A HEART DIVIDED ── kpop

II. Secrets in the Shadows

Chapter Two
Author

Amna strolled confidently through the opulent, meticulously manicured streets of the prestigious neighborhood in the heart of Seoul, her every step imbued with an air of unmistakable sophistication. She was a vision of refined elegance, her attire a masterful blend of tailored precision and luxurious fabrics that whispered of wealth and power. A crisp, well-tailored suit hugged her lithe frame, the sharp lines and impeccable stitching speaking volumes about her uncompromising taste. The ensemble was completed by a stylish hat, tilted at a jaunty angle, and a pipe clenched firmly between her teeth, emitting a trail of fragrant smoke that curled around her like an invisible aura of authority.

Her eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the bustling scene before her, taking in the grand architecture, the well-tended gardens, and the expensive vehicles that lined the curb, each one a testament to the affluence of the residents who called this neighborhood home. The vibrant hues of the setting sun painted the cityscape in warm, golden tones, casting long shadows that danced and shifted as she passed street lamps that flickered to life, one by one, in the gathering dusk.

It was in this dignified tableau that she spotted him—a burly, unkempt man who was all too familiar from her previous evening's escapades at the local bar. He was surrounded by a motley crew of associates, their laughter and loud voices cutting through the evening's tranquility as they recounted tales of misadventure. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of a name that sent a jolt of protective fury through her veins: Kim Hongjoong, her esteemed brother.

The drunkard, oblivious to the danger that had just drawn close, was in the throes of a heated rant, his voice slurred and his gestures wild. "I swear she was right here! That arrogant mafia boss, Kim Hongjoong, waltzed in and stole my thunder like it was nothing!" His words were a slap in the face to Amna's pride, and she felt the muscles in her jaw tighten as she clenched the pipe even harder, the smooth wood biting into her palm.

With a silent, predatory grace that belied his formidable strength, the sharp-dressed man moved closer to the group, the soles of his leather shoes whispering against the cobblestone streets. He positioned himself just outside their huddle, a silent sentinel in the flickering glow of the streetlights, watching and listening with a cold, calculating gaze.

The sleazy man's monologue continued, the veins in his neck bulging with each indignant word. "—and I was about to lay him out with a right hook, but I just didn't..." The sharp-dressed man's eyes narrowed to slits, and a low growl rumbled in his throat as he noted the way the other men's gazes had shifted from the speaker to the shadows behind him. A smug smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he savored their sudden discomfort.

With lightning-quick reflexes, the man in the sharp suit stepped from the darkness, his hand snaking around the drunkard's neck like a snake. The grip was vice-like, cutting off his air with a suddenness that left the other men gaping in shock. The drunkard's eyes bulged, and he stumbled backward, his words dying in a choking gurgle.

The sharp-dressed man's breath was hot and harsh against the drunkard's ear, his voice a low, menacing murmur that sent shivers down the spine. "I strongly advise you to watch your tongue when you speak of my brother, lest it be the last sound you make." His grip tightened, and the drunkard's face turned a worrying shade of blue.

The group of associates stared at the scene unfolding before them, their expressions a mélange of terror and disbelief. The atmosphere grew thick with tension, the air charged with the electric potential of imminent violence. They knew better than to interfere, though—the man in the sharp suit had a reputation that was as sharp as his attire.