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＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
The mansion was quiet that night. A comforting silence filled the hallways, only disturbed by the soft hum of the heater and the distant tick of the antique grandfather clock downstairs. San and Wooyoung were curled up on the velvet couch in the living room, basking in each other’s warmth. The TV flickered in front of them, but neither of them paid attention to the muted drama playing out on the screen.
Wooyoung's head rested against San's chest, his hand absentmindedly drawing lazy circles on the elder's thigh. San's fingers were buried in Wooyoung’s hair, gently stroking, soothing—the very picture of comfort and ease. Everything felt soft. Simple. Almost unreal.
But peace never lasted long in their world.
San's phone buzzed on the coffee table, its screen lighting up with an unfamiliar number, marked with a +33 country code. Paris.
He reached over with a slight frown, grabbing the phone. Wooyoung noticed the shift in his energy the moment San pressed the device to his ear.
"San speaking," he said, voice casual.
There was a long pause, followed by a sharp inhale.
Wooyoung sat up slightly, confused by the way San's body suddenly tensed.
"When?" San's voice had dropped, the warmth gone. "...How?"
Another pause. Silence. Then, he stood up slowly, moving away from Wooyoung as if needing space to process the information.
"I want every piece of surveillance footage. Start cleaning up the scene and send me photos immediately. Don’t touch anything with the message. I want to see it myself."
The call ended abruptly.
Wooyoung was on his feet now, walking toward San cautiously. "What happened?"
San didn't answer right away. He stood in the middle of the room, his phone clutched tightly in one hand, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might shatter his own teeth.
"San?"
His head turned slightly toward the younger, eyes unreadable.
"Get dressed," he said flatly. "I’m driving you home."
"What? Why? What—"
"Just do it, Wooyoung."
The cold edge in San's voice made Wooyoung fall silent. He nodded, quickly moving to gather his things. The ride back home was quiet—too quiet. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension.
San kept his gaze on the road, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Wooyoung stole glances at him every now and then, hoping for an explanation, a hint, anything. But San didn’t say a word.
When they reached the house, San parked without cutting the engine.
"You’ll be safe here. Stay inside. Don’t go anywhere without Yeonjun or someone else from the crew."
"San, what’s going on? Please just tell me."
His eyes softened just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough to hide the storm brewing beneath.
"I have to go. I’ll explain when I get back. I promise."
And just like that, he was gone. The tires screeched faintly as his car sped down the driveway. Wooyoung stood at the door, heart racing.
---
San barely made it halfway to the airport before his phone rang again. This time, it was Hongjoong.
"You let your guard down. I told you this would happen."
San kept his eyes on the road. "Not now."
"Yes, now. You let your feelings get in the way. You got comfortable, and they struck while your back was turned."
"I'm handling it."
"You better. Because if they took out that warehouse, we’re looking at weeks of damage control and a massive hole in our distribution. And who knows what else they found."
San hung up without a response. He didn’t have the energy to argue. Not now. Not when his mind was already racing through contingency plans, betrayals, weak links in their network.
His private jet was already waiting by the time he reached the hangar. Within an hour, he was in the air, en route to Paris. He didn’t sleep. He barely moved. Just sat there, jaw locked, replaying the call over and over.
They knew about Paris. That was one of his most secure warehouses. One of the most secret. Only top-level people knew. That made it personal. Deliberate.
And the message they left...
The blood.
The flowers.
The symbolism wasn’t lost on him. Oleander and daffodils. One representing toxic danger. The other, vanity and betrayal.
It was a message, alright. And it was personal.
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
The moment San landed in Paris, he was greeted by two of his French operatives. They looked nervous, pale.
"Don’t say anything," San said coldly, brushing past them.
The drive to the warehouse was short. Too short. His heart was pounding. His mind raced.
When the car came to a stop, San stepped out into the cool Parisian night. The warehouse loomed in front of him, its front gates blasted open, smoke stains still visible across the metal frame.
He stepped inside, each footstep echoing across the ruined structure. His eyes scanned the debris—charred crates, melted steel, shards of glass.
But what made his blood freeze was the centerpiece.
A bouquet.
Nestled on top of a scorched metal table.
Bright red oleander and yellow daffodils.
Drenched in blood.
The message was clear: "We see you. We’re not afraid."
San clenched his fists so tightly that his nails cut into his palms. He reached for the royal blue card tucked neatly between the stems.
Just four words. Neat, elegant script.
"Stop messing with fire."
He stared at the words, his vision blurring with rage.
"Fuck..."
The card fluttered to the floor as his scream echoed through the shattered remains of the warehouse.
His men watched from a distance, wisely choosing not to intervene. They knew that look. That fury.
And they knew what it meant.
War was coming.
San took one final look at the destruction, then turned on his heel, fire in his chest.
There would be no mercy. No warnings.
Only retaliation.
But in the back of his mind, even through the chaos, one face remained.
Wooyoung.
He would protect him at all costs.
No matter what came next.
YOU ARE READING
Whispers of Desire || Woosan🔞
Fanfiction"MOM!" "Wooyoung I'm fine, run and don't look back!" *Bang! Bang!* "Where am I?" 🔞⚠WARNING⚠🔞 *smut *murder *sexual assault *suicide attempt *human trafficking *drug use *blood *Toxic *darkromance Short chapters😭😭😭
