pant against your lips. “ I’ve waited two years for this moment. Let me have it.”
You rolled your eyes, but your fingers curled into his robe. “ You could’ve just said ‘congratulations, you did well’ not maul me like a starved dog.”
“ I got excited.” His thumb traced your cheekbone.
“ You were perfect up there. Flying colors. Awards. The whole damn world saw what I’ve known since the café.”
You smiled. “ Flattery again? You’re predictable, ajusshi.”
“ Don’t call me that today.” His voice dropped.
“ Not when I’m about to—”
You raised a brow. “ About to what?”
He exhaled hard then he stepped back as he ran a hand through his hair.
“ I need to say something seriously.”
You tilted your head, playful mask still on. “ If it’s about paperwork, I already shredded the last draft like you asked.”
“ It’s not.” He reached into his inner pocket while his fingers closed around velvet.
Your smirk faltered when he dropped to one knee.
You sucked in a breath. “ Get up. Someone’s going to see—”
“ I don’t care.” His voice cracked.
“ Two years, Y/n. Two years of pretending this was just…convenience. Transactions. Me giving while you taking. I told myself I could wait. That once you weren’t my student anymore, once the rules no longer applied, I could finally—”
He pulled out the box as he snapped it open when the ring caught the late-afternoon sun in platinum and a single oval diamond. It's simple and breathtaking.
Your eyes widened as you were in real shock this time.
“ I love you.” He said.
“ I’ve loved you since you hugged me in that damn café and cried like the world was ending. I loved you when you teased me, when you used me or when you looked at me like I was just another stepping stone.”
“ I endured it because I thought and I hoped that one day you’d look back and see me. Not the money nor the gifts. Me.”
He held the box higher while his hands were shaking.
“ I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll be good to you. I’ll give you everything…everything you’ve fought for and more. Just…give me a chance. Marry me.”
Silence stretched as the wind in the trees and a distant laughter from the quad. You stared at the ring then at him while he's kneeling there in his professor robes, eyes wet, and looking like a man offering his entire soul on a silver platter.
Inside your head, something cold and sharp clicked into place.
Say yes.
Say yes and his apartment becomes yours. His savings, his pension, and his life insurance. Everything. You’ll never be poor again. Never watch eomma scrub floors at dawn. Never lie awake counting won like they might disappear.
The guilt came quickly, hot and sour in your throat, but you shoved it down.
Because guilt didn’t pay bills.
Ambition did.
You swallowed as you let your lips curve into the softest and sweetest smile you’d ever given him.
“ Yes.”
His breath punched out like he’d been punched while his tears spilled over. He laughed then surged up and slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands.
It fit perfectly.
He crushed you to his chest then his face buried in your hair.
“ I love you.” He whispered, over and over.
“ I love you so much.”
You hugged him back while the smile pressed against his shoulder.
“ I know.” You murmured.
But inside…
What the hell did I just do?
The ring felt heavy, beautiful, and final.
You could already picture it in the wedding photos, the house he’d buy, and the way eomma’s eyes would light up when you told her you’d “made it.”
The way people would stop calling you gold digger and start calling you Mrs. Kim. And him while watching you every day with those same lovesick eyes and never knowing the yes had been another transaction.
You pulled back just enough to kiss him slow, deep, and performative as he melted into it like a man finally home. You let him because you’d won and the winners didn’t cry over the cost, not until the lights went out nor until the ring felt less like a promise and more like a shackle.
But that was a problem for tomorrow’s you.
Today’s you smiled brighter, laughed when he spun you once in celebration, and let him hold your hand like it was made of glass.
Today you were a graduate, a fiancée, or conqueror. And the guilt? You buried it under the weight of platinum and diamond. One day it might claw its way back up, but not today.
Today, you were finally safe.
…
The small courtroom smelled of old wood polish and instant coffee. The judge’s voice droned through the vows like he was reading traffic citations. You stood beside Gyu-pyeong in a simple white dress you’d bought online like nothing extravagant or nothing memorable. He wore a charcoal suit that fit him too perfectly while his tie knotted with the care of a man who’d rehearsed this moment in the mirror for months.
When the judge said “You may kiss the bride,” Gyu-pyeong turned to you with eyes so bright they hurt to look at. He cupped your face gently like you might shatter and pressed his lips to yours as you kissed back.
Of course you did and you always did what he needed.
The clerk stamped the papers.
You were officially married.
He grinned the entire walk to the parking garage, fingers laced tight with yours, and thumb stroking over your new ring like he couldn’t believe it was real.
“ My wife.” He said while his voice cracked on the word.
He laughed. “ I have a wife.”
You smiled. “ You do.”
He pulled you against him in the elevator with forehead to forehead.
“ I’m going to make you so happy.” He whispered.
“ You’ll see.”
You nodded against his chest and said nothing.
You didn’t tell eomma nor didn’t tell anyone.
For two months you lived in two worlds.
In his is the quiet Gangnam apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows as the king bed that still smelled faintly of new linen while the kitchen where he insisted on cooking breakfast every weekend even though you both knew you preferred instant ramyeon.
He announced the marriage quietly to his department with a small congratulations over faculty coffee while a few knowing smiles from the older professors who’d seen him pine for years. His mother cried happy tears over the video call. His sister sent a massive fruit basket with a card that read Finally, hyung.
In yours is silence. You still went home to eomma’s tiny apartment on weekends, still helped her fold laundry, still listened to her complain about the new manager at the dry cleaners. You wore the ring on a chain under your shirt when you visited. Told her you were “seeing someone nice” when she asked why you smiled at your phone more and she believed you because she wanted to.
Gyu-pyeong never pushed you to tell because he said that he understood about the timing and family and you’d do it when you were ready.
He was patient and so achingly patient.
Every morning he kissed your temple before he left for campus. Every evening he came home with small things like a new scarf because “your neck gets cold on the subway,” a book he thought you’d like, and takeout from that expensive samgyetang place you once mentioned in passing. He paid for everything without fanfare. Your nails, your hair, and the new laptop when yours finally died, but he never once asked you to contribute.
“ I want to take care of you.” He’d say while brushing hair from your face while you sat on the couch pretending to read.
“ That’s all.”
You’d nod and murmur thanks then let him pull you into his lap and hold you like you were something precious.
The nights were the worst as he thought you slept but you can't sleep. He’d curl around you after the lights went out and chest to your back while his one arm draped over your waist while his breathing would even out then soften into whispers he believed only the dark could hear.
“ I’m so damn lucky.” He’d murmur against your hair.
“ I still can’t believe you said yes. That you’re here. That you chose me.”
A pause with a shaky inhale.
“ I know you don’t…I know it’s not the same for you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But that’s okay. I can wait. I’ve waited this long.”
His fingers would trace slow circles on your stomach.
“ I just wish…someday that you could look at me and feel even half of what I feel. Not because of the money. Not because I helped. Just…me. Gyu-pyeong. The boring ahjusshi who can’t make latte art and still grades papers at 2 a.m.”
A soft and broken laugh.
“ But even if you never do…I’m still the luckiest bastard alive. Because you’re here. In my bed, wearing my ring, and calling me husband when no one else is listening.”
He’d press a kiss to the nape of your neck.
“ I love you.” He’d whisper.
“ I love you so much it hurts.”
You’d lie still with eyes open in the dark and heart twisting so hard you thought it might bruise your ribs.
Guilt wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy.
You’d turn in his arms sometimes until you faced him. His eyes would be closed, lashes dark against his cheeks, mouth soft in sleep. You’d study the lines around his eyes, the silver threading his temples, and the faint scar on his chin from some childhood fall he’d told you about once.
He looked peaceful and you hated that you could give him peace and nothing else. You’d trace his jaw with your fingertip and whisper things you didn’t mean.
“ I’m trying.”
“ I don’t want to hurt you.”
“ I’m sorry.”
He never heard.
Mornings were bickering to keep the mask in place. He’d burn toast and blame the toaster while you’d steal his coffee and call it quality control. He’d chase you around the kitchen island until you let him catch you, laughing, pinning you against the counter, and kissing you until you were breathless.
“ My wife.” He’d growl against your mouth.
“ My husband.” You’d tease back.
And for those few minutes the guilt receded. You could pretend this was real and that the flutter in your chest when he smiled was love and not shame.
But it always came back.
One night he came home late because the department meeting ran over. You were already in bed while scrolling your phone when he slipped under the covers and wrapped around you like always.
He didn’t speak for a long time.
Then…
“ I booked that Jeju trip for next month. The one with the ocean-view villa. Thought…maybe we could make some memories. Just us.”
You hummed while his arm tightened.
“ I know you’re still figuring things out.” He said.
“ I know I’m older. Not exciting. Not what you probably dreamed of when you were younger. But I’m in this. All the way. Whatever pace you need.”
You closed your eyes while he kissed your shoulder.
“ I just want you to know that you don’t have to perform for me. You don’t have to pretend. If it takes years…I’ll wait.”
A beat.
“ Even if you never love me back the same way…I’ll still choose you. Every day.”
Your throat closed then you turned as you buried your face in his chest so he couldn’t see your eyes while he held you tighter.
“ I love you.” He whispered.
You didn’t say it back. You never did, but you clung to him like you might drown otherwise. Because somewhere beneath the ambition, the calculation, the cold plan that had carried you this far…
You were terrified.
Terrified that one day he’d wake up and see the truth and terrified that when he did, the man who’d given you everything would finally realize he’d married a ghost.
The most terrified of all that you might actually start to feel something real and then you’d have no excuse left.
There's no mask, just you, him, and the wreckage of what you’d built on lies.
You pressed your lips to his collarbone as a silent apology while he sighed in content and oblivious.
“ Sleep, love.” He murmured.
You didn’t.
You never really did.
…
The Jeju wind carried salt and pine and cool against your bare arms as you stood on the wooden deck of the oceanfront cottage. Gyu-pyeong had booked the nicest one in a glass walls facing the sea, private infinity pool that spilled straight into the horizon, and king bed with sheets softer than anything you’d ever slept on.
He’d called it “our belated honeymoon” with that shy, hopeful grin, like he was still afraid you’d bolt if he said the word too loudly.
He filed a week’s leave from the university. You told your office it was a family emergency and neither of you corrected the lie out loud. The first morning he dragged you out before sunrise while insisting you see Hallasan before the crowds. Halfway up the trail he started narrating like a terrible tour guide.
“ Did you see that rock?” He pointed at a jagged boulder shaped vaguely like a turtle.
“ The legend says if you kiss it at dawn, your lover will propose within the year.”
You snorted. “ We’re already married, ahjusshi.”
“ Exactly. So if we kiss it now, maybe you’ll propose again. Upgrade me to husband-of-the-century.”
You shoved his shoulder. “ You’re ridiculous.”
He caught your hand, laced your fingers, and kept walking. His palm was warm and steady as you didn’t pull away.
Later, at the seafood market near Seogwipo, he left you at a shaded bench while he haggled with an ajumma over abalone and sea urchin. You watched him from across the stalls while sleeves rolled to his elbows, laughing at something the vendor said, and head thrown back while your eyes were crinkling at the corners.
The sun caught the silver in his hair and turned it gold until your chest did something strange. A hard and fluttering thud like a bird trapped under your ribs.
Three months of marriage and he still looked at you like that like you were the only thing worth seeing.
You told yourself it was guilt and an obligation. The same reflex that made you kiss him good morning, let him hold you at night, and wear the lingerie he bought without complaint.
You were repaying a debt. That was all.
But debts didn’t make your pulse race when he smiled at strangers and debts didn’t make your throat close when he carried the heavy tray of grilled shellfish and raw sea squirt back to you while being proud as a kid showing off a drawing.
