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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Bahng had told me to go straight to Han Corporations. It made sense. Logically, that was where I should have gone. But my flight had taken longer to organize than expected, and by the time I finally landed, it was two in the morning. The city was eerily quiet at this hour, the streets foggy from the icy air, neon reflections stretching like ghostly fingers across the pavement. The weight of exhaustion clung to my bones, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety that clawed at my chest, relentless and suffocating. Han could be anywhere. He could be at his father's office, trapped in that godforsaken place, suffocating under the weight of expectations that should never have belonged to him in the first place. But something told me he wasn't. Or maybe that was just hope, desperate and foolish, pushing me toward his penthouse instead.
It felt wrong. Too still. Too quiet. My stomach twisted as I stepped forward, my fingers hesitating over the keypad for only a fraction of a second before I punched in the numbers. You'd think, after everything, he would have changed the code by now—should have changed it. But he hadn't. The soft beep of the keypad was eerily loud in the dead silence of the hallway, followed by the quiet click of the door unlocking. I pushed it open, stepping inside as a familiar scent hit me instantly—sharp, clean, expensive, a mixture of fresh linen and something subtly musky, uniquely him. It wrapped around me, tightening the coil of unease already wound in my chest.
But the space itself was untouched. Silent. Empty.
Something about that felt worse than the alternative.
I didn't bother turning on the lights. There was no point. I moved quickly, barely paying attention to anything except the search itself, my footsteps sharp against the polished floors. I checked every room once. Then again. My fingers flipped light switches, threw open doors, yanked back closet handles, as if he might be hiding, as if I could will him into existence simply by wanting it enough. But there was nothing. No sign of life. No sign of him. The sheets on his bed were perfectly made, untouched. The bathroom was spotless, not a single towel or discarded piece of clothing out of place. The kitchen, too, was pristine, like he hadn't set foot in it for days. Which means he hasn't been here yet.
Frustration coiled like barbed wire in my gut, sharp and unforgiving. My hands raked through my hair as I exhaled sharply, rubbing at my face, trying to steady myself. Fuck. This wasn't right. He should be here. If not here, then where? My mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. I swore under my breath, already half-jogging back toward the front door. Fine. If he wasn't here, I'd go to Han Corp. Maybe he was still there. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe—
I swung the door open, my movements too sharp, too fast—
And then I froze.
The sight in front of me knocked the breath straight from my lungs.
Han.
He was slumped against the doorframe, barely upright, his body bracing against the wood like it was the only thing keeping him from crumbling entirely. His head lifted sluggishly, his movements slow, disoriented, like even the simple act of existing was taking too much out of him. His face was pale—too pale, the kind of sickly, ghostly white that made my stomach drop. Sweat clung to his skin in a thin sheen, dampening the hair at his temples. His dark eyes barely focused on me, blinking sluggishly, unfocused. He coughed, a weak, barely-there sound, his lips parting to murmur something, a breath of air more than a word.
