criminal love; jungwon

23

Nanhee sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake off the events of the day. Chahyeon’s sudden confession lingered in her mind, making her uneasy. She told herself it was over, that he’d realized his mistake and wouldn’t bother her again.

The quiet hum of the heater filled the room. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows. Seojun was asleep in his room, and her mom was working the night shift at the hospital. It was just another cold winter night.

Until the doorbell rang.

Nanhee froze. Who would come at this hour? She grabbed her phone and cautiously approached the door. Peeking through the peephole, her heart sank.

Chahyeon.

He stood there, swaying slightly, his face flushed. Even through the distorted glass, she could tell he was drunk.

She hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to ignore him, but before she could turn away, he pounded on the door.

“Nanhee,” he slurred, his voice desperate. “I know you’re in there. Open up.”

Her hands trembled as she unlocked the door, just enough to speak through the gap. “Chahyeon, go home. You’re drunk.”

He pushed the door open wider, stumbling inside. The sharp scent of alcohol hit her immediately.

“I needed to see you,” he mumbled, his eyes wild. “You don’t get it, Nanhee. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She backed away, her heart racing. “You need to leave. Now.”

But he didn’t listen. He shut the door behind him, locking it with a chilling finality.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his voice darkening. “Not until you understand.”

“Understand what?” she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.

“That you’re mine.”

Her blood ran cold.

“You’ve always been mine,” he continued, stepping closer. “I’ve watched you, Nanhee. I’ve done everything for you. But you keep pushing me away.”

“This isn’t love, Chahyeon,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “This is obsession. You need help.”

He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “Help? You think I need help? No, Nanhee. You’re the one who doesn’t see it.”

She moved towards the hallway, trying to keep distance between them. “Seojun’s here,” she warned. “If you wake him—”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “It’s just you and me now.”

Nanhee’s mind raced. She needed to get him out, but he was unpredictable, volatile.

“Let’s talk outside,” she suggested, forcing a calm tone. “We don’t want to wake Seojun.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. But then he shook his head. “No. You’re not tricking me.”

He lunged, grabbing her wrist. She yelped, struggling against his grip.

“Stop!” she cried. “Chahyeon, you’re hurting me!”

His grip tightened. “You’ll see, Nanhee. You’ll see I’m the only one who cares about you.”

Tears blurred her vision. “Please, Chahyeon. Let me go.”

Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe. His hold loosened, just enough for her to break free.

Nanhee bolted to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open.

“Leave,” she shouted, her voice shaking. “And don’t ever come back.”

He stared at her, a mixture of rage and heartbreak on his face. But then he stumbled back into the cold night, disappearing into the darkness.

Nanhee slammed the door shut, locking it behind her. She slid to the floor, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face.

The house was silent again, but the weight of what had just happened lingered in the air.

She hugged her knees to her chest, whispering to herself, “It’s over. It’s over.”

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.