“ Best seller.” He announced and setting it down with a flourish.
“ They said if you eat this, you’ll forget your own name.”
You rolled your eyes. “ Dramatic.”
“ Try it.”
You did. The abalone was buttery and sweet that melting on your tongue. The uni was creamy and briny and perfect as you moaned unintentionally and his gaze snapped to your mouth.
A heat crawled up your neck.
He was staring. Not hungry nor lustful. Just…soft and awed.
“ You’re beautiful." He murmured.
Your fork froze halfway to your lips as the compliment landed like a stone in still water and dripples spreading too fast.
You laughed. “ Eat your food before it gets cold, husband.”
He smiled, small and knowing, and obeyed.
Afternoon found you both on a quieter stretch of beach near Jungmun. The sun hung low and painting everything amber and rose as Gyu-pyeong insisted on photos.
“ Pose.” He said and already on one knee with his phone.
You struck exaggerated model poses like hand on hip and hair tossed until he was laughing so hard he nearly dropped the device.
“ Stop being cute.” He groaned.
“ You’re killing me.”
“ It's your fault for marrying me.”
He took another shot. “ Best decision I ever made.”
You stole the phone. “ My turn.”
He protested. “ Only three. I look old in photos.”
“ You look handsome.”
The words slipped out before you could catch them. He froze then blushed and let you snap a few. One where he was looking out at the sea, profile sharp against the sunset, one where he glanced back at you mid-laugh, and one where he just stared straight into the lens with his eyes soft and unguarded.
You lowered the phone slowly when the light hit his face just right in a golden hour magic, shadows carving his cheekbones, and turning his eyes warm brown. He looked like he’d stepped out of a movie and the kind where the music swells and the world slows.
Your breath caught.
Everything stopped. The waves, the wind, or even the weight you’d carried for years for your ambition, guilt, and calculation.
An ahjumma at the market earlier had cornered you while Gyu-pyeong paid as she’d patted your hand with rough and kind fingers.
“ Keep him.” She’d said in thick Jeju dialect.
“ Don’t stain a heart that pure with greed. See the bright side of a man, not just the shine of his wallet. Or you’ll wake up one day rich and alone.”
You’d brushed it off then and you smiled politely.
Now, staring at him while the words sank in like hooks.
He wasn’t a credit card.
He was the man who burned toast every Sunday so you could laugh at him. Who graded papers until 3 a.m. but still woke up early to make your coffee exactly how you liked it.
Who never once demanded you say “I love you” back.
Who waited patiently, stupidly, and heartbreakingly patient.
Your eyes stung until he noticed then lowered his phone.
“ Hey. You okay?”
You swallowed and nodded too fast. “ Yeah. Just…admiring the view.”
He chuckled. “ The sea or me?”
“ Both.” You said quietly.
He tilted his head as the smile fading into something gentler. You stepped closer then reached up and cupped his cheek as your thumb brushed the faint stubble there.
“ I’m sorry, Gyu-pyeong.” You whispered.
His brow furrowed. “ For what?”
“ For the past two years.” Your voice cracked.
“ For seeing you as…as a way out. A bank account with a heartbeat. For using you. For hurting you. I was so desperate to escape being poor that I didn’t see I was breaking someone who only ever wanted to love me.”
His eyes widened when you pressed your forehead to his chest and listened to his heart. It's fast, unsteady, and the same frantic rhythm yours had been beating all day.
“ I’m not too late, am I?” You murmured into his shirt.
“ To see you and to love you.”
His arms came around you like he was afraid this was a dream that might shatter.
“ You’re not late.” He said with his voice was thick.
“ I’m still here. I’ve always been here. I told you I’ll wait. Even if it takes forever. Even if you never...”
“ I love you.”
The words tumbled out as he went still then you pulled back just enough to look up while his eyes were wet and shining.
“ Say it again.” He breathed.
“ I love you, Gyu-pyeong.”
He laughed then crushed you to him. One hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist like he’d never let go.
“ I love you too.” He whispered against your hair.
“ God...I love you so much.”
You tilted your face up then he met you halfway.
The kiss was soft at first like both of you were testing if this was allowed then deeper and hungrier. His fingers threading into your hair while your hands fisting his shirt as the sunset painted you both in fire and rose and waves crashing like applause.
When you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard, and he smiled in the same smile he’d worn the day you said yes in front of the judge.
“ Does this mean I get to call you my wife without wondering if you mean it?” He teased.
You laughed. “ You’ve always been allowed. I was just too stupid to admit it.”
He kissed your temple. “ Not stupid. Scared. There’s a difference.”
You leaned into him, arms around his waist while watching the last sliver of sun slip below the horizon.
The guilt wasn’t gone. It might linger for years in quiet echoes of every lie and every calculated touch. But for the first time, it didn’t drown out everything else.
You felt his heartbeat under your cheek and yours answered with fluttering, yes, but no longer confused.
Just in love.
With the patient, ridiculous, and beautiful man who’d waited for you to catch up.
You whispered against his collar. “ Thank you for not giving up.”
He squeezed you tighter.
“ Never.” He said simply.
In the fading light of Jeju, with the sea singing and the sky turning violet, you believed him. You stayed like that tangled together on the sand, his arms your anchor, and your heartbeat finally matching his.
For the first time in years, the weight on your chest wasn’t guilt.
It was a possibility.
You weren’t sure when it had shifted maybe the ahjumma’s words, maybe the sunset on his face, or maybe the thousand quiet ways he’d loved you without demanding anything back.
But it had.
And for once, you didn’t fight it.
You just held on.
Author's Note
I’m back after disappearing for a week! I was really busy because it was midterm exam season. I had to seriously grind and study hard since the subjects this second semester are no joke...they’re absolutely intense.
Summary: Your best friend is the object of your hopeless romanticism, and you constantly hope that he will notice you.
" I don't want to be your friend, I want to kiss your neck."
Warning: Angst, In-ho being In-ho, teasing, hopelessly romantic (reader), forbidden love, jealousy, best friend zone, unresolved conflict, grammatical errors
Have you ever wondered why, every time you look at someone, the world seems to slow down? How the sunlight kisses their face, making their beauty glow even more? How the mere thought of their lips brushing against your skin sends a shiver down your spine?
That sensation—the way your stomach flips as butterflies roam freely inside you—is intoxicating. But no matter how strong it feels, you have to bury it deep. Even though love should never be something to hide.
After all, there’s nothing wrong with falling for a longtime friend—the one who’s been by your side through every high and low. The one who loves you for who you are, flaws and all, without hesitation or conditions.
But his love? It’s different. It’s not the kind that keeps you up at night, wondering if he feels the same. It’s not the kind that lingers in stolen glances or makes your heart race. No, his love is the kind he gives to everyone. You want to feel jealous, to claim something more, but the only label you hold in his life is friend.
Hwang Jun-ho.
You’ve known him for nearly a decade now, ever since high school, when he became your seatmate and never left your side after learning your name.
You know everything about him—even the most disturbing, embarrassing stories he wouldn’t dare share with anyone else. And in return, he knows all of yours. There’s no shame between you, no fear of judgment, because he trusts you completely.
You practically live at his house, spending more time there than on your own. Watching movies, cleaning up after him, playing with his pets—it all feels so natural, like a second home. His mother adores you, often teasingly asking if Jun-ho is finally courting you.
If only. If he did, you wouldn't hesitate for a second. But instead, his mother only chuckles at your flustered reaction, admitting that Jun-ho struggles to express romantic feelings.
And then she tells you something that shatters you.
He likes someone else.
Your heart clenches painfully at the thought. He’s the one who’s always given you strength, the one who made you feel brave enough to face the world. And yet, the man you’ve secretly loved for so long dreams of loving someone else.
You swallow the pain, push it deep where it won’t be seen.
A voice pulls you back to reality. You jolt, nearly falling off your chair, but strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.
You look up, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, only to see In-ho—Jun-ho’s older brother. He smirks as he steadies you, shaking his head playfully before sitting down beside you, taking up the rest of your chair.
“ You seem lost in thought today. Wanna share? I’m all ears.” His dark, knowing eyes settle on you.
You pout. “ It’s nothing. Just a project. I’m struggling with ideas.”
In-ho chuckles, and you frown before punching his arm, making him wince while laughing quietly.
“ Why are you laughing, huh?” You snap.
“ Because you looked so serious, like you were contemplating life itself… over a project.” He shakes his head, amused.
You glare at him, but deep down, you know he’s right.
Over the years, you’ve become close to Jun-ho’s entire family—even In-ho, despite his reputation for being distant. Somehow, he’s become a regular part of your life, teasing you endlessly and criticizing everything from the way you talk to the way you dress.
Especially when you wear short dresses to parties.
He always acts like a strict father, lecturing you about the dangers of going out late and dragging Jun-ho with you. It’s infuriating. He gets under your skin like no one else.
And yet…
“ I know that look.”
You snap your head toward him, raising an eyebrow.
In-ho smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “ It’s a love problem.”
You roll your eyes, but his stomach tightens at the sight. His thoughts are dangerous—ruining whatever self-control he has left. He shifts slightly, subtly adjusting his position to hide the effect you have on him.
He watches you, studying every detail—your eyes, your lips, the way you chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re frustrated.
And in that moment, one thought fills his mind.
Jun-ho is a fool.
If his brother doesn’t wake up soon, someone else will take his place.
And maybe—just maybe—that someone will be him.
In-ho nudged you playfully. “ Come on, don’t be shy around me. I already know most of your secrets—what’s one more?” His tone was light, but there was an edge of curiosity in his voice. He wanted to know what was on your mind, and he wasn’t going to let it go.
You sighed deeply, pressing your lips together before finally giving in. “ Fine.” You muttered, your voice laced with sadness.
Turning to face him, you met his gaze directly.
For a moment, In-ho forgot how to breathe.
Your eyes held him captive, drawing him in deeper than he intended. If only you would look at him like this forever.
“ Don’t tell anyone. Especially your mom and Jun-ho.” You warned.
In-ho smirked, raising a hand in surrender. “ I swear, not a word.”
You exhaled sharply, gathering your thoughts. “ Before I spill the tea, I have a question for you.”
He nodded, leaning in slightly, intrigued. “ Go for it.”
You hesitated, then asked, “ Since you’re a guy… how do you know when you really like someone? I mean, what makes the difference between liking someone and just… liking any random girl?”
In-ho nearly choked on his own spit.
Of all the things you could’ve asked, this was the one?
The irony wasn’t lost on him—his crush was sitting right in front of him, asking how men show interest, completely oblivious to the fact that he had been giving her signs all along.
He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. He had to be careful. If he confessed too soon, there was a real chance you’d pull away from him—and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.
“ Uh…well.” He started, clearing his throat. “ If a guy really likes you, he’ll make it obvious.”
You scoffed and nudged him before giving his arm a light slap. “ That’s the most useless answer ever!” You grumbled.
In-ho burst into laughter, his deep chuckles making your irritation grow.
“ Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” You snapped, crossing your arms in a pout.
“ Relax.” He teased, still grinning. “ Getting worked up like that? Big turn-off. Just saying.”
Your pout deepened, and for a split second, he had to fight the urge to pinch your cheeks. Why do you have to be so damn cute?
“ Alright, alright. I’ll give you a real answer.” He said, finally sobering up. “ You know someone truly likes you when they’re sincere. It’s not just about their actions—it’s about the way they do things for you. You can’t just look at the surface. You have to see what’s underneath.”
You chewed on your lip, processing his words. “ But what if he acts that way with everyone?”
In-ho’s jaw tightened.
“ Then he doesn’t like you—not in that way.” He said bluntly.
