Let Free, Your Wildest Dreams🍋

(continued)

The text message hadn’t concerned you when you felt the appropriate need to walk away without a need for response. Although, as his lover— your eyes trailblaze Woooyoung's sudden body language— which looks like he was struck by lightning.

“Wooyoung?”

His jaw jitters as if he's trying to find the tongue in his mouth. Then, his feet slide back in offbeat rhythm— carrying the terror from the rest of his body upward.

“Wooyoung…what is it?” You stalk toward him, seemingly calm— even trying to offer a warm hand on his shivering shoulders, but his arm with his phone in hand flinches in reaction.

The tension you didn’t know you held in your brow softens in relaxation, and your jaw goes slack.

“Woo. What’s going on?” you harshly whisper, quickly turning back for any listening ears or entranced eyes. But not a soul holds guard around the two of you, and yet it feels like he’ll disappear into thin air from what’s ever spooking him. “Do we need to talk in my office?”

His face is deprived of blood flow upon hearing the additional question— revealing the veins and structured bone inside. A moment alone with you here wasn’t safe anymore.

“It’s just uh…” he snickers before clicking the power button promptly on his phone, “something I had gotten for us— erm, you I mean. But now's not the time for all that, right?”

He didn’t look all too enthused, which made you more wary than oblivious. Then, your heart sinks in your stomach as his eyes mirror yesterday and all the days before it.

The scandal with Yunho in the office…associating with the likes of Broker, allegedly. But not to forget, your time together at the bar yesterday led you both to your separate beds. Regretful. Cold.

A pinching of muscles tightens around your throat - your hand as you want to hug him, but he seems all too fragile. “You're right…um.” You provide a facade of a smile and shake your head as you try to muster some comforting words. “We’ll talk soon, ‘kay?” 

He reflects a smile to you— showing off those prominent cheekbones you love to kiss upon. A swift nod confirms that it could happen, eventually. But then he walks away as if it was something that hurt to look forward to.

///

In online meetings, you feel sulky. The pink border that lined your computer screen was more interesting than any business plans anyone spat out of their mouths on a call.

To make matters worse, it was raining and you felt cold. The thudding of water from the sky onto your windows made your thoughts want to speak louder. To bring you back into the loop, someone mentioned asking about the weather on your end.

You jerk slightly and unmute. “Not the choice of day to drive home after work, that's for sure!”

A sitcom laugh livens the chat from business talk for only a small while. But then it's:

Ms. Hart, have you been able to receive my emails?

When is the best time to reach you?

Where should we begin making investment plans?

Is Mr. Jung on board with any of this?

“Mr. Jung? I’m afraid it’ll be a decision of my own will this time around. We, as Co partners, do sometimes handle different parts of the business on our own.”

Work business. Personal Business. Interpersonal Business.

You watch the clock too often. It moves too slow, and these business mongrels talk too damn fast.

At five minutes till the end of the shift hour, you pitch into someone's conversation to offer room for your appreciation for their interest, but you postpone any decision, leaving the opportunity still in the open.

The call closes out when everyone takes their leave, wishing a joyful night to prepare for the next treacherous day.

You just wanted to be in reach of him. To tell him how much you care. To mention how your behavior toward him as of late feels spiteful.

A buzz from your desk drawer piques your interest. You unlock it—(a means to control yourself from distraction), pulling out your cellphone to check what alerts you, and then alert him. Except it is him

Wooyoung Jung: I decided to leave early today. Meetings went just fine :) it seems we’re making progress.

Breath pushes out through your nose from being let down on seeing him, and just when you were going to send off a short message, another of his arrives.

Wooyoung Jung: We’ll find time to talk about that other thing. Take care. Perfect weather for tea, coffee, and good tv :)

More breaths tumble out of your chest from chuckles. It was a choke-up you did when you felt like crying.

Me: Nice work! Hope to see you soon then!

You smack at your lips on how “boss—like” it sounded.

Me: There's no perfect day without you. I can’t wait to see you aga—

No. No. No.

The actual message sent:

Me: Sounds great, and you do the same. Maybe you can finally try out that indoor gym in your apartment.

Dots appear, and then they don’t.

“Anything but that. I could’ve said anything but that!”

Luckily for you, no one could see you banging your head through the shut curtains. But a knock on your door prevents further damage to your migraine.

“One moment!”

You huff, gathering your belongings and your new favorite umbrella. Gifted by someone you love and can't even talk to.

You flip the loose hairs out of your face with your head- breathing in to put face on so you can leave this place and be to yourself.

Behind the door—you are met by Yunho.

“Ms. Hart—” he notices you were just leaving, and so soon by surprise. “I’ll be quick, but, I just want to talk to you about something for a short while.”

Everything reminded you of him. But he especially reminded you of what you might’ve put him through.

“Come on in.”

There, you settle in the dim office space awakened only by a desk lamp.

“Whenever you feel ready, Yunnie.”

He's slightly taken aback by your nickname for him. He only gets to hear it in moments like this. Or when Mark Lee, your former CEOs assist, at times left early, and Yunho stayed behind to lessen your workload.

A deep exhale and his boggling eyes track the edges of your desk as he calculates his speech. “I’ve been under your supervision for some years now, and this may be stepping over the lines of professionalism, but I feel the need to ask…”

At that, you sit up and scoot in closely. “You’re safe here.”

He nods as he already acknowledges it. 

“Was it you who pushed Mr.Jung to apologize to me?”

Your breath leaves rushed in relief. 

“No, he did that of his own accord. I simply advised him and everyone in this office to be careful not to accuse others of things that they do not know of.”

Yunho just nods in the silence after— like his mind was piecing back from elsewhere. You muster up a sad smile. 

“I should apologize too.”

His eyes sparked, and his hand rose in caution. “Ahhh no no-

You push down his hand to counter his kindness.

“You were the first person to come to me with your concerns about Mr. Lee. I should’ve shut down those rumors and cursed everyone when I had the slightest suspicions.”

“Well, Mr. Lee was upfront with you— which makes all the difference.”

“It does, Yunnie. A man who knows himself doesn’t have to say anything. His actions spoke for themselves.” 

He grows flustered and bows promptly. Your smile warms from the sight of it. No matter how hard you pushed him to, he couldn't drop the formalities even if the two of you were the only people left in the world.

“Meeting adjourned.”

///

The rain stops its parading only after you enter through your door, and yet, after brewing tea in a whistling kettle, your thoughts were still too loud.

Yet and still, if you could translate the words out of your mind— if he were to be right here, you wouldn’t know where to even begin.

You pick up your phone again— smirking at the thought of a booty call, but you needed more than a warm body.

After you both confessed love— one you're starting to believe true with its taboos, presence began to have so much more meaning.

So you try typing: 

I don’t think tomorrow can wait. I need you here.

Still booty callish.

What do you think about coming over here after you work out? I have that massage gun you love— fully charged~.

Too much tension in that kind of "relaxation".

It stopped raining right after I came in. Even the universe hates to see me work.

Who cares?

None of them makes the full send, and that night, you fall to sleep at an early bedtime out of boredom and an overworked brain. As if your few years of older age have caught up with you in that very moment.

“The next day will be for a regenerated Ms. Hart,” you thought, “a woman who knows that business and pleasure should never be mixed- it's a recipe made for disaster.

…

Came a brand new day in the early morning, you were the same woman with the same preexisting thoughts- but how’d you carry it with your persona today, you challenged it to change.

Your first thought was to mask the pain with a choice of attractive attire. You eyeballed a silk fuchsia dress with a bow on its sleeve. It wasn’t ideal for work. But as a CEO, rather…who the hell cares!

You toss it over your shoulder and onto your poster frame over your mattress.

Memories flood by of Wooyoung smiling, being hung limb for limb, but you ignore it. 

As a case to block the noise you put on pop rock from the early 2000s- bopping your neck as you scrub away the regretful words that slipped through your teeth and tongue.

Diving into your skincare, you press a cold guasha over your lymph nodes to drain the puffiness from tears and pent-up frustration.

You finish by pressing into your skin- feeling how supple and soft it’d become in the use of your products.

Then you began to stare for too long. So much so that the reflection felt like an absorption of the memories you wanted to be short-term for today.

But you put on that smile just like you’ve always known how, and turn swiftly, nearing running away, it seemed— to lose sight of yourself.

The dress is just as you rememberin the dressing room, and it fits so snugly. Too snug, and you began to worry about your comfort level to go through the day like this. But to be noticed by him, or at least to forgive yourself— you had to pretend not to care.

Unlimited sprays of your finest perfume are sprayed on your body and the air, and you spin into it, kissing your skin like a sprinkle of rain.

On your way out, you go over your mental checklist to grab your on-the-go essentials. The umbrella laid at the door. It was yet another rainy day- silk was certainly a quizzical choice, but you’d rather take a piece of him with you than go through all of that effort and look like a stray.

///

In the parking garage, you notice his car is parked spaces down from his usual place next to yours. The thing that bugged you was that the spaces on both of your sides were empty, and only one car had sat in the middle of that gap from his.

Yet, you don’t allow it to sour your mood. You pick up your head and breathe in so hard it suctions the air from your neck. 

Your steps are normally paced- leaving every click of your heels an sound echo. When you arrived out of the elevator onto your floor, you mimicked all of your greetings, but you overlooked them as your eyes sought for someone else.

Then your breath hitched quick when you saw the opening of his windows and his office door. He was sorting through papers, wetting his fingertips to separate the freshly printed papers. You slow your steps upon aligning with his direct line of vision. You unconsciously move into a pose the moment your eyes meet- but a figure smelling of fruit bright and young disrupts it and enters his office with a cup of coffee.

He blinks and moves his mouth for words that don’t reach. He then turns his focus to his assistant- providing her warmth and laughter you had craved. She walks out quickly after and addresses you briefly. You do the same and look at her with a blatant expression when she turns her back. 

At that, you couldn’t bear to try to speak with him anymore. You had thought his mood would extend to everyone else, but it seems you were the only one given a cold shoulder. The labor of your breathing worked a multitude of times harder to reach your office door.

Damn you, locking it every night for precaution— because now you're fumbling your keys into the hole, and missing it too many damn times. You push your body into the room just as your arm forces down the lever.

You look over the work pile on your desk with distaste, so you head straight for the couch and plop to rest there. No open curtains, no light through the windows, and no power of electricity anywhere.

You just needed a moment to breathe. To believe that a really bad but small teeny tiny moment couldn't mess up your good day. It had to be a good day.

Luckily, your primary goals today involved some evaluation of each investor after yesterday’s meeting. You requested a sales presentation pitch from each company on core values like leadership skills, aligning values, cultural criteria, conflict resolution, reputation, etc.

It was like grading homework as a teacher for students who wanted to become teachers themselves. The grand thing about it all is that you could coop in your office and get it done before half the shift is through- leaving the rest of the time to stitch other things that needed to be brought together…

///

Just as you assumed, it was a breeze.

As long as you’ve been doing business for nearly half of your life, it's easy to dictate who has long-term plans, and who produces a convenient product but can’t even invest in themselves.

Another meeting would take place tomorrow, and it was then that you had to either change lives or break young hearts. Emails similar to what you sent out to Broker— with more thoughtful and actual advisory to help them better themselves. It's part of your brand after all.

You walk over to the windows to let the first rays of heat on the inside. At least you could always rely on the sun to make you warm. It’ll always be there. It’ll always feel the same.

You closed your eyes just to linger within it. Your mind unconscious wants to find triggers that'll lead to what you're hoping for—what you're truly missing. 

Your hands dance over your arms lazily… slowly. If someone came in from behind you, it would look like you're pretending to kiss someone else. To outsiders from down below, if they could even see…well, you just look like a crazy person.

Your favorite time to just watch the world from here was when the sun would set. It happens just as the work day ends, and the sun would align just perfectly with the top of the tallest buidlings.

If made possible that there could be the thinnest string on earth to walk you to it in mid air—you would take that risk. Especially now, to view itif it's the last thing you'll see.

Your eyes open, and you let out a deep sigh as if releasing all that you had thought about, and yet you were going to face it now in reality.

You had to walk out just as you came in. Just right down the hall was the area everyone liked to congregate in during mornings. It was convenient to settle there as soon as they arrived— to access the elevator for early board meetings— or, quite honestly, because you could sometimes be a morning grouch.

Later in the afternoon, right after lunch, actually, people began to convert over. You’re still not sure if that’s telling of yourself or them.

Just across from the colleague congregation area was the Assistant CEO’s office. Any questions that you would be better off not being bothered with could be asked by the person taking place in that office.

"Wooyoung Jung".

It’s why everyone got along well with him so easily. You would find yourself strolling out for coffee and tea when he came along the first few weeks, he'd be chatting away outside of his office alongside the table, and laughing with everyone like titles weren’t a part of the paycheck.

Near lunch time, you initiate a plan that is masterful in your mind.

Today was no different. You were walking toward the colleague congregation area, and he was facing in the opposite direction, lying back and suave, except he was sitting at a table with open laptops like all the others.

Everybody sitting in his opposite direction of the table grew quiet with your approach. You used to not care for the timidness and respect that came with that. But you give anything now to be like him in that way. To associate without fear lingering behind you.

“Good afternoon.” You call out.

Everyone echoes and quiets into what would follow after that. It wasn’t rare that you’d drop by at this hour or at all. But with just mere minutes before lunch, you usually wait a little longer to miss the chaos.

Your eyes dagger in the back of his head. Silent...waiting for him to give you the smallest time of day. He turns a quarter sideways in his seat— he keeps only one leg and an arm outside—the rest of his body still tucked underneath the table.

But you opt for it to be enough for now. After all, you are the only direction he strays away from.

“I think what we’ve been through in this past month was a breakthrough— we haven’t celebrated enough.”

Everyone nods, mumbling incoherently— but to your ear, it sounds like an agreement.

“So for today… by your own choice…I'm deciding to buy lunch for you all.”

You pull papers from behind your back, walking toward the table on its head, where no seat is present, and adjacent to you, he sits in that same position. You don’t gaze upon him for intimidation or any recognition. Rather, you don’t look at him at all.

“There is a limited line space on each sheet, so once it's filled, you cannot have that choice of a meal.”

You pull pens from behind your back and smile as you place them right in the center.

“I’ll let you guys get to it then. I’ll be in my office. First come. First serve.”

Thank you’s and other words of appreciation speak into the thick air.

You walk away with a grin—hearing the scraping chairs and the rippling of paper take over the once peaceful atmosphere.

You're nearly halfway down the hall when Wooyoung turns to mock that same grin. He loved your kind of nice. The way you just handled that was out of genuine kindness, but you did wreak a little havoc for your entertainment. And that dress you wore wreaked havoc of it's own.

Yunho, who’d sat beside him, had also watched you and him both—smiling to himself at the scene you’ve caused. He wanted to do nothing more than smack the Wooyoung’s neck and have him run after you, but good thing he was already on it.

A breath you held deeply was expelled once you reached your office door, but then you smelled him again.

Footsteps grow louder and harder as you make your way into the room, and that’s when you decide to take a glance.

He picked up speed and reached out to you so fast the wind swiped the hair of his bangs, exposing his forehead. It was only a look for milliseconds, but it became an addiction within that same time frame.

He pants with a troublesome smile—smacking his hand on the door before you can shut it. 

“Let’s talk.”

///

You hesitate. His hand is still pressed flat to the door. His chest rises and falls like he ran more than just the hall. And for a second — that one second — it feels like a turning point. A beat in the story where things could begin again.

You step aside.

He walks in.

It’s quiet. The soft click of the door behind him seems louder than it should be.

Neither of you speaks at first.

Then he does— a voice too careful, too rehearsed.

“You look beautiful,” he says. Voice low, almost reverent. But his face doesn’t match the words — every compliment laced with sorrow.

You smile faintly, hesitant. “Then why do you look like you're at a funeral?”

He steps closer, brushing a hair off your shoulder. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

And for a moment, you believe it. For a moment, your heart leans forward, craving something to hold onto.

You let out a soft laugh. “I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

He looks at you then — really looks — and everything in his eyes screams I don’t want to hurt you. That alone makes your breath hitch.

“What's wrong?” you ask, stepping in. “Why do you look so sad?”

He hesitates.

Then, almost too softly: 

“I think we need to take a break.”

The hope you held in your heart shatters like glass under a bare foot.

“What?” you whisper.

He doesn’t repeat it.

You yank your hand from his grasp. “No. No — what the hell do you mean, a break?”

He tries to speak, but you barrel on, voice rising. “When things were finally good? When we gave ourselves to each other— when we said ‘I love you’? That was real.”

He steps forward to calm you, but the anger sparks red.

Your eyes burn. “Right...? Why are you doing this to me?”

You don’t say it aloud — but your mind races to the assistant. The laughs. The coffee. The convenient timing. There has to be someone else.

Your chest heaves. You’re trembling now. “You said you loved me.”

“I do,” he whispers. “But this— us— it’s dangerous. I can’t explain it, but if I stay close, something worse is coming. I can’t protect you from it if I’m the one causing it.”

“Then why not tell me what it is?” you snap. “Why not give me the choice to be hurt instead of just deciding I can’t handle it?”

He reaches for you again, gently, and you push him off at first. But the touch lingers. Your fight softens, a few tears slipping down.

“You don’t get to do this,” you murmur. “You don’t get to walk in here, act like you care, and then drop me all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t what I want. It’s what I have to do.”

You wipe your face. Steady your breath.

“Get out.”

He flinches. Doesn’t argue. Just nods slowly.

You open the door for him.

Before he leaves, he looks back. One last glance. But you cut it short.

“It won’t be long,” you say coldly. “Before everyone’s names are on the menus. Hope you’re hungry.”

The door shuts behind him.

You’re alone.

Again.

///

When you get home, you rip the dress off and shove it to the back of your closet.

Never to wear it again.

It doesn’t deserve another moment of your skin.

It's a funeral outfit now — mourning clothes. Unfit for any celebration. Stained in invisible grief.

You don’t even bother undressing properly. Just peel it off like dead weight.

You stare at the closet for a long time after. The silk bow droops off the hanger like a flower left too long in the sun.

Then you close the door.

Hard.

HERE LIES: The end of the beginning of a loving relationship.

CAUSE OF DEATH: Still under investigation.

…

Days pass. Wooyoung avoids unnecessary contact.

You hold it together — in posture, in professionalism, in every meticulously measured step across the office floor. Your eyes bottle up the emotions you refuse to let spill, not here, not where your name means power.

But his eyes? His eyes flicker when you pass. His footsteps falter — only to walk right past you.

You do everything in your power not to let it show. He’s in your debt. And every day he avoids paying it, the interest grows.

Ten minutes before work ends, you catch him on the elevator — not going up, not heading toward the main floor like usual, but descending… one floor below your garage. He’s not just avoiding conversation now. He’s avoiding your existence.

You tell yourself it’s not just the truth he’s avoiding anymore — it’s you.

But what's the difference between you and Wooyoung? You let yourself feel. You rage at home, in silence, behind doors where your pain belongs. Wooyoung carries it here, like a ghost haunting the very place where it all began.

This office is where he met you. Where he first admired you. Where he kissed you by the windows on a drunken dare that turned into something sacred. This is where you said yes to his contract — his one of unruly desire, nothing about business terms.

He drinks bourbon alone at night, chasing the burn in his chest — the same fire you used to stroke with your hips pressed against him, your nails carving up from his ribs.

But no amount of liquor can erase the scent of you from the pink-swathed corners of every office. It’s not just memory— it’s everywhere.

The next day you're walking to pick up documents from the printer when you catch him — stumbling near the doorway of his office.

Your lip curls instinctively. The clumsiness used to amuse you, especially when it came out in the bedroom — whining, fidgeting, unable to keep still when you teased him long enough.

Now? You ball your fist at your side. Why should I feel bad?

He’s the one dragging himself in here like he’s the victim.

Then he suddenly pinches his side, and you watch his body shudder like he’s about to throw up. He stumbles, one hand bracing the doorframe. You blink — unsure whether to go to him or not.

Then you see him pinch his apple bottom and begin to gag.

‘Now you really owe me one, asshole.’

Just as you're marching down the hall with the harsh stomp of your heels, a breeze rushes past your shoulders.

“Mr. Jung!”

There she goes, nearly falling into disarray—his assistant.

She's all in his face—bending her knees to look even closer, but he softly pushes her away—even patting her hair to calm her down.

“I have the seltzers and the headache powders! Sorry, I took so long…how clumsy of me!”

“It’s okay, Mioko! You did a good job.”

He offers her a sick smile, but then nearly throws up in her face until he redirects himself to the trash near his desk.

That's when you take your queue—walking down quickly to take a left into the printer room, picking up your freshly warmed sheets.

But it runs cold as you march right back up again.

And while Mioko is rubbing deep circles into his back, the paper cuts your hand in the wind, blood running quick.

...

The day drags on, and Wooyoung barely makes eye contact when he passes by. He’s distant, more distant than he’s been in days. Every time you think of him, it’s like that sharp sting in the back of your throat — that tightness you can’t get rid of.

Lunch comes and goes. His assistant, the one you never paid attention to before, is suddenly in every room. You’re sure it’s intentional. She’s hovering more, laughing at his jokes more, looking at him like she’s trying to make the right on him. And maybe she is.

Wooyoung, though, doesn’t seem to notice. He’s in his own world, focused on work, but there’s something about the way he behaves around her that doesn’t sit right with you. It’s not even that he’s being overtly flirtatious. He’s just letting her exist in his space. Letting her watch him. Letting her be.

You start to wonder if he’s trying to get a rise out of you. He’s always known how to push buttons. But this? This feels like something else.

By late afternoon, you sit alone in your office.

Investor meetings have ended. The hallway outside is quiet. Everyone’s either gone home or buried behind closed doors.

And all you can think about are his words.

“We need to take a break.”

Not “I need space.” Not “I’m confused.”

A break. Like you’re a distraction. A detour. Something to be parked and revisited later — if convenient.

The more you sit in the silence, the more your thoughts splinter.

Was it something you did?

Or was it just him?

He was scared, that much is clear. But did he have to run this far?

Did he have to punish you for loving him?

You glance at the clock.

Nearly an hour after the work day. You've just been purposefully avoiding his avoidance.

“Ms. Hart?”

It’s Yunho again. His voice is calm, like always. No rush, no urgency. Just the sound of him being exactly who he is.

You don’t feel like dealing with anything right now, but you can’t shut him out. Not like this.

“Come in,” you say, your voice clipped, but not unkind.

He steps in, coffee in hand, like he always does. “You’ve been at it all day. Figured you could use a break.”

You smile, but it’s forced. “Thanks, Yunho. I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t sit down right away. Instead, he lingers near the door, watching you closely. There’s a brief pause before he speaks again.

“You’ve been a little off today. If you need to talk…” He trails off, giving you a moment to react.

You hesitate. You don’t want to burden him with your issues, but at the same time, the loneliness is starting to suffocate you. For him to notice? It made you feel wanted.

“Maybe another time,” you say, your voice softening. “But thanks.”

He nods and turns to leave, but not before offering a smile. “Not a problem. Ever.”

You watch him go, your heart a little lighter, but the weight of the day still presses down on you.

///

Yunho’s Perspective

He saw it again.

The way Miyoko leaned in.

Her voice had a particular register when she spoke to Wooyoung — light, flighty, with just enough hesitancy to seem bashful. But her hands? Her hands weren’t hesitant at all. They floated near his desk, near his arm, near anything she could make contact with under the guise of being helpful.

Wooyoung didn’t seem interested. Not in the way Miyoko hoped for. His responses were clipped, his nods distracted. Still, he let her hover. Maybe it was easier than pushing her away. Maybe he didn’t even register what she was doing. But Yunho did.

And what unsettled him more wasn’t just Miyoko’s behavior around Wooyoung — it was what happened when Wooyoung looked up.

His eyes would flick across the office. Sometimes toward her. Her.

Yunho caught him doing it twice yesterday and once already this morning.

Wooyoung didn’t look at her like a man who had moved on. He looked like a man trying not to look. Trying not to feel. Trying not to fall back into something he knew he’d lose control over again.

She, however, didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she was trying just as hard not to notice.

Yunho watched as you buried herself in numbers — share reports, investor updates, cultural audits. The kinds of tasks you used to breeze through with a spark in your eye were now being tackled with rigid efficiency. There was no joy in it. Just necessity.

It wasn’t his business. Not really.

But watching you spiral behind glass while Wooyoung sulked under fluorescent lights and Miyoko fluttered around like a moth to flame — Yunho couldn’t ignore the quiet shift of power in the room.

So, he took up space. Not forcefully. Just enough.

He found excuses to walk past your office. Dropped off reports you didn’t ask for. Volunteered for calls that had no relevance to his department, just so he could brief you afterward. Anything to break up the silence settling between the office walls.

You began to soften, little by little.

Not much. Not enough to say you’d let him in. But you’d meet his eye now. You ask his opinion on a pitch, or raise a brow at one of his dry comments, even when you tried not to smile.

And Yunho? He didn’t push. He let you take the lead — even if that lead was slow, cautious, full of unspoken barriers.

But still, something about you had changed.

And so had something about Miyoko.

It started the moment he walked past her desk last Thursday.

She'd been typing something on her screen — probably another status update or calendar sync for Wooyoung — but she paused when he passed. Not like she wanted to say something. More like she didn’t want to be seen watching him.

He felt it again the next day.

And again the day after that.

Her eyes always tracked him a half-second longer than they should. Not flirtatiously — not like the way she hovered over Wooyoung. This was different. Focused. Curious.

As if she knew Yunho was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to see.

Yunho didn’t say anything. But he started paying more attention.

He noticed how Miyoko’s laughter sharpened in Ms. Hart’s presence. How she crossed her legs a little too deliberately when the CEO walked by. How she started wearing a newer shade of lipstick — brighter, more pronounced — and then always reapplied it near reflective surfaces. Never discreetly.

It wasn’t about Yunho. It wasn’t even about Wooyoung anymore.

Miyoko was staging a performance.

And Ms. Hart? She was the audience.

Or at least… she had been.

Because lately, Yunho saw a shift in her, too.

She wasn’t flinching anymore when Miyoko brushed past Wooyoung. She wasn’t sighing in passing when she saw them too close. Her expressions were unreadable now — not cold, not dismissive, but… studied.

Detached.

Yunho knew better than to believe she was unaffected.

But she was re-directing.

And lately, when Yunho stepped in to help — she let him.

Just yesterday, she’d invited him to sit in on a late-afternoon meeting with two junior founders. It wasn’t his department, and he knew she could’ve asked anyone else. But she’d looked up and said:

“You read people well. Stay for this one.”

That was all.

He’d sat two seats to her left, listened as the young entrepreneurs pitched their eco-focused logistics brand. She didn’t interrupt once. Let them talk to themselves in circles. Only after twenty minutes did she fold her hands and glance at Yunho.

“Your take?”

And she’d waited. Watched.

Trusted.

It was a flicker of something — not necessarily romantic. Just real. A kind of recognition that he wasn’t trying to take from her, or play her, or fix her.

He just wanted her to be okay.

That evening, Yunho stayed a bit after hours.

He said it was to finish backened reports. But the truth was, he lingered near the door. Just to see if she’d knew it was safe to leave and day goodbye.

It wasn't the perfect pitch but somewhat moving. Like she had finally let the weight slide off her shoulders for one second. Just one.

In each and every paining day Yunho watched Wooyoung across the floor — slumped in his seat, shoulders tense, eyes darting to Miyoko’s empty desk or your swaying body — he saw the shift happening again.

This wasn’t about causing jealousy. Or payback.

It was about who was paying attention. The attention you both craved from one another.

///

A Couple Weeks Later...

Miyoko’s absence is unusual.

For the first time in two weeks, she isn’t in the breakroom before noon. She isn’t at Wooyoung’s desk first thing, reciting the itinerary like she’s auditioning for his heart. She’s not even whispering with the other interns about lipstick shades and diet sodas.

She’s gone.

And Yunho notices.

So do you.

The only person who doesn’t seem to register it is Wooyoung — or he pretends not to. But he’s restless. His pen clicks incessantly during the morning meeting. He shows up five minutes late, says nothing, and leaves the second his agenda items are done.

He doesn’t even glance in your direction.

You notice, of course. It would’ve been impossible not to. But you’re too busy — too focused — to waste your thoughts on him.

The new pitch cycle has taken off. Investors are hungry. Your inbox is full of follow-ups, fresh proposals, and gratitude emails from young founders who claim you’ve “changed their lives.” And for once, you allow yourself to believe it.

For a day, it doesn’t feel like you’re fighting the world.

You’d sent Yunho a shared folder that morning — strategy drafts and personality audits — and he’d replied within the hour with suggestions marked in gold.

Professional. Fast. Supportive.

No second-guessing. No complications.

Not one person in those emails was detached from you and what you could serve.

...

It’s around 2:30 PM when it happens.

You aren’t there to see it, but the story makes it to your office before the hour is out.

Yunho’s the one who recaps it, careful with every word.

“She brought him this... weird little bento box. Heart-shaped egg, sticky note, the works. He told her it wasn’t appropriate. She laughed. Thought he was joking.”

“Was he?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“No. He wasn’t.”

The final straw comes when Miyoko — not taking the hint — reaches for the collar of Wooyoung’s shirt to brush off an invisible speck. 

He flinches.

And not the kind of flinch you do when someone surprises you. The kind you do when you’re about to explode.

Witnesses say he doesn’t yell. Doesn’t throw anything. But his voice is cold. Razor-sharp.

“Do you not understand the word no?”

The whole office hears it.

And Miyoko? She turns redder than her lipstick. Spins on her heel. Leaves without taking her box.

Wooyoung doesn’t chase her.

He doesn’t even look up again.

Yunho says it feels like the whole floor exhales afterward. Some people didn’t even realize how uncomfortable her presence had become until it vanished. Like stepping out of a hot room you didn’t know you were suffocating in.

Just then, when that moment came to your knowledge— the same feeling had washed over you.

So, what next?

...

By 4:00 PM, you’re in your office, alone again.

But for once, it doesn’t feel like punishment.

