Choi San, a revered and feared mafia boss, reigns over Seoul's underworld with an iron fist, his influence extending seamlessly across both legal and illegal domains. But his empire is shaken to its core when his beloved daughter, Eun-ji, is kidnapp...
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The midnight hours had settled heavily over the office, casting the room in a quiet, almost haunting glow. I lay under the blankets, still feeling the warmth and intensity of everything that had just happened between us, my body relaxed but my mind far from calm. I watched San, seated behind his desk, his dark robe draped over his shoulders, his posture rigid and tense as he stared into the amber liquid swirling in his glass. His free hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically, his jaw tight, eyes distant, lost in thoughts that seemed to weigh him down.
The room was filled with a thick silence, punctuated only by the occasional soft creak of leather as he shifted in his chair, his gaze unfocused yet heavy with whatever lingered in his mind. I knew that look—knew it meant he was turning something over in his head, the wheels spinning behind his intense gaze, his shoulders taut with an internal struggle he hadn't yet shared.
Feeling a sudden pull to bridge the quiet space between us, I slowly sat up, wrapping the blanket around me, feeling the cool air brush against my bare shoulders. San didn't look up, his attention still fixed on the glass in his hand, his fingers tracing absent patterns along its surface. I watched him for a moment longer, hesitating, then stood, gathering the blanket around myself as I made my way across the room.
As I approached, I saw the lines of tension in his face, the subtle crease between his brows. He looked both powerful and vulnerable in this light, the soft glow accentuating his features, the depth of his expression that was usually so guarded. I rested a hand lightly on the edge of the desk, unsure if he'd even noticed my approach.
"San," I murmured softly, breaking the silence, my voice barely more than a whisper. "What's going on?"
He looked up then, his gaze sharp yet softened by something I couldn't quite place, as though he'd been pulled back from somewhere far away. He met my eyes, studying me for a moment before letting out a slow, deep breath, his fingers tightening around the glass before setting it down on the desk.
"It's nothing, Wooyoung," he said, his voice low, calm, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands lingered near the glass as if it held the answers to whatever was clouding his mind. "Just... thinking."
I held his gaze, searching his face for a hint of what lay beneath the surface. "You don't look like it's nothing," I replied softly, stepping closer, my fingers tracing lightly over the edge of his desk. "You've been sitting here for a while. I can tell when something's eating at you."
"Nothing is eating me," he murmured, his voice low and husky as his gaze locked onto mine, intense and unwavering. "I'm just thinking about how obsessively, possessively, I want to keep you away from this world." His fingers traced slowly along my waist, his touch both gentle and commanding. "You're too precious for this, Wooyoung. And yet, somehow, you grind my gears so fucking bad."
I felt a blush creep up my neck under his stare, his words heavy with that unique mixture of intensity and care only he could convey. There was a protectiveness in his eyes, shadowed by something deeper, something that hinted at the battle he fought between wanting me close and fearing what that closeness could mean.