He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours before giving it a gentle squeeze. His grip was warm, steady.
“ Listen.” He said, his voice softer now. “ If a guy really likes you, he won’t hesitate. He’ll show you. He’ll tell you. There won’t be any room for doubt.”
His dark eyes shimmered under the moonlight, sincerity etched into every word.
Then, just as quickly as he had taken your hand, he let it go.
And with a quiet sigh, he added, “ Don’t assume unless it’s clearly stated.”
Because the truth was, he wanted you to know.
But he wasn’t ready for you to run away.
Not yet.
The night air was cool, the distant hum of cicadas filling the silence between you and In-ho. You sat side by side on the back porch of his house, your knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around them as if that could somehow hold you together.
And then, you finally said it.
“ I like Jun-ho.”
The words spilled out before you could stop them, before you could even consider taking them back. Your throat tightened, and you blinked rapidly to fight back the sting of tears.
In-ho, sitting beside you, barely reacted. He only took a slow inhale, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He had known—some part of him had to have known—but hearing you say it aloud felt like a punch to the gut.
You sighed, dropping your forehead against your arms. “ And it sucks.” You muttered, voice laced with frustration.
In-ho swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral. “ Why?” His voice was quieter than usual.
You let out a humorless chuckle. “ Because I feel so stupid. I keep falling for a guy who probably sees me as nothing more than a childhood friend. I tell myself it’s fine, that I can live with it, but then he does something—anything—and suddenly, my heart just…” You trailed off, exhaling shakily.
In-ho clenched his fists.
“ He’s so kind.” You continued, oblivious to how every word felt like a blade pressing deeper into him.
“ Not in a forced way, but in that natural, effortless way. He listens to me, even when I ramble about the dumbest things. He always makes sure I eat when I forget. And God, he’s so stupidly handsome.” You laughed bitterly.
“ Like, how is it fair that he gets to be that perfect?”
In-ho didn’t laugh.
He was too busy clenching his jaw, his fingers digging into his jeans to keep from reaching for you—to shake you, to make you see him instead.
Instead of him, you were sitting here, pouring your heart out over his younger brother.
It made him feel pathetic.
It made him furious.
It made him jealous.
You sniffled, rubbing at your eyes before turning to him. “ You probably think I’m ridiculous, huh?”
He forced a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “ Ridiculous? No. Hopelessly romantic? Definitely.”
You groaned, burying your face back in your arms. “ God, I hate this. I hate feeling like this. It’s like… no matter what I do, no matter how much I try, he’s never going to see me the way I see him.”
In-ho let out a slow breath, forcing down every selfish thought, every bitter word that threatened to slip past his lips.
He doesn’t deserve you.
He’s blind if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.
You’re wasting your love on the wrong Hwang brother.
But he didn’t say any of that.
Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your shoulder before giving it a firm squeeze. “ Then stop trying.” He murmured.
You looked up, eyes glossy. “ What?”
His heart ached at the sight of you—so hopeless, so heartbroken over someone who would never feel the same way.
He gave you a small, almost sad smile. “ If he hasn’t seen you by now, maybe he never will.”
You swallowed, his words sinking into your chest like lead. “ Then what am I supposed to do?” You whispered.
In-ho hesitated, then finally let himself be selfish for just a second.
He reached out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, lingering for a moment longer than he should have.
“…Maybe it’s time to start looking at someone else.”
He hoped—prayed—that one day, you’d realize that the love you were waiting for had been sitting right beside you all along.
You let out a snort, clapping your hands as if he'd just told the funniest joke in the world. “ Me? Start looking at someone else? Please! Every guy these days is absolute trash.” You declared with exaggerated drama.
In-ho scoffed, crossing his arms. “ Not all of them,” he shot back, clearly unimpressed.
Wiping away tears of laughter, you continued to giggle. “ How could I even look at someone else when I’m this into your brother? Even if I tried, I’d still end up liking Jun-ho—no matter what.”
In-ho scoffed, exhaling sharply as he rubbed his temple. “ You’re unbelievable.” He muttered, his voice laced with frustration.
You smirked, tilting your head. “ What? Did I hurt your ego? Or are you just jealous?” you teased, nudging his arm playfully.
His expression darkened, and instead of his usual sarcastic quip, he turned to you with something more intense in his eyes. “ Jealous?” He repeated, his voice quieter, heavier. “ You think this is about jealousy?”
Your smirk wavered as the air between you shifted. “In-ho…”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment before stepping closer. “I just don’t get it.” He admitted, his tone raw with frustration.
“ Why him? Why Jun-ho? Of all the people in the world, why do you have to love someone who—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as if the rest of the sentence physically pained him.
You swallowed hard. “ Because I do.” You whispered. “ Because no matter what happens, no matter how complicated things get, my feelings for him won’t just disappear.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “ And what if he’s not who you think he is? What if one day, he lets you down? What if you wake up and realize you gave everything to someone who never planned on staying?”
You stiffened. “ Why are you saying this?”
His gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw something flicker behind his usually guarded eyes—something dangerously close to hurt.
“ Because I’ve seen it happen before.” He murmured. “ And I don’t want it to happen to you.”
The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, but before you could say anything, he scoffed, stepping back as if shaking off whatever moment of vulnerability had just slipped through.
“ Forget it.” He muttered.
“ Do whatever you want.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding, your thoughts racing, and the undeniable feeling that you had just missed something important—something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.
A/N: Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)
Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)
In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)
I didn’t expect this story to take off and reach so many people. When I first started writing on Tumblr, I thought no one would read it since I didn’t have any followers to boost my posts. But the unexpected happened, and I’m so grateful to be part of this rollercoaster ride and to have made it all the way to the end of the story.
I read all your comments and reblogs. Your feedback and even your constructive criticism truly mean a lot to me. I’m so happy that you’re enjoying the story, and I genuinely take your advice to heart. Your comments often make me laugh, and they honestly brighten my day.
If I hadn’t decided to upload and share this story, I probably wouldn’t be where I am now, still writing and creating.
Thank you so much for all the support and love you’ve given me. I appreciate every single one of you. I love you guys so much! 💖
" And hell is in my mind, and your beauty has made me forget."
Summary: Your relationship with Gwi-ma grows deeper every day. You both believed it would last forever, but you soon realize that it won’t be that simple. The divine laws between your two worlds will determine how you face the consequences of your choices.
You can choose the same path and risk putting each other in danger, or you can take separate paths so that one of you may be saved. It is a painful decision, but for the sake of love, you must choose what is best for each other.
Months slipped by like stolen hours. Sundays became sacred as you dragged Gwi-ma with his human guise flawless while his brown eyes hid gold through every corner of the city you loved.
He tried human foods for the first time and nearly moaned at the vinegar dip. He learned to slurp buko shake without brain freeze (barely). He stood barefoot on the sand at the beach, watching cargo ships crawl across the horizon, and whispered that the sea still smelled the same as it did centuries ago in salt and blood and endless want.
Weekdays were softer. After work you’d collapse onto your bed as he’d appear in smoke, already shedding the glamour, and horns curling back as he pulled you against his chest.
You treated him like an oversized plushie. Your arms around his waist while your face buried in the crook of his neck where he smelled faintly of smoke and something ancient and sweet. He’d purr while his claws tracing idle patterns on your spine while you scrolled memes on your phone.
You taught him TikTok then he laughed at the first “skibidi toilet” edit.
He growled at thirst traps featuring shirtless men. He tried (and failed) to make a dance video with you with his tail kept flicking into frame until you both dissolved into helpless laughter.
Your parents noticed the change.
On one rainy Tuesday evening you sat them down at the dinner table and said the words.
“ I have a boyfriend.”
Your mom’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth with your dad’s eyebrows climbed.
“ Gwi-ma.” You added quickly.
“ The guy who came here before. We’re…official now.”
Silence stretched.
Your mom exhaled slowly. “ He seems…intense.”
“ He is.” You admitted.
“ But he’s good to me. Respectful. Patient.”
Your dad rubbed his jaw. “ You’re old enough to choose. But—”
His gaze sharpened. “ No funny business. No getting pregnant. No…touching. Not until there’s a ring from the church and God’s blessing.”
You nodded while the sweat prickled your nape.
“ Yes, Dad.”
They reluctantly accepted. Gwi-ma was invited to Sunday lunch the following week. He arrived in perfect human form in polite, charming, and complimenting your mom’s foods like he’d tasted ambrosia.
Your dad watched him like a hawk while your mom kept glancing at the crucifix above the doorway.
They never suspected.
They never knew that same man had already ruined you in every filthy, reverent way possible. That he’d knotted inside you more times than you could count or that he’d spilled inside you during his last heat because demons in rut don’t think about mortal consequences.
You hid it all, but the guilt sat like wet concrete in your chest.
And then the shadows started. At first you thought it was Gwi-ma like he’s playing, teasing, and curling black smoke around your ankles while you brushed your teeth.
But the shadows moved wrong. They lingered after he left and they whispered.
It began as goosebumps then words. One night, after Gwi-ma had kissed you goodnight and vanished back to his den while you sat alone on your bed with your phone dark.
A voice slithered from the corner, not Gwi-ma’s. It's older and colder like gravel dragged across bone.
“ Once you lie with a demon, mortal, you burn.”
You froze.
“ There is no love. Only illusion. They weave desire into your mind until you forget what truth tastes like.”
Your necklace flared hot.
“ Run while it’s early. Call a priest. Let holy water sear the mark from your skin.”
The shadow thickened and almost formed a shape.
“ If it’s too late…you drag him down with you. And hell has no peace. Only screams. Only fire. Only the King’s laughter while your pretty demon burns for breaking every law.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“ Gwi-ma is weak.” The voice hissed.
“ A petty incubus playing house. The real power never shows his face. He moves through sin. Through greed. Through every bad deed you mortals commit so willingly. He doesn’t need to appear…he only needs to wait.”
The shadow laughed.
“ And he’s waiting for you both.”
Then gone as you sat in the dark and shook for a long time. When Gwi-ma returned the next evening in human guise while carrying a plastic bag of foods he’d learned to buy on his own, he found you curled on the bed with your knees to your chest.
He dropped the bag then crossed the room in two strides as he knelt.
“ What happened?”
You told him every word. His face went still and dangerously still, but his golden eyes bled through the brown contacts.
He didn’t speak for a long minute.
Then. “ They’re trying to scare you.”
You swallowed. “ It worked.”
He cupped your face as his claws retracted and thumbs stroking your cheeks.
“ I won’t let them touch you.”
“ But if they’re right…if this is all illusion—”
He kissed you hard as he cut the words off. When he pulled back his eyes were blazing.
“ Does this feel like an illusion?” He growled.
“ Every time I knot inside you…every time you scream my name does that feel fake?”
You shook your head. “ No.”
“ Then trust it.”
He pulled you into his lap as he wrapped you tight.
“ I’m not weak.” He said against your hair.
“ Not when it comes to you. Let them come. Let the King send his messengers. Let hell itself try to take you.”
His arms tightened. “ I’ll burn it all down first.”
You buried your face in his neck while breathing him in smoke, sin, and safety.
“ I’m scared.” You whispered.
“ I know.”
He kissed your temple. “ But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”
Somewhere in the dark as the shadows stirred again.
Watching.
Waiting.
But inside your room, tangled in each other while your heartbeats syncing and you chose to believe him. Because illusion or not…
This felt real and you weren’t ready to let it go.
...
Gwi-ma materialized in the heart of his den with a soft crack of displaced air. The crimson walls pulsed once welcoming then stilled. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, and already tasting the echo of your laughter from the seawall hours earlier.
About the fishballs, your teasing smile, and the way your fingers had tangled in his hair while the sunset painted you gold.