No knock. No calls. No demands. Just a few soft beeps from your laptop — auto-updates and follow-ups from your morning emails. You stretch out across the couch with your heels kicked off, an iced coffee on the windowsill, and the rarest of luxuries:

A moment to yourself.

You think about taking the elevator down, grabbing a slice of that raspberry cheesecake your favorite restaurant nearby sells after 4, but decide against it.

You don’t want to lose the stillness. Not yet.

Instead, you replay the investors’ reactions from earlier — the smiles, the nods, the actual respect in the room when you spoke.

It isn’t easy being the woman in charge. But today? It was worth it.

You squeal once — just a little. A ridiculous, girlish squeal muffled into the back of your wrist as you kick your feet softly into the couch cushions.

For a second, you let yourself be happy.

You spin up onto your feet, doing a dumb little shimmy in the center of the room, mouthing an old song under your breath like you’re back in your bedroom at seventeen.

It’s dumb, and it’s perfect.

You grin like a fool. Wooyoung had free space again, although cautious of whom he invited.

But it wasn’t his office in your own company you felt restricted to — it was his physical being.

“That fucking phone,”  You thought back to the moment he got that message, and began to part from you, just in distance. “Who could it be? Some other chick turning him out?”

Then you walk back to your desk before you can get too personal. Just to check your email.

Business and pleasure, a recipe—y’know the saying.

A new email chimes in.

The subject line is blank.

No preview text. No familiar name.

Just a string of numbers in the address line — almost like an error. But something about it makes your stomach churn before you even click.

There’s one attachment.

Just one.

You open it.

And stop breathing.

It’s a photo.

Of you.

Taken from outside the building. Through your office window.

Your face half-shadowed in gold light, arms hugging your shoulders, eyes closed in the sunlight.

The moment. That private, unguarded moment — the one you thought only the sun had witnessed. Your blood turns cold.

The caption is in the body of the email. Just one line:

“You think it’s over now, don’t you? You think he’s yours again.”

You don’t scream. You don’t move. Not at first.

The cursor blinks at the bottom of the email like it’s mocking you — like it knows you can’t delete it, can’t run from it, can’t pretend this doesn't get worse before it gets good again.

You press your hand to your chest, but it doesn’t help. Your breath is already retreating.

You feel watched. Exposed. And worst of all… violated.

You’ll recover — or pretend you have.

But this changes everything.

Now you know:

Anyone could be watching.

And they know far too much.

You didn’t wait until the end of the day this time.

You heard his footsteps. That signature stride. You’ve memorized it by now — a rhythm stamped into your skull from years of walking beside him.

This time, you moved faster.

You whipped your blazer off the back of your chair, heels thudding as you caught him rounding the corner near the elevator. His hand was hovering near the call button when your voice came sharp and low behind him.

“You're going to follow me home.”

He turned — startled, caught. Still too quiet.

“I don’t want to hear shit,” you added. “Bottom of the garage or not — I’ll be waiting. And if you’re not there, Wooyoung, I swear to God, I’ll expose everything before anyone else even gets the chance.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t need one. The decision was made. You didn’t speak on the drive back. Not a single word exchanged.

He parked across the street like always. Careful. Eyes darting, as if someone was watching. Maybe someone was. You didn’t care anymore.

Inside, your apartment was dim, untouched. The silence is too clean.

You slammed the door behind you. He followed, confining the remaining space to a gentle close.

Your heels hit the floor first. Then your earrings. Then your blazer flew onto the armrest. You dropped your purse with a careless thud. The keys skidded under the counter. Your hair came down next — pins pulled out one by one, fingers shaking.

“I can’t—” your voice broke. “I can’t do this alone.”

He stood still by the door. Eyes locked on you. Watching you unravel. You hadn’t cried yet. You were trying so hard not to.

“Why are you just standing there?” you snapped. “Say something. Anything. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. You knew something was off, and you just… You just went silent.”

Still nothing. His jaw flexed. Then…“You’ve been getting messages too.” It came out more as a statement than a question.

That stopped you.

“Messages? As in more than just one?”

“Emails. Texts. Photos,” he lists. “At first I thought it was a scam, but then…” he swallowed. “Then I saw your name. Your beautiful face and mine…but–god. I didn’t know what they had, or how far they’d go. I thought staying away would protect you.”

You stared at him, your throat dry.

“You’ve known this whole time?”

He nodded once. Guilty. Heavy.

“I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten right. I’ve come to work hungover almost every damn day.” He takes a step forward—nearly choking on his tongue. “I couldn’t talk to you. I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t want them to use me to get to you, love.”

Your hands trembled by a combination of adoration and fear. You turned your back on him, wiping your face hard and heading for the wine cabinet. You pulled out the first red bottle you saw, uncorked it, and poured a full glass without looking.

“I need something in me before I lose it.”

He moved toward you — slowly, cautiously. His head pounded just watching you, but he didn’t reach for the glass until you raised it again for the third time.

“Hey—” his hand closed over yours mid-sip. “That’s enough. You can’t think straight like this.”

“I don’t want to think straight!” you snapped, voice shaking now. “I’ve spent the last month thinking straight, and where has it gotten me? They’re watching us, Woo. They know everything. I mean, how can we even think there’s just one man behind this!”

The glass clattered into the sink. Half-full. Forgotten.

He pulled you into him. No words. No excuses. Just his chest rising and falling against yours, his heartbeat louder than anything else in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For all of it. But everything I do is for you. I love you to pieces.”

You stood there. Letting the tension bleed out. The anger was still in you, but it was knotted with heartbreak now.

Your voice was small when it came again. “We have to figure this out. Together.”

“We will,” he said. “If you want to keep — us — we need to fight back. Whoever this person is, they want to break us. The company. Our love.”

You nodded, his forehead pressing lightly to yours.

“They won’t.”

“We won’t let them.”

After a few tender moments, you both sat on the couch, knees touching. A notepad on the table between you, you use for grocery lists and bored doodles; scribbled with names, dates, timelines — anything that could be a lead.

You slide it to him.

He reads the first name: Broker.

The second one makes his jaw tense.

Miyoko.

A third lingers, half-written, half-hoped:

Yunho?

He shakes his head. “No. Not him.”

You cross it out but don’t rip it up.

“Well, if we were both cooped up in our offices during that time…,” you whisper, eyes scanning the list. “Someone watched us. Someone who knows us.”

“Who do you think it is?” you asked.

He blinks in a way that is affected by his override thinking. 

“No idea. But they’ve been watching both of us for a long time.”

“How long do you think they’ve been inside our lives?”

“Longer than we realized.”

Silence again. But this one wasn’t sharp.

It was sacred. The kind you could breathe inside.

You glanced at the wine bottle again, half-tempted. But his hand reached out and squeezed yours.

“Just stay here,” he said. “Stay with me for now.”

And you did.

That mattered more than anything on the page.

You exhaled slowly, watching your thumb brush over the ridge of his knuckle, back and forth. There wasn’t much left to say, not tonight. You were both running on fumes — adrenaline, stress, exhaustion… and something deeper.

You stood, pulling him gently up with you, fingers still interlaced.

No rush. No words.

Just two people who had been bent to their breaking points, still choosing to hold on — to each other.

And in that quiet, something shifted.

Something deep and unsaid that lived beneath the fear and the files and the fights. Something that had waited patiently, silently, until you were both ready.

You led him down the hallway.

And for the first time in weeks — maybe months — the door to your room opened not just to shelter, but to something sacred.

You don’t even remember who moved first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. But your bodies collided like the truth finally snapped your bones into motion.

His hands weren’t gentle. Yours weren’t either. You pulled at his collar like you wanted to rip every unanswered question from his throat. He gripped your hips like he’d been aching to hold something real — anything real — for weeks.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was everything you’d buried under silence and suspicion and fear —now rising all at once like a tidal wave that didn’t care who it drowned.

“Don’t walk away from me again,” you breathed.

“Then stop pushing me,” he snapped.

That was the moment you grabbed him. That was the moment you stopped pretending to be fine. And neither of you cared who got hurt first.

The air between you two thickens — not with silence anymore, but heat.

That kind of heat that crawls up the back of your neck and sinks its teeth into your spine. He’s looking at you differently now, not with distance, not even with apology — but hunger. Real, familiar, soul-wrenching hunger.

You don’t say a word when you reach for him. It’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s like unwrapping fire with fire — heels kicked off, buttons flying, clothes clinging on like they don’t want to be left out. You drag him by the collar like you’ve been waiting to flip this whole scene inside out, and he lets you.

Somewhere between the hallway and the couch, you forget who’s leading — not that it matters. The tension built over weeks is unraveling fast, teeth and hands and breath making up for lost time. It’s messy. Sharp. Like two storms clashing in the same sky.

Your pushed backward calves deep on the edge of the mattress. Wooyoung nearly topples you over and folds your upper half back while your legs are stuck in place.

But you both laugh it off and go back in for seconds—you were just that hungry. He picked you up from behind and threw you in the middle of your bed. The bedding was too clean with a lack of creases.

But as soon as Wooyoung gripped his arms around your thighs and trudged you forward, it refined its purpose.

Soon, your nails clawed into the sheets. His tongue circled your hole and in it to bring your wetness from the inside out.

He springs into a different action and begins to kiss upward between your folds—sucking a stronghold onto your clit that makes your first orgasm break through. Your eyes rolled back hard. Your legs tingled from your toes to your core.

Wooyoung laughed and kissed you chastely. But once he pulls back, you slap him with a grin.

What took you by surprise was that he smacked you back instantly. And hot damn—you felt so good about that. He saw through you. He knew you had liked that more than you should’ve. So then he lines himself with your cunt, rubbing his veiny dick through your slicked folds. Teasing the sensitivity of your clit on and off.

But what really turned you on is the hold he had on your throat. Every fucking inch of his body is littered with veins in his divine strength as a man. He hadn't even pushed himself inside you, and you were teetering so close to the waterfalls' edge.

You bite your lip in a physical reaction—looking down adoringly at his wet, sliding cock between your folds. He stops for a moment. Sliding the head near your hole until he lets it go and springs up again. You nearly whine and cry out in annoyance, but instead, you do it in bliss.

Wooyoung is stroking ‘come here’ motions inside you over that spongy spot that squeezes in intensity between his fingers. It's so fast that your thighs wiggle like a bee's wings. Then you find yourself in that same space. Lips bitten, eyes rolled back hard, hands crumpled into the clean bed sheets.

And another orgasm washes over. Much wetter than the last.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could squirt, baby?”

You smile at the ceiling. Getting over the subsiding of pent-up release. “Why haven’t you ever made me squirt? Ever think of that?”

Wooyoung already had eyes that were beautifully mismatched— working as one of the unique, charming points of his beautiful body. But now it has become more apparent as his eyebrows quirk. He took it as a challenge.

Not long after—your clit was getting licked on.

“Shit!”

Sucked on.

“Fuck!”

Spanked on.

“Oh my fucking—augh~!”

The waterworks had come out to start a show. The light pink once underneath you had grown a patch of fuchsia from your wetness. You were almost through, and Wooyoung just kept smacking hard onto your clit. On… and on…. and on.

Strangely, you got angrily aroused. You hooked your legs behind his toned ass—flipping him over into the cowgirl position. Your wetness made slipping him inside so easy.

You didn’t waste time. You bounced atop of him so hard that he bounced above the mattress— barely touching it with his body in the air. His brain short-circuited to catch up with the fast sequence of events. You were just below him not too long ago, but here you are now. He’s inside you deep.

Wooyoung looks at you as best as he can in amazement. He knew you were making him feel so fucking good. It’s just that his brain couldn't calculate it.

You were so thrilled, but your stamina began to deplete, and your thighs burned not long before. So you settled down—groin to groin and circled your hips with all of him inside you. It still felt good. Like a deep tissue massage.

But Wooyoung was able to reconnect his brain again like this. And not long after, you were back on the bottom.

The position shifts this time. You're on your stomach—ass up high.

Another slap to your cunt stings and tingles.

Wooyoung’s stretch of his thick cock follows behind.

You swore half of your mind there for a second could have been non-functioning—and the pace he was putting work into? Let’s just say the neighbors knew his name if they hadn't already.

As you bounce your hips back and arch your back deeper— you put in the effort to meet him halfway.

Your cheek squishes into your closed eye against the mattress as he pounces in and out of your puffy pussy. The squelching of your wetness had reached from the inside out to his balls, leaking your cum all around them.

The cold air around it weakens him further, and he begins to falter and slow down. He whines loudly into the air in frustration. Just as he was so close to washing weeks of it all the self-sabotage away, it captures him even in such tender moments.

You feel the dropping point in his performance, but further notice his need for that happy ending. You look up again. Pulling yourself slightly off the bed and reach into your bedside drawer. Once you retrieved what you needed to feel, you pulled away from him.

He crawls after you, begging for help like the olden days. Panting with his eyes closed like a kitten in heat.

“M-mistress, I need to cum, please—help me.”

Wooyoung feels something tap onto his plump pink lips. Firm. Long. Familiar. He blinks open his eyes in a haze—soon blown open as he recognizes that it's the strap on you’ve never tried together.

“Think you can get off from this?”

The ways his eyes cross to focus in make you want to cross the line. “Yes, Mistress. But I need you rough… fast…and hard.”

His cheeks swell in embarrassment, but you grab onto his jaw and kiss him in adoration.

“Into position then, kitty.”  

Then the roles are switched as he lies on his stomach to where you were before. Stomach onto the sheets—ass up high and wagging. You squeeze lube over his pulsing hole and the strap—pushing in slowly for his adjustment. But he’s pushing and pulling off of it in an instant. Little did you know how much he had practiced to prepare for you all this time.

So you give what he needs…and much more.

Your nails rake through the fronts of his hair, stopping midsection to pull him back. His grip deepens in the sheets like a real feline—tugging them to slip from the corners.

Rough. Fast. Hard. Fucking him just like he wanted. Just like needed— let him tell it. If he were able to speak, that is.

Wooyoung looked ghostly in the way he had his eyes rolled into his skull, his mouth hanging open wide as he gasped for the air suck out of his lungs in every thrust.

To get him closer, he pumped his cock—focusing on rubbing onto his red, sensitive head for immediate relief.

You gritted your teeth— obliterating his hole like no other that made him cry out. And let's just say: If the neighbors hadn’t met you yet—they certainly had now. Ms.Weilderman—the sweet old lady next door—is certainly smiling proudly.

He gasps when he gets his release. It's quick, sharp, and reaches so far that it covers the wall behind the pillows. He shakes and collapses not long after bringing you down with him.

Your chest rises and falls on his back — both of you tangled in warmth and sweat and what’s left of that fire you couldn’t hold back.

But something’s off.

His breath is shaky. His shoulders stiffen beneath your cheek. He’s quiet — too quiet for someone who just had his heart wrung out like that. You lift your head slowly, your voice a whisper as you trace lazy, loving lines along the curve of his spine.

“What’s wrong?”

He exhales through his nose, like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“I started this,” he murmurs. “I—I wanted this. But now I’m just sitting here thinking... why the hell should we have to keep hiding it?”

You stay silent.

Because you’ve asked yourself the same thing — night after night, long before tonight ever happened.

“I hate that we have to be scared to touch each other. To look at each other like this. Like what we feel is something to be ashamed of.” His voice cracks just enough for you to feel the pain in it, the ache caught somewhere between regret and longing. “Why should we have to wait for stolen moments to feel real? Like this is some crime.”

He’s not crying loud — but you feel the tremble in his back, the way his body pulls in on itself like he’s trying not to fall apart.

You press a kiss to the space between his shoulder blades, lips soft against salt-wet skin.

And then it hits you too — the tears coming up raw, clogging your throat until your breath hiccups with them. You wipe at your face uselessly, and those sticky strings of spit-and-cry come with them, trailing down your chin as you try to steady yourself against him.

You roll off and pull him into your arms instead — no words now. Just the weight of him against your chest, his breath syncing with yours as your fingers tangle in his hair.

You cry together.

But it’s not a weakness.

It’s true.

You bask in the wreckage of it — the love, the shame, the need, the war it’s taken to hold on to something that feels this rare. This real.

And even in the silence, there’s an understanding:

This moment doesn’t make you weaker. It reminds you of what you’re willing to fight for.

You already know what it’s like to live without this.

You never want to again.

And whoever dared to make you feel like loving each other was something to hide?

They had hell to pay.

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

A/N: Who do you think could be behind all this?

Episode 6

THANK YOU FOR READING.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

©️1117feverlessdreams, 2025

Much love,

Or rather, draped in nature itself--- leaves on vines coiled around his waist like a kilt, a sash of clustered flowers resting across his bare chest like an afterthought. He is slender like a stem, but there is nothing fragile about him. His skin is radiant, a sun-warmed tan with subtle hints of blush where the light hits. His lips are soft and pink, matching the petal-pale hair that glows like spun sakura silk under the sun.

His eyes--- deep, shimmering, impossibly dark--- hold the wild of a forest pond. His every movement is gentle, deliberate. Like a breeze through leaves. Even the faint veins along his arms look like root systems under his flesh.

He could be mistaken for a flower.

But when he speaks, there’s thorn beneath the bloom.

“I told your men to retreat. If they know what’s good for them, they’d listen." His glass orbs of light for eyes rake over your ragged clothing as if he can see straight through your pockets. "But I see the message hasn’t reached the lower classes.”

The vines tighten. You moan as the last bits of strength are squeezed from you.

“You. You’ll carry it. Return to them and tell them: No one enters the Garden of Judgment. And if they do… they will not return.”

Tears you wish could drip from your eyes bottle up inside from being upside down. You would hope at the least it would touch something inside him that was humane, but there was something about him---powers aside--- that seemed strikingly different. “I can’t--- I don’t belong there. I don’t want to belong there. That place is treacherous. I’d rather die!”

“And you think this is the place for you?” “Foolish child. You don’t choose the garden — it chooses you. If you wish to die here, do so where your rotting corpse will be wanted.”

The vines hurl you backward---out of the garden, past the barrier of thorns.

You land on your back, panting.

And there you stay. For hours. Days maybe. You sit just outside the garden’s edge, staring into it, repeating his words:

You don’t choose the garden. It chooses you.

You try again. And again.

You speak to it. Plead with it.

Thorns prick your skin. Roots twist just out of reach. It tests you.

But still--- you don’t leave.

You grow weaker. You cough, starving. Your stomach turns in on itself.

And then...

A leaf pokes you gently.

A flower tips over---pouring cool water onto your lips.

You cough but roll over as your stomach grumbles, you have the feeling that it’s began to eat itself from the inside out.

And there it is--- a woven basket full of wild berries.

“Thank you… dear garden.”

You take a bite. They're delicate. Tart. Alive.

“What delectable berries you create… truly.”

The vines rustle. A little shy.

“This must’ve been your kindness,” you murmur. “Not that cruel flower man...”

The vines suddenly shake.

No.

You blink.

“Wait--- he didn’t create you, did he?”

The garden responds.

The trees shape-shift. Branches contort. Vines illustrate the story in symbols.

You watch it unfold: He forced his way in. He wasn’t chosen. Now, he is cursed to protect it for eternity.

“So, he’s not one of you…he’s a prisoner of sorts?”

The plants nod.

“Huh,” you scoff. “He really has some nerve.”

A tree crosses its branches tightly like arms, turning to you in agreement.

“Garden of Judgment,” you whisper. “Thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t still be here. You must know I speak truth--- you can feel it, can’t you?”

You shift your dress to face its roots on your bare knees. “I don’t seek to steal. I’m on an escape because I wished to use your flowers to heal others. My fellow villagers…they want to live somewhere that doesn’t hurt.”

The vines still.

Then… a sign appears. Formed from leaves and bark.

You may enter… but only if you compromise with your truth.

“Of course dear garden.”

If you break from it--- you’re cursed here forever. Like him. But without his power.

You pause.

“....if that’s what it takes…then I accept.”

The trees uproot themselves to coven a pathway with a roar. Wind sweeps past you, and the pink flowers ahead begin to glow.

You follow.

“Like his pink hair,” you murmur. “His skin. His lips. His cheeks…”

You laugh of excitement under your breath. It feels too close to a dream.

Your footsteps hushed against soft moss. The air smells like blooming tea leaves. As you move forward, butterflies flutter across your arms like blessings. Leaves part just for you, and small woodland creatures watch curiously--- but not afraid.

The further you walk, the more you feel it---the garden knows you now.

And then...

You find him. Pink petals bow towards him in perfect spirals.

He stands by a steaming pool---the clearest water you've ever seen. The mist rises gently around his shoulders, and light breaks through the canopy in thin, golden threads.

With every step he takes, a flower blooms above ground. Tiny tree buds, soft-petaled and pink, follow him like loyal footsteps.

He hasn’t noticed you.

But the garden does.

A breeze shoves at your back like an impatient friend, and you stumble into view with a gasp.

A twig snaps.

He turns.

Bare chest. Pink hair. Rosy skin kissed by sun and glimmered by reflections of water.

He looks at you like a problem.

You freeze. “I made a promise…to the forest. I will only make use of it for good. I will maintain its beauty.”

“Maintain? You’re already speaking as if it’s yours. Are you sure what you’re doing isn’t just… disdain in disguise?”

You stiffen. You’re so tired of people pretending they know you.

“You’re no better. You stand there in a nest of vines with all your flower powers like a divine being, but your reputation fades faster than your petals.”

His eyes sharpen. He realizes the garden had told his tale. But why to you?

“What I did... all those years ago to be trapped here was for good reason. I won’t let someone harboring greed live in a world they didn’t earn. Especially not someone who dares to judge me.”

“I am judging you. Because you threw me out like a weed the second you assumed I was like the rest of them. But the kingdom doesn’t claim me either. They call me servant, tick picker, nursemaid to their hag mothers.”

Your voice cracks.

“I’ve given my hands, my back, my body to heal people who’d rather die than say thank you. And I’ve done it without the help of a single vine. However, this whole garden… is medicine. And the world out there is full of sick bastards who’d burn it down for a taste.”

That lands. His face falters, just for a second.

“And your world… your kings… kills families to keep what was never theirs.”

The flowers that were breath hood previous steps stop blooming. The air stills.

Somewhere, high above the canopy, the wind sighs.

And the garden… listens.

He steps closer, the water rippling through the sound his feet vibrated.

“You don’t even know your soul is bound now. You didn’t earn your place. This is your place now. Because you twisted fate.”

Your blood burns, and you take closer steps— right until your feet stops at a distance that can fill in another pair. “And you threw me out of the only place I’ve ever felt peace. You treated me like I was a pile of that burnt rubble before the garden--- like I was nothing.”

That stops him. For just a few painstaking moments. But his chest rises back up from fall, and his mouth moves to echo your message like the chirping birds.

"There were people buried under that rubble—-my father for one. That is my problem with your kingdom. That is why...you meant absolutely nothing to me."

The silence hangs.

The steam swirls.

And somewhere deeper in the forest... the garden waits, in conjuring.

You stand in stunned silence.

The garden around you glows with soft golden flecks, but you don’t see it. Not really.

All you can see is him--- that man with petal-colored hair, retreating into the brush with an arrogant flick of his wrist. Gone, like none of this matters to him. Like you don’t matter.

But you do, and sadly, neither of you know it yet.

…

"Before the Forest"/"Shelter By Moonlight"

You’d once thought the king noble. Maybe not kind, but useful. Powerful.

You remember tending to one of the soldiers after a vicious battle. You knelt in the quiet corner of his room, applying poultices while overhearing the coded words slipping from the king’s lips.

“We’ll send a message,” he said. “Let the flowers tell it.”

Back then, you didn't know what it meant. Not until later…

You were never allowed in the palace’s library to read. But dusting the shelves? That wasn’t forbidden.

So you dusted. Skimmed the spines. Tilted books just enough to peek inside. Guards were skeptical at first, but after your cleaning—- it made the royal hall less embarrassing--- thanks to the nine noble children wrecking it daily--- no one looked twice.

You stood by the queen as she taught her young children the alphabet—- memorized titles as you swept. Later teaching yourself medicine between your so-called “shelf inspections.”

And when you noticed that common ingredients for curing plague and fevers--- elderberries, eucalyptus, cinnamon bark, and many more--- were growing in the nearby wildlands...

You knew what you had to do.

You waited until the king left again.

Then you ran into the woods with your ragged gown and bare hands. You foraged everything you could find. Returned home, brewed your own mixtures. You healed people. Not with gold. Not with status. But with roots.

The king returned--- triumphant that day from his journey.

He declared he'd would find the legendary Garden of Judgment. As it had involvement with the kingdom in the past.

You dropped to your knees. Praised him like a fool. You thought he’d given you all salvation.

You told him what the garden could mean for the sick, the starving, the lost.

You kissed the ground at his feet.

And for your passion… He called you a witch.

The townspeople begged on your behalf. That made it worse.

He claimed you’d wanted power. That you were casting spells in secret. That your tears were manipulation.

You were thrown in a cell. Execution, three days.

At first, you were sadden the king couldn’t see things the way you had. That he didn’t care for his people because he made you prioritize the help of those he thought mattered.

Himself, his mother wife and children. His soldiers.

But never his people, and it made sense why he had gone for months to leave your town defenseless with poorly trained soldiers. He always hoped to find something better while you rot for dead.

With two days left, you prayed to the gods to sway your king themselves. Either through nature, a dream, or his family. You ran your mouth quietly as your lips cracked dry, not even the food you were served seemed appealing in your starved state. You saw no point to it, and it was shameful you had to meet death to attain such a luxury.

The day before you faced reality for what it was. Your king was evil and only sought for himself. So instead you curse him in prayer. Begged the gods to scare him off--- through sign. Have an animal attack him and his men in nature, haunt him in warning though his dreams, bring upon sickness and poor to his families. You had wished a massacre for all humanity on earth to the gods, and only if it meant getting to him.

He only saw resource as a trade for a power that will only serve for some short years in the conditions this life brought to all of you.

He was so self centered, ignorant, nothing more than scum off of your peeling feet. 

On the day of your execution, you’ve come to terms for what awaited you. Here now in the real world, and the judgement that decided your fate for eternity. You were going to curse all in your final words- so loudly- it would shake the universe.

A smile played on your face as a jangle of keys sounded at the bars that withheld you, and suddenly, they had dropped to your feet.

You stuttered in upholding your head out of weakness, but there she was, the queen .

The queen was the only who've received your doctrines for years on end.

You’d held her hand during her childbirths--- ones the king never attended. You tended to the wounds she never admitted she had.

But you couldn’t heal her heart.

“I have a trolley of men waiting outside the castle for you." the queen whispered. “He won’t return until late morning. Please--- go now.”

Your chains drug along as you placed your lips between the bars and beckoned.

“My queen… come with me.”

She gasps and came to tears aloud.

You hear her sniffles and tears being tucked away, but it’s evident they’re screaming to be let out. 

“I can’t,” she whispered. “The children… they need their father.”

You could not argue with her, but no man could claim holding to be a father if he’s absent. But you suppose the little moments of his presence is what she was holding near.

She gave you water. Bread. Two guards disguised your chains as prisoner transport.

Miles outside the kingdom, the locks clattered loose in the grass.

And So, You Wandered. Hungry. Cold. Determined.

You searched for the garden. You found it. You found him. Unexpectedly.

He threw you out.

But still… you returned.

And now it’s nightfall. The stars are blurred by mist.

You need shelter.

The path glows again. The garden flickers with golden light — illuminating a grove of gray trees ahead.

But these trees aren’t like the others.

They stare with dark eyes. With eyes you see placed on palm readers' cards.

Dozens of trunks, smooth and tall--- not painted, not carved. Eyes grown from bark. Unblinking. Unmoving. But you feel them tracking your every step.

You walk faster. The trees repeat. Again. Again.

You break into a run. You trip over a vine. You hit the ground hard.

“What the hell could you possibly be running from?”

His voice.

You groan and look up.

There he is. Leaning against a tree. Half-shrouded in moonlight.

“I’m looking for shelter,” you snap. “Sleeping on dirt isn’t ideal for another night.”

“And, as the garden’s sick and twisted humor allows it…” he smirks, “You found me.”

“Oh cry me a river. I never wanted to see your smug face again.”

“Then I suppose you can’t stay there.”

You sit up.

And now you see it:

A massive treehouse, built into the belly of a towering, ancient tree. Its bark glows faintly green. Fireflies dance across the walls. Lanterns hang from branches, swinging like sleepy stars. Below, a small lake glimmers with fishlike sparks of light.

A thick, mouthwatering scent spills out.

“Oh how sick and twisted this truly is…” you mutter, dragging yourself toward the warmth.

The door creaks open. He doesn’t even hold it--- just leaves it cracked.

You argue.

You eat his soup.

You drop in one extra ingredient from the shelf of preserved jars amongst the wall--- just a pinch of crushed bay leaf and it transforms the broth entirely.

He pauses. Blinks.

“You don’t have to say it,” you grin. “I can hear it in your belly.”

“Well, yes. Your presence has shifted my dinner plans to a later time.”

“I bet it was worth the wait.”

“Please do not say such baffling things to me while I’m eating.”

“It is you who baffles me.”

You both laugh for the first time ever in one another's presence.

He takes your bowl, rinses it in a basin.

You wander.

There’s a library carved into the tree itself--- shelves grown from the roots, books tucked in every curve. Your fingertips drag over the spines in awe.

“This,” he says from behind you, “is where your limits end. Do not take my generosity for granted.”

“I might be stuck here forever, you know,” you say. “You’ll have to share eventually.”

“I’m sharing my rations. And a bedroom. I think I’ve done enough for ten lifetimes.”

“Well…I am grateful.”

“That’s rare...”

You sigh and walk out defeated. “I’ll be out by morning.”

“Much obliged.”

A beat of silence.

“Goodnight to you too…” you push out back into the corridor and into the door of the bedroom.

“Seonghwa!”

You turn.

“Remember the name and the face… so you don’t get in my way.”

You roll your eyes.

“Such a generous little bastard…”, you mutter.

He smiles — just barely.

The fireflies pulse against the window as you lie in some makeshift bedding.

