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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Google defines manipulation as the act of controlling or influencing someone in an underhanded or unfair manner.
Methods include blackmail, coercion, deception, suggestion... and seduction.
Which one of these methods do I think was used on me?
Seduction.
And now, I can't stop questioning everything.
Does Hwang think this is some kind of game? A challenge? A fun little experiment to see if the emotionally blocked, permanently guarded, emotionally detached Han can be cracked open and toyed with?
That thought alone makes my stomach churn.
Because if that's the case, I bet it's fun for him. Testing the limits. Pushing and pulling. Chipping away at me just to see how far he can go before I either break or run. And the worst part? I let him do it.
I fell for it. Again.
The memory of his hands on me is still too fresh. The way his breath hitched. The way his lips pressed against mine, slow and hungry and deliberate, like I was something he wanted—not just something he was trying to conquer.
And yet, the moment I think of Yang, I feel like an idiot all over again.
It's been playing in my head on repeat. The way he never answered me. The way he dodged the question. The way he kissed me instead.
I should be furious. I should be done with this. I should be smarter than this.
But then there's that moment.
The one my mind refuses to file under manipulation. The one that won't let me believe this is all some elaborate ploy.
The balcony. Outside the museum.
There was no seduction in that moment. No teasing. No power play. Just us.
And I know—I know—that was real.
So now I'm just a confused, shirtless, absolutely wrecked mess, trudging down the stairs with a random assortment of crap I probably don't even need. A phone charger, a blanket, a half-empty bottle of water, one sock—where the hell is the other one?—and for some reason, a pen?
Great. Fantastic. If my goal was to look like I just crawled out of a fever dream, mission accomplished.
"The fuck happened to you?"
The voice barely registers over the static in my brain. My thoughts are still tangled up in the whirlwind that is Hwang, but I manage to blink myself back into the present as I reach the bottom of the stairs.
Lee is sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, phone in hand. He looks at me, then really looks at me, and I see it—the exact moment he decides my suffering is the most entertaining thing he's seen all night.