He almost smiled when he saw the shadow. It waited in the throne’s seat as it sprawled like it owned the place. There's no form, just a deeper black against the flickering red and eyes like dying coals.
The air turned thick and sour with old sulfur and judgment. Gwi-ma’s claws flexed as he curled into fists until the knuckles bleached white.
“ You…” He snarled.
“ Why did you show yourself to her? Why did you scare her?”
The shadow’s smirk was audible.
“ Because you lowered yourself, little incubus.” The voice slithered from everywhere and nowhere.
“ You bent your knee to a mortal. Made vows. Wore a leash of gold and called it love. You broke the codex. Again.”
Gwi-ma stepped forward while his tail was lashing once.
“ I warned you months ago.” The shadow continued.
“ But you ignored it, but you were stubborn. Always stubborn. And now the King knows.”
Gwi-ma’s laugh was sharp and dangerous.
“ Then let him come for me. Leave her out of it.”
The shadow rose in formless yet towering.
“ That’s why I’m here.” A pause then almost gleeful.
“ To fetch you. The King requests an audience.”
More shadows peeled from the walls, maybe four or five coiling like oil slicks given teeth as they moved faster than thought.
Gwi-ma snarled, then he lunged, but it's too late. Black tendrils snapped around his wrists, his ankles, and his throat. He roared, thrashing, tail whipping, and claws slashing through nothing but smoke, but the shadows tightened.
One wrapped his neck like a noose then squeezing just enough to choke the air from his lungs. Another clamped something cold and heavy around his throat.
A collar.
It's a black iron veined with crimson runes. The moment it locked, every muscle in his body locked too. He couldn’t move, couldn’t shift, and couldn’t even twitch his tail.
The runes burned while searing his skin, his essence, and binding demons to demon law.
Gwi-ma’s growl turned ragged in half pain and half fury as the first shadow drifted closer but it's almost gentle now.
“ Good luck.” It whispered.
“ I hope the King doesn’t kill you outright. Though...after what you’ve done? After swearing to protect a mortal? After refusing to break her like the rest?”
He laughed. “ You’ll beg for death long before he grants it.”
The shadows yanked. Gwi-ma’s body lifted in weightlessness and helpless then dragged backward through the air like a puppet on frayed strings.
He fought in every instinct screaming, but the collar burned brighter with each struggle. The pain lanced down his spine in white-hot, and endless.
He thought of you.
Your laugh at the market.
Your fingers in his hair.
You whispered “Yours” against his lips.
The shadows pulled harder as the throne room blurred in crimson bleeding into black. He snarled your name in one last and desperate sound before the darkness swallowed him whole.
The den went silent. There's no purr, no growl, and no smoke curling from the corners. Just an empty throne and the faint lingering scent of fishballs and halo-halo.
And the echo of a promise he might never keep.
…
Gwi-ma hit the obsidian floor hard in knees first, then palms, then forehead. The impact cracked something inside him, but the collar around his throat burned hotter and drowned the pain in white fire. The shadows shoved him down again when he tried to rise while their grips were iron-cold and unbreakable.
The throne room of the King stretched endless as the black stone veined with molten gold and ceiling lost in churning smoke. A roaring pit of lava dominated the center, flames tall as towers, and heat so thick it felt like breathing glass.
All the gathered demons. There's hundreds of them then bowed low and foreheads kissed stone while Gwi-ma stayed on his knees, head up, and defiant.
A shadow fisted his hair then yanked his head back until his throat stretched taut.
“ Look.” It hissed.
The lava pit erupted. A column of fire exploded skyward in crimson and black then parted like curtains.
A silhouette stepped through.
It's massive, the red skin like cooling magma, cracked and glowing while horns spiraling upward like blackened thorns then tail thick as a tree trunk as it tipped with a blade of obsidian.
The King. He didn’t walk, but he glided. Each step cracking stone beneath him. When he reached the edge of the pit he knelt once to mock reverence then rose laughing.
The sound rolled like thunder made of broken bones. One of his favored lieutenants, a towering red brute while dropped to one knee before him, laughing too, and the mockery sharp and gleeful.
The King’s eyes in endless black, no whites, and no pupils that fixed on Gwi-ma.
“ My favorite little pet.” He purred. His voice is like grinding tectonic plates.
“ How pleasing to see you again.”
Gwi-ma’s jaw clenched so hard his fangs cut his own lip while the King tilted his head.
“ But it seems my pet has been very naughty. Tasting a pure little mortal who accidentally rang the dinner bell. Keeping her. Making vows. Wearing rings. Playing house.” He laughed again.
“ You’ve gone soft, incubus.”
Gwi-ma’s voice came out raw. “ Stay away from her. Punish me and leave her out of it.”
The King’s laughter cut off like a blade. He moved too fast for something so massive and backhanded Gwi-ma across the face.
The crack echoed. Gwi-ma’s head snapped sideways as the blood sprayed from his split lip while the shadows tightened their hold and keeping him upright.
“ How disrespectful.” The King murmured.
“ Ordering your King.”
His claws are longer than Gwi-ma’s entire forearm as it gripped Gwi-ma’s chin then forced his gaze upward.
“ I can do whatever I want.” The King said softly.
“ No one can stop me. No one can beat me.”
He leaned closer while his breath was like a furnace exhaust.
“ I could fuck her right now. In front of you, Gwi-ma. Let you watch while I split her open. Then melt her flesh from her bones with my fire. Drop what’s left into the pit so you can listen to her scream for eternity.”
Gwi-ma’s growl turned feral while his teeth bared and blood dripped.
The King only smiled.
“ Why?” He asked.
“ Why this fascination with a weak little mortal? They break so easily. One whisper of power and they scatter like rats.”
Gwi-ma spat blood onto the floor.
“ Mortals might be weak.” He rasped.
“ But they have something you’ll never understand. Something you’d give anything to feel…even for a second. That’s why you hate them. That’s why you collect them like broken toys.”
The King’s eyes narrowed then he laughed in cold and hollow.
“ Love?” He mocked.
“ Demons don’t love. We have hearts, yes, but they pump rage, hunger, and conquest. Not this…vulnerable filth you mortals wallow in.”
He leaned closer while his voice dropping to a whisper.
“ We were made to conquer worlds. Not to spread flowers and hold hands like the fucking angels I crushed under my heel.”
He straightened. A whip materialized in his hand then a lava braided into cord, glowing white-hot, and dripping molten stone.
He stood then the first lash cracked across Gwi-ma’s back. His skin split and his flesh peeled then Gwi-ma grunted while his body jerked against the collar’s hold.
The second lash.
Third.
Tenth.
Hundredth.
Each strike carved deeper as his muscle was exposed, bone glinting through shredded purple skin, and blood pooled beneath him into black and steaming.
The gathered demons laughed while watching their fallen brother writhe, but Gwi-ma didn’t scream. He snarled through every strike while his eyes fixed on some distant point at your face behind his lids.
The King finally stopped as the whip dripped and sizzled on stone. He knelt and almost intimate then his claws tilting Gwi-ma’s ruined face upward.
“ Last warning, pet." His voice velvet over razors.
“ Break the bond. Shatter the pact. Rip the ring from her finger and leave her mind blank of you. Do it, or taste endless death. I’ll melt you slowly in the cage that's left in the deepest vault where no light reaches. You’ll rot there. Forever.”
He leaned closer while his breath scorching Gwi-ma’s torn cheek.
“ And when I’m bored…I’ll visit her then show her what a real demon can do.”
Gwi-ma’s lips peeled back from bloody fangs.
“ You touch her…” He rasped.
“...and I’ll drag every last one of you down with me. Even if it takes eternity. Even if I burn first.”
The King stared then laughed again. “ Brave words for a collared dog.”
He stood then the shadows yanked Gwi-ma upright..
“ Take him to the pit.” The King ordered.
“ Let him think. Let him remember who he serves.”
The shadows dragged him backward and toward the lava’s edge, but Gwi-ma didn’t struggle. Instead, he only whispered one thing in soft and broken that meant for no one but the dark.
“ I’m sorry, Y/n.”
Then the pit swallowed him as the throne room echoed with the King’s laughter and the distant with the endless roar of fire.
…
Days bled into one another. You woke each morning reaching for warmth that wasn’t there. The right side of your bed stayed cold. There's no smoke curling from the corners, no low purr vibrating against your spine, no claws tracing lazy hearts on your hip while you scrolled your phone, and no teasing growl when you laughed at a dumb meme.
Gwi-ma was gone.
You told yourself he was busy. He might be dealing with “demon business.” He’d vanished before in hours or sometimes a day, but never like this. He is never silent and he is never without a single curl of black smoke or a whispered “mine” against your throat.
You tried calling his name in the dark, but nothing. You touched the necklace, it was still warm sometimes like an ember refusing to die, but the ring on your finger felt heavier each day like it was mourning.
You stopped sleeping properly and you stopped eating properly. Your parents noticed and asked if you were okay, if “that boy” had done something. You smiled too brightly then said work was stressful and said you were fine.
You weren’t.
Then one night after the three weeks after the market, after fishballs and sunset promises, a loud thud shook your floorboards.
You jolted upright while your heart was in your throat. A black smoke boiled from the corner in thicker and wilder than usual then parted.
Gwi-ma staggered into existence.
He looked…
Destroyed.
His purple skin torn open in deep and ugly gashes that crisscrossed whip marks weeping black blood. One horn cracked near the base and his tail dragged limp behind him.
The collar in black iron veined crimson was gone, but raw burns circled his throat like a brand. He swayed, clutched the wall then sank to one knee.
You were across the room before you registered moving.
“ Gwi-ma—”
He lifted his head. His golden eyes dimmer than you’d ever seen them then his one bloodied hand reached and trembled while cupping your cheek.
“ I’m fine.” He rasped.
“ I just…needed to see you.”
“ You’re fucking bleeding.” You choked.
“ There are wounds…deep ones and your skin—”
He smiled. “ I’ll heal.”
You grabbed his wrist, but you felt the tremor in it.
“ What happened?”
He exhaled. “ I had to take care of some…problems. In my world.”
You searched his face but you saw the lie, the exhaustion, and the fear.
“ Tell me.”
He looked away, then he spoke.
“ I have to stop this.”
Your heart dropped.
“ What?”
“ Whatever this is.” He gestured between you weakly.
“ You and me.”
You frowned while catching your breath.
“ Why are you saying that now?”
He reached for your hand and he held it like it might shatter.
“ I faced the King.”
Your stomach turned to ice.
“ He…punished me.” A bitter laugh.
“ He gave me the last warning. Next time it won’t be whips. It’ll be eternity in a cage no one can find.”
He lifted his gaze while his eyes wet and glowing faintly.
“ I’ve never been scared. Not once. Not in centuries. Not through wars. Not through betrayal. Not even when they collared me and dragged me to the pit.”
His voice cracked.
“ But you…you came into my life. And now I’m terrified. Every second. Of what they’ll do to you. Of what I can’t stop.”
Tears burned your eyes.
“ You’re joking.”
“ I wish I was.”
He squeezed your hand harder.
“ I thought I was strong enough. I thought I could fight them. Protect you. But I’m not. I’m just…a weak variation. A pet who forgot his place. The only way to keep you safe is to stay away.”
“ No.”
You shook your head while your tears spilling.
“ You can’t—”
“ I have to.”
His thumb brushed your cheek while smearing your tears with his blood.
“ My kind won’t stop. Even if you wear every protection from their enemies or the ones you serve…they’ll find a way. They always do.”
You sobbed. “ I can protect myself—”
“ You can’t.” His voice cracked again.
“ Not from them. Not from what they’ll do to get to me through you.”