And for the first time in days, you sleep under a roof.

...

Storms, Silence, and the Philosophy of Power

You wake to rain.

Heavy, drumming rain--- not the gentle kind that kisses windows, but the kind that feels like a warning. A storm thick enough to wash away paths, voices, certainty.

Seonghwa is gone.

The hearth is empty. The scent of his cooking--- what little lingered--- has faded into the wood. The vines outside sway in rhythm with the wind, tapping against the glass like impatient fingers.

You pull your shawl tight and pad barefoot into the main corridor.

“Seonghwa?”

No answer.

You follow the only warmth left in the treehouse--- the flickering glow of a nearby chamber. The library.

“Hello…? Seonghwa?”

“Who goes there!”

You flinch.

A snicker leaves him as he leans back and situates himself comfortably again. He’s tucked in a corner, legs folded beneath him, book open across his lap. The soft pink of his hair falls lazily over one eye, casting a shadow across his cheekbone.

“I told you not to take my generosity for granted,” he mutters. “And you snoop in here anyway.”

“I was only looking for you.”

“And medallions grow on trees.” He flips a page without looking at you. “Well… maybe they do here...But you? Out.”

“Oh Seonghwa, you cannot be serious.”

“Try me.”

“It’s pouring out there,” you snap. “And it’s freezing in every room except this one. Noted as to why you're all curled up in here like a---”

“Alright!” He slams the book shut with a sigh.

“You can stay. But that means no touching, no reading, and don’t dare think about learning anything.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just sit and stare at all the knowledge I could be absorbing?”

“If you’re here for warmth,” he says, sliding the book back open, “then nothing is all you need to do.”

You huff dramatically and plop down on the wooden floor, dragging a pillow from a nearby chair.

You sit criss-cross, back straight--- legs stretching long--- just enough to make a point.

He doesn’t react.

Of course he doesn’t.

But you know he notices.

Your eyes settle on him. He looks like mythology made real---legs crossed, spine straight, lit softly by candlelight and the glow of storm--- filtered windows. His pink hair casts blush-toned shadows down his collarbones, and the rise and fall of his chest matches the rhythm of the thunder.

You try not to stare.

But honestly?

It’s a view.

The silence stretches on until the thunder rattles the ceiling.

You flinch. Just a bit.

And then your silly impulses take over as a fear mechanism.

You kick your legs straight up and high into the air---holding your behind as a booster. One leg nearly flops over your shoulder and you giggle when you almost crush your own neck.

One heel drops a little too far, grazing Seonghwa's leg.

“Ugh. Children,” he mutters under his breath, shifting his feet beneath the chair with a glare.

You pull your knees to your chest and chew your lip.

“Why are you interested in medicine?” you asks suddenly, without looking up.

He blinks.

“Why should that be your concern?”

“Because I am too,” you say simply. “It’s why I ran away in the first place.”

“Or maybe--- you were just kicked out for your… invasive nature.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “Humans are invasive species. Why do you think we ride horses, build mansions in trees, and hijack sacred gardens?”

You grin.

“Fair point. Congratulations. Tell me your tale then, oh obnoxious one. What makes you think you belong here?”

You pause.

And for the first time in a long while, you let your truth unravel.

“You were right about me,” you begin. “I was a lowly servant. My king only saw value in me when it suited him--- his mother, his soldiers, his heirs. Nine of them. Maybe more now.”

“I tended his wife through every lonely childbirth. Helped his mother through sickness, though she called for foreign nobles to replace me every time.”

“But while he left on his ‘quests,’ I stayed. And I read. I cleaned the libraries. Pretended to skim pages for damage. But I read.”

“That’s how I found the first records of the garden. The Garden of Judgment.”

Your eyes meet his.

“I was so excited, Seonghwa. I thought I could help people. That we’d no longer lose anyone to plague or poor crops. But he saw power. Not healing. And when I asked to use it, he branded me a witch.”

His brows twitch by some sort of trigger, but he relaxes his face in seconds to disguise the obvious.

“I was thrown in a cell. Set for execution. I was freed only because his wife pitied me.”

You exhale.

“And now I’m here. Because I still believe this place isn’t just magic. It’s a new world. A new way to live.”

Seonghwa grows quiet for a long time.

Then he closes the book.

Staring straight at you.

“Do you really think I would hand over this garden’s knowledge to cure the sick hearts of your people?”

Your jaw drops.

“Do you know the destruction they've already caused?” he says, voice low. "If you really knew what they were, you’d know… they’re not worth saving.”

Your breath catches. “Then tell me what I don’t know.”

“What’s the point? You’d still care for them. You’d still chase their approval because you are their healer. You’re the only one who ever was.”

You sit up straighter.

“Answer me this, please,” you whisper. “Are all of my people destructive? Or just the ones who hurt you and what you used to love?”

“What’s the difference,” he mutters. “Warriors. Sick lowlives. They’re all just trying to take what they can.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is!” he snaps. “It’s just survival. And it’s about time you woke up to it!”

The rain howls harder.

But the room has never felt more still.

///

You had promised to find your own place in the garden.

And so, after that tense night of crackling thunder and quiet philosophy, you set out with a woven basket on your back and fingers that couldn’t stop brushing the leaves like old friends.

The garden responded to your curiosity. Lavender fronds bowed at your touch. Mushroom caps tilted like they were tipping their hats. You gathered a collection of the strangest, softest herbs--- the kind that smelled like sleep and old songs--- and nestled them gently into your satchel.

When the sun began to lower, you crafted yourself a hammock out of twisted vines and laid beneath a thick-armed tree--- the ones you've see before with the eyes. Dozens of them.

You tried to sleep.

But the longer you stared back at those unmoving pupils, the heavier your eyelids grew without issue. As if by magic.

Your body sagged into the woven sling, and a whisper of breath passed your lips.

You didn’t want to sleep right then anymore.

But the garden wanted you to.

…

"The Lake of Replenishment"/ "The Wild Truce"

You stand in a burning field, sword in hand.

A faceless man stands beside you--- strong, trembling. His hand in yours.

The garden around you screams.

Trees are split from the root. Roots bleed.

Someone cries your name.

You turn--- they fall.

Your knees hit the dirt. You’re unarmed. Powerless.

A voice crashes around you like wind in your skull:

Save him. Save them. Save us.

A golden figure that shines in gold reduces it power as it glances your way proudly.

Your king.

Kill him.

You wake with a gasp.

The tree eyes are closed--- no longer eyes at all, but jagged scars.

This morning is golden and damp, quiet in a way that feels like mourning. You sit up, groaning. Your body aches, your stomach growls.

And then…

the smell of your underarms?

"Oh god, you stink."

You strip down and stumble into the nearby lake. Same as you saw him in by coincidence. Or maybe the garden runs in circles.

The water welcomes you--- warm like a drawn bath, pulsing gently around your ankles like it knows your name.

You plunge in.

A hiss escapes your mouth as a scab along your back sizzles. The skin seals shut like it’s cooking clean.

You yelp. Then… laugh.

A wild, relieved laugh.

“Thank you!” you shout into the trees, spinning in the water with both arms raised. “You are amazing!”

A deer peeks out from behind a tree. Birds scatter into the sky. A breeze lifts your hair.

You spin again.

But this time--- you trip.

Your heel slips on a smooth stone, and you crash under the surface with a shriek.

You break through, gasping--- but you're not alone.

He’s there.

Seonghwa, fully clothed, lounging on the shore with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” he says slowly, “but you’ve managed to make a bigger fool of yourself than yesterday.”

You sputter, clutching your arms across your chest.

“And you just sat there watching me drown?! Naked?! You absolute perv---”

He leans back on his hands.

“Drowning isn’t exactly a kink of mine,” he hums. “Though I might enjoy doing it to you.”

Your cheeks burn.

“Why is it that you always show up in the most inconvenient, unholy moments of my life?! Don’t you have a secluded tub or whatever to bathe in?”

“A pipeline wouldn’t really make sense in a magical garden not built by man,” he shrugs. “This is my bath.”

“Of course,” you mutter. “Mine, mine, mine. As if you weren’t a selfish grunt cursed to be here for your own idiotic sins.”

You turn, fuming, and dunk your head under.

Then you feel it--- a soft ripple, deeper than before. A current vibrating against your spine.

You glance back.

He’s now in the water.

Half-submerged, slowly gliding closer--- the lake hugging his bronze skin like silk.

His pink hair, now soaked, clings to his cheeks and neck like wet flower petals. The delicate fall of it makes him look rough in the best way. Almost unreal.

“And you’re just sitting there watching me now?” he calls lazily, smoothing his hand through his hair. “Who’s the perv now, squatter?”

You stare. He winks--- one eye, slow and smug.

“How dare you cross into a woman’s most vulnerable moment and try to shame her for it!”

“You crossed into my garden first.”

“As if you ever deserved it!”

You throw water at his face that lands largely in his mouth.

He blinks through it. Calm. Unbothered.

A bead of water slipped from his mouth as he spat to the side, casual and clean, before dragging his tongue across his bottom lip as if sealing the insult. With both hands, he raked his hair back from his forehead, biceps flexing as the lake shimmered around him.

“I’ve always assumed you were one for child’s play,” he murmurs. “But was that supposed to hurt? In the Lake of Replenishment?”

You open your mouth to bite back--- but nothing comes out.

You turn around and sigh. Splashing yourself harder now, trying to scrub off the moment.

Minutes pass.

The water rises and falls gently… until it doesn’t.

A heavier wave pushes against your back.

You stiffen.

You hear him--- that near soundless stride--- creeping closer again.

“Why so frantic now?” he whispers. “Is it because you’re wondering how you’ll leave this lake without me catching… everything?”

His voice is too close.

You freeze.

The cloth you use to wash your neck slows. Your breath halts. His presence hums at your back like a warning.

Then---

Splash.

He’s gone.

You twist around, heartbeat stuttering.

He’s already across the lake, now clothed in his regular nature gear, picking fruit off a tree as if nothing has happened.

“I wondered where your eyes would drift,” he calls out, tossing a berry up and catching it in his mouth. “But it seems you’re curious about everything.”

“Enough with your teasing,” you groan. “I need to get out before I wrinkle. Turn around!”

He turns---slowly.

“Although...” he mutters.

You stomp toward shore.

“Stay there!”

Just as you reach for your ragged clothes---something wraps around your ankles.

Vines. Flowers. Leaves.

Your limbs are lifted gently into the air, suspended by the trees. They work like a tailor’s dream--- weaving shoes, vine-threaded cuffs around your ankles and wrists, and draping a leaf skirt across your hips. Flowers bloom over your chest in perfect placement.

You float back down.

Dizzy. Dazed. Divine.

You catch yourself against the nearest tree, breathless.

Seonghwa watches from across the water, basket in hand.

He doesn’t say a word.

But his gaze lingers.

Not just on your face. Not your body either.

All of you.

“I call truce,” he finally says. “Dandelion greens and berries for a salad. And I can make mushroom over fire taste like peppered steak.”

Your stomach grumbles in betrayal.

You sigh. You were this close to hunting a rabbit.

Instead… you nod.

“Lead the way, flower boy.”

Together, you walk side by side back toward the treehouse.

Surprisingly… not as enemies.

Maybe not yet as friends.

But allies--- even if only for dinner.

///

“If I just close my eyes a bit…and maybe pinch my nose… I get that steak flavor you mentioned.”

You laugh cheerfully at your own joke, and he just stares at you thinking ‘how bizarre…’.

“Tread lightly there. I gave you most of my delicious rations because you were so starved. I take pride in my mushroom steak.”

“No, of course! It’s absolutely delicious!”

This time, a laugh is shared in harmony between the two of you. Well it could just be the gardens magic playing tricks...

The moment pauses still.

"Thank you for sharing, and…I apologize for you know intruding on- well everything I suppose."

His chewing comes to a slow, he swallows the bits in his mouth and mutters, “I’m still deciding if it was reasonable I guess- my behavior towards you- specifically you.”

You provide him a warm and true smile of appreciation.

"I accept your apologies.”

He nods, as if concluding something.

///

Until the day you could evolve backward and learn from his years of construction, harvest, cooking, and the very place that he can’t escape the bounds of.

You were still in your rescue mission to use this founding in nature to help the wounded and forgotten. But you feel it’s no coincidence that you had to start here.

...

"Breakfast and Burdens"

The morning arrives softer than you'd expect.

No visions. No thorns. Just the smell of cooked berries and toasted bread curling through the hallway like a loving hand, pulling you from sleep.

You blink open your eyes and realize… this place is becoming familiar.

Your bed---if it can be called that---is made of wooden planks, tied together with vines and cushioned with layers of tightly packed cotton, moss, and leaves. Woven by him. A structure that was once his and now, even if temporarily, is shared with you.

Hospitality, you remind yourself. Courtesy. Guilt, perhaps.

But comfort has a funny way of stealing permanence into a place.

You stretch, toes brushing the edge of the frame, and rise.

The scent draws you forward--- rich, fruity, warm.

In the main chamber, Seonghwa stands with his sleeves rolled, carefully spreading what looks like compote over slices of rough-cut sourdough. His brow is low in concentration, smoothing the polished wooden knife from edge to edge like a painter with a masterpiece.

“Morning,” you say, offering a gentle smile.

He flinches ever so slightly, eyes flicking up in surprise. The jelly hits the table with a splat.

“Oh— I’m sorry!” you wince, retreating a little.

“Not to worry.” He chuckles, already scraping the fallen jelly with a fingertip and popping it into his mouth---holding it there with a heavy groan. “Can’t let anything go to waste.”

His eyes close tightly.

“Mmm… You’re missing out standing over there, lady. Plenty more for two.”

You walk over and take a seat on the bench next to where he stands. You pick up another slice of bread with the jelly spread on it and bring it to your mouth. You close your mouth as you bite into it, and your eyes spring back open once you begin to chew it. You thought he was just being tantalizing as he was in the lake yesterday. But your reaction only mimics his.

“Oh my--- I mean I know berries are naturally sweet the darker they are but--- this is… oh, good heavens~.”

He laughs--- a genuine one. Clear and light, the kind that melts the tension around your shoulders.

“You’ve never heard of honeysuckle?” he says with a devilish little smirk. “It’s nature’s sugar. No bees harmed in the making.”

“Honeysuckle… very considerate.” You pause and notice a dab of jelly on your thumb. You lift it without thinking, mouth closing over it gently as you suck it off with closed eyes.

When you open them again--- he’s looking out the window.

Or… trying to.

“I’m thinking today might be a good one to show you exactly where you are,” he says, voice slightly deeper.

“Really?” you beam. “We could go now if—”

“No rush. Finish your breakfast. I’ll pack for us.”

You nod, still smiling.

///

Outside, tucked behind a rock, is a dead rabbit, its soft gray fur still. Your stomach growls.

Seonghwa notices.

He says nothing for a moment, then:

“Nature still runs its course here,” he murmurs. “To give life, the garden must take it.”

You look up at him, guilty.

“You mean we can eat animals here?”

“Only if the garden offers it,” he says. “We do not hunt. We wait upon death. That was never our nature. Man just made it that way.”

“What happens if we do it anyway?”

He lifts a shoulder.

“A soul for a soul.” “And as for what happens to us when we die in a place like this… there are some things not even I know.”

You nod slowly.

“From the greens in my basket to the vibrant vegetables in yours---and the rabbit… I think a stew would be comforting tonight.”

He quirks a brow.

“Not much for sympathy, are we?”

“Oh, please. You want it just as badly.”

“Maybe. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Beats rotting.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“…”

“Oh, you wicked thing.”

He grabs the rabbit and waves it. “Come now, say it. ‘You’re going to a very bad place, Seonghwa.’”

“You’re going to a very bad place,” you declare, grinning. “And I’m coming with you, apparently.”

He laughs and chases you in circles with the rabbit like a kid with a toy sword.

Later that night, the rabbit stew simmers over the fire. The scent is rich and earthy, comforting in a way that feels like home. You sit beside him with a carved wooden bowl in hand, blowing on the edge of your spoon.

“Some delicious rabbit stew from you and I, but I should warn your doctor. It has side effects of hopping with joy when you taste it.”

He laughs--- not teasing, but joyful. Real.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, but I am no doctor... just another troubled woman who aids other troubled people in need.”

The silence that follows is warm.

You offer a soft look. But his is rock hard. His chewing slows.

“How could you be troubled when it seems you have never caused it for the people you have helped?”

He sets the bowl aside and swallows.

“I’ve told you--- I was scrutinized. Nearly executed. My king saw my work as a threat to his authority. I was helping more than he was. Faster. More visibly. While he gallivanted in search of something that was right under his nose… the garden.”

You fiddle with the rim of your bowl.

“If I’d just stayed in my place… just treated the queen and the royal mother and kept quiet---”

“Then everything would’ve fallen into shit,” Seonghwa interrupts. “Royals don’t care for the people. Just their name. Their bloodline.”

“Your king didn’t fear you. He feared being outshone by you.”

He glances at you. His voice softens.

“If anyone deserves the title of queen, it’s you. Not because you were born into it. Because you earned it.”

You don’t speak.

You just… stare.

At this poetic, beautiful, infuriating man with secrets in his eyes and vines in his blood.

You hope, one day, that you’ll help heal the part of him that no garden could reach.

And if that means staying here forever…

Maybe, just maybe…

You’d be okay with that.

Because here, in this quiet moment — you can finally see it.

Not just yourself as queen… but him. The king he never thought he could be.

...

"Divided Waters"/ 1 Month Later…

Summer heat poured into the forest like thick syrup--- warm, wet, and heavy.

Bathing in the lake had become your afternoon ritual. Not out of luxury--- out of necessity. The sun’s grip was relentless, and the trees, though protective, couldn’t always cool the skin beneath your collar.

Night bathing might’ve been better. But the Eyelnwood trees---their carved, unblinking eyes--- never let you rest easy after dark. As Seonghwa warned: “If you stare too long, the trees stare back. Be warned: dreams can twist fate here.”

You knew exactly what he meant.

The last time you fell asleep under their gaze, you dreamed of war---of fighting beside a man you think to be Seonghwa— dragging yourself across dirt as your King patrolled the garden like a god. A voice, not your own, had screamed in your head:

Save him. Save Them. Save us. Kill him.

However today, after the lake had cooled your skin, you looked over your shoulder to hear Seonghwa call out:

"Why is it that I always have to come out of the lake first? Can we just accept the fact that we are woman and man and have our parts that the gods have given us?"

"I feel that my body is sacred," you call back. "and if I think that your eyes are undeserving of wandering over it... then let that be."

"So your body is sacred, and mine is just a walking piece of meat on the Earth?"

"That’s all that you men are--- a walking- and frequent talking--- air breathing pieces of meat."

"Are we not also protectors?” He combats. “I’ve protected you after all this time..."

"A lot of women wouldn’t need protection if it weren’t for men who had bring harm to humans."

He snickers, leaning his back on the walls of the lake.

"Well, I can assure you, and evidently I am not one of those men", he said firm.

You rolled your eyes at his words. You’ve been through this before… always lined with an objective. "Why are you so desperately eager to see my naked body?"

"Well, I can see the eagerness in your eyes when I have my casually shirtless attire."

Sigh. "It was the one time that I had seen a tick feasting on your collarbone."

"And you just stared at it for minutes---- swatting at it when I caught you--- just for it to never to come in sight?"

Your eyes narrow when his teeth gleam.

"Out."

"In."

"Out, I say!"

"In, I say!"

The bickering stopped only because you both turned away--- walking to your own sides of the riverbank, slipping behind trees to dress.

You were still muttering to yourself when you turned the corner and caught him standing there, hands behind his back.

"If you think about untying your skirt, I swear to the gods---"

But his expression had changed.

One hand came forward… while the other lowered behind his back. You tried to follow the motion, but the sudden roar of water snapped your attention elsewhere.

You turned--- just in time to see the entire river part before you.

A deep groove carved itself into the earth, rocks and soil exposed at the bottom, fish leaping in panic from the severed current. The walls of water stood like glass on either side, vibrating with tension.

You gasped.

“My gods! Seonghwa---”

“I thought I’d show you,” he said, smiling. “This is---”

“You damned scoundrel! You could’ve parted the river this whole time? I walked around the entire lake barefoot in summer heat for a month--- and now, now, you show off your powers because you wanted to see me naked?!”

“That’s not what I---!”

He breathes in and calms himself after he receives your genuine anger. It was never wise to retort in the same manner---just with any woman---his mother taught him that.

"When you came here for the first time, I thought you were some woman cosplaying as some lowly servant to trick me...and I also wanted you to learn how to live without my help--- in case I couldn’t always be there."

"Except you’re always there, you rat! Who are you to think less of anyone? After all this time you are still stuck in your inconsiderate ways! What the hell was I thinking trying to make you a king!"

You hurled a rock across the shore. It hit the edge of the river with a thud, landing on the ground.

“Wait, what? You wanted me to what, become king---?”

“No! Not anymore. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to make you anything but the selfish brat you are!”

You stormed off, furious, cutting through foliage you’d never dared to tread alone.

"Come back here! It’s not safe for you out there!"

"I am safe out here! I know everything you’ve taught me dirtbag! I don’t need your protection anymore!"

You storm off deep into the garden, attempting to circle back to the house on a pathway in which you’ve never taken before.

It was always a walk around the lake to his side, and then you both took off back to the house in one direction to eat dinner together. He always carried the basket of food that you were going to eat later for dinner that night.

And that’s what you thought. Maybe you hadn't exactly thought things all the way through.

You were starving--- not to mention lost. You hated to admit it, but with so many trees in sight, it was hard to find the house, although it should've stood out the most.

And no measure of distance--- it was neither here nor far.

You decided to take break--- to think of how to come up with an apology, and return to him.

Fear had settled quickly in because the place you had decided to rest was abundant with Eyelnwood trees.

Your eyelids had grown heavy and your feet began to feel like weights. With fever, you began to weakly sob, calling for Seonghwa in the quiet, hoping he could teleport in your rescue.

“Shit…”

Your legs buckled beneath you, but not before you let out a quiet, trembling whisper.

“Seonghwa…”

You collapsed against a patch of moss, breath shaking, tears prickling at the edge of your lashes. You closed your eyes, too weak to fight it now.

///

You were lying in the sun. Face tilted. Your body hot with fever.

And there he was.

Seonghwa.

He hovered above you, face blurred by the sun behind him. You reached for him, eyes glossy.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have yelled…”

You touched his cheek. He didn’t lean into it.

But you smiled.

“Stay. Please…”

Then--- he took your hands from his face. Gently. And turned.

He walked away.

You tried to get up.

Your body wouldn’t move.

Footsteps.

Another figure now. A man with golden hair. He moved his face just enough for the sun to shift.

It was the King.

He smiled. “I was wrong,” he said.

You hesitated.

He opened his arms, waiting.

And like a fool, you reached for him.

The perspective shifts as he pulls you up to your feet, and when you’re standing--- his smile uplifts the cheeks on his face---highlighted with the natural warmth of the yellow sun. "I’m sorry I was wrong."

He opens his arms readily for a hug he respectfully waited for you to embrace. Just as your arms begin to come around him--- sharp heat wounds your side.

The knife went in so fast, so smooth, you didn’t register the pain until you saw your own blood spilling from your ribs.

“I was wrong,” he whispered again.

As the world blurred, you saw it. A soft glow of pink in the distance.

The color of Seonghwa’s hair.

Your last thought was a voice in your mind:

Two wrongs don’t make a right.

You wake up with a large intake of the morning air around you. The wall in which you were stabbed was actually a twig that was lying flat, but making a throb into your side.

Breathless, shaking, you whispered:

“What… did I see…?”

And then--- you weren’t alone.

He was beside you.

Seonghwa.

“That dream,” he said softly. “Was it a prophecy? A warning? Or just an echo of what you already know?”

He knelt beside you, checking you over, brushing away damp leaves, eyes scanning your skin.

"How long have you been there?"

When he was sure you were whole, he reached out a hand.

You took it.

“It could be a prophecy---a solution or the saving grace for your people. Whatever it may be, I’ll connect you to it in any way I can. Don’t make yourself stuck here trying to save a life that has already ended.”

He walked ahead, slowly. Waiting for you to follow.

“It was you,” you said finally, voice small. “I believe you’re the one. The connection I need to save lives.”

“Dreams here aren’t always truth,” he murmured. “They can just be your own thoughts speaking louder than usual.”

“Maybe. But I shouldn’t have walked away from you. I understand now… why you hid your power. Why you didn’t let me rely on you too soon. You wanted me to learn naturally first.”

You looked at him--- and for the first time, he didn’t look away.

“I don’t know what happened to you before this,” you said. “But whatever it is… we’re meant to help each other. Not just now. Maybe always.”

He breathed in slowly.

“The help I once needed… wouldn’t matter anymore. It’s all gone.” “But what you have left? I’ll help you protect it. That much… I swear.”

The path home is quiet.

No lake.

No trees with eyes.

Just you. And him.

Walking back to a place that--- for the first time--- didn’t feel like just his anymore.

...

"The Fox, the Stone, and the Forgotten Riddle"

You scan the shelves of the library with your finger running along the spines of many books, and you hook your finger on one of many you have been hunting for answers.

“There is nothing that you could find here that would make you use to you outside of this garden.”

“You don’t know that.” You flipped through the pages trying to find information on something you had hoped to be in there. But every source never mentioned the gardens powers breaking its barriers to the outside world.

“And you do?” 

In annoyance you shut the book hard, quickly shoving it back into the shelves.

“Belittling me is not the way to help! There has to be something here Seonghwa! You are the connection, but there’s something about us both being here that ties our fates.”

He stops his teasing and let you roam for a little while longer.

A moment to cool off, and then he speaks lowly.

“Tell me what happened in the dream. That could help.”

You stop your frantic search, dropping your hand to a lower shelf--- exhaling a deep sigh.

“It’s not something I want to speak into existence. I was wrong. He was wrong. And you were right.”

A sob chokes you still.

The feeling of dread, seeing him walk away--- and the false hope your king had given you wounded you in the end. Seonghwa waiting in the distance... as those words were spoken into your ear.

Seonghwa comes behind you. A hand claims your shoulder and the other holds your elbow of the arm on the lower shelf.

“I was wrong for causing you to run away, and then to leave you so easily. I know this forest better than you do, but there could be things I’ve overlooked."

"So I’ll trust your intellect, and I’ll be there to support you in your time of need.”

You turn around feeling his embrace fall but you catch his hands before they fall to his sides.

“If you do this... I’ll give you what you’ve been longing for.”

So much that has happened---he wondered what it could be.

“You’ve already had my word.”

“Good...you’ll sleep in bed with me tonight. Clothes will be on of course.”

“I was in the same boat.”

“Sure thing joker.”

He followed you into the bedroom, and you both joined into the mattress with one another since the lake incident.

“Comes sunrise we’ll start devise a plan---", Seonghwa starts. "Come early morning to noon--- we search the gardens. Then early afternoon, for our daily bath-sorry. And finally, we will decompress before a nice dinner for our efforts.”

Seonghwa's arms stretched behind you. You sigh softly and rest your head in the middle of it. “It will be such a delight in the blazing sun.”

“I can make changes to rearrange that”, he whispers into the quiet.

You snicker, your mind leading elsewhere. “What were we talking about again?”

Seonghwa turns toward you with a wild grin. “Oh but if it were me-“

///

When you woke up the morning light hadn’t shined as it used to, and even Seonghwa had been gone. You were confused--- he had usually brewed him a cup of tea, and sat in the library if it was still late at night.

But as you peeped through the window by the door, a shadow had cast a large plant on the ground.

You walk outside to investigate and search for the man responsible. There you saw him on the highest branch climbed by a wooden ladder, overseeing the enormous leaves grown from ground.

"How does it feel in there!? I need to be sure everything’s covered!"

"It’s nice thank you! You should really get down from there! We need to eat our breakfast for today’s work!"

"Of course dear queen, right away!"

"Don’t call me that... it isn’t my place!"

He climbs down from the tree stops, sliding the rest of his way down to ground again.

"Well, this is one of the only places that treated you like home. If not there, you will always be here."

What is this erratic beating in your chest? You oddly feel...excited?

"You say the darndest things..."

"Truth hurts doctor--- can’t put a bandage over it."

///

A map of magic unfolds itself onto the table. It was hidden in the library under forces that only Seonghwa could retrieve it. As you looked it over--- you realize you've only traveled through a mere 10% of the garden's parts.

"What if it’s in the field of Eyelnwood trees?"

"How badly do you care about everything? Is it worth unlocking the thoughts that conjure your worst fears?"

"Well doing nothing is my worst fear. I’ll take a rain check on that other thing."

"Well anyhow...we'll try to find it the best we can. "The Forgotten Riddle."

///

You emerged from the water first, hair clinging to your shoulders, droplets slipping down your spine like molten silver. You didn’t turn.

Behind you, the sound of gentle splashing grew still. Seonghwa lingered in the shallows, the sun casting gold across his bare chest and rose-pink hair. His gaze rose--- hesitating just a second too long.

You knew. Of course you knew.

But you didn’t speak, didn’t scold. You simply gathered your woven garments, still damp from where they’d waited on a stone, and stepped behind a tree to dress.

“Don’t dawdle,” you called out, voice teasing but soft. “Dinner won’t make itself.”

He emerged a moment later, bare feet brushing through moss and sand. His hands held the fabric of his pleated lead skirt, and he circled around the opposite tree. You faced away from each other, bodies nearly parallel, separated only by a few paces and the sacred, unspoken boundary of restraint.

You both dressed quickly, in silence. Neither of you stole a glance. Yet… both of you wanted to.

And it lingered. The tension like a thread stretched taut between two hearts that beat just fast enough to notice.

///

The air inside the treehouse was warm enough to cook thoughts. Every surface felt like it had absorbed a decade of summer and decided to radiate it directly into their skulls.

The food was spread across a flat slab of bark they were both pretending was a table: blistered mushroom steaks, crumbly cow cheese that somehow didn’t kill them, and a bowl of sticky berries that had dyed half their fingers purple.

He raised his mismatched cup— half of an old jar— and clinked it softly against hers.

