He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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I'm okay.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
It took me a couple of days, but I'm not a complete mess anymore. The breakdowns have faded into something quieter, something manageable. The panic doesn't rip through my chest like wildfire anymore—it lingers, simmering under the surface like dying embers, but at least I can breathe again.
Bahng has been here through all of it. Even when I didn't want him to be. Even when I lashed out, spat cruel words that tasted like regret the moment they left my mouth. There were times he had to step out, go elsewhere just to take a break from me, from the weight of my anger and self-destruction.
But he got me through it.
And now, because he has some goddamn death wish, he's forcing me to go out again.
There's a museum opening event held by the Kim family—a lavish, pretentious rich-people gathering that I couldn't care less about. But, of course, it's not just Bahng insisting I attend. My father wants me there too.
The absence of his usual calls, his demands, his punishments—it unsettles me more than I care to admit. Silence from him is never a good thing. It means he's planning something.
Still, somehow, I've been convinced to get dressed, to plaster on a face that isn't mine and step into a world I despise.
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of my suit jacket.
Red velvet.
It clings to my frame, tailored to perfection, the deep crimson fabric stark against my usual palette of black and gray. It's the first time in a long time I've worn color. It feels foreign.
I should hate it.
But, objectively, it looks good.
It looks expensive.
I smooth a hand over the lapels, my fingers tracing the rich texture of the material. The reflection staring back at me is someone else—a version of myself that fits into this world of flashing cameras and whispered politics. A version that pretends.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Han, you ready?" Bahng's voice filters through the door, muffled but expectant.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair before stepping away from the mirror.
"Yeah."
Liar.
I open the door, and Bahng leans against the frame, already dressed in his own sleek black suit. He gives me a once-over, raising a brow.
"Holy shit," he says, smirking. "You clean up nice. Red? Who knew you had it in you?"
I roll my eyes, stepping past him. "Shut up."
He chuckles but doesn't push it.
Together, we head out. The night awaits, suffocating and inevitable.