He pulled you closer while his forehead to yours.
“ I promised I’d never hurt you. I never force you. I will never break you.”
He swallowed. “ So I’m breaking my own heart instead.”
You clutched his torn hanbok and turned your knuckles into white.
“ Don’t leave me, Gwi-ma.”
“ I have to.”
He kissed you softly and desperately one last time.
The tasted of blood and smoke and goodbye. When he pulled back while his eyes were shining as he whispered something in Latin.
“ Te amo.”
I love you.
Then fingers brushing your cheek one final time.
“ I’ll always watch over you. Centuries if I have to. I’ll wait. Until our worlds cross again.”
A smoke curled then he vanished. You collapsed while sobbing into the empty sheets and clutching the ring like a lifeline.
The room felt colder, darker, and wrong.
You whispered his name over and over like a prayer he’d never hear. But somewhere deep in a crimson pit, collared and bleeding, he heard you.
And he waited.
Because demons don’t die of broken hearts, they just burn quieter.
…
Days after Gwi-ma vanished, your room became a tomb. You locked the door, you refused meals, and curled on the bed in yesterday’s clothes while his scent long faded from the sheets and whispered his name like a broken rosary.
“ Gwi-ma…”
Over and over.
A prayer no saint would answer.
You knelt on the hardwood floor and your knees got bruised while your hands clasped so tight your nails drew blood.
“ Please…” You begged the crucifix above your desk.
“ Let me see him again. Just once. I’ll do anything. I’ll repent. I’ll never ask again. Just…please.”
Silence.
The kind that cuts deeper than any scream.
Your parents noticed. At first they thought it was heartbreak, ordinary and human. They left tea outside your door, knocked softly, and whispered “agi” through the wood.
Then came the night you shattered. You sat at the dinner table while your eyes hollow, hands shaking, and the dam broke.
“ He’s gone.” You said with a voice flat and dead.
“ Gwi-ma and I…we’re over.”
Your mom’s fork clattered while your dad’s jaw tightened. You didn’t wait for questions and you told them everything, almost.
That he left suddenly. That he said it was to protect you. That you didn’t understand why. That it felt like dying while your heart still beat.
You didn’t mention horns or collars or kings who whip with lava.
You cried until your throat bled raw, but your dad poured you a shot of soju.
You drank.
One shot became three.
The room tilted as you laughed then sobbed again.
“ I just want the pain to stop.” You slurred.
“ The whole universe hurts.”
Your mom held you while you cried into her shoulder while your dad stared at the wall but said nothing. That night you passed out on the living room couch and still whispered his name in your sleep.
And every night after that, you died a little more. Your heart is still functioning, but the rhythm is gone.
Meanwhile deep in a crimson pit, Gwi-ma was set free. The King had tired of watching him bleed. The collar snapped open and the other wounds were knitted and left pale scars across purple skin.
But his heart stayed torn, bleeding, and raw.
He returned to your world.
Every night he stood at your window in human guise discarded, horns low, and tail curled tight around his own ankle like self-punishment.
He watched you cry yourself to sleep.
He watched you kneel while praying to the enemy whose name burned his tongue. He burned too every time you whispered the holy name. His skin blistering, eyes stinging, and essence fraying at the edges.
He didn’t care.
He’d rather burn in your holiness than rot in hell’s laughter.
Some nights he reached for you and wanted to wipe your tears, but he never touched. He couldn’t because he’d promised to keep you safe and even from himself.
Until one night, the pain became unbearable. You were asleep while curled small, cheeks streaked with dried tears, and whispering his name even in dreams. Gwi-ma stood over you while tears carving tracks down his face.
He couldn’t watch you suffer anymore, not because of him. He raised a trembling hand as the Latin fell from his lips.
“ Ego te absolvo a me…obliviscere me…obliviscere nos…”
I absolve you of me…forget me…forget us…
He snapped his fingers when the power in the dark, gentle, and devastating flowed from his palm. It sank into your skin, into your mind, and into your heart.
Memories of smoke and horns and golden eyes blurred.
The feel of claws on your spine faded.
The taste of him on your tongue dissolved.
The ache in your chest and the one shaped like his name was smoothed flat.
When he finished, you sighed in your sleep.
You are now at peace.
Gwi-ma staggered back while clutching his own chest like he’d ripped out his own heart as the tears streamed silently and endlessly.
“ I’m sorry.” He whispered.
“ I’m so fucking sorry.”
He leaned down as he pressed the softest kiss to your forehead.
“ I love you.”
Then, before he could shatter completely, he made himself invisible. Not just hidden as he erased himself from your mortal sight.
Your third eye that once opened because of him was closed forever. You’d feel flickers sometimes because of a brush of warmth and a scent of smoke, but never see and never know.
He’d become a ghost in your life.
The cruelest kind, but the kind that watches and yearns and never touches.
You woke the next morning as your eyes swollen and head pounding, but strangely…lighter.
You touched your cheeks and confused why they were wet then you looked at the ring on your finger that is still a pretty gold band and frowned.
Why did it feel like mourning jewelry?
You shrugged, showered, dressed, and went to work. You smiled at coworkers, ate lunch, and lived.
But something was missing.
A heartbeat that used to sync with yours.
A purr in the dark.
A voice that called you “mine.”
You couldn’t name it. So you stopped trying.
Across the room in invisible and bleeding from wounds no one could see as Gwi-ma watched and burned. Not from holy names, but from the quiet hell of loving you in silence.
Forever.
…
Decades passed like water over stone and you lived well.
Truly.
In a quiet neighborhood in Gangnam, Seoul, where cherry blossoms dusted the sidewalks every spring and the Han River glittered under apartment lights every night.
You married Hyun-bin on a crisp October morning in a small church in Itaewon. White hanbok trimmed in gold while his hands steady when he slipped the simple platinum band onto your finger.
You cried, not from nerves, but from a sudden, overwhelming certainty that this was right.
Three children followed.
A girl first, Areum, born with Hyun-bin’s gentle eyes and your stubborn mouth. Then twins Seokmin and Tae-joon are chaotic, loud, and perfect.
Weekends were soccer games in Jamsil, late-night ramyeon runs, and bedtime stories about guardian angels and brave princesses.
You taught them how to pray the rosary when they were old enough to hold the beads. You sang hymns while folding laundry. You volunteered at the parish soup kitchen every other Saturday.
Life was good, full, blessed, and yet…
Some days the ache came. It's not sharp nor dramatic. Just…heavy. A hollow place behind your sternum that opened without warning.
You’d pause mid-sentence while chopping onions, or while watching Areum practice violin, or while Hyun-bin kissed your temple goodnight and feel it.
A sorrow so deep it felt borrowed like grief that didn’t belong to this lifetime.
You’d press your palm to your chest then breathe then whisper a quick prayer.
“ Lord, take this pain away. I don’t understand it, but I trust You.”
And the ache would ease slowly like fog burning off the river at dawn.
You kept the golden necklace. It's not around your neck anymore. You tucked it inside a velvet pouch in your jewelry box beside old baptismal certificates and the children’s first hospital bracelets.
You’d taken it off the morning of your wedding while Hyun-bin had asked about it once.
“ An ex gave it to me.” You’d said and frowning at the ruby pendant.
“ I think.”
He’d kissed your knuckles. “ Then it stays in the past.”
You tried asking your parents about it years later over Sunday lunch at their old house in Gangnam during one of your visits.
“ Mom, Dad…who gave me this necklace again?”
Your mother paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth.
“ Gwi-ma.” She said carefully.
“ Your…first serious boyfriend. The one who came to the house that one time.”
Your father nodded.
“ He's tall, polite and intense.”
You waited for the memory to spark.
Nothing.
Just a faint clench behind your ribs when the name left your lips.
“ Gwi-ma…”
The ache bloomed like pressing on an old bruise then you rubbed your chest absently.
“ I don’t remember him.”
Your mother reached across the table as she squeezed your hand.
“ Maybe that’s for the best, agi. Some loves hurt too much to keep.”
You nodded then smiled as you let the conversation drift to Areum’s upcoming piano recital. But that night, back in Seoul, you opened the pouch anyway.
You held the necklace in your palm as the ruby caught lamplight like trapped fire while your thumb traced the chain.
A whisper escaped before you could stop it.
“ Gwi-ma…”
The ache bloomed again, but deeper this time. You pressed the pendant to your lips then closed your eyes and prayed.
Not for memory.
Just for peace.
Meanwhile, Gwi-ma watched.
Always.
He stood in the corner of your bedroom while you slept while his horns low, and his tail wrapped tight around his own ankle like self-punishment.
He knelt beside your prayer corner while you whispered the rosary and flinched every time the holy name passed your lips. The sound seared him since his skin was blistering and eyes stinging, but he stayed.
He’d rather burn in your light than rot in the dark.
He watched your wedding from the choir loft while you walked down the aisle in white. He watched Hyun-bin kiss you and he watched you glow.
He didn’t flinch.
He only bled.
He watched Areum’s first steps then Seokmin and Tae-joon’s first words. Hyun-bin lifting you in the kitchen while spinning you while you laughed.
Every joy.
Every ordinary miracle.
He collected them like shards of stained glass, and every night, when the house went quiet as he stood at your bedside.
He watches you breathe and watches tears leak from closed eyes on the nights the ache comes. He never touched you nor never spoke. Instead, he just watched and yearned as he loved in the only way left to him.
Until one night, years later, you opened the pouch again. You held the necklace then whispered his name. He stood behind you while tears carving tracks down purple cheeks.
He lifted a trembling hand as the Latin fell from his lips with the same chant he’d used once before. But this time, he stopped and his fingers curled into a fist.
He couldn’t do it again.
He couldn’t erase himself twice.
So he stayed while burning quietly and loving you from the shadows. Because even if you never remembered, he would.
Forever.
And in the silence between your heartbeats, he whispered back.
“ Te amo.”
Always.
…
You are ninety-seven.
The grass beneath you is cool and damp from last night’s rain, the kind of early-spring chill that seeps into old bones but doesn’t hurt anymore, just reminds you that you’re still here and still breathing.
The wind carries the faint scent of pine and distant cherry blossoms from the park across the river. You sit with your back against the low stone wall that separates this quiet hill from the walking path below, knees drawn up as much as arthritis allows, and hands folded in the lap of your navy cardigan.
The Han River glitters far beneath you. The gray-blue under the sky is the color of old pearls. You’ve come to this exact spot every Sunday for the last fifteen years. No one asks why anymore.
Your children are now grown, married, and scattered across Seoul and Busan that simply kiss your forehead and say. “Be careful, Eomma.” Your grandchildren send photos of their own babies.
Life continues in gentle and predictable waves.
Hyun-bin has been gone for five years.
A pancreatic cancer took him quietly. He held your hand until the end, smiling even when the morphine made his words slur.
“ See you soon, jagiya.” He’d whispered as you’d kissed his knuckles and told him not to be late.
You’re not afraid of following.
You’re just…waiting.
The wind lifts a strand of silver hair across your cheek. You close your eyes as you let the river’s murmur and the distant city hum wash over you and peace settles in your chest.
Footsteps.
A man sits beside you and close enough that you feel the shift in air and far enough that propriety is preserved.
You open your eyes. He’s young, like he's on thirties or maybe early forties. All black in tailored coats, scarves, gloves, and boots. He’s handsome in a sharp, and almost otherworldly way. His dark hair swept back and skin pale against the black wool.
At first you think that he's from a cult, mourner or lost tourist.
Then he speaks. “ Why are you here, ajumma?”
His voice is low and familiar in a way that makes your sternum ache like hearing a song from childhood you can’t name.