“To our hot, slowly fermenting survival.”

“It tastes like a bush punched me in the mouth.”

“That’s how you know it’s working.”

Then he pulled out the bone. A flute he created made from the leg of a deer.

“Oh no,” she said. “Not that thing again.”

“It’s art.”

“It sounds like deadly as when it took its fall to the ground.”

“It’s the soul of the forest,” he argued, already raising it to his lips. “Don’t disrespect it.”

He blew into it. A shrill, uncertain note scraped through the air like someone stepping on a frog in a cathedral. It echoed off the walls, bounced into the ceiling, and ricocheted straight into her face.

“That’s the sound,” he said, lowering it with grave intensity, “of a deer realizing it forgot to pay taxes.”

She stared.

“Give it here,” she said, holding out her hand. “I can make it scream better than that.”

“Be my guest.”

And then they passed the bone flute back and forth in the sweltering dark, giggling in bursts between awful honking notes, the mushrooms long forgotten and the cheese slowly melting between you.

///

Over the weeks, the days blurred like brushstrokes on a canvas of moss and light.

Together, you wandered through sacred terrain: waterfalls that cascaded into crystalline basins, their music echoing like ancient lullabies; walls of ivy and vibrant blossoms that formed natural mazes, guiding you to bridges of stone that arched toward the clouds. The garden unveiled itself in pieces— shy, proud, and unknowably vast— as though weighing your worth with each step.

You both took notes, made mental maps, memorized the shape of vines that glowed in moonlight or twisted closed with dusk. There were animals, too: foxes with sunlit fur, frogs that chimed like bells, birds who knew your names before you’d spoken them. Some mornings were spent in awe. Some evenings in silence. Some nights beneath stars, where your knees brushed by accident but neither of you moved away.

And still, the question gnawed:

Why had no one ever stayed?

Had others come before and failed to keep their promises?

Were they banished? Were they judged?

Perhaps the garden wasn’t abandoned— perhaps it had simply been waiting. Testing. And for the first time in a long, long while, it had companions who spoke to it like a friend.

///

You had come to love the heat.

Maybe not the way it stuck to your clothes or made your skin bloom with sweat. But the warmth reminded you that the garden was alive. That you were still alive.

Still searching. Still hoping.

Today, you'd collapsed onto the only patch of cool shade the garden had spared you--- a slab of stone tucked under a massive leaf canopy near the treehouse.

"Oh bless the gods who made stone! Do you think they lived here when they walked on Earth?"

Your voice rose with playful exaggeration as you sprawled across the smooth surface of the shaded slab, arms stretched wide to embrace the cool that kissed your skin like mercy. The stone beneath you was heaven— one of the only things in the garden that offered stillness without condition.

"That would be worthy of the explanation to magic..." Seonghwa murmured, his voice half-lulled, half-lost in thought. He tilted his head back slowly, letting the filtered sunlight trace the lines of his cheekbone. A rare, soft smile tugged at his lips. "But why would they ever leave such a place?"

You scooted a little closer, just enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. Copying his posture, you stared up into the emerald ceiling above, trees whispering like gossiping gods. "To guard the heavens above, of course."

"Or maybe humanity made them flee." His smile lingered, but his tone cooled. It wasn’t a bite— more like a truth, softly spoken to avoid shattering the peace.

You blinked and turned your head toward him, disbelief pulling your brow. "Yeah right, and what would they be afraid of?"

"It's not fear exactly," he said, eyes now narrowing slightly. "Perhaps they were avoidant… afraid of doing something that could cause harm to us."

The words nestled in your chest like a stone. "Why must you think of mankind so wickedly?"

He paused, one hand lazily gesturing toward the distance— beyond the trees, beyond the garden’s quiet breath. "It's years of life experience. Not just being here, but when I was a young boy… out there."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable— just heavy. You turned your gaze forward again, wondering if the time had finally come to ask.

Maybe you could get away with it now...

"Did you ever have a village?" you asked gently, watching a leaf spiral down in the breeze. "Or maybe a family you could call your own?"

A change passed through him like wind shifting direction. His shoulders, once lax, drew inward just slightly— his neck stiffening, as if bracing against a memory. His fingers flexed once against the stone and curled closed.

"I did," he said at last. "My father was a soldier. My mother, a doctor."

You hesitated. The question trembled on your tongue, but curiosity had a will stronger than fear.

"Had you left them behind to come here?"

His silence wasn’t cruel. It was thick, ancient. He exhaled— slow and bitter— and for a moment, you wished you could take it back.

"I had to leave everyone," he said, eyes forward but seeing nothing. "They were already gone."

His voice dropped, rough like bark soaked in rain. He stood without another word, brushing off imaginary dust from his pants.

"I should check on the oatmeal. We have days of hard work ahead."

You didn’t follow him right away. Instead, you lay there, one arm draped across your forehead, staring into the light trembling between leaves. You felt half-regret, half-satisfaction— as if you’d peeled back a layer only to find a deeper one beneath it. A lot had been revealed… but very little was truly known about Seonghwa.

Inside, you heard the gentle clink of wooden spoons against the pot. He was tending to the oatmeal, just as he said.

But out here — beneath the canopy of branches and mystery — you allowed yourself a few more moments in nature’s rare mercy.

Your eyes shot open. A rustle. A whisper of padded feet on dry soil. You reached for your dagger--- a blade you’d sharpened not for war, but for fruits and herbs--- and crouched.

It couldn’t be anyone or anything that would be the cause of harm, so she doesn’t plan to stab into anything just a safeguard of instinct she’s learned in the world before here.

In honesty she too though humans can be cruel at times.

It wasn’t a man.

It was a fox.

Orange and alert, it crept from the brush, sniffing with wild precision. Not at you, but the ground beside the stone.

It begins with digging right beside it, and it seem eager, determine, even growling and grunting in its wild nature

“...Is there something under there, boy?” you whispered, lowering your blade.

You get up, even trying to lift the stone to help the fox uncover what it was in someway. 

"This is far too heavy for me to lift alone. They will take an army of men."

You dropped to your knees, joining the fox’s search, palms shoving soil aside, brushing against something solid.

Stone.

A flat plaque.

Then out came Seonghwa again. He noticed the fox there, and his companion trying to lift heavy block of stone by yourself. It was a situation with no correlation from his perspective and yet he ran over to address the situation.

The fox ran off and fear at his sudden stumbling. 

"Wait, no come back. We can help you!"

Yet, it ran off far back to the distance.

"Why are you trying to lift this up? Was it for that fox?"

"Yes, and you scared him away with your heavy stomping you big giant. We have to uncover what’s under here."

"For what reason you know, foxes are like dogs they dig for the hell of it."

"Yes, but they also have a unique sense of smell and I read through its body language that it's something very important. We have to uncover it."

"Well, you’re going to break your back trying to in the process."

"That’s what I have you for dimwit. you have magic power."

"If I move the stone, it will dirty, and we will not have anywhere to lay in the shade."

"Is that all your concern for! Are you not curious as to what will be under here? We have spent nearly two whole months in the wilderness trying to find something we don’t understand! But this could mean something...that fox.... could be trying to tell us something."

"Did it speak?"

“You’re not listening!"

“It’s a flat stone.”

“You’re a flat stone—move it!”

He sighed the sigh of a man who had just burned the oatmeal, but relented. With a single flick of his fingers, the roots below the plaque twisted awake--- thickening, tightening, and pulling. The stone was wrenched from the earth and flung aside like it was never part of it to begin with.

You shielded your face from the clatter, heart pounding.

You leaned forward over the spot.

There it was--- an etched plaque, smooth and ancient. Symbols carved so deep into its face they shimmered with residual magic.

“Can you read it?”

“Stand back.”

Seonghwa lowered to one knee, his hand pressing to the plaque. His eyes began to glow — that soft pink luminescence you’d come to associate with truth, power, and danger.

The symbols on the stone pulsed, one by one, lighting up like embers in the dirt.

Then he gasped.

His back arched, eyes rolling back as magic flooded him in thick, writhing waves. His other hand clutched his head, and a grunt escaped his throat, ragged and pained.

“Seonghwa!”

“It’s fine!” he choked out. “Don’t come closer.”

You staggered back in fear. The plaque had become a beacon, and he was its vessel.

His lips parted, and finally, the riddle spoke--- not in your voice or his, but one borrowed from the forest’s oldest echoes.

The hand that does not seek the crown Shall carry it. The voice that shouts will lose the sound Yet others will hear it.

One walks in fire, One sleeps in rain, They must forget to ever reclaim.

Choose the bloom, or choose the blade — Either way, a root is laid.

Seonghwa collapsed forward, his hands catching him just before his head hit the ground.

You rushed to his side, cradling his shoulders, your voice trembling:

“What... what does it mean?”

He coughed, shaking his head. His fingers trembled as they reached for the dirt.

“It’s a trial. A binding. Maybe even a contract.”

“For what?”

“For the garden to reveal itself fully. To… accept us.”

You look toward the plaque, feeling its ancient code drawing you near. "This feels like a bad horoscope.”

He laughs weakly, picking his head toward the plaque to read it once more. “The hand that does not seek the crown... I mean... that has to be me. I didn’t even want to wake up today.”

“And yet here you are." You rub onto his back. For play. For comfort. "Destiny sucks.”

He exhales a short laugh. “At least I’m not the one who’s walking in fire.”

“No... but you keep following me into it.”

He turns to you, serious now — soft but resolute.

"Well, i've been here for so long..." He slowly turns his head toward you. Half-smiling. Hair plastered to his face--- dirt clinging to his skin like scars. "I think we know what this means for us…don’t you?”

You look back at the plaque--- a sunken fear blooms in your chest.

You nod slowly. "It’s obvious… we have to make a choice here. We can stay here just us two forever in paradise, but we may suffer at a cost. Or... we could continue to fight for them out there, and there’s no doubt our suffering will be guaranteed.

Both choices curses your thoughts---nearly driving you into a headspace of desolation.

A warm palm sends signals to your brain--pulling you out from the deep. A confident man with beauty only found in magical gardens comes into view.

"I’ll help them, even if I have much to live for."

"You and I both then.

You clasp hands shaking it once like a sealed promise.

Suddenly---the ground splits.

Two stone pillars rise from beneath the soil, slow and solemn. Between them: two ancient cups carved from skulls, already tinged red at the base. The forest stills, as if holding breath.

Seonghwa’s head jerks back. His body straightens unnaturally---eyes rolling white.

His mouth moves, but the voice that comes out is not his own:

Blood must bind what fate unwinds, One in light, one redefined. Break the seal with crimson thread, One must bloom where one has bled. Only then may judgment cease, And gift the cursed their rightful peace.

He comes back with heavy breathes and you comfort him---turning to the pillars---your eyes widening in realization.

“Skull cups. That could only mean that we can open it through…"

“Blood sacrifice.” He finishes. He’s limp and when you look toward each other---your breaths are dangerously close. “Give me the dagger.”

“What?!”

“It’s what needs to be done, a small slit to the wrist is all we need.

You peer into the cups. They are not small.

“That’s not a cup, Seonghwa. That’s a bowl. We’ll need more than a ‘small slit.’ Can’t we just find a dead animal?”

He tilts his head at you like you’ve insulted the sun.

Your quiet, and he's made his point.

"We’ve made our choice Y/n. it’s futile that we stick to it…for the better future."

You froze.

The fox hadn’t been trying to warn you.

He’d been leading you to your fate.

...

"The Ultimate Test: Fear Fighting"

The garden didn’t breathe. It waited.

You watched as the cups drained the blood — yours and his — without spilling a drop. The earth seemed to drink it in, pulling it into the moss with slow reverence.

Then the stone beneath your feet began to split.

The grass hissed. The vines pulled back.

A staircase revealed itself -- not one, but two, side by side, separated by a thin root wall pulsing with faint pink light.

You turned to Seonghwa. He was staring at the stairs like they’d spoken to him.

“We go together?”

He didn’t answer at first.

“I think… we don’t.”

His eyes trailed the right-hand staircase. Yours were drawn to the left. They looked nearly identical--- same moss-covered steps, same stone rails carved with curling branches and long-forgotten runes.

But they felt different.

Yours hummed with warmth. His shivered with silence.

You nodded. No words. Just a final look--- the kind that says I’ll see you again, even if neither of you were sure it was true.

///

His staircase was colder.

He felt it immediately — the way the air got heavier, the way the roots seemed to close in tighter.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Because he knew what was coming.

At the base of his path, he found himself standing in the garden — but alone.

No birds. No color. The plants curled away from him like wind was blowing backwards.

It was silent. Wrong.

Then they appeared.

All of them.

The ghosts of those he failed. People who touched the garden and were lost to it. People who came looking for healing — and were consumed instead. His mother. A child. A stranger. A version of you, eyes full of betrayal.

“You were supposed to protect us,” the child said.

“You said the garden would save us,” the woman whispered.

“You don’t love them,” your ghost said. “You love the peace they bring you. You’re selfish.”

He dropped to the floor, chest heaving. The vines curled around him like accusations.

“You’re afraid of being seen,” the voices said. “You’re not a man. You’re a weapon waiting to go off.”

Roots. Vines. Flowers. All with faces. All with memories.

Children who asked to play near the garden. Women who prayed in the moss. Men who saw power and tried to take it.

All of them failed. And all of them had trusted him.

They reached for him.

As they covered his entire body, their petals browned and their bodies crumbled to ash, coating the ground below him in gray dust.

Then he saw it.

From their deaths… something rose.

He saw children playing--- not spirits, but living kids. Laughing through the garden paths. Digging in the soil.

You were there. Not ruling.

Teaching.

He saw the way you knelt to help a small child press seeds into the dirt. The way they tugged your sleeve when they didn’t understand. The way you smiled like it wasn’t a burden, but a beginning.

You didn’t wear a crown. But you glowed like someone who earned one. And he saw himself--- seated beneath a tree, vines coiled around his torso like roots reclaiming a relic. He didn’t move. Just watched.

And then… he crumbled too.

His form turned to ash. And the children didn’t notice. They ran right over him--- laughing still.

He tried to reach out.

Tried to scream.

“I don’t want to be feared,” he said. “I want to be held.”

“You don’t get to love.”

Then — silence.

One voice remained.

His own.

“I want to be more than what I was made to be.”

The illusions shattered like glass.

He was alone again---but this time, still standing.

A flower bloomed from the wall — yours. It shifted into a bent sword. It appeared ineffective of its use. Like his self introspection turned magic.

He touched it gently, and a path lit upward.

He climbed.

///

The air shifted the moment your foot landed on the final stair.

You weren’t underground anymore. You were home.

Not the kingdom. Not your hiding place in the woods.

But the little stone hut from your childhood--- the one that always smelled like boiled bark and dry herbs.

You stood in the center of it, alone. Then the walls melted.

A soft cry echoed from the end of the hall. You moved toward it instinctively.

The hallway opened into a sickroom--- a memory made physical.

A dozen patients lined the beds. Some were coughing. Some bleeding. Some screaming. All of them stared at you.

And then they began to speak. But not in pain — in accusation:

“She left to play Queen.” “She wanted glory, not healing.” “The King offered her safety. She said no.” “She thinks she’s different. She’s just another hand with a scalpel.”

You backed away, but the floor fell out.

You landed in a graveyard of flowers.

Each bloom had a dying villager. Each stem--- snapped as you tried to reach for it.

You bent to touch another--the king--- and it held still.

“They will forget you,” it whispered. “They will rewrite you.”

“No one remembers the helper. Only the hero.”

You fell to your knees, hands digging into soil.

Tears welled in your throat — not from fear, but from exhaustion. From trying to matter without demanding it. From being passed over for praise, for power, for story.

“I don’t want a crown,” you whispered. “I just want to be enough.”

Tears slip from your tired eyes and into the soil.

One by one, the dying flowers stood back up. Each color brighter than the last. Your breath steadied.

From the soil in your hands bloomed a final stem--- thorned and pulsing with pink light.

A staff formed the air to the ground in the palm of your hand.

You stood.

Behind you, the petals rustled like applause.

///

You emerged first — your hands dirty, but calm. Something behind your eyes had changed. Less hope. More steel.

Seonghwa followed.

His steps were slow, like he had to relearn walking.

When he saw you, he didn’t speak. Just looked at you for a long, long moment.

“Did you see it?”

He nodded. “Every part.”

“And?”

“I’m not ready to be the person I want to be.”

"Good." He opened his mouth — then stopped. "That means you’re already becoming him.”

///

When you passed by the lake you smiled fondly, a soak was needed for jumbling thought and uncontainable stress.

"How about we go for a swim?"

You look toward him. Disconnected. Lost. Ruined.

"You go ahead. I really need to attend to a different matter."

"What? Something better than washing your arse?" You joke.

But no indication of even the smallest of smiles. Yet his eyes are darkened, looking past your form in front of him.

The forest of eyelnwood trees looms just ahead, gnarled and unmoving.

“Seonghwa… don’t go in there.” He stops, but doesn’t turn to face you yet. His shoulders are rigid. “You remember what it did to me. What it showed me. What if---what if it doesn’t let you come back?”

"..."

“Then maybe... I was never meant to.”

You step forward, voice rising despite yourself. “Don’t say that.”

He finally turns. His eyes are calm, but there’s a storm moving behind them.

“I need to understand what I am… beyond what I’ve done. I can’t protect the garden if I don’t first face what it’s been protecting me from.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve already done? The hallucinations, the trials, the pain—we’ve been through it.”

He shakes his head. He takes a step closer. Gently, he reaches out and brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“That was the garden’s test. This is mine.”

He takes a step closer. Gently, he reaches out and brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

He parts the lake---deja vu arises the same angry feeling when you saw it for the first time. Except you were upset for the wrong reasons.

“You think walking into a forest of eyes will make you more human?”

He looks from the other side and smiles softly. It’s sad. It’s sure.

“No. But maybe… it will remind me how to forgive myself.”

There’s a pause. A breath between you.

And then you whisper: “Please come back.”

He steps back, toward the trees, eyes still locked on yours. “I will. Stronger. Kinder. And still yours… if you’ll have me.”

Then the vines shift, and he disappears into the Eyelnwood forest.

...

"Dream of a Thousand Tomorrows"

The sun was still out--- barely.

Seonghwa sat alone near the edge of the Eyelnwood grove, just far enough for safety, just close enough to feel it watching.

His legs were folded beneath him, arms slack over his knees. He could feel the wind shifting. The warmth of the day slipping behind shadows.

He sighed, blinking up at the sky.

Above him, clouds drifted slowly, their bellies dusted with orange light. One of them puffed out with a rounded edge, thin wisps trailing down like tendrils of hair.

It reminded him of her.

He tilted his head. No… It wasn’t her. It was a blob. But the illusion lingered.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. A laugh tried to form--- but it came out cracked.

He laid down fully, letting his back press into the patchy grass, the scent of dirt and leaves mixing in his lungs. His arm draped across his forehead, shielding his eyes.

He thought of her laugh. Her stubbornness. The way she’d called him out for every selfish, stupid thing he’d said.

She was real. Not like a dream, not like a cloud.

But dreams had power. And that tree… that damned Eyelnwood tree…They said it had roots that reached into the soul.

The night crept in like ink spreading in water.

He sat up again.

The Eyelnwood grove was still. Too still. The eyes in the bark barely visible — unless you stared long enough to feel them blink.

Seonghwa rose to his feet. Rolled his shoulders back. His voice was quiet — hoarse with old anger — as he faced the nearest trunk.

“Give me your best shot, dammit.”

The branches twitched. The wind stopped. Then, the dream took hold.

///

He’s a boy again.

His mother’s back is turned, her hands glowing green as she treats a coughing child. A knock. Then men in armor. Cloaked in fake humility.

“We only need herbs. We have children, too.”

Her smile is soft. She gives them what they ask. They take more. They take her.

Flames. Screams. A pyre. His father's scream echoes through a stone hall. Seonghwa, hidden behind a tree, watches it all.

Two figures emerge from opposite ends of the flame-lit field. His father--- shadowed, sword dragging through the dirt. His mother--- glowing with garden light, weeping flowers at her feet.

They speak to him. But also at each other.

“They’ll burn her. Just like they burned your mother! That girl you care about--- they’ll call her witch! They’ll string her up to keep the garden for themselves.”

His mother barges---calm yet pleading.

“If you answer violence with more violence, you become what they fear. She gives life. You give flame. That’s not balance. That’s revenge.”

His father steps forward and brings up a hand shielding Seonghwas mother from any attention.

“They never wanted balance. They wanted power. So take it from them. Burn it all. Let no one claim her life.”

Seonghwa shakes with struggle. He's always wanted to see his parents together once more, but this was just the worst of outcomes. He aligns with both sides. They are his parents after all.

“But what of your life my star?" His tears burned at that. My star...a name that shined too brightly for him even now. "Burn them, and the garden takes you next.”

This time his father turns to his mother directly. Hot. Fiery. An element that always cause the family heartache.“Let it! I’d rather be a monster than a mourning son again!”

Seonghwa's mother takes her lovers hand, communicating with his soul with a feminine touch

“Then you’ll never be a king. Only a blade. Only a curse.”

Suddenly, their forms twist — bark and light, smoke and vines — and merge. And standing there, gasping, is Seonghwa. Himself. But older. Darker. Different.

Two different colored eyes: one glowing pink with garden light. The other blackened like scorched earth.

“You want answers flower boy?"

An echo of the nickname from your voice.

"You are the answer. There is no right path. There is only the one you choose.”

Then---the vision splits:

One version of Seonghwa walks alongside the woman he's falling for. Children run barefoot across moss. A treehouse glows with laughter. They kiss by the lake. He tucks flowers behind her ear. He is at peace.

The other version is absent. She is queen. Alone. Crown in her lap. She weeps in silence. A second crown rests beside her--- one never worn. His.

The vision ripples in effect, the distraught futuristic version of himself growing rot.

“Choose her and surrender the garden. Choose the garden and lose her forever. Choose the kingdom and wear the crown of ash. Choose nothing and fade like a ghost.”

Then silence. The visions all turn and stare at him. Even the happy ones.

“What kind of man will you become? What kind of world will you build?”

His double brushes away in particles by wind with a final saying:

"She's waiting. They all are."

He jolts awake, drenched in sweat. The Eyelnwood tree pulses behind him, its bark faintly glowing like it absorbed the dream too.

You find him then at dawn, his back slumped against the tree as if he’d been crushed by it.

He doesn’t even hear your footsteps at first. His eyes are half-lidded, distant. Palms flat against the soil, like he’s trying to steady the earth.

You hesitate. “Seonghwa?”

His head jerks up.

He’s pale. Sweaty. Eyes bloodshot. There’s a trembling in his jaw like something is still screaming inside of him.

“I saw them,” he whispers.

You crouch beside him, one hand cautiously reaching toward his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away.

“My mother… My father… They were both there. Fighting like devils. One trying to protect me… the other trying to empower me from hurt. And then they—” He swallows, hard. “They became me.”

He breathes like he’s choking on memory. “I saw two futures. One where I stay in this garden. I loved you. We… we had build something, raise children, we laugh, we live. But the other… The other was empty. You were queen. Alone. And I was… gone.”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going, voice hoarse but desperate.

“My mother--- she was the healer of her village. She tended the garden like a sacred text. But the king’s grandfather… he faked an illness. Had her brought to him. Then he burned her as a witch. They didn’t want her knowledge. They wanted her gone.”

You feel your chest tighten.

“My father tried to take justice into his own hands. Burned down their church, their people. He told me to run if he didn’t come back.

"I did." He chuckles in disbelief. "I ran.”

He looks at you then, raw and cracked open.

“I’ve been running ever since. I ran here to burn it down to ashes. No one could try and take it anymore, and I would go with it.”

A pause. The morning breeze cuts through the quiet.

He leans forward, forehead resting lightly against yours.

“But I don’t want to run anymore.”

You close your eyes. His voice is barely above breath.

“I want to stay. With you. But not just to survive this garden. I want to be worthy of it. Of you. Of a future that doesn’t end in flames.”

His hand moves to cup the side of your face.

“Tell me… If it comes to it—if the kingdom must change or fall—would you still want me beside you? Even if I’m broken, cursed, or bound to this place forever?”

You don’t answer with words.

You lean in, pressing your forehead tighter against his, both your eyes closed, and whisper, “ You my darling must understand...there is no future without you in it. We make our future. Together.”

His lips tremble---his eyes gloss like a life had been brought back from the inside.

He then he kisses you. Gentle. Long overdue. Not perfect or planned, but trembling with honesty.

It wasn’t the final kiss of a tale—it was the first of something neither of you had yet written.

Together you were determined that tomorrow would be the beginning of a story told for the rest of time.

...

Next: “The Beginning Of Our Story: Fate Unfolds”

…

This is the End of Part 1 of:

Garden Kisses 🌷

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

Much love,

xoxo

Broker hums, not quite unconvinced. He straightens and begins a slow circle behind an empty chair straight across Wooyoung’s position. Once again he moves his feet, heel to toe, and his voice takes on the same calculated rhythm.

“The two of you…” Broker began, spreading his hands with theatrical calm, “synchronize like dancers.” He let the words settle. In the stale air for his kicker. “That kind of harmony’s rare… and dangerous.”

Wooyoung’s brow furrows, ever so slightly. It wasn’t just the words that ticked him off— it was how Broker refused to sit still. Like they weren’t equals, but prey and predator. All Broker has said seem to have a double meaning, and it wracked Wooyoung’s head to not have clarity.

“Loyalty’s a slippery thing in this business. Personal warmth can cloud professional judgment.”

Per example.

“So I’ll ask again, Mr Jung: Is your allegiance to this company, or to Mrs. Hart?”

Wooyoung’s gaze finally reached Broker's through his wandering. It was a daring question meant to cause a bodily reaction, but what was more dangerous was how Wooyoung remained still, cool, and direct. “I believe I’d need clarification about what’s happened for you to ask that, sir.”

Broker doesn’t respond immediately. He walks to the espresso tray near the cabinets, pours himself a cup, and speaks over the gentle hiss of steam. “Just observing patterns. That’s all.” He flips a switch to terminate the stream of brown liquid roast, looking over at the additives to which he opts out of.

'He likes it bitter', Wooyoung thought. 'In every aspect it seems.'

“From what I understand… Mark Lee served under Mrs. Hart for eight years. I recall him as steady, quiet, safe.”

He sips. “Then comes you— young, assertive, magnetic. They’re fair qualities that compliment your character quite well. But, I suppose I could assumed the connection with Mark ran deeper.”

“I earned my position. In fact, I saw Mark's explosion when he didn't get his way.” Wooyoung sits up, his voice raw-cutthroat. "I suppose we recall him in different ways."

Broker chuckles, leaning backward as his arm brushes on the counter. “No doubt. But if I may…”

"Oh…as if you wouldn't dare anyway? You made it this far…"

He pushes his steaming cup forward towards the man across him in a toast, settling it aside on the marble.

“Men, are natural-born leaders. It’s in our wiring. Not to say Mrs. Hart isn’t capable— clearly, she is— but logically…”

He juts his bottom lip as he ponders in thought, shifting his hands as if he was in the kitchen of a pizza shop. “You have the clarity. The foresight. The spine. I believe you could steer this company in a truly promising direction.”

Wooyoung says nothing at first. It was unusual for him not to be outspoken of the immediate thought that processes in mind, but in this particular situation, with such a peculiar man, his word choices were a reflection of himself, and you as well.

“With all due respect, sir. I follow Mrs. Hart, because she’s the one worth following.”

A charged silence fills the room.

Broker at that watches Wooyoung closely. Then a slow smile unfurls, as if he was amused and weirdly satisfied with the answer he received. He swallows the remainder of black coffee in his cup and advances his stride forward to Wooyoung who stands tall to finish the meeting as adjourned.

“As long as you know where you stand, and what you’re capable of- you’ll be alright with me.”

The proceeding handshake last longer than needed. Firm grips were exchanged with prolonging eye contact. It seemed like a warring challenge oddly spoken through demeanor.

“Good talk, Mr. Jung. I’ll see you at the event.”

Broker adjusts his cuffs with one last flick of arrogance. He makes for the door at a steady pace.

But Wooyoung rises before he can reach it— not a rushed movement, but one filled with intent. He steps around the table, reaches the door first, and opens it for Broker.

A silent boundary.

Broker pauses, clearly clocking the move. His smirk returns, tighter this time.

“Ever the gentleman.” He murmurs dryly.

Wooyoung doesn’t answer. Just holds his gaze.

Broker walks past him coldly. As he disappears into the hallway, Wooyoung doesn’t return to his seat. He waits — watches— until the elevator dings at the end of the corridor.

Only when the doors close and Broker is gone does he exhale.

But then— a faint ringtone echoes behind him.

A buzz from the phone on the meeting room wall— the internal line from the executive floor. He turns his head toward it, the screen words present in bold.

“Ms. Hart”, flashes across the panel.

He crosses the room in long strides, and taps the call button.

“I’m on my way down.”

///

You’re sitting at your desk, a manila folder open in front of you with Brokers name on its tab, though your eyes haven’t moved across the page in several minutes. You were too anxious of Brokers lingering presence tainting your office.

You lean back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, trying to steady your thoughts. Something has shifted. You can feel it— a dragging pressure behind your sternum.

And you know Broker has something to do with it.

The door opens. You don’t look up right away— your gaze remain fixed on a page, one that’s long since stopped making sense.

Wooyoung steps inside, slower than usual. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and rests against it briefly before approaching. “He came here, didn’t he?”

There’s a pause. You finally raise your eyes to meet his.

“Yeah. Just left.”

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms as the longest sigh drags the air from your lungs. “What did he want?”

Wooyoung pauses, then begins carefully“He said he was… curious about our relationship.”

Your eyes blow wide as they meet Wooyoung’s facial expression--- hesitant and cautious. He pushes his hand forward in the air to calm your panic. “As in- how we operate as copartners.” It seemed to work as the tension slips off your heightening shoulders. “But then he questioned my position and where my loyalty lies. The specific kind of trust we have for each other.”You scoff, flabbergasted by the audacity. “Tried to make it sound like concern for the company.”

