In a world where money talks louder than anything else, two rivals are forced into a marriage they never wanted. They've been rivals for as long as they can remember, their families always trying to outdo each other.
But when their parents see a cha...
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I kept staring, my eyes tracing every inch of Hwang as he emerged from the pool, water glistening on his perfectly sculpted abs. His belly button piercing caught the light just right, adding an extra layer of allure. "Of course that's The Hwang," I thought, feeling my heart pump harder as I took in the sight of him. Hwang caught my stare and smirked, his usual confidence amplified by the setting.
"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
"Umm, huh?" I muttered, momentarily at a loss for words.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're staring, Bangh."
Trying to regain my composure, I shot back, "Of course I am. It's not every day you see six feet of nakedness parading around."
Hwang's smirk faltered for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" he asked again, this time with irritation clear in his voice.
His question snapped me out of my daze. "I'm here to take a bath with you," I responded, a hint of sarcasm in my tone.
Hwang's brow furrowed. "Huh? What the fuck do you mean?"
I rolled my eyes. "You fucking idiot, I'm here for work. But first, go wear something."
Hwang's smirk returned as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. "Am I distracting you, Bangh?"
I sighed, fighting the urge to punch him. "Just go."
Hwang nodded, walking past me, and I followed him down the stairs in silence. His wet hair dripped water, which sprinkled onto me as he casually ran his fingers through it. I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to retaliate.
"You motherfucker," I grumbled under my breath.
Hwang turned his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "You saying something, Bangh?"
Before I could respond, he skipped down the remaining steps and almost ran towards his bedroom. "Sit, I'm coming!" he yelled over his shoulder.
I watched him go, thoroughly confused and irritated. What the hell was I doing here? And why did Hwang have to make everything so complicated?I have to think something.
I sat on the armrest of the chair, my eyes drifting back to Hwang's artwork. Each stroke of paint seemed to tell a story, and it annoyed me how talented he was. I found myself wishing to uncover each side of him that he kept hidden. The aggression, the dominance, the perfection-what lay beneath it all? What were the facets of Hwang that no one else saw?
I scrolled through my phone, trying to focus on work, but my mind kept wandering back to the man behind the door of his bedroom.
Minutes passed, and just as my frustration reached its peak Hwang whistled to get my attention, leaning casually against the doorframe of his study. "Bangh," he called, a teasing lilt in his voice. He was now wearing a fitted black tank top and grey sweatpants, both from high-end brands that I recognized immediately. The tank top was from Alexander Wang, hugging his toned torso perfectly, while the sweatpants were from Balenciaga, casual yet incredibly stylish. His hair was still damp, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of chlorine lingered in the air.