You smile. “ This place gives me peace. I’ve come here many times. It feels…familiar. Like my heart remembers it even when my mind doesn’t.”
He nods slowly while he set his eyes on the river.
“ And you?” You ask.
A small and sad smile curves his mouth.
“ This spot is special to me too. Someone brought me here once. Showed me fishballs and sunset and how mortals laugh at nothing. It’s been my favorite place ever since.”
You turn your head. His eyes are dark brown. But when the light hits them just right, the gold flickers beneath.
Your breath catches, but he doesn’t look away.
“ It’s strange.” He says quietly.
“ Some things…you have to let them go. If you force them to stay, they vanish. Forever. I’d rather suffer eternal pain than watch the woman I love hurt because of my kind.”
Your throat tightens.
“ You should pray.” You tell him gently.
“ Whatever heaviness is on your chest…God can take it.”
He chuckles. “ I wish I were allowed.”
You frown then he stands as he looks down at you.
“ If you’d met a demon once in your life…” He asks.
“ What would you do?”
The question lands like a stone in still water, but you answer without hesitation.
“ I’d call an exorcist. Demons don’t belong in the world of mortals. They belong in hell…spreading bad deeds, manipulating hearts. They’re not meant to walk among us.”
His smile is small and sad.
“ Not all demons are bad. Some meet a mortal…and everything changes. Their perspective. Their purpose. Even their hearts.”
You chuckled.
“ Demons can’t love. They’re born from hatred. Jealousy. They don’t have souls like we do.”
He looks at you.
“ I know one who proved otherwise. Who loved so fiercely he sacrificed his own happiness to keep her safe. Who chose centuries of burning silence over one more day of watching her suffer.”
Your chest clenches like pressing on scar tissue then he glances at his watch which is old-fashioned and gold.
“ I have to go. I’ll be late.”
He bows like an old-school and respectful.
“ It was nice to meet you.”
You smiled. Then, without thinking, you recite the verse that’s lived in your heart since childhood.
“‘The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’ Psalm 34:18. May it soothe whatever pain you carry.”
His eyes shine wet for half a heartbeat.
“ Thank you.”
Then he turns and walks away, down the path while his coat billows in the wind. You watch until he rounds the bend.
Then he’s gone, not stepped out of sight.
Gone.
As though the air folded around him and swallowed. Your heart hammers like it’s trying to remember something your mind has forgotten.
You press your palm to your chest then whisper.
“ Gwi-ma…”
The name tastes like salt and smoke and something you can’t place as the ache blooms deep, familiar, and almost comforting.
You sit there until the sun dips low.
Until the wind turns cold.
Until the river turns ink-dark.
And somewhere that unseen and always unseen as Gwi-ma stands on the opposite bank. He's watching, yearning, and bleeding from wounds no whip could ever inflict. He whispers in too soft for mortal ears, too sacred for hell while his tears track silently down his unchanging face.
“ Ego te amabo in omni vita qua existis.” He whispers to the wind.
I will love you in every life you exist.
In every life.
In every silence.
Forever.
“ Vale, amor meus.”
Farewell, my love.
And for the first time in over seventy years, the invisible guardian is gone. You sit on the bench a little longer while your heart is heavy with a sorrow you will never understand. Then you stand, slowly, and begin the walk home.
Behind you, the bench is empty.
No footprints mar the frost. Only the wind remains, carrying away the last echo of a love that outlasted everything but mercy.
He disappears forever from the mortal world.
So you can rest in peace.
Author's Notes:
This is the ending of ghostBURSTer. I totally forgot that it already had a final ending until I opened my documents and found my unfinished drafts that I hadn’t uploaded yet.
Since it’s Valentine’s Day, this is my little gift to all of you. I’m not bitter, but I want you all to at least cry a little today...haha, just kidding! But seriously, enjoy this day filled with love with your friends, family, or special someone.
May love always win and may your bonds grow even stronger. Let’s spread love not only today or this month, but always.
I love you, guys! 🤟🏻♥️
POV: Your reactions to the author giving you a sad ending instead of a happy one on Valentine's Day.
You are a former journalist who now works as a criminal vlogger, recording crime scenes and sending your footage to network companies willing to take the risk of broadcasting your work. After getting into an accident caused by driving under the influence, you meet Officer Hwang. However, this policeman has a dark secret that makes you willing to risk your life again just to uncover the truth.
Will your mission be worth it, or will there be a twist after you discover the deepest part of him?
Warnings:
This is a mature story that contains strong language and explicit content, which may not be suitable for younger audiences, especially as it deals with mental health issues and violence. However, this story is purely fictional. If you feel uncomfortable or triggered while reading, please scroll past and disregard this content.
The fluorescent lights in the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s Violent Crimes Division buzzed like dying insects. Desks overflowed with coffee-ringed reports, half-eaten ramyeon cups, and the low mutter of phones ringing unanswered.
In-ho sat at his corner station while his pen scratching mechanically across yet another incident report about another drunk salaryman, and another domestic call that ended in tears instead of cuffs.
Routine, safe, and mind-numbing.
He preferred it that way.
A footsteps approached. It's Detective Tim. Broad-shouldered while perpetually chewing on a toothpick like it owed him money as he dropped a thick manila folder onto In-ho’s desk with a slap that made nearby heads turn.
“ You’re on this.” Tim said without preamble.
In-ho didn’t look up. “ I have twelve open cases already. Pick someone else.”
Tim leaned one hip against the desk, arms crossed.
“ Nah. You’re the one who can stomach this shit without puking ethics all over the floor. Serial. Eight bodies. All scumbags…rapists, traffickers, and guys who should’ve been locked up years ago. Someone’s doing the city a favor.”
In-ho finally lifted his gaze as he opened the file. The crime-scene photos started back. It's clean cuts with no mess beyond necessity. Victims bound, bled out, and left like discarded trash in places the city pretended didn’t exist.
He flipped through profiles. Names he recognized from old case files and names that made his jaw tighten.
He closed the folder.
Tim raised an eyebrow. “ You’re not gonna say it’s wrong?”
“ I’m not saying anything.” In-ho pushed the file an inch toward Tim.
“ I’m saying I’m not taking it.”
Tim snorted. “ Come on. Half the station would buy the guy a beer if we caught him. He’s cleaning the house. Making our jobs easier.”
“ Vigilantism isn’t cleanup.” In-ho said quietly.
“ It’s law-breaking with better PR.”
Tim rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “ Those bastards broke the law first. Put it in their own hands. He’s just finishing the job. Win-win.”
In-ho exhaled through his nose. “ Win for who?”
Tim studied him for longer than necessary. “ You used to live for this kind of thing. High-speed pursuits. Midnight raids. The old In-ho would’ve torn the city apart to find this guy.”
“ The old In-ho is on indefinite vacation.” In-ho leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
“ I’d rather rot behind this desk than chase ghosts through alleys again.”
Tim stared then shrugged. “ Your funeral.”
He scooped the file up. “ But when the bodies keep piling and the press starts screaming, don’t say I didn’t offer you first dibs.”
He walked away while the footsteps faded into the station’s background noise. In-ho slumped deeper into the chair as the pen in his hand felt heavier than it should while he stared at the blank incident form in front of him, but the words blurred.
He wasn’t refusing because he was tired.
He was refusing because he knew exactly who was leaving those bodies and he couldn’t or wouldn’t betray him.
Not after everything.
Years ago, In-ho's world had collapsed. His wife gone, career hanging by threads, and drinking himself blind in a Haeundae motel that he’d been the one to drag him out.
Not with lectures and not with pity. It was just a quiet presence, a bottle of soju, a place to sleep, and a reminder that surviving was still an option.
And later when In-ho had finally clawed his way back to something resembling stability with that same man had asked for nothing in return.
Until the bodies started appearing as In-ho understood the why. He understood the root, the sister, the uncle who’d walked free, and the system that had looked the other way.
He didn’t condone it, but he couldn’t hate it either.
So he looked the other way too. He covered tracks when he could, misdirected leads, and let reports get buried under paperwork.
It's small sins, but necessary sins.
He rubbed his temples as the headache bloomed sharp behind his eyes in stress, exhaustion, and guilt wearing the same face.
His gaze drifted to the small rectangular mirror propped against his monitor and the cheap thing he’d bought to check his tie before briefings as he stared at his reflection.
Tired eyes at five-o’clock shadow and the faint scar near his temple from a bar fight he didn’t remember winning.
It's normal and safe then something shifted.
The corners of his mouth curled. Not the tired half-smile he wore for colleagues, but something darker and hungrier. The eyes in the mirror sharpened while the pupils swallowed light.
The man looking back wasn’t exhausted, but he was amused and alive. In-ho’s breath caught. He knew that look since he hadn’t seen it in months and he had hoped it was gone for good. The reflection tilted its head as the smirk widening.
As if saying: You can’t outrun me forever.
A voice from across the bullpen from Detective Park and waving a coffee cup. “ Yah, In-ho! Break time. You coming or what?”
In-ho blinked. The mirror-In-ho vanished. Just tired eyes again and just him.
He forced a smile. “ Yeah. Coming.”
He stood, stretched, and walked toward the break room with the others about the jokes, complaints about overtime, and someone complaining about the new coffee machine.
It's normal, but when he passed his desk again on the way back as he glanced at the mirror.
Still just him.
For now.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, sat back down, and picked up the pen.
The headache throbbed harder, but he ignored it. Because somewhere in the city, another body would probably drop tonight. And when the call came in and when Tim or someone else shoved another file across his desk, he’d sigh, push it away, and say he was too busy with paperwork.
Again.
Because betrayal had a price and loyalty is even the twisted kind that had a higher one.
He rubbed his thumb across the scar on his temple then closed his eyes. And for just a second, the reflection in his mind smirked again.
It's wide, dark, and patient, waiting for the moment he finally stops pretending.
…
The high streets of Myeongdong were alive even at this hour. The neon signs flickering like dying stars, street vendors hawking hotteok that smelled like cinnamon and sin, and clusters of late-night shoppers laughing too loud.
You leaned against the low stone wall beside the bench while the take-out coffee scalded your palm through the thin paper cup. Min-joon stood a step away as his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets while his breath fogged in the cold.
You took a sip as you grimaced because it's too bitter.
“ I’m this close to shelving the whole damn thing.” You said, holding your thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart.
“ First case in years I can’t crack in under a month. Congratulate me. I’m achieving mediocrity.”
Min-joon snorted while he's rocking back on his heels. “ You? Giving up? That’s adorable. Next you’ll tell me you’re going to start doing yoga and drinking matcha.”
“ Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes.
“ I’m serious. This guy is a ghost. No prints. No fibers. No security footage that isn’t conveniently glitched. I’ve chased killers who left selfies at the scene. This one? Nothing. It’s like he studied the playbook and then burned it.”
Min-joon tilted his head. “ He’s too clean. That’s what’s pissing me off. Most of them get sloppy eventually in ego, fatigue or whatever.”
“ This one doesn’t even leave ego behind. It’s like he knows exactly what we’ll look for and makes sure it’s never there.”
You stared down into your coffee. “ Maybe he's an ex-law. Forensic tech. Crime-scene analyst. Someone who spent years watching how evidence gets collected, how it gets fucked up, how it gets buried. He’d know every blind spot.”
Min-joon gave a slow and lazy shrug like the kind that meant he was already three steps ahead. “ Or maybe he’s still in the game.”
You looked up. “ What?”
“ Think about it.” He gestured vaguely toward the glittering street as the patrol car idled two blocks down.
“ He knows how police move. How long it takes dispatch to respond. Which cameras are dummies or which ones actually record. He’s not just avoiding evidence…he’s anticipating procedure. Like he’s been in the room when they brief the next move.”