Wooyoung clung to the wall for dear life. Every word angered you visually---even after you were caught by surprise from a false alarm.

You sit upright---narrowing and boring your sight of Wooyoung’s deeper--- arms crossed firm in your lap. “And what. Did you. Tell him?”

Wooyoung folds his own arms in himself, feeling exposed and unusually reserved. But for you, he uses the power of his true and charming words. “That we work well together, and that itself doesn’t need to be scratched from underneath the surface.” Then he adds, unveiling the passion unspoken about you two as a pair. “That I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in what we’re doing. If I didn’t believe in you, Y/n.”

At the least he felt relieved, it was a light truth. His priority was to not make you feel as heavy and stiff in that meeting room as he did.

Your jaw tightens slightly from lingering frustration and brimming tears. “Y/n” he spoke. But you were so frustrated and confused. The realms of reality where he spent countless nights until dawn in your office with enough coffee and tea for a cafe--- leaks into the forefront of your brain. Or the time he offered his body to be the caretaker of your pent up stress. Or the 7 days and 6 nights you supplied the villa you shared with a long ranged beach to be wild and free, with no bounds in between.

Wooyoung watches the gears brush up another from the outside of your mind.

“You’ve been in my court before I laid eyes on you." They flicker to him like a Kit-Cat Klock. "He’s intruding on our turf and has no defense. Don’t let him corner you.”

Wooyoung nods with certainty and determination. “He won’t be given the chance. I’m the mighty trusty mini bitch sidekick.”

You uncross your arms as a chuckle rumbles in your chest, but you don’t drop your guard.

Not entirely. “Did he say anything about Mark?”

Wooyoung seams to be visibly re experiencing the same emotion he felt in the room at the name he never knew to bite him back. “He mentioned him…”, he mutters bitterly. “Compared the tenure. Wondered if that meant I was here with the same intentions. He didn’t say it, but… he implied a lot.”

“Of course he did.” You whisper quietly, biting deeply at the skin of your lip. The silence hangs between you. Finally, you stand, moving closer to him in a caring manner. You bring your hands up to his biceps, running them up and down his thick sleeves. “I need to know if anything he said… got to you.”

Wooyoung’s jaw works for a second— not from guilt, but careful calculation. “It didn’t change anything. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me think.”

You inch closer and shake your head, your eyebrows scrunch as your face etched in concern. “Think about what?”

“About how fast this has all moved.” He reaches behind himself to twist the blinds on the windows to a complete shut, claiming your waist in his hold. “About how I never want anything— anyone— to get between us, and what we’ve built.”

Your posture stiffens, guarded, but your breath eases out just a little.

“Good. Because we’re going to need to be on the same page for what’s next.”

Wooyoung nods once, sure and steady.

“We will be.”

You believed Wooyoung— of course you did. But you also knew men like Broker carried criminal slickness in their tongues. And it made you wonder… if Wooyoung ever believed in anything that sounded like a white lie.

….

The evening air was crisp as Wooyoung stepped out of the company car, adjusting the cuff of his tailored suit. The valet gave him a polite nod as he passed, and the muted hum of classical music drifted from the event hall doors ahead.

This wasn’t paparazzi and champagne fountains— it was quieter than that. Clean lines, Assistant CEO Wooyoung in all black, and murmurs between power heads in tailored silhouettes.

The Business Elite--- where reputations were cemented over wine glasses and strategic handshakes.

Wooyoung glanced at his watch before heading in. He wasn’t nervous. Just alert. Tonight was important.

Across the lobby, he spotted you already mid-conversation, the shimmer of your gown catching in the lobby lights. Your laugh— polished, charming— cut cleanly through the chatter. You looked completely in your element.

He smirked faintly, then straightened his tie to clear his throat and mingle.

As the evening progressed--- Wooyoung found himself by the bar sipping a whiskey neat. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Yunho, dressed in a sharp baby blue suit, a mischievous grin on his face. "You clean up nice Mr.Jung."

Wooyoung's smile remained fixed, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes as he replied to Yunho. "You’re not too bad either, Mr.Jeong. I trust you're enjoying the event?"

Yunho's grin widened, seemingly oblivious to Wooyoung's subtle iciness. "Oh, absolutely. The food's fantastic, the company…well, it could be better, but it's not bad."

"I agree…" Wooyoung's gaze shifted past Yunho' shoulder, spotting you gesturing him over. You were surrounded by a group of high-ranking officials, their faces engaged as you eloquently spoke. Wooyoung swigs back his last drop of whiskey before settling it on the counter. "Excuse me, Yunho," Wooyoung said, his tone cooler than before. "Duty calls."

Yunho watched Wooyoung walk away, a thoughtful expression on his face. He turned back to his own drink, pondering the subtle tension he had sensed between Wooyoung and you. Shrugging it off, he decided to focus on his own conversation, ordering another drink as he scanned the room.

Wooyoung joined you, sliding into the conversation with ease. "…and that's how we managed to reduce our carbon footprint by 30% last quarter," you were saying. The officials nodded approvingly, impressed by your environmentally conscious practices. The officials welcomed Wooyoung warmly, praising your duo's recent business achievements. As the conversation wrapped up, the officials excused themselves, leaving the two of you alone for a moment.

You let out a soft sigh, your shoulders relaxing slightly. "I saw you talking to Yunho. Is he doing alright? I know he was hesitant on coming," you worriedly asked, a slight furrow in your brow.

Wooyoung's expression remained neutral, his voice carefully measured. "He seems to be. Enjoying the event, at least. He feels the same way about who makes the event as we do." He paused, his gaze flickering towards where Yunho was now engaged in animated conversation with a group of young entrepreneurs.

You followed Wooyoung's gaze, relieved to see Yunho laughing and smiling with others. You turned back to Wooyoung, reaching out to gently grasp his arm. "Have you seen Broker?”

Wooyoung's expression remained neutral, his voice carefully measured. "Broker? No, I haven't seen him since I arrived. Why…are you worried about something?" He glanced around the room, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of guests before returning to your face.

You bit your lower lip, your eyes flicking back to where Yunho had been standing. "I just…I thought I saw him talking to Yunho earlier. It's probably nothing," you said, shrugging it off nonchalantly.

Wooyoung's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he processed your's words. He glanced towards Yunho again, noticing that the young entrepreneur was now alone, his attention seemingly absorbed by his phone. "Perhaps it's worth looking out for." Wooyoung said, his tone hinting at a growing unease.

You hesitated, torn between your desire to trust Yunho and the nagging feeling that something was amiss. You looked at Wooyoung, seeing the concern in his glare. "You're right," you said, taking a deep breath. "But we’re have a presentation to share to these folks--- let’s put our focus toward that.”

Wooyoung nodded, understanding the importance of maintaining their professional composure in front of the investors. "Agreed," he said, his gaze never leaving Yunho' solitary figure across the room. "Shall we proceed with the presentation?" He turned to you, offering his arm as a gesture of support and solidarity.

Wooyoung's face broke into a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he escorted you to the stage. As they took your two places behind the podiums, the chatter in the room died down, and all attention turned to the pair of you. Wooyoung gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before you began.

You took a deep breath, your voice ringing out clear and confident as you began the presentation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight. To formally introduce ourselves, we are Wooyoung and Y/n Hart of the 'Better Business Company.' A moment of silence encourages the need for applause. "We stand here tonight…to unveil a project that we believe will revolutionize the way we approach global sustainability in business."

Wooyoung stepped forward, his deep voice resonating through the room. You glance and smile into the audience--a blur of faces in the burning light. Better off that you look at your business partner, and…well any label couldn't fit your personal---thing. He shouldn't sparkle in the light this way. Or maybe it's the way you're seeing him. He gestured to the large screen behind him, where a sleek infographic began to display.

As Wooyoung delved into the technical aspects of the proposal, you fielded questions from the audience with grace and poise. Your passion for the project shone through in every response, captivating the investors. The presentation flowed seamlessly, a perfect blend of Wooyoung's analytical expertise and your charismatic leadership--- concluding its end in applause.

Suddenly, a figure steps aside from the gathering crowd, and appeared to share the spotlight, Broker.

Broker's entrance caused a ripple of whispers to spread through the room. His eyes darted between Wooyoung, yourself, and the investors, a smug smile playing on his lips. He waited for a lull in the presentation before approaching the stage, his steps invading and deliberate.

"Excuse me, if I may interrupt for a moment," Broker said, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of the entire room. You and Wooyoung exchanged a brief, puzzled glance before nodding your consent. "I couldn't help but overhear your impressive presentation…"

Broker continued, "and I must say, your vision for sustainability is nothing short of revolutionary. However, I couldn't help but notice that you've overlooked one crucial aspect in your proposal." He paused dramatically, letting the tension build before dropping his bombshell.

You tilt your body toward him with focused attention. "And what might that be?" you asked. Your voice is cool and composed--- despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. You'd always found Broker's condescending attitude infuriating, and this interruption was no exception.

Broker's grin widened, clearly enjoying the opportunity to upstage you. "Well… where do I fit into all of this?" he said, feigning innocence. He turns to the crowd with bustling laughter, his expression calculating.

Murmurs rippled through the investors, many of them exchanging curious glances. Wooyoung stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "And what role do you envision for yourself in our project, Mr. Broker?" he asked, his tone measured.

Broker's smile turned shark-like, his eyes glinting with greed. "I represent one of the largest and most powerful business conglomerates in the world, with extensive global influence. I see an opportunity here for a mutually beneficial partnership. Together, we could accelerate your project's implementation tenfold."

In other words: I don't have a fucking clue. But i'll use big words to make myself sound like I do.

You leaned forward into the mic grip tightened on the podium, your knuckles turning white. You could feel the weight of the investors' gazes, waiting for your response. Beside you, Wooyoung's expression hardened, but his voice remained calm. "And what, exactly, would this mutually beneficial' partnership entail, Mr.Broker?”

Broker spread his hands wide, as if presenting an obvious solution. "A majority stake in your company, of course. With our resources backing you, there'd be no limit to what you could accomplish. And in exchange, I'd expect a seat on the board and a say in the project's direction."

In other words: Let me in. You need me. Give me a role in your sacred business, and i'll gaslight you to hell.

The room fell silent. You and Wooyoung exchanged a tense look, your mind's racing. Selling out to Broker would guarantee your project's success, but it would also mean sacrificing your vision and control. It's obvious and thought through in fact. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to reject his offer publicly.

You puff out your chest and stood up. The audience saw you speaking to them all, but Broker saw it as--- 'her attention has been reclaimed as only mine.'

"Mr. Broker… we appreciate your enthusiasm and the resources you're offering.

You beckon Wooyoung over with a double glance of your side.

"However…we need to carefully consider the implications of such a partnership. We'll need some time to discuss this among ourselves--- and with our potential investors here of course." You smile and swoop an open palm to the piercing pairs of many eyes-- smiling politely, firmly.

Broker's smile didn't waver, but the glint in his eyes sharpened. He'd obviously expected some resistance. But it still hurt. "Of course, of course. I understand the gravity of such a decision. Let's say… one week? I'll have my legal team draw up the preliminary documents." He laughs out into the audience again, commanding reaction as if he were acting on a sitcom.

Wooyoung stepped forward, taking charge. "This is becoming a bit more private, sir. We'll review your proposal and convene again in a week's time. Let's keep the lines of communication open, Mr. Broker."

Broker nodded, darting between the team you make, trying to gauge some extensive correlation. "Excellent. I look forward to our next meeting." With that, he gave a curt nod to the room and strode out, his expensive suit rustling with each step.

…

As the door closed behind you to the front lobby, Wooyoung let out a sigh of relief. "That went as well as could be expected." He turned to you, removing his blazer and pushing aside his bangs with the point of his finger.

"What thoughts are eating you right now? I'm jealous." He asked, sitting on the arm of a non-comforting fainting sofa you rested in until you saw your car from the valet in front.

Your expression remained stoic, but a flicker of amusement passed through your eyes. "He's a sly one, that's for sure. But we played it perfectly. We gave him hope without committing to anything." You turned to Wooyoung, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Wooyoung returned it, relief washing over him. He moves to sit next to you---leaving a unsuspicious amount of spacing. "You were brilliant. The way you handled him… We'll have to keep him on a tight leash though. Men like him don't take well to rejection." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "We should be careful.”

Your face sunk in thinking about the exhaustion you'd feel--- all to scrub this dirt clinging to your backside. "I agree. But for now, let's string him along. We'll review the proposal, make him believe we're considering it. But when it comes to signing… we'll find a reason to back out."

Wooyoung nodded, his eyes glinting with determination. "And in the meantime, we should reach out to other potential investors. Diversify our backing. The more strings we have to our bow, the less leverage Broker will have."

You nodded in agreement. "Good thinking. Let's not put all our eggs in one basket. And who knows, maybe one of these other investors will be the key to keeping Broker at bay." You paused, your expression turning thoughtful. "We should go outside now. Yeosang is coming close here on my apple watch. Only then can we get the fuck out of here.”

Wooyoung glanced at his watch, nodding. "Jongho is just right behind. He straightened his tie, composing himself with a small crack of his neck. "I'll see you at your place tonight?

You mirrored his actions, smoothing out your dress and adjusting your hair. "You'll be there." you confirmed, flashing him a confident smile. Together, you stepped back into the more respirable air outdoors , slipping seamlessly into your drivers cars with the roles of poised entrepreneurs, leaving the tension of your private conversation behind.

///

You switch side to side in the mirror, marvelled at your dress- or rather you in it. Wooyoung would agree.

A ring at your door alarms you that he's here. Irksome having to be dropped off at home just to get in his car to drive to you. But when he sees you still in that dress---it's worth every raging mile.

"About time that you rang."

You pull him in quickly and shut the door--- reaching up to trace the curve of Wooyoung's jaw for a small moment, your touch gentle and loving. "I never could have done it without you," you said, your voice soft with emotion. "You're my partner… in every sense of the word." You looked into his eyes fondly, oddly, yours shined with tears of happiness.

Wooyoung's heart melted at the sight of it, his thumb automatically brushing away the drops that escaped. "And I never could have done it without you," he replied, his voice thick with feeling. "You're the spark that ignites everything, the missing piece that makes us whole."

“Ugh…was that champagne got some sort of sap drug in it or what?” you joke. "My period had just gone off."

Wooyoung barked out a laugh, the tension breaking as your joke hit the mark. "Must be the 'post-freedom' effects of the champagne," he quipped back, waggling his eyebrows comically. "Beware, it may cause severe outbreaks of sappiness and uncharacteristic displays of affection."

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, playfully punching Wooyoung's arm. "Shut up," you said, but you were smiling as you pulled him into the living room for drinks--- leaning into his side on another sofa once more.

Not even two sips later…

“Oh gosh, this is nice. But I really don’t want to be hungover after this headache of a moment in our business lives.”

You snickered and nodded in agreement, holding your glass up to the light and studying it critically, setting it back down untouched. "We'll have to find another way to celebrate tonight. Bummer."

Wooyoung leaned his head back toward you, a grin turned mischievous, an idea forming in his mind. He leaned close to your ear, whispering something that made your mind come to a slow--- a predatory smile spreads across your face from a followed rush. "Well, then," he said, his voice low and suggestive.

Without word, you set his glass aside and took his hand, your thumb tracing circles on his palm all the way to the bedroom.

You sat on the bed with him resting on its edge, searching deeply in his eyes in shyness because:

“Category C…?” What’s that?”

Wooyoung's sparkled with mischief and understanding. "Category C stands for…cuddling my beauty." he purred, fingers walking up your chest. "Intense, all-night, can't-get-enough-of-each-other cuddling."

“That’s mild…, especially for the both of us. But it doesn’t sound all too bad. Are you sure that’s all you want? This is rare baby.”

Wooyoung grinned wolfishly, leaning in to nip at your chest. "Oh, I'm sure," he assured you. "I want to spend hours just holding you, feeling your heartbeat against mine. And who knows… maybe we'll get creative with the whole 'cuddling' thing…"

"Mmm, I like the way you think." You pet his hair softly--- his nips turn into wet kisses traveling along your neck. "We'll start with Category C, and we'll see where the night takes us, deal?"

"No pressure at all," Wooyoung agreed, his voice low and sultry. "We'll take things nice and slow, savoring every moment." He was being slick. The tortured had learn from his torturer.

He captured your lips in a deep, sensual, short-ish kiss, pouring all his desire into it. Your hands slid under his white shirt, caressing the rippling muscles of his back.

“Can I be the big spoon?”

Wooyoung chuckled softly against your lips. "Mmm, I thought you'd never ask," he murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "Let's get comfortable, shall we?" He stood, effortlessly lifting your in his arms and carrying you to the head of the bed. He slips your shoes off into the floor.

You giggle while being thrown--- watching as Wooyoung skips around in jumps in himself. He turns to his side and snuggles backward until he feels your soft chest. He grabs your hand a placing him where he wanted them to be: his hair, and surprisingly to you, his belly, rubbing soothing circles.

Wooyoung sighed contentedly as you spooned him, your warm breath tickling the back of his neck. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow. "I could get used to going to sleep like this."

“When your on the receiving sides of things it always nice." He pouts at that, whining as he intertwines your hands. You laugh breathily, "I like it too.”

Wooyoung's hand covered yours, stilling your soothing circles on his belly. He guided your hand lower, until your fingers grazed over the trail of hair leading down from his navel. "You know, for a category C night…"

“Mhmm?” You piques, waiting for Wooyoung's follow up.*

"…we're still wearing far too many clothes," he finished, his voice dropping to a low rumble. Wooyoung rocked bum against your crotch teasingly, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Let's remedy that, shall we?" You begin to start on yourself, but Wooyoung takes over--- unzipping that tiny little zipper that gave you hell earlier this afternoon. “How about those hairpins?”

You look at him astonished just completely baffled. “How do you know about those?”

"Well it was just that that I heard you cursing to yourself earlier while I watched you behind the door in the bathroom mirror."

"You little creep", you scoff. "I’m so impressed." He clicks his teeth on one side of his mouth, shooting an intimation of a gun with his fingers. "There’s 12 I think.."

You managed to find them all located in the back of your head In the short amount of minutes. “That’s 12.” Wooyoung looks up and pulls at the front of your head. “13, dearest. He laughs giving your forehead the chastest kiss.

You undo his clothing in favor, and Wooyoung’s the first to pull you both back into the previous position.

Them comes in a beat of silence that feels all too serious. As if nothing truly were going to happen afterward.

“Y/n…can I ask you something serious?”

And judging by the calling of your first name. And the twiddling of his thumbs. It had to actually be serious.

“If you have to ask permission baby, I’ll allow it anyway. What’s going on?”

“Will we have sex?" A beat. "Like the whole nine with me inside you."

Two. Beats.

"Is it… too soon?”

You sat up. Lying your face onto the side of his---syncing your breathing to calm the moment.

“That is… seriously something", you whisper. "But… I’m willing to do anything sexual it is with you. Don’t forget that you started this, and i'm the one that fell for you before I fell for parts of you. Is that want you what?That kind of permission?"

The twiddling of his thumbs stop their movements. The heat on his face burns with intensity.

"Uh ye--- yeah." You just said though… you fell for me?"

"I did?" Your eyes furrow--thinking to when you--- oh! "Yes… I believe I did." You shrug your shoulders in careless admittance, and then you smiled. “You know, I’m older. My mind is far more connected to my heart than it’s ever been. You have my permission Woo."

His chest expands with air--- a laugh burst out in disbelief. He raises your hand to kiss it firmly. “I’m gonna ruin Category C night."

"Uh it was getting ruined by me too since the start."

He releases your hand and you feel him move upward. You lift your head to let him make comfort in hiw own way, but that landed you on your back, and him---hovering over you.

"I'm going to ruin you too." He kisses your nose. "In a good way of course."

"Of course."

A moment to look at each other in a different view delays all activity.

"Is it too soon to say I love you?"

A short breath comes out before you're rendered speechless.

"Is it too soon to say I love you back?"

His eyes darken, and swell as he locks onto you.

"I’m going to obliterate you. But just know I love you too."

He kisses down and warms you up--- swirls and curls of his tongue to your nipples before biting and pulling one upward--- snapping it back to rest on your chest.

Right down the line of your torso, he pulses those muscles to a flex. Once his face reaches in alignment with your cunt--- he spits on it so dirtily, moving circles around your clit in an instant, and down the lining to your entrance. “Like you really needed that anyway. You’ve always been wetter than rain, woman.”

He lowers his face onto yours closing in as if he were going to give you a kiss. And just when your skin came in contact, so did he within.

A deep, guttural, strong, and a particular vein drives pressure along the ceiling of your walls. His mouth opened in a groan over your whimpering lips. With a menacing chuckle--- he then kissed you softly, shushing you calmly.

“You feel fucking incredible.” He traces a hand down each arm--- first lying at your sides---and then one joins the other at the side of your head. “Give me the go my beautiful orchid.”

“G-go. Hurry, please.”

Burning tears prick at your duct with every delicious squelching pump. It was more than a physically tie of bodies, but a fuel of penetrated emotion.

Wooyoung looked into your eyes with the stars of a night sky within them--- swiping the tears that piled underneath yours. You kept blinking away, angry at what you couldn’t see in clear focus, but it was just too hot.

Your cheeks burned, your backside broke out a sweat, and your insides had a butterfly garden growing from your guts.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You slip a hand from the side of your hand to feel the curve of his face momentarily . “If I felt this earlier in my life, things would have been better a long time ago.”

He chuckles with the shortest grin that drops sequentially into a long ‘O’. “We’re okay now baby.” He leans down and grows deeper, the pressure squeezes down inside your walls with intensity. “With love… we can do better together. Yeah?” He turns his head in, kissing the shell of your ear.

You hold him close by the back of his neck-pulling into his hairs from the overwhelming wash of emotion watering your soul.

Wooyoung receives a telepathic shock of sorts, because between your heavy moaning and crying, your fingernails grazing and pulling at his scalp, and most of all the feeling of you inside and out makes him greedier to feed off of it even more.

And so, he thrust harder, tougher, and it pushes the air straight from your lungs. If you thought you couldn’t see before, you most certainly could not now. It was as if you were pushed into a white room for a few seconds, and then pulled back out for clarity. “F-fuck, hgnnnn.”

A hand comes up beside your face and you feel Wooyoung pull out slowly, as soon as you were enabled to open your eyes once again- he rolls his body in this wave that just crashes into your brain.

“Oooh fuck, there’s no way I’m going to last long.” He looks down upon you, eyes squinting and glossy, eager to see all of which was happening. He could nearly giggle, but he could not make joke of what it was, he was falling apart in the same way. “Are you almost there mama?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as a strong build up squeezes your lower abdomen. Not to mention, the irony of the new nickname considering the switch of position. “Almost, baby.”

And with one deep stroke into psychosis--- the waves came crashing back down. It was a blissful experience that not any partner you’ve had could replicate if they tried (and they never did).

Years of pent up frustration just melted onto your bedsheet, and you were signifying that to Wooyoung who was digging into you even deeper.

You placed a hand on his sculpted stomach-pushing in and out its normal place.

“Ahhh, it’s coming.” He whimpers, falling down in place with his body on yours, and his head beside your ear. A choked out groan sends sound waves into your ear drums, “Please tell me you’re still on the pill.”

You chuckle and wrap your legs on his bum, and pull him deeper within. “Come on~", you teasingly beckoned.

His body vibrates with a shock of shivers, and a deep gasp. “Ohhhh, thank the sex gods.”

In that moment you both just shake into each other with laughter. Wooyoung presses kisses where he can reach onto your cold sweat before rolling over.

He turns his head to look at your face, and you were already gazing at your lover in admiration.

“You think we can cuddle for real now?”

You chuckle softly, turning over onto your side as you softly to adjust a pile underneath your head. “I think it’s more official now that we’ve shooked that out of our systems.”

Wooyoung grinned and tucked a messy strand of many behind your ear, followed by a thoughtful kiss. He turns over--- snuggling back into your welcoming embrace.

A comforting beat of silence.

“We jumped to category D before C don’t you think?”

“Category D…?”

He turns his head back--- giving you a hint with his untelling expression. Then the dots lined to connect.

You bit into his shoulder hard in retort, pulling a whiny groan from his throat. “See now you’re trying to jump to an hardcore F!”

“Stop it!” You bite harder and he painfully giggles.

…

The morning sun stretches slowly across the apartment walls, casting a soft amber glow over tangled limbs and cotton sheets.

You’re awake before him— propped slightly on your elbow, watching the rise and fall of Wooyoung's chest where he sleeps curled against you, arms tucked in, breath slow and even. His face is relaxed for once, lashes dark against his cheek, mouth slightly parted.

He looks impossibly young like this. And safe. Like your home became a person and it chose to cling to your ribs in the shape of him.

You trace a gentle line along his shoulder, and he stirs, nose nudging your collarbone. A small groan escapes him— groggy, reluctant.

“Nooooo,” he murmurs, burrowing deeper into your chest. “I was promised Category C. All-night. All positions. Cuddling.”

You stifle a laugh, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’ve had nine hours of uninterrupted snuggle supremacy, mister. Reality’s calling. So is the office.”

He peeks up at you with one eye, brows furrowed like a pouty prince. “Don’t like reality. Reality has Broker in it.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, lingering a beat too long. “Then let’s hit it fast before it hits us first.”

With a resigned sigh, Wooyoung untangles himself slowly— stretches once, then flops back down dramatically with a pillow over his face.

“Okay,” he says muffled. “But when we become billionaires, we’re buying an island. No phones. Just silk sheets and snacks.”

You roll out of bed, already tossing him a work shirt he kept of many in your closet. “You’re gonna be late to your dream life if you don’t move.”

A sudden weight pulls on your shoulders, making your back fall onto the bed again. “Well let’s go back to bed then my orchid. My dream life is right here.”

Although secretly flattered, you push his face away from your view, rising to prepare again for the work day.

…

Just before you step into the boardroom, Wooyoung reaches out and touches your arm gently.

“Hey.” His voice drops, softer than usual. “Whatever today brings… we’ve got each other’s six, yeah?”

You give him a steady nod, your eyes locking with his.

"Today and always."

And with that, the next phase begins.

The blinds are drawn. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The long glass table stretches with employees before you like a war map, scattered with devices and data.

You stand at the head, tablet open, key documents spread in front of you. Steady. Sharp.

“We’ve kept Broker entertained long enough,” you say, voice clear and focused. “But we can’t keep riding the fence. We either stall him with red tape, or put something shinier in front of him to bite.”

Yunho, seated to your right, flips open a legal pad. “What kind of stall? The event bought us time, but the clock’s running out.”

Wooyoung leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Or we let him get drunk off his own ego. Guys like Broker always think they’re holding the leash.”

“Until they’re not,” you reply with a faint smile.

Your gaze shifts to Yunho. “You were around him at the venue. You saw who he was eyeing. What’s your read?”

He nods slowly. “He’s not chasing a deal. He’s chasing our image. Proximity gives him credibility he can’t get on his own. We let him orbit, but don’t let him land. Make him feel involved— without giving him anything real.”

“That could work,” Wooyoung mutters, his glance toward Yunho brief and unreadable. “Unless someone lets him in too far.”

Yunho doesn’t blink. “Which is why we stay aligned, sir.”

The air in the room tightens. Other's have watched the entire ideal like a ping pong match. You feel it like static crackling beneath the table. You clear your throat, pushing through the weight.

“I’m drafting a two-tier response,” you continue. “One: a dummy investment path, something credible enough to bait him. Two: we redirect our marketing to pull the spotlight off his involvement.”

“And the real game plan?” Yunho prompts.

You nod. “Stays with us.”

Wooyoung nods as well, but avoids meeting Yunho’s eyes. “Kept in-house. Where it belongs.”

You snap your tablet shut. Smiling falsely with a huff of air. “We brief the team tomorrow. No one outside this room hears the full breakdown. Broker will think we’re entertaining him— until he tries to move in.”

“And that’s when we sever ties,” Wooyoung finishes quietly.

A silence falls, thick and deliberate.

You lean in, folding your hands on the table. “I want no risk. Broker’s been circling close, and I won’t tolerate secondhand surprises. If anyone here has concerns or sees something— this is your chance to speak.”

Yunho meets your gaze directly. “I trust the plan. And the people in this room.”

Wooyoung echoes, a little slower. “Same here.”

Everyone else heads bobble in agreement.

You nod once--- tight. “Good. Because tomorrow will be the last time he steps foot in this room. Meeting adjourned.”

But Wooyoung lingers as the others begin to file out. His hand brushes your forearm, voice dropping low.

“Y/n—this wasn’t part of the plan. Letting him walk in here again? Tomorrow?”

You turn to him, meeting his unease with quiet conviction. “This is my plan, Mr.Jung. I knew you’d react like this, but it needs to happen. One final meeting, and then he’s out for good. That takes trust.”

His eyes search yours. You see the flicker of frustration—but beneath it, something softer.

“You know I trust you,” he says, his voice firm but steady.

“Then it’s settled.”

///

Tomorrow…

The mood in the glass conference room is deceptively calm— but underneath, it crackles. You sit at the head of the table, fingers drumming lightly against your tablet.

To your right is Wooyoung legs crossed, jaw tense. Across from him, Yunho remains composed, flipping through neatly lined notes. Around the room, staff sip from coffee cups and skim reports, their faces carved in practiced neutrality.

As Broker drones on about minor adjustments and forward-facing strategies, Wooyoung’s posture stiffens. His arms fold across his chest, and his leg bounces with barely restrained impatience.

You notice his glare flick constantly toward Yunho — specifically, the way Yunho politely engages. He takes notes. Nods. Smiles when prompted. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

When the meeting finally adjourns, chairs scrape lightly across the floor. You remain seated as Wooyoung rises, gaze locked on Yunho.

“Yunho,” he says, tone firm but even. “A minute?”

Yunho glances up, brows slightly pinched. “Sure.”

They head to the break lounge — quiet, neutral ground.

When the door swings shut behind them, Wooyoung turns with measured restraint, hands in his pockets.

