𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 🌹(18+)

𝟒𝟑:- 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

In Italy

The room was bathed in a dim golden glow, the kind that felt warm but carried an undercurrent of danger. Heavy drapes framed the windows, barely letting the moonlight seep through.

A crystal chandelier above cast fractured shadows on the walls, each flicker of light like the pulse of something alive.

I sat in a high-backed chair, the kind designed to make one feel invincible. A screen glowed in front of me, its faint hum the only sound in the room apart from my measured breathing.

On the footage playing, a woman danced under a waterfall, her movements wild and free, her face streaked with tears.

Nari. My little flower.

A shattered glass of red wine lay at my feet, crimson pooling around the shards, mingling with the blood dripping from my clenched hand. I hadn't even realized the glass had broken until the pain had seared through my palm.

But pain was trivial; it was the anger simmering beneath that held my focus.

A figure stepped into the room, his footsteps silent but firm, as if he understood the weight of his news before uttering a word. He stopped a respectful distance away and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Jeon," he began, his voice steady despite the tension hanging in the air.

I tore my eyes from the footage and looked up. My gaze must have been unsettling, for the man faltered, his resolve briefly cracking.

"Speak," I ordered, my voice calm, smooth-a blade wrapped in silk.

"Ms. Nari is... married to someone," he said cautiously.

The words took a moment to settle, like the slow drop of a pebble into water.

Married. My little flower.

My smirk crept across my face, sharp and venomous.

"So," I murmured, leaning back in my chair, "she thinks she can escape me so easily. How naive."

The man hesitated before adding, "But, sir... the man she married... we've been unable to uncover anything about him. His background is a mystery, and no one in our network has ever seen or heard of him before."

That caught my attention. I tapped a finger against the armrest, my thoughts racing. A ghost. Or worse-someone playing a game even I hadn't anticipated.

"No one?" I asked, my voice a whisper that carried a chilling weight.

"No one," the man confirmed.

I chuckled, low and dangerous, the sound reverberating in the stillness of the room. "How fascinating," I said, more to myself than to him. "A man who doesn't exist, yet dares to touch what's mine."

I stood, the blood from my hand dripping onto the marble floor, each drop a silent vow. "Send a team. I want eyes on them at all times. And whoever this ghost is, find him. Pull him from the shadows, and then..."

I trailed off, my smirk widening, my thoughts already crafting the perfect retribution.

The man nodded. "Yes, sir."

As he turned to leave, I glanced back at the screen, at her face, her tears, her vulnerability.

"My little flower," I murmured, the words barely audible over the crackling tension in the room. "You've underestimated me. I'll remind you exactly who I am... and who you belong to."

The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the projector casting flickering footage onto the far wall. Shadows danced along the walls, their shapes sharp and menacing, like predators circling their prey.