You felt the words settle cold in your stomach.
“ You’re saying he might be a cop.”
“ I’m saying it’s convenient timing.” Min-joon’s voice dropped as the playful edge was gone.
“ It's too good at hiding. Too good at reading the room after the fact. If I had to bet money I don’t have, I’d put it on someone wearing a badge during the day.”
You exhaled hard enough that it hurt your ribs as the ghost of the crash still lingering in your bones sometimes. “ Shit.”
“ Yeah.”
Silence stretched. You both watched a group of college kids stumble past, laughing, and oblivious. The city kept moving while you stood still and chased shadows.
You spotted the magazine first in a glossy weekly someone’s kid had abandoned on the bench. A bright cover while some idol drama headline.
You picked it up anyway then flipping pages out of a restless habit then you froze. A small sidebar article in a black-and-white photo of a man staring blankly at the camera as the headline in bold.
Dissociative Identity Disorder: When the Mind Splits to Survive
You squinted as you leaned closer.
“ Hey.” You elbowed Min-joon.
“ Read this.”
He glanced over, unimpressed at first. Then his eyes tracked the text but he didn’t shrug this time.
“ I’ve seen this one before.” He muttered.
“ I had a client two years back. Guy swore he blacked out and woke up with blood on his hands. Turned out one of his alters didn’t like being ignored.”
You frowned. “ What the hell is DID, exactly?”
Min-joon rubbed the back of his neck, the way he did when he had to explain something ugly.
“ Dissociative Identity Disorder. Used to call it multiple personality. One body, two or more distinct personalities. Each one has its own memories, behaviors, sometimes even different handwriting.”
“ The theory is the brain fractures to cope…usually heavy trauma. The kid gets hurt so bad the mind says, ‘Okay, this version of me isn’t safe anymore,’ and makes a new one to take the hits.”
You turned the page while your eyes are scanning.
He kept going. “ In most cases, the alters form to protect the host. One might be the angry one. One might be the caretaker. One might be the part that can still feel joy when everything else is numb.”
“ Sometimes they don’t even know about each other. Sometimes they hate each other.”
You looked up. “ So you’re saying our killer might be…what? One personality doing the wet work while the other one clocks in at a nine-to-five?”
“ Maybe.” Min-joon sounded cautious.
“ Or maybe the host is the quiet guy who pays taxes, and the alter is the one who decided enough was enough. The alter gets to be judge, jury or executioner. The host wakes up with no memory and no guilt.”
You stared at the photo again as the man in it looked ordinary, tired, and nothing like a monster.
But monsters rarely looked like monsters.
“ You think that fits?” You asked quietly.
Min-joon exhaled through his nose. “ It would explain the precision. No hesitation. No remorse. No trail. If the part that kills doesn’t share memories with the part that lives the normal life, there’s no guilt to trip him up. No cracks in the mask. Just…clean.”
You close the magazine as you set it back on the bench like it might bite.
“ Fuck.” You whispered.
“ Yeah.”
Another beat of silence as the wind picked up while carrying the smell of fried dough and exhaust.
You laughed once. “ So we’re hunting a guy who might not even know he’s the guy we’re hunting.”
“ Wouldn’t be the first time.”
You rubbed your face. “ I need another coffee or a lobotomy. Whichever’s cheaper.”
Min-joon smirked as the tension easing just a fraction. “ I’ll buy the coffee. You can owe me the lobotomy story later.”
You snorted. “ Deal.”
But as you both started walking toward the nearest convenience store, your mind kept circling back.
A cop.
A fractured mind.
A killer who might not remember the blood on his hands.
And somewhere in the back of your skull, a memory flickered as Hwang In-ho leaned against his patrol car, eyes too sharp, and his smirk too knowing. The way he’d looked at you like he already knew the ending of the story you were still writing.
You shoved the thought down hard, but it didn’t stay buried.
…
The dashboard lights glowed a sickly orange as the engine sputtered its last pathetic cough and died. You coasted another twenty meters before the car rolled to a pathetic stop on the shoulder of the Gyeongbu Expressway.
It's the middle of nowhere. There's no lights or no exits. It is just black asphalt stretching into darker black, and the occasional whoosh of a rare truck blasting past like it was late for the apocalypse.
“ Fuck.” You slammed your palm on the steering wheel.
“ Fuck fuck fuck.”
The fuel gauge needle sat smugly on E. You’d been driving in circles all day after Min-joon peeled off for his client meeting while trying to outrun the headache of unsolved murders, fractured minds, and the nagging feeling that the city itself was watching you.
It's the fresh air as you’d told yourself in perspective. Instead you’d ended up here. You are stranded, signal-less, and rapidly turning into the opening scene of every horror movie you’d ever mocked.
You fished your phone out, but it's zero bars. You jabbed Min-joon’s contact anyway and held it up to the windshield like altitude might magically summon service.
Nothing.
You nearly hurled the device into the backseat.
“ Great. Perfect. I’m gonna die out here and the headline will read ‘Idiot Vlogger Found Eaten by Crows Because She Thought She Could Out-Drive Exhaustion.’”
You dropped your forehead to the wheel and breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Think.
Tow truck? No signal. Walk? Five kilometers to a gas station in heels and zero visibility? Hard pass. Stay in the car and hope a serial-killer trucker doesn’t fancy a midnight snack?
A crunch.
Dry leaves. Gravel. Footsteps.
Your heart slammed into your ribs. You reached under the seat while your fingers closing around the taser you’d started carrying after the third death threat.
The plastic was cold and comforting.
Another crunch, but closer.
You clicked the safety off and your eyes squeezed shut while whispering every half-remembered prayer your halmeoni ever taught you.
Guardian angel, whatever, just don’t let me die stupid.
The footsteps stopped right outside your window then a low and rough cough as you cracked one eye open. Hwang In-ho stood there in black coat while hands in pockets and head tilted like he was mildly amused by your near-cardiac-arrest.
Your relief crashed through you so hard it hurt.
“ You absolute dick, Officer Hwang.” You hissed while lowering the taser but not putting it away.
“ Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again. I almost tased my own reflection.”
He didn’t move as he just studied you through the glass while one corner of his mouth twitched.
“ In-ho.” He said slowly while tasting the syllables like they were foreign.
“ Right.”
You snorted as you were rolling the window down an inch. “ Don’t act like you forgot your own name. Too many overtime shifts finally melt your brain?”
The man outside chuckled. Not the dry and controlled sound you remembered from the hospital or the pojangmacha. This one had teeth.
“ My name isn’t In-ho.”
You blinked.
He leaned down, forearms braced on the doorframe, and face close enough that the faint scent of leather and something darker slipped inside the car.
“ It’s Young-il. Oh Young-il.”
You stared for a beat then burst out laughing.
“ Okay, fine. You win the prank war. That was almost good. Almost.”
“ I’m not pranking you.”
You laughed harder. “ Sure. Next you’ll tell me you’re secretly a K-pop idol.”
“ I’m telling the truth.”
You sobered as you squinted at him. He has the same sharp jaw, same broad shoulders, and same eyes that looked right through you like they already knew your next three lies.
“ You’re a liar.” You said flatly.
“ Cops don’t get to play name-change games on abandoned highways.”
“ I’m not a cop.”
You rolled your eyes so hard your head hurt. “ Then who the fuck are you?”
“ Already told you. Oh Young-il.” He straightened while his hands sliding back into his pockets.
“ And I already told you I’m not a cop.”
You studied him. The coat was nicer than the one In-ho wore. There's no visible badge and no radio crackling at his hip, but the stance with his shoulders back and weight balanced like he could move fast if he wanted was identical.
“ You look exactly like him.” You said.
“ Same height. Same build. Same stupid smirk. Your parents split you at birth or what?”
He laughed again but genuine this time. “ You’re babbling.”
“ I’m stranded and possibly hallucinating. Babbling is allowed.”
“ Fair.” He glanced at your dead car then back at you.
“ What are you doing out here?”
“ I ran out of gas.” You gestured at the gauge like it personally offended you.
“ Genius move, right?”
He nodded once. “ The nearest station’s about five kilometers that way.”
“ Great. I’ll just push two tons of metal uphill in the dark. No problem.”
“ You shouldn’t leave it here long. Robbers like easy targets. They’ll strip it in twenty minutes.”
You shrugged. “ Nothing worth taking. My phone and wallet are on me. The rest can burn.”
He considered that. Then—
“ I can help.”
You raised an eyebrow. “ Yeah?”
“ I’ve got rope in the trunk. Tie it to your bumper, I’ll tow you to the station.”
You stared at him. “ You expect me to trust a stranger who claims he’s not the cop I know, has the exact same face, and just happens to be wandering a deserted highway at midnight with towing rope?”
He shrugged. “ I expect you to be practical. You’re stuck. I’m here. And I’m not a bad person.”
You snorted. “ That’s exactly what a bad person would say.”
“ True.” He smiled.
“ But your pride is taller than Lotte World Tower right now, and it’s not gonna get you gas.”
You glared while he smiled wider.
“ Fine.” You muttered.
“ Who are you really?”
“ Businessman.” He ticked off fingers.
“ MBA. Attorney. CPA. Own three companies here, two overseas. Been working eighteen-hour days for months. Came out here to breathe air that doesn’t smell like boardrooms and bad coffee. That's enough to buy a little trust?”
You narrowed your eyes. “ You sound rehearsed.”
“ I sound educated.”
“ You sound full of shit.”
He laughed again. “ Maybe. But I’m the only person around who isn’t trying to rob or kill you.”
You exhaled hard through your nose while you looked at the black road then looked at him.
“ Fine. Tow the car. But if you murder me, I’m haunting you forever. And I’ll be annoying.”
“ Noted.”
He stepped back then disappeared into the dark for a minute. You heard an engine start in smooth and expensive-sounding then headlights cut through the night.
A sleek black sedan pulled up behind your car as he got out with a coil of nylon rope then moved with the kind of calm efficiency that made your stomach dip despite yourself.
You popped the trunk. You watched him loop the rope, test the knots, and double-check tension. Every movement is precise and controlled.
When he straightened as he caught you staring.
“ What?” He asked.
“ You move like him. ” You said quietly.
He tilted his head. “ Maybe we’re related.”
“ Or maybe you’re lying through your perfect teeth.”
He smirked. “ Get in. I’ll tow you slowly. Try not to swerve.”
You climbed back into your car and left the door open so you could brake if needed. He returned to his sedan, and gave a small wave through the rear window.
The rope went taut as your car lurched forward. You kept one hand on the wheel, one on the taser, and eyes flicking between the road and the taillights ahead.
The highway unspooled in silence except for the low hum of engines and the occasional creak of rope. You didn’t know who or what you were following. But the tension sat low in your belly, hot and restless. And when his brake lights flared red at the gas station five kilometers later, you realized something worse.
You weren’t scared.
You were curious and that was far more dangerous.
…
The gas pump clicked off with a satisfied thud. You pulled the nozzle free, capped the tank, and swiped your card at the machine.
The total blinked accusingly was more than you’d spent on food all week, but at least you weren’t stranded anymore. The station’s fluorescent canopy buzzed overhead and the harsh white light carving sharp shadows across the cracked concrete.
Young-il waited beside his black sedan, arms crossed, and one hip cocked against the driver’s door like he had nowhere better to be at three in the morning.
The car looked even more expensive up close in sleek lines, tinted windows, and the kind of vehicle that whispered money instead of shouting it.
You walked over, hands shoved in your hoodie pockets, and breath fogging between you.
“ Thanks.” You said then stopped a few steps away.
“ Seriously. I was about two seconds from turning into a true-crime statistic out there.”