“Look,” he starts, gaze heavy, “I know we’ve always worked well together. But I have to ask.”

Yunho watches him cautiously. “It’s about Broker. These meetings— the conversations before the rest of us are looped in. I saw how he pulled you aside at the ceremony. Has he tried to… get in your head? Offer you anything?”

Yunho blinks, caught off guard. “No,” he says quickly. “Nothing like that. Just asked about a few minor things.” He shifts under the weight of the question. “Is that… an issue?”

“It is,” Wooyoung answers, sharper than before. “Because people are starting to talk. About him. About you. About whether he’s trying to undercut Mrs. Hart.”

Yunho stiffens. “He hasn’t crossed any lines with me. He won't. I swear.”

Wooyoung studies his face— intently— as if trying to read between the calm lines of Yunho’s response.

After a moment, he nods slowly. “Alright. But if he does try anything— anything that feels off— you come to me. Got it?”

Yunho nods. “I will.” He hesitates, then adds with quiet sincerity, “You know I’ve always looked up to you, right? And to Mrs.Hart. I wouldn’t risk this. Not for anyone.”

Something in Wooyoung's stance softens. He clasps a hand on Yunho’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why I’m trusting you to be straight with me if anything changes.”

Yunho gives a small smile, more like a reassurance than a response. “I’ve got your back. Just say the word.”

There’s a pause before Yunho tilts his head slightly. “But what do you think his angle is anyway? Broker doesn’t strike me as the long-game type.”

Wooyoung exhales, rubbing at his brow. “No idea. Maybe he’s threatened. Maybe he wants influence. But with the company anniversary coming up, the last thing the boss needs is another complication.”

He looks at Yunho squarely. “That means we watch him. And I need you sharp. If he’s testing the waters with you, that’s leverage we can’t afford him.”

Yunho nods, his face more serious now. “I’ll keep you in the loop.” Then, more lightly, “Guess being the office favorite has its drawbacks, huh?”

Wooyoung finally laughs — dry, but genuine. “Welcome to the club.”

They return to their desks, but the silence they leave behind hums with tension neither one of them quite knows how to name.

…

As the days wore on, Wooyoung found himself increasingly paranoid. He’d catch himself watching Yunho during meetings, studying his posture, analyzing every word that left his mouth for hints — any subtle shift that might suggest he was hiding something.

The office buzzed with quiet urgency. You stepped onto the operations floor with your phone pressed to your ear, your stride smooth, composed. Staff glanced up as you passed— they could sense it. Something in the air had shifted since that last boardroom meeting.

And today didn’t promise any calm.

You stopped at Yunho’s desk, speaking low and fast. “You’ll handle the draft packet for the ShellPoint dummy acquisition. Make it believable— but boring.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Yunho replied smoothly, pulling up financial reports without hesitation. “Do you want regional projections included?”

“Just enough to confuse a man like Broker,” you said with a smirk before moving on.

Across the floor, Wooyoung hovered near a pod of desks, jaw tight as he combed through the slides for your pitch deck — a showy, empty presentation meant to dazzle without revealing anything real.

He looked up just in time to see you still at Yunho’s desk, pausing a moment too long at his shoulder.

His eyes narrowed.

A beat later, Wooyoung strode across the floor and handed over a flash drive. “Marketing visuals. For the pitch,” he said flatly, his voice void of inflection as he looked at Yunho — but didn’t really see him.

“Thanks,” Yunho replied, calm as ever, taking it without flinching.

You glanced between them, the flicker of tension unmistakable, even if no one else would dare name it. “You two need to coordinate — visuals and messaging. No cracks.”

“We’re good,” Yunho replied.

“Solid as ever,” Wooyoung added with a tight smile, but the subtext spoke volumes.

The tension wasn’t loud, but it echoed in the silence between their words.

Meanwhile— tucked away on the outskirts town— stood a smaller building not centralized in the industrious parts your business resides. Broker stood behind the glass walls of a lesser meeting room, hunched over pitch summaries fed to him by design. Low-tier, inconsequential material. Dressed up just enough to look promising.

He looked intrigued… but bored.

Exactly as planned.

///

One afternoon, Wooyoung found himself cornered by some of their colleagues in the break room. "So, what's the deal with Broker and Yunho, huh?" one of them asked, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "They seem awfully chummy."

Wooyoung's grip tightened around his coffee mug, his knuckles turning white. "I've already spelled to him and gave him a few precautions, Broker is just a pest that's trying to make way into his mind." he replied tightly. He could feel the eyes of the group boring into him, waiting for more. He took a deep, calming breath before continuing.

"Yunho is a professional. He can handle himself. We're all just focused on making sure the anniversary event goes off without a hitch." Wooyoung's voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of warning in his tone. He fixed each person with a pointed stare.

The group exchanged looks, the unspoken message clear. They nodded slowly, murmuring agreements before dispersing to other conversations.

Wooyoung let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. As he took a sip of his coffee, he noticed Yunho entering the break room, deep in thought.

Wooyoung watched as Yunho poured himself a cup of coffee, his movements slow and deliberate.

There was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his face that spoke of stress. Wooyoung debated whether or not to approach him, not wanting to draw unwanted attention from their colleagues. But his concern for Yunho won out.

He crossed the room, keeping his voice low as he asked, "Hey, how are you holding up?"

Yunho looked up, his eyes meeting Wooyoung's. For a moment, Wooyoung thought he saw a flash of vulnerability, quickly masked by a neutral expression.

"I'm fine, sir."

Wooyoung's brows furrowed slightly at the formal address, a silent question passing between them. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even further. "Yunho… you can talk to me, you know. Off the record."

Yunho' gaze flickered to the side, darting around the break room before returning to Wooyoung's. For a moment, Wooyoung thought he saw a glimmer of something there, a hint of trust. Then, Yunho' expression hardened, and he replied, "I'm fine, Wooyoung. Really."

Wooyoung's heart sank, a pang of disappointment and worry settling in his chest. He studied Yunho' face, searching for any sign that he was telling the truth.

But Yunho' features remained impassive, giving away nothing. Wooyoung sighed inwardly, deciding to let the matter drop for now.

///

Yes, you’ve been preoccupied with occupying Broker trying to depart him from your business. But, no, it hasn’t stole all of your attention to realize the shift in the office. Particularly with the man you’ve known on a more personal level who know consumes your focus more than he realizes.

You watched Wooyoung and Yunho from afar, your keen eyes taking in every interaction between them.

You'd noticed the tension between them, the unspoken words passing between them like secret messages. You knew something was going on, something that Wooyoung was trying to keep under wraps.

It's too obvious. You seen the way Wooyoung looked at Yunho. You'd also see in effect---seen the way Yunho carried himself, the subtle stiffness in his shoulders that spoke of stress. The cause of it--- you'd seen the whispering among their colleagues, the speculative looks they cast towards Yunho and Broker.

Your mind raced with possibilities, each more concerning than the last. You knew that Yunho was under a lot of pressure with the upcoming anniversary event. But there was something else, something deeper that was troubling him.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the silence. “We’ve confirmed our new partnership with KQ Entertainment is briefing the press with a release by morning.”

There was a flicker of tension in Wooyoung's brow. “And Broker?”

You tapped your screen and swiveled it toward him. The subject line on the email was simple:

RE: Proposal Status— Change in Plans

You read the body aloud, voice calm:

While initial discussions held promise, it’s become apparent that the direction of your team’s collaboration efforts has begun to stir unintended volatility in the market.

As such, I’ll be withdrawing my interest at this time. Should your strategic vision realign in a more sustainable direction, I’m open to revisiting possibilities— provided the conditions are mutually favorable.

Regards,

Mrs. Hart

No greeting. No signature. Just ego.

“He’s read it just no reply.” Yunho noted, tilting his head. “Impressive restraint, considering how much he likes to hear himself talk.”

And that comment alone wow'd the room.

You smiled faintly but held back the wish to laugh. “His silence speaks volumes.”

You turned to Wooyoung “Marketing is already cleaning up the drop-off. We’ll position this pivot as a strategic redirection. Any fallout will be manageable.”

He nodded, jaw working slightly. “Still a good move. I’d rather lose a little press than give that man a seat at the table.”

There was a beat of quiet agreement around the room.

Then you added: “And we’re not ghosting him. Our comms team will send a follow-up thank-you and note that the partnership route just didn’t fit the current scope. Clean, cordial, forgettable.”

Yunho leaned back. “He’ll stew on that.”

“Let him,” you replied, collecting your notes. “He was never the plan. Just a decoy to keep the vultures circling elsewhere.”

…

You invited Wooyoung to meet you at a quiet bar that night. The office had been a suffocating constant lately, and you needed a shift—somewhere neutral, somewhere you could breathe without being watched.

He arrived late, shoulders tense, eyes searching the room until they landed on you.

“Woo,” you called softly, motioning for him. He crossed the dim space with careful steps, taking the seat across from you in the half-empty booth.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, skipping the pleasantries. “It’s about Yunho.”

His brows drew together immediately. You didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened. “What about him?”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice lowered. “Something’s off. You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on you, guarded. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I know something’s going on. But it’s… delicate.”

You didn’t flinch. “I can handle delicate.”

There was a pause. He studied your face like he was weighing trust and risk, then let out a sigh. “It’s the anniversary event. There’s more happening than we’ve told the staff. Yunho… he’s been receiving threats.”

The words landed heavy in your chest. “Threats? From who?”

“We don’t know yet. But they’re personal. Deliberate. Targeted.” He paused, then added more softly, “It’s why he’s been tense. And why I’ve been watching him so closely.”

You swallowed. “So that’s why you’ve been accusing him of working with Broker?”

His eyes flickered. Defensive. “It’s not an accusation. It’s a consideration. He’s been distant, hiding things. It fits Broker’s playbook.”

Your voice rose slightly, disbelief burning at your throat. “That’s a hell of a reach, Woo. You’ve been planting doubt in everyone’s mind. People are starting to look at him like he’s guilty of something.”

Wooyoung sat back, his mouth a firm line. “I’m protecting this company. And you. If something's happening behind our backs—”

“Then we support him,” you snapped. “He’s under pressure. He’s being threatened, Woo. He doesn’t need suspicion. He needs someone in his corner.”

He went quiet. Your heart was pounding now, but your voice softened.

“Woo… I know you care about him. I’ve seen it. But the way you’re handling this? It’s going to push him away.”

He stared down at the table. “I know,” he said finally. “But if there’s any chance—any—he’s connected to Broker’s games…”

You cut in, firmer this time. “Then we deal with it together. But until then, I need you to stop adding fuel to this fire. No more suspicion. Not without proof.”

Silence stretched. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll ease up.”

You exhaled, the tension loosening in your chest. “Thank you.”

There was still so much unspoken between you—doubt, concern, loyalty. But for now, it was enough.

“I think we should stay at our own places tonight,” you said softly, rising to your feet. “We both need some space to think.”

His eyes followed you up, gentle but unreadable. “Love you,” you whispered as you turned.

“Love you too,” he said, almost under his breath.

You didn’t look back as you walked out, but you knew he watched you the whole way.

Back inside, Wooyoung remained at the table, fingers curled tightly around his glass, mind spinning with unfinished thoughts. He knew you were right. He just didn’t know how to stop the feeling in his gut that something was still off.

…

As the team filters out of the room, you and Wooyoung linger behind, the buzz of conversation fading into the closing door.

He stays near you—close but not pressing—his posture looser than it had been in days. After a night of space and reflection, he'd come back with quieter words and a sincere apology. You’d offered him the comfort he didn’t ask for but clearly needed.

“He’s not upset,” Wooyoung murmurs, almost to himself. “He’s just regrouping.”

You glance sideways at him, voice low. “So are we. But at least Broker’s off our leash now, hm?”

He half-smiles, maybe about to say more—something soft or teasing, something to finally close the rift.

Then ding—the sound of a notification cuts clean through the moment.

Wooyoung shifts, pulling his phone from his pocket casually… until he sees the screen.

No name.

Just a photo.

Blurry, grainy—but unmistakable. You. Him. Outside the garage elevator. Laughing. Too close. And another—last night, at the bar, parting ways under a streetlamp, your hands brushing as if they hadn’t just left the same war room.

A single message beneath it:

"Thought this might interest you."

Wooyoung doesn’t speak. His thumb hovers over the screen, jaw tight, brows low.

You watch his face change—alert, guarded, eerily still.

His slow moving eyes flick up to meet yours.

And just like that…

everyone became a suspect.

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Episode 5

THANK YOU FOR READING.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

©️1117feverlessdreams, 2025

Much love,

Day 3

The sun kissed you both warmly as you strolled along the beach hand in hand. The freshness in the air was so crisp, like the cooling water that crashed along your feet.

It was odd that, as business partners with sexual relations- no strings attached- that you were holding onto each other by a thread. Although you had considered it friendship before, you now realize the double knot of security that existed between you two.

To your surprise, preparing for this trip was instant and easy. For both of your sakes, you try not to think about how instant and easy it can be become sluggish and difficult in any matter of time.

Although, was a sense of longing for peace in the private land. Wooyoung never looked so natural in all your days spent together. The sun gave his black hair sparkling brown undertones, his skin was like a gem in the way it had golden, his linen white clothing fooled you into depicting purity, and his eyes still held that depth and mystery.

He turns to you with the same thoughts in mind, eyeing over your mesh hot pink cover-up dress and the matching bikini, except a man of his character let it be known to you without shame. "Can I request an extension for this vacation? Just you, me, and miles of sand… just for a little bit longer?" Wooyoung's eyes take over those things in order, like the greatest fortunes were foreseen before him.

You peer over to the setting sun resting over the boundless sea, and the darkening of the moonlight is casting over. Wooyoung’s arm is jerked into you as you grow to be entranced, snuggling firm to your side. “There always has to be a balance.” You grab hold of the area between his hip and his waist, raking your nails along his skin. “We have our time now to rest and all, but when the sun rises on another day, we have to put our energy toward the things that require our attention.”

Your mind transversed back into its gears of labor. All you could smell in this moment was freshly printed papers, all you could feel beneath your dandy feet were kitten heels, the crashing ocean beside you sounded distant from the booting of your computer inside your head, all you could see was a giant box of land needed to be enclosed for office space, the salt in the air sprinkling between the tubes connecting your nose and mouth reminded you of tears that fell down your face into your mouth when you’re alone.

Yet, the feeling of Wooyoung’s hand in yours made you feel like you were in both places at the same time. He was still here, just closer, warmer, and happier…and you were too.

Wooyoung shivers at your touch, his abs clenching under your gentle yet firm caress. On the contrary, he groans from your spoken words, placing his muscular hands over your slender ones with a boyish pout. “Why do you have to be like that right now.~” You watch his lips push forward in adornment, but he’s quick to claim yours that very second. “You should be more like the older woman who lives next to your apartment.”

Even though it was snarky, you can’t help but laugh as you remember Wooyoung’s story about the impromptu elevator conversation with Ms.Weilderman about “helping you work your stressors out.” The comedic timing has your hand slapping against his previously whipped chest. (Something that slipped from your current free-spirited mind).

Wooyoung hisses dramatically as he closes your distance, clutching his chest and leaning against you for support. "It burns so good. But still…it burns…aaahhh~.”

His closeness makes his presence too strong to ignore, and you find yourself throwing your arms over his backside as you fiddle with his behind. “You shouldn’t have brought Ms.Weilderman into this!” You kiss the spots of highlight on his face as an apology. Wooyoung's eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him, his pout quickly melting away. Although a mischievous smirk appears-he pulls from your gentle hold and closer to the deep blue, nearly letting you tumble into a mouthful of sand.

His escape is limitless, but he opts to run into the sea, thinking you wouldn’t chase him after wanting to just tan for the day, but you surprise him by running straight in.

The rush in your speed kicks the sand up high into the wind from the Earth's floor like explosive bullets. “Get over here, you little rascal! You know my sore spots won’t let me get that far!”

Wooyoung laughs heartily as he pushes backward into the water, always glancing back to make sure you’re following like a playful boy. His manly physique is washed over contact into the shallow waves, the cool water lapping at his waist. "Come on, pretty! Since when has pain ever stopped you?"

The water hadn’t even surpassed your knees, and you were already quivering. You watch as Wooyoung swam further until his shoulders and above are all to be seen. He comes to a still, which pushes you to be reluctant to move. Your jiggling body cascades further into the coldness of the ocean water to meet Wooyoung closer on the inside.

The two of you engage in a playful tug-of-war with your bodies as you subtly approach him to hide your plan to attack. Wooyoung cheats by wrapping his arms around your waist from underneath the water to pull you further out into the waves. In rebellion, you use your weighted strength to keep him in the shallow area, utilizing the curves of your thighs wrapped around his slim hips.

Wooyoung’s eyes widen as your curvaceous form causes his actions to backfire. He squeals as he rubs his hands over your frame, which only encourages you to cling on. "This is unfair! You're using your entire mom-bod as a weapon!"

You abruptly stop grounding your weight and wear a baffled expression… because did you just hear, “Mom bod?! You just don’t know your limits, do you kitty~?”

Wooyoung's eyes widen as he realizes his mistake, his mouth falling open in a comical 'O' shape. He backpedals quickly, his hands raised in surrender. "No, no, no, that's not what I meant at all! I meant it in the most loving, respectful way possible!”

You swam closer with his every pedal backward, leading him to change paths into a full circle to prevent going into the depths of the ocean. “I think we’re in too deep, pretty.”

Your smile grew back bigger with every move because he was as timid as a crab burying itself by the shore. You slowly began to sink your toes amongst the algae on the ocean floor to move at a bait-catching rate. Your knees bend deep, making your head the only visible thing compared to a swamped alligator. “Do you know how a shark hunts, Wooyoung?".

As you round about back closer to the shore rocks poke sharply beneath your feet. Your resolve began to slowly chip off in pieces until Wooyoung jumped up and fell backward.

A wave of water is incoming from your arms uplifted waves into Wooyoung’s face, confusingly blinding him. You take a deep breath and dive beneath the surface, leaving Wooyoung standing bewildered in the shallow water. Moments later, a burst of bubbles burst forth from behind him, and you pop up from behind, washing him over with salty seawater.

His eyes shut reflexively as the splashes crash onto him, his arms pinwheeling wildly as he tries to keep his head above water, but he ends up tumbling under. He emerges moments later, coughing and sputtering as he combs his plastered hair to the top of his head, sexily spitting a fountain of water on his chest.

Your jaw mobilizes with mild constraint. Every little mishap your little kitty seems to have is simmered down with his sexy appeal.

But two can play that game.

Wooyoung grins, noticing your smoldering gaze. He wipes the water from his face slowly, making a show of it as he drags his hands down his chest, abs, and hips. “That wouldn't have been a bad way to go. Considering it was you.”

As he continues to pose and tease, your expression grows more heated. You take a deep, steadying breath, easing out of the water, your movements slow and deliberate. Wooyoung's grin fades, confusion knitting his brows as he watches your sudden retreat.

As your feet reunited with the sand, which has grown cooler and collected in the form of your soles. You turn to jog back to the villa and Wooyoung rushes to follow, but the rocks underneath the surface cripple his strength above. "I think it's time we took a second shower!" You say opening the sliding door on the back deck in the distance, dropping your wet clothing through the windows, and walking out towards the obstruction of his view.

Wooyoung's mouth falls open as your words and actions sink in, his eyes tracking your movements hungrily before and after your disappearance.

He hops out of the water and onto the shore, dripping wet and shivering, but his erection, tenting his wet briefs, overpowers the cold breeze. "What?! Sharks don’t swim away from their food! Eat me!” he calls out, his voice laced with mock outrage.

He pushes open the sliding door in a hurry, stepping into follow the trail of your wet puddles on the hardwood floor. He tiptoes down the hallway, past the beaded curtains, with his heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

He pauses as his chest makes contact with the bathroom door, listening intently. The sound of running water and the soft humming of your sweet voice reach his ears. With a deep breath of excitement, he slowly turns the knob, and pushes the door open.

As he walks in, the shower door is floating on its hinges, but beyond that welcomes your body, sudded up with soapy bubbles- the scent of strawberry vanilla filling the humid air. You’re watchful of his arrival, but you continue humming, not paying him no never mind.

Wooyoung's eyes widen as he takes in the erotic sight before him. Your voluptuous body coated in shimmering bubbles, the darkening shade of your nipples just barely peeking through. The scent of strawberries mingling with the steam creates an intoxicating atmosphere.

Suddenly, your humming is interrupted by a non-rhythmic harmony that draws out into a longing moan. You fully turn to display your body to Wooyoung, pulling at your hardened nipples and smoothing over your torso down to your ass. "I just can't help myself..."

Wooyoung's breath hitches as your actions ratchet up the intensity. His eyes dart between your face and your running hands, captivated by the sensuous display. He licks his lips unconsciously, his breathing growing heavier as he steps further into the room. "Please. I can help you, mistress."

In that moment, your moans transition

harmoniously to a ferocious warning growl. "Not another step, kitty." You turn to face the wall with your legs wide, switching your ass to the front and back of the shower in Wooyoung’s face.

Wooyoung freezes, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Your wide-open legs frame your glistening pussy perfectly that makes his mouth water contrasted to the salty ocean. He swallows hard, his resolve weakening as he wishes to trespass on your boundaries. "M-mistress...". He swallows hard, his mouth watering at the forbidden view. "Fuck," he whispers, his resolve crumbling by another bit.

You begin to run your fingers through your folds, splitting the direction of the running water. "He's so bad, and I don't know why. But it makes me feel so good~." He watches as your head turns with a flushed expression. His own hands clench and unclench at his sides, longing to touch both you and himself, but held back by your commanding presence. His cock jumps with fever-shifting the muscle in his abs.

"Please...”

You begin to moan louder as your fingers ride back up to ghost over your lips. Then you bring the two back together, sinking it in deep into your hole. "Augghh~…It turns me on just thinking about it. His gorgeous black hair, those tantalizing, piercing brown eyes, and then that veiny fucking body. If I were a vampire… I’d slowly suck him dry."

Wooyoung’s chest heaves, his desire spiking as he listens to your dirty words and watches your fingers disappear into your warmth. His hands ball into fists, the temptation to disobey your commands and touch himself growing unbearable. "M-mistress..! I’m begging you...".

His cries drive you to finger yourself at an animalistic pace. Quenching sounds of the water mixed inside your core make the most vulgar noises as the echoing walls amplify them around the room.

Wooyoung's self-resolve snaps completely in that moment. Every pump plays drums in his head. With a guttural moan, he gives in to temptation and wraps his hand around his bare throbbing erection, pumping furiously in rhythm with your actions. "I'm sorry, mistress...l can't hold back...". His voice is tight with need.

Your lips smear against the walls as his fapping reached your ears. "You know what really pisses me the fuck off?" You chuckle against the surface, pleasing yourself with a quickening pace while your fingers cramp from the exercise, but when has pain ever stopped you?

"The little slut knows the kind of effect he has on me. But can you guess what he doesn't know?" Wooyoung's face is a mask of concentration, his hand flying over his hard flesh as he matches your unpredictable rhythm.

"W-what, mistress?" he grits out, his voice hoarse with desire. "What doesn't he know?" His hips buck forward, pushing his hand harder against his erection.

Outcomes of laughter are caught off by your own whine- your fingertips plunging into a sweeter spot."My pussy... augh… can control him…through all his senses."

Wooyoung’s eyes roll back, and he lets out a choked moan, his whole body tensing.

"Oh god, mistress...that's...that's so wrong...". His hand speeds up, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing second. "Please, mistress...l need to come..."

You unclench your cut from your bombarding fingers and starts working quick on your clit. "Then fucking come with me you slutty kitty. FUCK!”

Wooyoung throws his head back with a roar as his orgasm crashes over him, his release shooting out over his fist and onto the bathroom floor. Your shout of ecstasy mingles with his, the combined sounds of pleasure echoing off the steamy walls.

You place both hands on the shower walls as your legs grow weak. Your

face even twitches on the walls, and your weight becomes too heavy to uphold. You feel yourself slipping until you’re caught by Wooyoung, who rushes forward, still panting heavily with his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as you lean back against him.

He buries his face in your shoulder, his fingers digging gently into your skin as he tries to catch his breath. "I told you that I could help…"

…

Day 4

As the golden hour approaches, Wooyoung is sprawled out on a hammock strung up between two trees in the backyard. The warm evening breeze rustles the leaves above him, casting dappled shadows on his relaxed form.

You retrieve a polished wooden spatula from the drying rack after dinner, twirling it around and smacking it in the palm of your hand as a tester. You watch as the skin transitions from its original color to a deep red-a sly grin grew on your lips.

As the sun dips lower, painting the sky with hues of orange and red, Wooyoung’s peaceful hammock time comes to an abrupt end. He feels you approach, the creak of the wooden porch steps giving you away.

He cranes his neck to watch you, his eyes widening as he sees the wooden spatula in your hand.

“What do you think?” You ask without obvious context.

"Mmph?" Wooyng answers with a quirked brow- watching intently as you smack the wooden spatula against your palm again, the sound echoing loudly. His body tenses slightly, his mind racing with curiosity and anticipation. “You’re thinking of using that on me?”

"Mmhmm." You nod, a devilish glint in your eye as you step closer to the hammock. You reach out and gently grab Woo's ankle, giving it a little encircled rub before traveling up and down his shin. “Two more days after this one, and I want to have you in every way possible.”

“Then let’s spend our time exploring these possibilities of yours.”

Moments later in the bedroom…

Wooyoung swallows hard, watching as you test the spatula again. He spreads his legs slightly, his body unconsciously preparing itself. “You know,” He smirks, trying to hide his nervousness, “Most would use their hands."

Wooyoung quickly faces the bed again as you press into the arch of his back- burying his face in the blankets. “I can’t believe you’re making me say this, but you should know I’m not like most kitty.~” Your conniving voice makes his whole body tenses in anticipation, his backside clenching and unclenching.

The first smack from the wooden spoon catches him off guard, the sharp, stinging pain drawing a surprised yelp from his throat. His face soon resolves into happiness as the pain deliciously lingers.

Thus to say, he went to sleep that night…very cheeky. With his bum bare and a t-shirt, he lies comfortably on your chest.

…

Day 5

The afternoon rolls around, and you’re lounging on the couch, munching on a sweet honey crisp apple while Wooyoung freshens up in the shower.

Not long after, as he walks into the room, his eyes are immediately drawn to the apple in your hand. His mere observation, predictably so, formulated an action of mischief.

You leap from the comfort of your position, reaching out to pluck the apple from his grasp.

Wooyoung smirks in amusement at your advances, taking a large, crunchy bite before you can snatch it away. "Hey!" You exclaim playfully, but then he eggs it on further, dulling your expression by the minute. He swallows his mouthful, still grinning, as his pink lips glisten with apple juice.

You lunge for the apple again, but Wooyoung pulls it back high into the air as he mockingly bites at your hand instead. "MMPH!”

You yank your hand away quickly as the initial pain electrifies your senses. “Ow, what the fuck!” On your pinky's edge, you found half-moon-shaped indents and trickles of glistening juice and saliva. "Did you really just bite me?"

Wooyoung's grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe…" he says innocently, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He pulls his hand down to take another bite of the apple, but you quickly snatch it away, holding it behind your back from his advances.

Your eyes flash with anger and arousal, holding the apple tightly as your knuckles turn white. "You bit me hard, you little brat," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. "You know the rules. No biting unless I command it so."

Wooyoung's grin never falters, even as he feels a pang of fear at your words. He knows he's in trouble, but he can't help himself. He loves pushing your buttons and seeing how far he can go before you lose your cool. "Rules are meant to be broken?”, he quizzically challenges.

You found amusement in the situation just as he did, and you could be mischievous too, just as he was. "Since you love biting so much-let's see how you handle this!” Your hand flies out from hiding, shoving the half-eaten apple into Wooyoung's mouth. You roughly grab onto his hair as he gags around the apple.

Wooyoung chokes and sputters, his eyes watering as he tries to swallow and clench onto the apple. The strength of your hand in his hair is unmoved, and your eyes glint with satisfaction as he struggles. "Mmmph! Mmmph!"

"Oh, you can't talk with your mouth full, huh?" You taunt, your grip tightening in his hair. "Well, that's okay. You'll have plenty of time to apologize later. For now, just focus on swallowing.", you wickedly whisper in a soothing tone.

Wooyoung finds himself bent over the coffee table, his pants around his ankles, and his bottom already a fiery red from your relentless spanking. His body tenses as he feels your hand slip between his legs, gently fondling his swollen, aching manhood.

"Look at this," you murmur, your breath warm against his ear. "You're so hard and throbbing, just from being spanked and gagged on an apple. You are a naughty boy, aren't you?" You give his balls a gentle squeeze, making him whimper and squirm.

"Mmm-hmm," Wooyoung moans. His body tenses as he feels your fingers wrap around him, giving him a slow, firm stroke.

At the end of that, he was as red as a pig cooked to roast over an open fire.

…

Day 6

The gentle sensation of a hand slowly moving up and down Wooyoung’s manhood in his rested state. He blinks his eyes open, groaning softly as he feels the familiar, teasing touch. He finds you curled up behind him, your arm draped over his waist and your hand idly stroking him to life.

"Mmh," He mumbles sleepily, spreading his legs slightly to give your hand better access. He loves it rough, and the slow, lazy kind of intimacy where you take your time to explore each other's bodies was a different matter that too felt the same. Wooyoung arches his back slightly, pushing his ass against your center. "One more day.”

You reach around with your other hand, gently spreading his cheeks apart. Your middle finger dips inside, expanding his tight hole. "Mmm, you're so relaxed in the morning," You whisper, your breath warm against his ear. "I think I'll take advantage of that." You purr, your voice low and sultry. "Did you sleep well after yesterday's punishment?"

Wooyoung lets out a soft laugh, his body relaxing further into your touch. "My jaw is going to be extra defined now, but I slept like a baby," He murmurs, his voice husky with sleep. "And I know with every day, you'll probably make it extra memorable."

You smile to yourself, content from the knowledge that you still have him wrapped around your finger. You continue to stroke him and prod his hole until he's whining, soft, and his morning wood dripping release onto the sheets. "Open your eyes, baby," you whisper, your breath warm against his ear.

He opens his eyes slowly, watching your hand move up and down his length. He loves watching himself get touched by you. His hips pick up the rhythm, silently fucking your tight fist. You spread his legs wider, your finger going back to teasing his hole, making him moan softly.

"Look at me while I touch you," you command in a whisper. "I want to see your face when you come for me." His eyes lock with yours, the intense eye contact making his heart race. He bites his lower lip, his breathing becoming shallow as you pick up the pace. Your other hand continues to tease his hole, the dual stimulation driving him wild. "Fuck~you're so good at this, my queen.”

Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you feel Wooyoung's cock throb in your hand, his praise making your ego swell. "Flatterer," you murmur teasingly, squeezing his shaft just a bit tighter. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "I'm going to make you scream my name one last time before we leave this house, baby. And then, you're going to sit in the car, at work, at home, and think about how much you love being mine for the entire drive."

Truth hurts…it was going to be the both of you. Every mile reached was a distance that travelled back to reality.

With a final, firm stroke, you take Wooyoung’s mouth by pressing your lips together as he comes undone. His body jerks as thick ropes of cum shoot from his cock, painting the sheets beneath you. You milk him through his orgasm, your hand working him until he's completely spent and panting. "Good boy."

You gently pulls your hand free, wiping the excess cum from his softening member with your thumb before bringing it to your lips. You suck your thumb clean, your eyes never leaving Wooyoung’s face as he lies there, still recovering from his intense orgasm.

"Best vacation ever..."

…

The first week back at the office has to be the worst ever.

It was expected to suck, but the unfamiliar distraught with your work was not.

It wasn’t the workload, of course, but just imagine…living the life of your literal dreams, just for it to be shot to death-execution style- by the reality of life.

Wooyoung throws himself into his work in the coming weeks-trying to distract himself from the version of you he only got to see for a week. He sits in his office, stacks of papers surrounding him with his eyes bloodshot from hours of staring at spreadsheets.

He hadn’t seen you much lately. Not the version of you that held his hand on the beach. That woman disappeared the second your heels hit the marble floor.

Suddenly, his email pings with a new message.

Subject Line: My Office. Now.

No greeting. No fluff. Just that.

He freezes, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He feels your non-vocal tone all too well- it's the one you use when you're not to be objected to or questioned. He saves his work and rushes to your office, closing the door softly behind him.

He knocked twice with the tip of his knuckle, sharp, deliberate.

“Come in.”

"You wanted to see me?" It’s a question that comes off unsteady in surprise. How unusual. But it’s not as if you didn’t want to see each other- god, you so desperately did, but then you saw through each other. It was that very feeling that made you want to shatter like glass.

You look up from your desk, your expression mockingly serious. He notices the lack of charm you used to have in your eyes from your trip, making you look stern and unapproachable. “Yes,” you said simply. “So, answer this truthfully—did you do your reports on time this week?”

That tone. Sharp, precise, detached.

Wooyoung gulps nervously, straightening his posture as he realizes the gravity of your question. He knows how meticulous you are about deadlines. "Almost all of them," he admits cautiously, his fingers twiddling with his tie. "The last one got delayed because of an unexpected client issue."

You took it for bullshit, but staring at him for too long with your “mad” expression could not be long lasting.

As for the other reason, you didn’t want him to feel the blame for your latest and greatest inconvenience.

“Well... besides that,” you said, and slapped your palm against the desk. The sound echoed. A few papers slid off the edge like they knew to get out of your way. “We’ve got greater trouble.”

Wooyoung’s brows shot up as the only thing that shifted in his unmoving position.

“It's like the asshole purposely waited until we got comfortable to fuck it all up!" Your eyes flutter close with a long huff that pushes your jaw forward.

Wooyoung steps closer, his brain catching up to the fact that you just turned irritated to….furious.

Wooyoung butted his bottom lip as he deciphers the right path to tread carefully. “What do you mean, trouble?” Everything is good as how we left it, Ms.Hart.”

After the time that was had, the title had some getting used to. Pretty, Mistress, Queen -they were all so much better. You calm yourself and debrief, "You don't understand..this client he's notorious for seeing fight stakes and impossible deadlines. But it could make us look back if we turn him away."

"Then we'll push through," he replies firmly, leaning down to pile together the papers form of of your desk. "You're the most organized person I know. If anyone can pull off a miracle, it's you.” Once each sheet is clear from the marble tile floors, they’re shifted neatly against your tabletop. “But, if this motherfucker tries to push us around..."

Just when he buttered you up, you began to feel toasty again by his last comment. “We need to be smart about this.”, you huff. You scoot into your desk until your boobs bounce against the edge, knuckles turning white as you try and gather your thoughts. Wooyoung looks down at you, noticing how quiet and still you’ve become. It's unnerving, as you’re usually so much more confident and assertive.

"Okay…we’ll get it done." Wooyoung crosses his arms, his mind racing. He knows you're not one to be rattled easily, so this must be bad. He braces himself for the impossible task ahead. "You want to assign a whole team to this?"

You try and suck in your eyes and lips into your face as you the sincerity in his voice and expression sings its song. "This is different, Woo. This isn't some meeting or presentation we can wing out. This will take real time and preparation."

Wooyoung's expression turns concerned as you voice your fears and call him by such a name in your professional setting. "I'll make the time," he says determinedly. "I'll work late every night if I have to. You know I won't let you down, not when it comes to the company." He stretches a hand close with the palm facing down, his voice lowering. "And not when it comes to you."

You unconsciously lick your lips as you open your eyes to glance at his well-groomed fingernails as a lesser intense focus than his eye. His protective nature made your insides flutter all the more in your time of need. You push the feeling away momentarily- this is not the time to get all gooey over your second-in-command. "He wants a full proposal on his desk tomorrow morning." You rub your temples tiredly.

"Tomorrow?! Fuck, that's tight," Wooyoung curses under his breaths he pulls off the desk- you watch his hand drape off the edge. He starts pacing the room with a hand on his waist, and his mind begins working in overdrive. "Alright, here's what we'll do. I'll gather the team and brief them on the situation. We'll split the work- you take the financial projections and risk assessments," he points to you. "I'll handle the marketing strategy and client portfolio."

He sees your tired eyes and unconsciously adds, "You haven't eaten all day, have you?"

You shake your head, too exhausted to even think about food. "I don't even have the time. Doesn’t matter." You mumble, already grabbing your laptop and starting to type out the financial projections. Wooyoung watches you for a moment before gently taking the laptop from your hands.

"You're no good to anyone if you faint from hunger," He scolds gently, setting the laptop aside. "I'll order some food, and you," He points to the couch in the corner of your office, "Sit there, and don't even think about working until the food gets here."

He sits you down on the couch in your office, ‘making’ you take a break. He starts massaging your shoulders, feeling the knots and tension in your muscles. "Relax for a minute, your brain needs energy and blood flow to think clearly," he murmurs soothingly.

When the food arrives, he annoyingly persists in feeding you personally, making sure you eat every bite.

“Don’t think you’re getting off the hook for those later reports.”, you grumble, savoring the last bite off the spoon served to you.

Wooyoung brushes a thumb next to your mouth to clean the mess, just to annoyingly swipe it on the top of your nose. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As you fix your face in the ladies' room, Wooyoung gathers the rest of the team in a meeting and begins briefing them on the situation.

You work tirelessly throughout the night, the food and rest giving you the energy to focus.

The hours blurred.

Coffee cups multiplied in a stack like rabbits.

Your office dimmed into a flickering cocoon of screen light and scribbled notes, the only sound the low hum of jazz through your speakers and the occasional, muttered curse from Wooyoung.

“You misspelled ‘competitive.’ Twice.”, you point out as he presents you a final draft.

“It’s 12:47 a.m.,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Be grateful I still know how to spell my name.”

You let yourself smile for half a second. Then back to work.

It was timing that was bussing your ass, every joyous moment was too short of a dream, and the most shittiest parts were driving you to insanity.

Your vacation was joyous.

Loosing closeness with Wooyoung feels shitty.

The client that awaits you could make feel shittier. It makes you wonder if it’s a sign of awaiting relief or insufferable pain.

Somewhere around 4:00 a.m., your shoulders slumped. Your eyes glazed over.

Wooyoung noticed.

He didn’t say anything—just rolled his chair over and placed a hand lightly on the back of your neck. His thumb drew a slow circle at the base of your hairline.

You didn’t lean into it. But you didn’t pull away either.

The moment passed.

By dawn, the two of you had something polished. Sharp. Uncompromising.

You both sat back at the same time and exhaled. “This might actually work,” Wooyoung said, eyes bleary.“It has to,” you replied. Then, after a pause, almost a whisper: “Thanks for not letting me drown.”

Wooyoung’s lips twitched into a tired grin. “Says the woman who nearly drowned me after I said ‘mom bod.’”

You chuckled. Just once.

Then it was gone, replaced by the cool, clipped tone that meant business was back.

Although his smile never left, he was proud, and he felt lighter to lift your burdens.

“Alright. Let’s make sure Broker knows who he’s dealing with.”

…

LITERALLY FIVE HOURS LATER:

The office was already humming when you arrived, the usual 9 a.m. rhythm rolling in with too much energy for how little sleep you'd gotten.

You held your travel mug with both hands like it was holy scripture. Across the room, Wooyoung walked in three minutes behind you, still adjusting the cuffs of his shirt—his hair a little flatter than usual, his tie just slightly off-center.

“We alive?” he muttered under his breath as he passed you at the reception desk.

You didn’t look up, just sipped your tea.

“Barely.”

Mr. Yunho Jeong appeared at your side, a clipboard already in hand. His posture was straight, his shirt pressed, and—most importantly—his eyes weren’t rimmed with insomnia.

“Morning, Mrs. Hart. Mr. Jung,” he said evenly. The office is running on schedule. I’ve briefed the teams and prepped the meeting room.”

Wooyoung blinked at him like he was seeing the second coming. “God bless your soul.”

“I’ll keep things smooth while you two handle the big man,” Yunho added. “Don’t worry—I’ve got it.”

You gave him a nod. Not your usual smile. Just enough to say: Thank you. We needed this.

The two of you turn on foot in sync to the nearest elevator, a major awakening of Deja vu, given you were here five hours ago.

Wooyoung walks in front to push the button for you, but you secretly feel it could be a childish game.

Just to level the playing field, you spark a conversation with a serious thought in mind.

“What if we put Yunho in temporary charge while we kink this one out?"

Wooyoung considers the suggestion, his mind already racing with the implications. "It could work," he muses aloud. "Mr.Jeong is reliable and knows the ins and outs of the business. Plus, it would give us the freedom to focus on this new development without worrying about everything else falling apart."

You mused with a hm tiptoe towards Wooyoung close enough that your shoulder grazes his just a tad so that he can shift his focus on your expression. "You wanna know something? Yunho was going to be in your place if things hadn't gone so perfectly."

Wooyoung's eyes widen slightly as he looks at you, a mix of jealousy and seriousness on his face. "Well, on second thought then, let's try Mr.Park."

You tap on his chest with a grin, turning as the elevator approaches the floor level.

"That little nervous thing? I love him to death, but boy, would he crumble under that man."

The thought has you chuckling under your breath in a less obvious manner as you step out onto the floor. Wooyoung, straight-faced and hung up on a different matter, whispers, "So you're saying I'm more capable than Mr.Park but less than Mr.Jeong?" He walks beside you with no glances ahead, eager to hear your response.

You glance back at him over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming mischievously.

"You look...thrilled." Wooyoung's expression is not a similar depiction. You approach your office door, reaching inside your purse to find your specialized key.

"I'm just focused, that's all. We have a lot to discuss and plan for." As you open the door, Wooyoung closes it behind you. He moves across from you to settle at the desk, his voice lowering. "This Broker situation... I have a feeling it's going to be more complicated than we initially thought."

Your eyebrows cock in confusion from his sudden dismissal of envy. "I mean..yeah?”You mockingly scoff in disbelief and start pulling out last night's paperwork. "On that note, let's get down to actual business."

It was a washing hour before the big meeting began, and the only purpose of the discussion was strategy. A.k.a finding a way to shake Broker off your tails.

"Right,” Wooyoung mutters, feeling slightly thrown off. “First things first, we need to gather all the information we have on Broker. Financials, client lists, any potential weaknesses or leverage points."

You nod and write down the ideas on your notepad with a Pom Pom pink pen, until you pause as an idea springs into your mind. "You know what would make this so easy?"

Wooyoung's eyes set and stone on you always widens at you curiously, "What's that?" To him, your mind is always full of innovative solutions, and he's eager to hear what you’re thinking.

"This guy…” You begin, “is a manipulator of monopoly, so why don't we use that to our advantage?" You place the pen down gently, mirroring Wooyoung’s smirk as you continue, "and you know what rich people like him love? Talking! About themselves!"

Wooyoung's expression turns intrigued as you finish outlining the basis of your new plan. "So, you're suggesting we... flatter him? Stroke his ego?" He chuckles, "It's not the most dignified approach, but it just might work."

You lean forward with hands resting over Wooyoung’s in a tight bundle. "I’m telling you…he can write monologues.”

Wooyoung chuckles softly and frees both hands to gently take hold of yours.

"Alright, Mrs. Lady, so we'll play to his ego, get him talking, and try to glean as much information as we can. But…we'll need a pretense for getting close to him in the first place." He pauses, thinking. "Business would be the obvious disguise, but we're already being forced to associate with him...what do you think?"

“A social event!” you say off the top. “Somewhere, he's caught off guard. Not a pitch-just ego stroking.”

Wooyoung snaps one set of his fingers, “The Mirror Strategy,” had says with a wink. “Hold one up, let him admire himself... while we take notes.”

“We’re going to out-mirror the monopoly man,” you grinned. “Alright, Boss. I’m in.”

Simple. Short. Effective.

The Better Business duo was back in sync. Furthermore, Wooyoung and Y/n were back in sync, and their hearts palpated with the same loving rhythm as they realized it in that very moment.

"Bitch boss and her mighty trusty mini bitch sidekick!", Wooyoung excitedly proposes.

Your eyes widen as you reach over the table to cover his mouth, uncontrollably giggling at his excitement. You move your hand and wink as you collect your papers and head toward the meeting room.

"Alright, partner. Let's go catch ourselves a monopoly man. But first..." He pauses, standing up and straightening his tie. "Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee."

“Oh, absolutely, and tea?" you rhetorically ask.

"Naturally. Wouldn't dream of depriving you of your beloved pomegranate and raspberry." You gleam at his keenness for your taste and fixations. He was making an effort to patch things up and be your partner in every sense of the word.

Wooyoung winks at you before heading out to fetch your caffeine and herbal fixes. As he steps out, you can't help but feel a renewed sense of energy and purpose.

"Be prepared, Broker, you'll last name will match your economic status any day now..."

…

"Showtime," Wooyoung murmurs to you before heading inside where Broker awaits, giving you a subtle yet communicative nod.

"Let's make it happen, pronto.”,

…

In the main boardroom, Mr. Broker sits across from you and Wooyoung, his piercing gaze flicking between the pair of you. If you could share an opinion without being penalized, you would say this room is too fucking big for the three of you.

Broker leans back in his unnecessary seat across the long 20-seated table chair from your head seat and Wooyoung adjacent to you. Like a villain, in his own story, of course, his hands ate steepled beneath his chin. "I must admit, I was surprised to receive your invitation so soon. I had heard of a week's vacation for all your staff."

You smiled thinly. “We’re nothing if not efficient.”

Broker's eyes linger on you for a moment, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Your enthusiasm is commendable, dear. Though I must say, Mrs. Hart, your firm has an... interesting reputation," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

You lie in the same plain smile, squeezing your intertwined hands into a tightness only you know of. "What can I say? I’m just a woman- living in a woman's world."

Broker chuckles, his gaze sharpening.

"Indeed. But tell me, Mrs. Hart, what brings you and... Mr. Lee, was it?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, giving you what plays on to be his full attention.

A beat.

Wooyoung didn’t flinch. “Mr. Jung,” he corrected smoothly. “Mark Lee was the former assistant. I’ve since stepped into a more executive role.”

“Of course,” Broker replied, not bothering to apologize.

Another beat.

“Mr Jung?” You call out, and your eyes and his remain on the man across the room in his world as you acknowledge each other. “Would you like to introduce what we wanted to propose to Mr.Broker?"

Wooyoung picks up the cue, his expression serious yet attaining a ‘friendly’. "Mr. Broker…we were hoping to discuss a potential collaboration. Your company's recent expansion into tech has caught our eye, and we believe there could be some mutually beneficial opportunities."

Broker's eyes gleam with interest, but he keeps his expression neutral. "Oh?

And what sort of opportunities might those be, Mr. Jung?" He emphasizes his name, a subtle jab at the earlier mishap. "I must warn you, I'm quite selective with my partnerships."

A strategic expansion on both sides.”He slides a slim portfolio forward across the table with practiced ease, pausing as it lands neatly in front of Broker.

“Your entry into tech signals forward-thinking. Our apprenticeship initiative can frame that momentum with social equity—training the next generation, while preserving public trust.”

He glances your way briefly, just long enough to confirm that he’s pacing the conversation with you in mind. You give a faint nod of approval. You’ve rehearsed this tempo before.

Broker drums his fingers against the table, the faint tapping echoing in the quiet boardroom. His mouth quirks into a small smirk as he swivels slightly in his chair to face you instead.

“Quite the mouthpiece you’ve hired, Mrs. Hart.” He folds one ankle over the other casually, lounging like he owns the air in the room. “I see why you let him speak.”

You tilt your head, resting one arm on the chair’s backrest and tapping your pen on the folder in front of you.

“We don’t just speak. We measure.” You look him straight in the eye, unwavering.

Broker's smirk tightens, his interest piqued. He leans forward again, fingertips pressed together. “Well then. You measure… I’ll scale. Let’s get to it.”

You straighten your posture, planting your stiletto heels firmly beneath the table. Your fingers glide across the printed agenda as you speak.

“If you're serious, we propose a private showcase. Small. Controlled. Influential. It allows our proposal to be viewed and dissected by the right people.”

Broker reaches forward to finally open the portfolio Wooyoung pushed over. He flips through the first few pages slowly, his thumb grazing each corner. Then, he looks up, the slightest glint in his eye.

“You’ve done your homework, Mrs. Hart.”He turns to Wooyoung. “And the buy-in?”

Wooyoung clasps his hands together again, sitting just forward enough to engage, but never inching into desperation. “Tri-split model. Tech expertise from your firm. Implementation and logistics from us. You get financial return and front-page exposure. Our team runs the event. You get to play host.”

Broker closes the folder slowly with a quiet thud. He folds his arms, leaning back again. His gaze settles on you, sharp. “What do I get besides profit?”

You hold your ground, then lean in just slightly, just enough to break a piece of the extension of space between you.

“Legacy,” you say plainly. “And what businessmen like you love most: influence. We build the story. You become its benefactor.”

A long silence settles.

Broker rises from his chair, brushing invisible lint from his lapel. “Then let’s see if you’re worth the invitation.”

He rounds the corner of the table slowly, offering you his hand. You stand, heels clicking softly against the marble as you meet him. Your handshake is precise—cool, firm, professional.

He then turns to Wooyoung, stepping closer than necessary. “Mr. Jung.” He extends a hand—this time with an exaggerated pause. He sizes up Wooyoung’s grip as their hands meet, his brow arching almost imperceptibly. “I hope your presentation is as polished as your pitch.” He lets the comment hang, then gives a curt nod and strides toward the exit.

The door closes.

Silence.

Wooyoung exhales, loosening his tie as he slumps slightly in his seat.

“Was that a compliment or a veiled threat?”

You sit back down without looking at him, flipping one of the documents back open.

“With men like that? There’s no difference.”

Wooyoung meets your gaze, his expression thoughtful. "I think we've planted a seed, but you're right, we need to nurture it carefully." He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "The presentation will make or break this deal."

"I'm so tense to even focus on that right now, but we have a week till then. So we can't afford to slack all too much."

Wooyoung's eyes soften with understanding. He reaches out and gently rubs your shoulders. "Hey, we've come this far. Trust in our preparation and each other." His voice is warm and reassuring. "Why don't we take a short break, clear our heads?

"What do you suggest we do right now?"

Wooyoung grins mischievously. "How about we grab some lunch? My treat. We can decompress, then dive back into work with fresh minds." He stands up and offers his hand to you.

"Fine, but no funny business."

He chuckles, pulling you up on your feet. "Scout's honor." He mimes the scout's honor gesture, which makes you roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. "And maybe," he continues in a lower voice as they exit the office, “ just a little bit of funny business after we clock out?"

You smooth out your bubblegum pink plaid blazer, giving Wooyoung a thoughtful glare, although you were already firm in your answer. "Let's just see how you're behaving then."

He winks at you in a flirty trick, placing a hand on the small of your back as they walk out of the building. "Deal. But just so you know, I'm planning to be on my best behavior... until I'm not." He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear.

….

12:36 PM

Your heels click with clarity against the polished marble as you exit your office. It’s just before lunch- too late for a meeting, and the floor too quiet for anyone to expect your sudden appearance.

That only meant one of two things: someone was getting fired… or something was about to change.

You make your way toward Yunho’s cubicle. His head is buried in a spreadsheet, brows furrowed, glasses resting at the bridge of his nose.

You lean over his desk, arms crossing the ledge like a poised predator. “Yunho.”

His fingers freeze above the keyboard.

Slowly, he looks cautious, yet curious. You smile-faint, unreadable.

Across the office, Wooyoung lifts his head from behind his monitor, catching the interaction with sharp eyes. He watches as Yunho straightens in his chair, clearly surprised by whatever you’re saying. A nod, then a second one. Then Yunho stands to follow you.

You return, Yunho at your side. There’s a little swing in your walk, your grin simmering with satisfaction.

“Back to my office, boys. We’ve got plans to discuss.”

Wooyoung rises smoothly from his desk and meets you both at the door, giving Yunho a brief but respectful nod.

Inside, you take your seat behind the desk with effortless command. The two men settle across from you—Wooyoung lounges back casually, Yunho sitting upright with his hands in his lap.

“Mr.Jeong,” Wooyoung starts, his tone direct but friendly, “we’ve got a situation that needs our full attention. We want you to take the lead at the office while we handle things externally. Temporarily.”

Before Yunho can speak, you interject—not with urgency, but with clarity.

“We’re not handing you more work for less reward. Quite the opposite.” Your gaze slides to Wooyoung, silently cueing him to follow your lead.

“We both agreed unanimously that you’re the right fit. Reliable. Level-headed. You know the place like the back of your hand.”

Wooyoung leans forward slightly, hands firm as one on the tabletop.

“We’ll have your usual tasks redistributed. This is a temporary promotion—with all the support that comes with it.” You rest your elbows on the desk and fold your hands together, evaluating any discomfort that will allow you to provide reassurance. “What do you think?”

Yunho looks between the two of you, processing the gravity of the offer. “I appreciate the trust. Really.” His jaw tenses slightly, then relaxes. “I’ll do my best to keep things running while you handle the Broker situation.”

You exhale in relief, a genuine smile surfacing. You rise from your seat and extend your hand over the desk.

“Thank you, Yunho. If you’ve got our backs, just know we’ve got yours.”

He stands and shakes your hand firmly.

Wooyoung, already halfway out of his chair, beats him to the second handshake. “We’ll walk you through the logistics today. You’ll have everything you need.”

Wooyoung turns to you with a glance that almost feels too professional. “Shall we begin outlining the next steps?” You study him briefly. Something about his tone, his posture—it’s sharp, formal, and desperately involved. “Of course.”

You flick your attention back to Yunho.“Take that file with you, and review anything you need. If questions come up, we’re here.”

Yunho nods once, grasping the folder you hold out. “I’ll be sure to keep in touch. Thank you.” He exits soon after with a determined stride.

The moment the door clicks shut, the air shifts.

Wooyoung turns to you, eyes narrowed with quiet focus. “You look... thrilled.”

You raise an eyebrow, lips quirking faintly.

“You sound unusually stiff.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Just focused. We’ve got a chess game ahead of us.”

You lean back into your chair, gaze narrowing as you reach for your pen. “Then let’s draw the board.”

You don’t answer right away as he asks you questions.

You observe him instead.

The way his fingers fidget with the cuff of his sleeve.

The fact that his cologne’s faded—it smells more like office air than beach skin.

Your hand finds the pen resting atop your notepad.

…

As you settle back into work from a momentary break on the presentation, you find yourself in distrait state. Your swinging heel accidentally catches Wooyoung’s clothed shin from under the desk. He flinches with a soft yelp.

“Ow—” His voice is sharp but hushed. You look up instantly, guilt flickering across your face. “Sorry,” you whisper.

He shoots you a glare, but it melts in seconds into something more smug.

Without breaking eye contact, Wooyoung unfastens his black vest and tosses it onto the couch behind him, then slowly rolls up the sleeves of his silk button-up shirt. The motion is casual, almost indifferent.

Except it's not. His forearms flex just enough to make sure you notice.

And, unfortunately, you do. Your gaze lingers too long—first on the roll of his sleeves, then up his arms, then back to his smirk.

He notices. Of course, he notices.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and grabs your ankle, lifting your foot onto his lap with practiced ease. His fingers begin circling your heel, pressing into knots with maddening precision, all while his other hand scrolls through the pitch deck on his laptop.

The contact is clinical. Calm. But your pulse is anything but.

You swallow hard. You’re hyperaware of how exposed your ankle is beneath your slacks, how gently he’s kneading your skin, and how no one else is around.

A glance at the clock. 4:45 p.m. Fifteen minutes until closing.

Wooyoung’s hand inches upward—calf, then higher—applying slow pressure. His knuckles brush under the hem of your trousers.

It’s been weeks since the vacation. Since things… simmered down. Since you last touched. The room feels heavy with everything unsaid.

You clear your throat—loudly—startling him just as the clock hits five. You both freeze, your bodies wound like springs ready to snap.

And then you do.

Chairs screech back. Papers scatter. You both scramble to the elevator with barely a glance exchanged, your shoulders knocking as you speed-walk past confused coworkers. Inside, the elevator doors slide closed, trapping the silence and the heat.

Wooyoung wastes no time.

He pins you lightly against the cushioned wall, his lips crushing into yours like he’s been waiting to breathe. You melt into it, gripping his shoulders as the elevator rises. Then—

Ding.

The doors open on an empty floor.

You both pull apart and pant, freezing still like sculptors of the ‘Night at the Museum’.

“We need to get out of here,” he mutters.

You nod. “Now.” You bolt for the garage, legs moving faster than your thoughts. The air is thick with everything you can’t say aloud. As you reach your cars, you throw a glance over your shoulder. “My place or yours?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yours is further.”

You pull out the passenger's seat door and commend his answer. “Yours, then.”

The cars roar to life—your engines growling in sync. The drive is fast, silent, electric. At red lights, you pretend not to thirst for him. But you do.

You’re already unbuckling before he’s even parked. The second the door clicks open, you’re out, heels clacking on pavement as you head toward his building.

He catches up, wordlessly unlocking the door and pulling you inside. It slams behind you, echoing like a thunderstorm.

Like something inevitable.

The interior of his place mimicked the vibe of yours, echoing his personality, his persona, and his favorite color, black.

"You were so fucking hot today owning up to that bastard you know that?" Wooyoung growls approvingly, backing you up against the door as he kicks it shut. Stumbling in, his eyes glow like a black cat’s in the depths of night. You used them as a guide, and he too memorized the layout of the space in his way.

"Was I?" he asks, his hands roaming your body possessively. "And what else was I doing that you liked?"

You tut your teeth and gaze at his lips seductively. "What? Now that we're at your house, you're the one pressing people and asking questions?"

Wooyoung's eyes darken at the challenge in your voice. He steps closer, his hands reaching out to grab your waist and sweep you off your feet. You let out a small yelp of surprise as he carries you over to the bedroom and drops you off into the plush fabric.

His charge of position rests between your legs as you sit up and adjust. It was a dangerous play that needed you to establish logical rules. "Well…I wouldn't mind a change in our roles, as long as you don't get too lost in your character kitty."

Wooyoung smirks and shifts on his knees at your playful warning. "I think we both know I'm very good at keeping my roles in line."

“Do we?”

He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "As of right now, I'm in charge of making you feel very, very good." Woo's hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up as he goes. “And that is a role…I’ve always played.”

His fingers play keys on the nerves of your inner thighs. And comically so, every press nearer to your crotch emitted a louder moan. "You're so fucking sexy," he growls, before running over his hand over your mound, copping off a feel you through the seams.

Your back arches, fingers gripping Wooyoung's hair tightly as he continues to tease your heat. His hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he explores every trigger of yours with a press or rub.

Your eyes gloss as you shatter around his fingers, your breath coming in short gasps as you ride out the first waves of pleasure. "Mmm, a fast learner," you purr, signaling him to climb up your body and claim your mouth.

You moan into his mouth while he savors you in this new angle. Wooyoung pushes in to be more of a risk-taker, forcing his hand to feel the raw thing. “I only learn from the best.”

Just when you think you can't take anymore, Wooyoung adds two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that sweet spot deep within you. He pinches on your clit with renewed vigor, his free hand reaching up to pinch and twist your nipples through your under shirt.

"So in all that time…nghhh… you were listening, but you just decided…fuck…you wanted to be a brat out of your own free will?” Wooyoung chuckles darkly, the vibrations against your body sending you over the edge.

“I never wanted you to be easy with me, Mistress.” He extracts his hand from your underpants. “So how will you deal with me now?”

In a forward answer, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him fast against you. "Inside me,” you pant, "Now, Woo."

Wooyoung grins mischievously, reaching down to grab your ankles on both sides of him on the bedding. He strips you and himself, unbuckling his pants and immediately onto you. He lines up at your entrance and slowly pushes in, his eyes locked onto you's. "Like this?" he asks teasingly, burying himself to the hilt.