He pushed off the car and straightened to his full height. “ Don’t mention it. I’m glad I could help someone who actually needed it.”
You huffed a small laugh. “ And sorry. For…assuming the worst. You know, stranger-danger and all that.”
Young-il’s mouth curved. Just enough to show teeth. “ I’ve heard worse. Don’t worry about it.”
You studied him again. He has the same sharp jaw, same dark eyes that seemed to see too much, and same quiet confidence that made your pulse kick sideways.
“ One more time.” You said.
“ You’re really not Officer Hwang In-ho?”
He tilted his head. “ No. I’m not. And you keep fixating on the face when there are differences.”
“ Like what?”
“ Mannerisms, maybe. Personality, definitely.” He shrugged one shoulder.
“ You’re looking at the outside. I’m telling you the inside doesn’t match.”
You crossed your arms. “ Even the way you stand is the same. The way you talk. The way you look at me like you already know what I’m going to say next.”
He chuckled in low, rough, and different from In-ho’s drier laugh but still too familiar.
“ You’re stubborn.”
“ And you’re evasive.”
“ Fair.” He glanced at his watch.
“ I need to go. Errands. Important ones.”
You nodded as you managed a real smile this time in small, tired, and grateful. “ Thanks again. Really.”
“ Don’t die out here.” He said while he's already turning toward the driver’s door.
You watched him slide inside. The engine purred to life in smooth, expensive, and predatory as the taillights flared red.
The second his car started rolling, you yanked your phone out. Switched to camera, zoomed, then snapped three quick shots of the license plate before the sedan merged back onto the highway and vanished into the dark.
Got you.
Or so you thought.
You checked the photos immediately.
The numbers glowed in backlit, distorted, and smeared by some kind of reflective privacy film. Not a single digit legible. Just light bleeding into light.
“ Motherfucker ” You muttered in half-laughing and half-furious.
Nice try, indeed.
…
Young-il kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. The highway unspooled ahead in empty lanes and occasional headlights slicing past like knives.
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
In-ho sat in the backseat.
Not physically.
Not really.
But there as he slouched, arms crossed, and scowling like a man who’d been caught doing something stupid and knew it.
“ You’re an idiot.” In-ho said.
Young-il smirked. “ Nice try, huh?”
“ She took the plate. Three shots. Clear line of sight.”
“ And saw nothing useful.” Young-il tapped the steering wheel once.
“ Privacy coating. Standard for people who don’t like being followed.”
In-ho rolled his eyes. “ You told her your name. Your real name. You practically handed her a breadcrumb trail.”
“ I wanted her to know me.”
“ She already knows you. She thinks you’re me.”
Young-il’s smirk widened. “ Jealous?”
“ I’m not jealous.” In-ho’s voice came out clipped.
“ I’m practical. You’ve spent…what? Twenty minutes with her total? I’ve had three actual conversations. Hospital. Pojangmacha. Highway. She knows my face, my badge, my bullshit. You just gave her a new name to obsess over.”
“ Meeting is still meeting,” Young-il said lightly.
“ Every second counts.”
In-ho leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “ She’s doubting now. Good. Doubt keeps her sharp. But if you keep playing games, she’ll dig. And when she digs, she’ll find things neither of us wants found.”
Young-il’s grip tightened on the wheel. “ She won’t find anything. I have people. Connections. Layers. She’ll chase shadows until she’s exhausted.”
“ You’re underestimating her.”
“ And you’re underestimating how much I want to meet her properly.” Young-il’s tone dropped.
“ You’ve had her attention. Her anger. Her curiosity. I want my turn.”
In-ho barked a short and humorless laugh. “ You’re jealous.”
“ I’m stating facts. You got more time. More moments. More of her looking at you like she wants to either punch you or—"
“ Shut up.”
Young-il glanced at the mirror again. In-ho’s reflection stared back in tired eyes, clenched jaw with the same face but worn thinner, and more human.
“ You should stay away from her.” In-ho said.
“ Unless you want your secret crawling out. One slip…one wrong word and she’ll connect the dots. The bodies. The timing. The face. She’s good at connecting dots."
Young-il’s smile faded. “ It won’t happen.”
“ You’re arrogant.”
“ I’m protected.”
In-ho leaned back while rubbing his temples like the headache was bleeding through both of them. “ Be careful. I’m already covering your kills. I’m already lying to half the department. I don’t need to cover your stupidity too.”
Young-il’s voice went flat.
“ I already know what I’m doing. And you already know why I do it.” His eyes flicked to the mirror that locked on In-ho’s reflection.
“ So shut your fucking mouth before I wrap this car around a tree just to make the noise stop.”
Silence. It's heavy, thick, and the kind that is pressed against the windows. In-ho exhaled slowly as he looked out the side window at the black nothing rushing past.
“ You’re going to get us both caught.” He muttered.
Young-il didn’t answer but he just smiled and kept driving.
The highway lights streaked across the windshield like falling stars. Somewhere behind them, you stood under the gas station canopy, staring at blurry photos on your phone.
Your heart racing, mind spinning. But you're not afraid.
Not exactly.
You are just…awake.
Very, very awake.
And the night felt suddenly smaller like someone or something was already closing the distance.
…
The sky was still the bruised purple of pre-dawn when you thumbed Min-joon’s contact for the third time in ten minutes. Your apartment was dark except for the blue glow of your laptop screen and the single desk lamp that made every shadow look guilty.
The coffee number four sat cold beside your elbow.
You hadn’t slept and you weren’t sure you could.
Min-joon picked up on the second ring, voice gravelly. “ If this is about the serial killer again, I’m billing you double for emotional damages.”
“ It’s not.” You paused.
“ Sort of. I need you to run everything you can on Oh Young-il.”
A long silence then a slow and skeptical exhale. “ The Oh Young-il? The MBA-attorney-CPA-business-mogul Oh Young-il? The guy whose face is on half the financial magazines in Gangnam?”
“ Yeah. That bastard.”
“ Why the sudden interest in a corporate overlord?” Min-joon sounded more awake now.
“ You usually chase murderers, not merger announcements.”
You rubbed your temple. “ I met him last night. Stranded on the Gyeongbu Expressway. My car died and he towed me to the gas station.”
Min-joon let out a low whistle. “ And your Spidey-sense is tingling.”
“ My instincts are screaming. Red flags everywhere. Too many. He looks exactly like Hwang In-ho…same face, same height, same shoulders, and same goddamn smirk, but he swears he’s not him.”
“ He calls himself Young-il. Says he’s a businessman. And he moves like In-ho. Talks like him. Looks at me like he already knows what I taste like when I’m angry.”
Min-joon snorted. “ Lots of people have similar facial structures. Korea’s gene pool isn’t that deep, but it doesn’t mean they’re the same guy.”
“ I know that.” You stood up and paced to the window then stared at the city lights still flickering like they hadn’t decided to sleep yet.
“ But it’s not just the face. It’s the mannerisms. The way he tilts his head when he’s amused. The way he lets silences stretch until they hurt. The way he says things that sound helpful but feel like warnings. Science can explain doppelgängers.”
“ It can’t explain identical behavioral ticks in two men who supposedly live completely separate lives.”
Min-joon was quiet for a second like he's typing, and you could tell by the faint clack of keys in the background.
“ Okay.” He said finally.
“ I'm running it now. Gimme a sec.”
You waited while your heart was thumping too hard. The file you’d started compiling on Young-il was open on your second screen. A blurry plate photo (useless), and quick Google hits, a couple of financial-news headshots.
It's clean, polished, and boringly legitimate.
Min-joon came back on the line. “ Here’s what I’ve got. Oh Young-il, forty-eight, born in Busan, educated at Seoul National, then Wharton for the MBA, passed the bar here and CPA exams abroad.”
“ He owns three companies in Seoul in tech logistics, private equity, and luxury real-estate development. Two overseas…one in Singapore, one in Dubai. Public profile is spotless. No scandals. No DUIs. No whispers of anything dirtier than aggressive acquisitions.”
You exhaled through your nose. “ And the plate?”
“ Matches the description you sent. Black Genesis G90. Privacy film on the plate…standard for high-net-worth individuals. No red flags on vehicle registration. Clean title.”
“ So he’s real.”
“ Very real. And very different from your cop. In-ho’s service record is all there…beat cop to detective track, couple of commendations, couple of reprimands for attitude.”
“ He’s married once, but his wife died. No offshore accounts. No shell companies. Two different lives. Two different paper trails.”
You sank back into the chair. “ What if Young-il is the cover? What if In-ho is the real one and Young-il is…I don’t know, the mask he wears when he’s not wearing a badge?”
Min-joon made a skeptical noise. “ Possible in theory. Impossible in practice. They have overlapping timelines in meetings, flights, and public appearances.”
“ In-ho was on duty the same night Young-il was photographed at a charity gala in Cheongdam-dong. Different locations. Different witnesses. Unless one of them can teleport, they’re separate people.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “ Fuck.”
“ Yeah.”
You ended the call after a quick thanks as the silence rushed back in. You’d started driving home last night with the radio on low in some late-night talk show droning about economic forecasts.
Then the news cut in.
“ Authorities have discovered another body near the Gyeongbu Expressway, close to the Mapo rest area. Male, mid-forties, known ties to organized extortion. Preliminary cause of death: exsanguination from a single stab wound. Investigators believe this may be connected to the string of vigilante-style killings that have plagued the city for months…”
Your hands had gone numb on the wheel when you’d passed that stretch of highway maybe twenty minutes before the estimated time of death as you’d stood under those same sodium lights at the gas station.
Young-il had towed you out of there. And now another body or another predator erased had dropped almost in the same breath as your encounter.
You stared at the open file on your laptop.
Two names.
Two faces.
One identical.
You dragged both hands through your hair, gripping hard enough to hurt.
The words came out like a chant in half curse, and half prayer. Because your brain kept circling back to that magazine article.
Dissociative Identity Disorder. Two or more people inside one skull. One could be the quiet cop doing paperwork, one could be a polished businessman, and one could be the shadow slipping through alleys with a blade and no remorse.
Or maybe you were losing it.
Maybe grief, exhaustion, and too much caffeine had finally cracked you open.
Maybe you were projecting your own obsession onto two innocent men who just happened to share DNA or plastic surgery or cruel cosmic coincidence.
You slammed the laptop shut as the room went darker.
Your pulse wouldn’t slow. Because even if you were wrong or even if they were separate and even if none of this connected…
Your gut still screamed.
One of them knows more than he’s saying.
One of them watched you last night.
One of them might have been watching you for weeks.
You stood up then crossed to the window again while Seoul sprawled below, glittering, and indifferent.
Somewhere out there, two men who looked the same were breathing the same air. And you were the only one stupid enough to keep chasing the shadow between them.
You laughed once.
“ Nice try.” You muttered to the empty room and echoing the voice you’d imagined in Young-il’s car last night.
But the joke wasn’t funny anymore and the tension sitting low in your stomach wasn’t just fear.
It was hunger.
For answers.
For truth.
For the moment one of those identical faces finally stopped pretending.
Author's Notes:
Heya! This week is back to back (as if I wasn't busy enough). So here's Chapter 2 of Double Life. The plot is gradually moving closer to the actual plot of this story. I'm not sure what to do with the next chapters (I hope I'm not getting lazy and dropping this right away).
We have already moved on to the serious discussion of the mental disorder known as Dissociative Identity Disorder. We are very sensitive when it comes to mental disorders, and I hope I don't trigger anything (if I do, please stop reading for your own mental health). I know it's an AU or a fanfic, but I don't want you to get uncomfortable.
I was inspired by previous movies or series that I had watched. I did my best to be somewhat accurate based on the facts I read online (from reliable sources).