You let out a low moan, your body stretching to accommodate him. "More," you demand even in your position- your heels digging into Woo's back with curled toes. He obliges, pulling back before snapping his hips forward again.

Like clockwork, your bodies fall into a rhythm, each thrust heightening new desires for each other.

Your walls squeeze around Woo's cock with every stroke, trying to pull him deeper inside you as if you wanted to absorb him whole.

Your hands claw at his back, leaving red marks as you hold on for dear life. "Fuck me, Woo!" you beg, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. "Fuck me like you own me!"

Wooyoung shudders as his pace quickens, his breathing growing ragged as he pounds into you. "You are mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

He leans down, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh where your neck meets your shoulder.

You both are subdued in both pain and pleasure, your body trembling as Wooyoung bears the strength to uphold himself and marks you as his. You wrap your you arms around his neck, holding him close as he continues to fuck your with reckless abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, accompanied by their desperate gasps and moans.

Your legs start to shake- your body on the verge of another intense orgasm.

Wooyoung easily senses your impending climax and changes his angle, hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You scream his name- voice echoing off the walls as she comes hard around his cock.

Suddenly, Wooyoung pulls out and flips you onto your hands and knees. He grabs your hips and pulls them back with a surprising super strength, spreading them wide before slamming back inside you. The new angle allows him to hit your g-spot on the dot with every thrust, sending you into a spiral of ecstasy.

"Look at that ass bounce." he smacks it deliberately, making you whine. "My ass. Not Mark’s, or Yunho's"

You smirk for a bit before your back to making out an “O” with your mouth.

There was a doubt in your mind that he didn’t overlook the situation.

Wooyoung sets a brutal pace, his hips slamming against your ass with each powerful thrust. The wet sound of your coupling fills the room, punctuated by the sharp smacks of Wooyoung’s hand on your rear. "Say it," he demands, his voice rough with lust.

"Your ass," you gasps out between moans, your voice trembling. "It's your ass, Woo. Only yours." You pushed back against him, desperate for more of his punishment and his cock. Now you could finally understood his thrill. "Fuck me, Woo. Fuck me hard and make it yours."

Wooyoung’s grip on your hips tightens as he speeds up his pace, his breathing heavy and erratic. "That's right, mistress," he growls. "This is my hole. My property." He spanks you again, the sound echoing through the room as you wail your approval.

Your eyes roll back in your head as Woo’s cock hits that perfect spot inside you again and again. You feel like you’re going to pass out from the overwhelming pleasure.

Suddenly, Wooyoung stills, his hips freezing as he buries himself deep inside you.

You shudder as your back arches inward and outward. Wooyoung lets out a strangled groan, his body trembling as your wet mound envelopes his sensitive tip. With a loud grunt, he explodes inside you again, filling your pussy with his hot seed as he pulses against your hole.

You look back and show off a wicked grin "Did you cum twice?"

Wooyoung’s face contorts in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he stares at the sight before him. "Fuck, yes," he hisses, his eyes glued to your pussy lips, still glistening with his cum. He reaches down to spread them apart, revealing the mess he made inside you.

You wiggle your backside enticingly, smearing Wooyoung's release onto your inner thighs. "And what are you going to do about it, hmm?" You cast him another sultry look over your shoulder. "Going to clean it up, my kitten?"

Wooyoung's eyes dilate at your words, his body stirring back to life despite just finding release. He didn’t think it was possible, but he can surpass the bounds he was looking over the edge of. He leans down, his tongue snaking out to lap at his release from your inner thigh.

You moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as Wooyoung’s tongue cleans you up. You feels him nuzzle your folds, breathing in your scent before he slowly licks up your slit. "Mmm, look at you, licking up your mess”, you moan.

Mouth muffled against your core, Wooyoung growls, "Shut up, and spread your legs wider." You eagerly comply, your legs trembling as he continues to feast.

Your hips buck against his face, desperate for more. You reach back to run your fingers through his hair, guiding his mouth to your sensitive clit. "Eat it, kitten," you command, voice dripping with authority. "Lick my fucking clit until l come again."

Wooyoung moans against your flesh, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through the core of your body. He obliges your command, lavishing your swollen bud with his tongue.

Your breath hitches as Wooyoung sucks your sensitive nub between his lips, his tongue flicking against it. Your body tenses, and your release builds quickly. "Yes, just like that," she pants, your fingers tightening in Woo's hair. "Oh God, I'm coming!"

Woo redoubles his efforts, his mouth working in tandem with his fingers as he stretches you with his digits.

Your body convulses, inner muscles clenching around his fingers as you shout from your release. Wooyoung keeps going, drawing out your peak until you collapse onto bed as if you were boneless.

Wooyoung finally pulls his face away, his mouth and chin glistening with your essence. His eyes are glassy with devotion—feral but soft—as he crawls up your body, pressing a kiss to your navel, your sternum, then finally your lips.

You meet him halfway, your tongue tasting the aftermath of your shared pleasure. Arms loop around his neck, you pull him close, his body heavy and warm against yours.

"You're so good to me," you murmur against his mouth, your voice still thick with pleasure. "My little angel."

“I’ll always be good to you,” he whispers, lips grazing your cheek. “Especially now… being apart like that? It was unbearable.”

Your fingers drift to the hollows of his cheeks—slightly sunken, evidence of too many sleepless nights and overworked days. You tap his thigh gently.

“Lie back.”

He obeys without question, letting you pull him into your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your waist. His breath steadies against your skin.

“I get you. I got you. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t answer—only nuzzles deeper.

…

The Next Morning…

The scent of you still lingers on the sheets, and for a moment, Wooyoung doesn’t open his eyes. He just… listens. To the silence. To the space beside him. The weight of reality is settling in again.

You’re gone.

Business hours are ticking.

He exhales sharply, swinging his legs out of bed and rubbing the back of his neck. His body aches in the best way, but emotionally, he’s already shifting gears. The transition is always the hardest part.

You belonged to the world again. He just… worked in it.

At the Office…

Back at his desk, Wooyoung sifts through morning reports. He’s trying to focus, but his thoughts drift. To your hand on his chest last night. To your whispered apology. To the way his name tasted coming from your lips when no one else could hear it.

Ping.

His screen flashes—your office line.

Then—

A knock.

Mr. Broker is standing at his office door. Crisp suit. Blank expression, and the air seems denser from the weight of his mere presence.

"Mr. Jung," Broker says, tone neutral but clipped. "A word, please."

Wooyoung nods once, hiding his confusion behind a polite mask. He clicks into your call and mutters quickly, “Later,” before hanging up and saving his work.

The walk to the boardroom office is silent.

But Wooyoung feels it. Something’s off. Broker walks with a different rhythm today—slower, heavier. Almost like he’s dragging a secret behind him.

In the Boardroom…

The door closes with a soft click.

Wooyoung stands for a moment before taking his seat across from Broker, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves like armor. He meets the older man’s gaze evenly.

Broker doesn’t waste time.

"I need to talk to you about something,” he says, leaning forward, hands steepled beneath his chin. “Something that involves both of our companies... and a mutual interest.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightens.

Broker continues, voice slow and deliberate. “Specifically, your relationship… with Mrs. Hart.”

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

What the hell could Broker be talking about?

Find out on the next episode of:

WHIPS.CHAINS.PLEASURE.&.PAIN.

Episode 4

THANK YOU FOR READING TO THE END.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

©️1117feverlessdreams, 2025.

Much love

A Mistress is a dominant woman who exercises authority and control over her submissive partner. She may engage in various activities such as bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, and masochism (BDSM) with her sub. The power exchange can be physical, mental, emotional, or a play in all.

Submission is not always about being doormats or losers. Instead, it's about empowerment. By ceding control to their Mistress, subs can let go of everyday stresses and worries, trusting her to guide them and make decisions for them. It's a deeply intimate and liberating experience.

Dominance is about taking charge, setting boundaries, and pushing submissives out of their comfort zones in safe, consensual ways to help them explore their deepest desires and fears. A good Mistress is caring and attentive and always puts her subs' well-being first, even as she challenges them.

Safe, Sane, and Consensual (SSC) is a key principle in the BDSM community. It means that all activities are agreed upon by all parties involved, with clear boundaries and safeguards to prevent harm. 

Anything outside of these parameters is considered unsafe and unacceptable.

…

Ever since then, Wooyoung has been extra attentive, making sure your morning beverages are piping hot and steaming just the way you like them, your files are in order from A to Z without a paper sticking out in sight, and your schedule is always organized and precise in preparation for the weeks ahead.

In your world, you tackle most of the paperwork meant for the office workers in cubicles- and for your own for distraction. 

There was too much on your mind this early morning, but you’ve set it aside for one of the greatest business endeavors that only comes every 10,000 lifetimes.

Your company, Better Business Company- hence the name- strives to make businesses better. The investments you distribute come from your own pockets and the companies you carry on your back. But today, you had a chance to strike it rich, because one of the most influential businessmen asked for your participation in the condition you formulated a plan.

Wooyoung, your supposed partner in this, knocks softly on your office door, carrying in a tray with your daily coffee and a Danish. ”I thought you might need an early pick-me-up,” he whispers bashfully, placing the tray carefully onto the edge of your desk. 

He steps back and watches you from a safe distance. You immediately take your coffee in hand without acknowledging his presence, sipping heavily on your beverage as if it were a tall glass of cold water. 

It was times like this where he just let things be as tried to gauge your mood. He walked like a deer in the wild these days, avoiding stepping on the smallest twig to prevent triggering the coyote's natural predatory instincts.

“Thank you.” You smile toward him briefly, and then you presume to delve into your paperwork-as if last Friday night never happened. As if the new ‘partnership’ you’ve dwelled in, never happened.

Wooyoung notices the brief smile and the attempt to focus back on work, but he can see the fatigue and stress etched on your face. He decides to try a different approach and sits down in the chair across from your desk- leaning back with a deep sigh and folding his arms comfortably. “For our meeting today…I think we should revise before we present.”

You don’t bother to spare him a glance. Instead, you keep stamping, signing, and flipping off papers. “I believe we’ve made those proper revisions days ago. I recall you saying things were pristine.”

His expression hardens slightly to prevent you from seeing the effect you had on him from your stubbornness, but his voice remains calm. “Mrs.Hart. If you wouldn’t mind…I can talk to you easier when your eyes are on me.” He waits until you finally glance up, your eyes meeting his. In contentment, a small grin grows on his face with a minor head tilt of excitement. “If we're going to pull off this deal today, we need to be on the same page.”

You purse your lips as you drop the pen. Your tired eyes flick around the man you’ve been thinking about since he left your apartment. “I thought that’s what we do. We’re the whole book remember? Front cover, and back.”

He unfolds his arms and leans forward as if he were trying to use his cavernous eyes to read the inside of your head. “Well, it doesn’t feel right at the moment. We're also supposed to work as a team, in and out of the boardroom, remember?” 

The Coyote was no longer to be frightened. It heard the snapping twigs a dozen times, and it was hoping that the deer would acknowledge them. It was the only creature other than it in the deep in the ghostly woods. 

“Look, I’ll just say it. Last Friday night was..” Wooyoung pauses. “Hectic… But, it was good, wasn’t it? We were good?” He asks cautiously, unseemingly bothered by the hairs that fall above his doe eyes.

You shake your head yes and sigh. You reach over your desk and grab the remote to shut your blinds, giving your unlabeled pair a sense of privacy. He watches as they fall slowly past the wall's pink shelves, hanging in the air the white marble floor.

Meanwhile, you were halfway out of your seat, his vision was cleared as you pulled the hair from his face. He turns to you, his mouth begins to agape, a ‘thank you’, and an ‘I can’t believe you’ has his tongue-tied.

You tuck in behind his ear, your eyes can only focus solely on the motion. Soon after you sit back down in your chair, flipping mindlessly back through the finished papers. “We’re gonna be good Wooyoung”, you whisper. “This is good, the meeting will be great.” You breathe out heavily and close your eyes for a moment of peace. “I’m not there yet, but I will be.”

Wooyoung rises from his seat and walks behind the desk, onto your side. He gently twirls your chair around and crouches down in front of you. Your eyes squeeze close, he was so intimate, so caring, and too kind. 

“You’re allowed to not be okay all the time, Mrs.Hart. You’re allowed to lean on me.” He looks up at you, his expression serious.

“I don’t want you to do that all the time Wooyoung. You’ll need me to pick up the slack one day.” You open your eyes to your revelation and the next words you are meant to say. “We’re a damn team, and we can’t play solo right now because we’re fearful of our emotions.”

Wooyoung’s expression softens, and he places a hand on your knee. “You’re right, we need to have a plan in place. But for now, let’s just focus on getting through this. You’re my priority right now, and then I’ll face the facts.”

Your eyes soften with trapped tears. You allow yourself to be vulnerable, and then you face the facts. 

Your hand trembles in hesitance, caressing his face for a few moments. He raises his hand slowly, and it covers yours in the perfect amount. His eyes carry the sun within them from the window, and before a tear nearly slips you fully pull away, turning back into your chair. 

“Okay”… you breathe, "Let's work on how we're gonna wow these motherfuckers."

Wooyoung giggles and nods, he stands up and gives your thigh a few taps, walking over back to his chair in victory. "Welcome back Madam CEO! Alright, we’ll go through the presentation one more time. And, I also have a few ideas that might give it that extra edge we need to impress them.”

His charisma makes you eagerly intrigued as you push in your chair. “I think I can help you with that.”

Wooyoung’s tongue says across his lower lip as he is tickled by your duality in attitude. “Sounds like a plan.” Some find it tiring, but it gives them the thrill to run miles. “And uh Mrs.Hart?”, he adds, his tone sincere.

"Yes, Wooyoung?"

"After this deal is done, we'll take some time off, okay? All of us." He gestures wildly between the two of you. "We'll set ground rules or whatever you need to feel comfortable. We're smart people, and we'll figure it out." 

…

During the business meeting, you two were more compatible than what occurred in the last week. Ironically, all you needed was each other. All the plans you came up with were fabricated, and so now you decided to go with the flow. A smile and a familiar face prompted your next sentences, all worries dissipated from existence.

As the meeting progresses, Wooyoung finds himself stealing glances at you, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was the ease of your collaboration, the way your minds work in sync, that fills him with a profound sense of rightness.

A round of applause followed after a concluding message. Then after a spring of hands follow with upraised ideas and positive impressions.

With the meeting adjourned, Wooyoung childishly gallops over to you, stopping himself when he was only a couple of inches apart. "We did it," he says softly, leaning in close so that only you can hear. "And we didn't even need all that extra preparation after all. Sometimes, just trusting ourselves and each other is enough."

In a half-decent hug, with the palm of his hand on your back and your fingertips on his shoulders, you pull him near to lean in his ear and whisper, "Let's figure this thing out and get out of here. Just you and me."

He nods against your hair, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Well, then there’s that thing remember? Let's grab our things and head out then. I know a little place nearby where we can unwind and talk through everything."

Wooyoung is the first to leave the meeting room, and you wait a minute or two to follow him along in the hallway for the ‘thing’.

"Attention, everyone!”, you suddenly shout. All gathering colleagues in cubicles and smart boards outside of the office murmur what could be pressingly hard considering how the nice meeting went. When you and Wooyoung’s partnership was lost, so was everyone else.

To show your reunion, you walk over to Wooyoung and stand alongside him. “I know we're thrilled about our new business endeavors, you've all done such an outstanding job these past couple of months! Wooyoung and I…have given it a lot of thought, and we thought maybe… we could throw another office party.”

Everyone agrees amongst themselves, causing a slight rise in volume before it comes to a quiet again. “But…I decided to tweak it a notch-“

You look at Wooyoung, who picked up on your cue. “To a week-long vacation!" 

The announcement goes over incredibly well, with the office erupting in cheers and applause. Your co-workers are thrilled with the news, and several of them come up to you both afterward to express their gratitude and excitement.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung watches as you walk into a crowd from a distance, his eyes shining with pride and approval. He mouths "Perfect," giving you an approving thumbs up and a warm smile. 

As the excitement dies down and people start to disperse, he makes his sways his way over to you with his hands in his pockets. "That was brilliant," he says, slipping an arm casually around your waist. "A week-long vacation? Are you sure?”

You step aside for a bit of distance so it doesn't arise suspicions amongst wandering eyes. "They've been working nonstop every weekday, and they deserve it. Besides, I need to take my time with you, what can I say?"

Wooyoung eyes soften at your words, recognizing the passing of obstacles between you two. "You're right…they've more than earned it. And I can't argue with the idea of having more time with you." He glances around, then leans in without ceasing to stop at a professional distance.

You completely step aside and begin to walk off fast with the cross over of your heel. “Not so fast”, you mutter. You then walk off and head to your office up the hall. You cross your hands behind your back, curling your four fingers, a secret gesture for him to follow.

Wooyoung, with an eagle's eye, grins mischievously, easily playing along.He lingers in his spot for a moment, feigning interest in a nearby plant before casually making his way to your office. He slips inside, closing the door softly behind him.

"What is it you couldn't say out there, Miss?" Upon entering, Wooyoung finds you caressing the awards of your company’s prizes on the back shelf behind your desk. 

With a click of your hidden hand, the windows begin to shut down. You turn and make your way to where he stands, tapping your long stiletto pink nails on every surface along the way. 

You gesture for him to take a seat in the lounging area with light pink tuxedo sofas, and a reflective glass table in its centerpiece. His eyes never fell from the sharpness of your nails, but he listens accordingly, pulling his tie around to relieve his tightening throat.

"I'll accept your offer.” You push off the wall to stand in front of him, slightly bending to place a palm gently above his beating heart, smirking at the hard palpations. “I want to be your mistress. To use you, and to experience pleasure… I've never felt before."

Wooyoung inhales sharply as your hand rests over his heart, feeling it race beneath your touch. His eyes darken with desire, a low groan escaping his lips. "Madam, uh Mrs. Hart.." He reaches up, gently grasping your wrist. "Are you sure about this?"

You take your free hand and angle his head toward your cunning face by his sharp jaw, tucking in his long stands with your other hand, pressing forward so your lips are by his ear. "Do you have to ask me twice?"

“No”, Wooyoung breathes, turning his head slightly to nuzzle into your palm. "But I need to hear you say it again." His voice is ragged, filled with longing. "Say it again you want to be mine, that you want me to be yours… like that."

"I'm yours…to obey, and you remain mine… to control." Wooyoung's heart skips a beat at the declaration, his entire body trembling with need. You drag your hot pink sharp nails that he adores on his face. His eyes cross adorably as he tracks them along his naturally sharpened jaw. You watch as his blood circulates beneath the surface, and you pepper small, feverish kisses along the area.

He lets out a shuddering sigh, and his eyes flutter closed as he savors the feeling of your nails scratching along his jaw, doubled when you start placing those heated kisses on his burning skin. "Mine… to control. God, Madam…". His hands tighten around your wrist on his chest, and the arm you're using to angle his head.

"Do you like the sound of that, darling?" You look deep into his doe eyes, indenting your nails in his jaw with anticipation.

"I do. So much that it's… intoxicating," Wooyoung whispers, his pupils dilating as he gazes into your eyes. "The thought of you controlling me, it's… please, Madam, touch me… like you did that Friday night. Please…" He trails off, leaning into your touch, his body yearning for more.

A devilish smirk overrides your sultry expression. "Please, please, please…" you mock pathetically, your drag fingers down his veiny neck. "I can't believe you're so desperate for me."

Wooyoung's face flushes with embarrassment, but the desire in his eyes only intensifies. "I can't help it," he admits softly. "You drive me crazy. The way you touch me, the way you talk to me… it's addictive."

You inch toward his lips but pull away teasingly seconds later. "Follow me…" you grab a hold of his tie, pulling him forward. Wooyoung scrambles to the floor and crawls on all fours as he tries to match your pace, the click of your heels and his pattering hands make the loudest noise in the empty space. 

Once you’ve made it back to the desk, you pull out your guest chair, twirling it with one hand, and pulling up his loosened tie with the other. "Sit.”

Wooyoung stumbles slightly as you pull him upward and onto the chair with his eyes locked onto yours. He sits down heavily, his breath hitching in his throat as he waits for your next move. "What do you want me to do now, mistress?"

"Just sit there and look pretty baby. I haven't even made up my mind yet." You tap his shoulder as you walk behind him, pulling out your chair from your desk and pushing it forth right in front of Wooyoung. Sitting in it backward, you spread your legs wide and you slide down in it with your pink vest pantsuit.

You bite the tip of your lengthy nails as you watch him squirm, and your teeth spread into a wicked smile. You tap your heels on the floor with an original rhythm. Wooyoung’s throat bobs with every tap, and his eyes are directed to the heel now and again, which stroke a shocking idea.

The sharpness of your stiletto heel reflects the sunshine when you hold it in the air, and when it falls- it lands on Wooyoung’s shin.

He swallows hard, watching as you bite at your nail, the crimson hue of your lips wrapping around it. He squirms in his seat, his breath coming in short pants as the heel of your shoe grinds against his shin. "Aughhh, Mistress, you’re digging in kind of deep. It hurts."

You’re relentless and just gaze upon him in contemplation-ignoring his pleas. You had used your restlessness night for research studies on this new dynamic you’ve both been secretly craving. Let's just say, your search history is not up to par with your business etiquette. "I hear you honeybun, I just decided what I'm going to do with you."

Wooyoung whimpers, trying to shift in his seat to alleviate some of the pain from your heel grinding against his shin. His breath hitches as you lean forward, the heat of your body wafting over him.

"What…what are you going to do, my Mistress?" Wooyoung asks, his voice trembling with a combination of fear and excitement. He shifts in his seat, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. The suspense is killing him, but he knows better than to try and rush you.

“Eyes forward." You abruptly stop your heel grinding which brings him great relief. That was until you got up to walk around behind him again.

Wooyoung quickly complies, keeping his eyes fixed forward as instructed. He can hear your footsteps behind him, the clicking of your heels against the floor is making his heart do backflips. His breath catches in his throat as he feels your presence looming over him, and then your hands come to rest on his shoulders, gripping them firmly.

The next thing he knew was his tie being yanked from the collar of his neck, wrinkling his white button-up in the process. His eyes widen as he feels himself nearly choke. He hears the fabric rustle as you wrap it around your hands, and then has his vision suddenly taken from his senses when all he can see is pitch black.

You comb his neck-length hair to be tucked under the silk material, scratching his tender scalp in the process.

He lets out a low moan as you comb his hair back and tuck it under the makeshift blindfold. His body tenses as he feels your nails scraping gently against his scalp, the sensation both pleasing and unnerving. With his sight deprived, the heightening of his other senses makes his toes curl.

"Are you okay kitty?" You suddenly whispered with a small kitten lick of your own to his ear. Wooyoung mewls at the unexpected warmth of your tongue against his ear, the whisper of your voice sending shivers down his spine. He nods instinctively, his hands balling into fists as he tries to process the overwhelming sensations. "Y-yes.”

Your heels click once again like a ticking clock. Your claws grab a hold of Wooyoung's shoulders, spinning him around in fast circles.

When he feels himself uncontrollably turning into three-sixties, he lets out a frightened yelp- his arms flailing out to try and grab onto something for support. The room is like a maze around him, his disorientation amplified by the blindfold.

Then he hears your heels clicking faster as you rush to stop him. Wooyoung’s breath quickens, and you kiss him to calm his nerves.

“You still with me kitty cat?" Wooyoung gasps against your lips, his breath hitching as the dizziness finally subsides. He clings to you for support, his shaking fingers digging into the soft flesh of your arms. "Y-Yes, mistress. I'm still here," he pants, his voice barely a whisper.

You pull his fingers from your flesh, and reposition those same fingers to be placed on his crotch. "Can you give your mistress a show kitty? Can you show me how desperate you are for me?"

Wooyoung inhales sharply as he feels your hands guiding his own to his crotch. His face flushes with embarrassment and arousal under the blindfold. "Mistress, l…I don't know if I can," he stammers, his fingers trembling against the growing bulge in his pants.

"You don't know, if you can obey me? Is that what you're telling me, baby?"

Wooyoung bites his lip, hesitation clear in his voice. "No, mistress. I mean, l, I want to, but… it's embarrassing." His fingers twitch against his crotch, the warmth of his touch through the fabric both shaming and arousing. "Please, mistress. I… I'm not used to touching myself like this. It's… it's shameful." His voice grows quieter, laced with a mix of humiliation and desire.

"Awe you poor kitty. Shameful, you say?" You descend to your knees, rubbing your claws onto the blinded male's firm thighs. “Answer me this: where was your shame when you asked me to be your mistress? To kiss the ground before me? You proposed your body for me to control like the slut you are…and now you want to mention shame?"

His breath hitches as your claws rake gently against his thighs, his legs parting wider in invitation. His face scrunches up under the blindfold, torn between humiliation and need. "Y-You're right, mistress. I… I have no right to feel shame." I'm yours, completely," he stammers, his voice cracking with emotion. "I surrendered everything to you, mistress. My body, my dignity, my shame." 

As he speaks, you begin to undress him, your hands moving slowly and deliberately under his. Once his belt is removed and his tie is unzipped, you pull the band off his boxers away to take in his full package and spit on the head thickly. You watch the bubbly mess cascade down to the base of his shaft, snapping the material back into place causing his cock to bounce against his abdomen. "Show me everything."

The sudden snap of the boxer returning bounces his rigid length and causes him to jerk in his restraints- his balls drawing up tight against his body. "The floor is yours, baby. Prove yourself to me."

Wooyoung takes a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers slowly wrapping around his hard pink flesh. He hesitates for a moment, his face flushed with embarrassment before he begins to slowly stroke himself.

"You're such a good boy kitty”. His head shudders around slowly, he hears your voice in praise all around him. “Surrending yourself to me with control of your submissive mind."

As he strokes himself, Wooyoung's mind falls completely under your control. He becomes a puppet, his thoughts consumed by his obedience to you, and his only desire to please you. His movements grow to become more desperate and frantic as he imagines himself as your perfect, submissive kitty.

You smile with delight, as your deep research played off effectively into reality. ‘How to tame your sub 101; place them in an environment of vulnerability, rules, and trust. Contain them to follow your rules with consensual precedence, and praise them with every obedient action.’

Wooyoung’s breathing grows heavier as he continues to pleasure himself under your watchful gaze. The room is filled with the sound of his desperate pants and the slick sounds of his hand moving on his wet flesh. "Please, mistress… praise me.”

Your research continues: "Praise will become a natural practice if it is positively connoted with reward. Your sub might even desperately ask for it to ensure they are following your command to your standards.'

"You’re doing so well my little kitten. You're so obedient to me my love." Wooyoung's body shudders with relief and pleasure at your praise, his strokes becoming more purposeful and rhythmic. He arches into his touch, craving more of your approval. "Thank you, mistress… I'm trying so hard to be good for you. I want to make you proud."

"You are baby,” you affirm. “I'm so proud of you." You bend over from your desk and raise his shirt to rub onto his abdomen, right above his ministrations. "Can you cum right here for me babe?"

Wooyoung's eyes roll back in his head as your warm hands rub against his stomach, the friction and heat making his orgasm imminent. He nods frantically, his hand moving faster on his cock as he fights to hold back his orgasm until you permit him to release.

You continue to smooth your hand over his belly, specifically on the surrounding areas that tense from his approaching orgasm. Focusing primarily on the bulges in his stomach, you push down heavily to further alleviate the sensations. "Do it, baby. You've been so good. Cum for me."

With a final, desperate cry, Wooyoung's body convulses as he spills over his hand and onto his belly, just as you commanded.

His whole body goes lax, hanging limply in the restraints as he catches his breath, basking in the afterglow of his release and your praise.

To quiet his desperate cries, you kiss him passionately. It was like his brain had gone to mush, you figured the blindfold might've even affected his sense of location, given that you were still in the office. "Quiet lovebug. Those pretty cries are only meant for me to hear, okay?"

He whimpers against your mouth, his body shuddering with aftershocks as he nods frantically, silently promising to keep his noises to himself. He nuzzles into your touch, loving the way you silence him and claim his sounds as your own.

Slowly, you separated your touch from his sweaty skin and removed your mouth from his pouting one. You then reach back to grab his blindfold, allowing him to see the mess he made. "Good boy."

Wooyoung’s eyes flutter open, and he blinks in confusion for a moment before his gaze focuses on the mess on his belly and chest. He looks up at you with wide, adoring eyes, his face flushed with embarrassment and happiness. He beams with pride at being called a "good boy" by you.

A similar expression comes onto your face in effect of his own. You reach forward to comb back the wet strands of his hair into a slick back. 

His cock twitches once more from the grace of your nails. You notice immediately, and your eyes shimmer at his release. You scoop it up with your other hand from his abdomen, giving it a taste and fluttering your eyes with satisfaction. You then offer him some using the same finger, waiting for his acceptance. "Don't you wanna know how sweet you taste?"

Wooyoung's eyes widen as he watches you taste him, a shiver of arousal running through his spent body. He eagerly parts his lips, his tongue darting out to lick your offered finger clean.

In awe you inch closer as his mouth takes in your finger whole, mobilizing his hand back and forth as his deep-set eyes entrances you in a spell with his warm mouth, giving you the craziest ideas. You grab him by the strand in the back of his hands and pull him off. After you then walk over to the desk and throw him a pack of wipes. "Clean yourself up, Wooyoung. You made a mess."

His eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of curiosity and lust from your intense stare. He nods obediently, taking the wipes and cleaning himself off thoroughly while you watch.

Your senses come back to you as you hurriedly turn your back and crack open the door to your office in caution of any bystanders. It wasn't your intention to start this so soon. But with Wooyoung being the man he is, you were prompt under temptation.

As Wooyoung finishes cleaning up, he hears the door creak open and feels a cool breeze against his bare skin. He tilts his head, listening intently, and hearing the faint sound of voices outside. He bites his lip, hoping no one has heard his earlier noises. 

Wooyoung looks down at his disheveled appearance - shirt rumpled, hair mussed, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. He quickly redresses himself, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he tries to keep his composure.

You turn back to him as you hear his rustling. Wooyoung freezes mid-zip-up as you turn back, his cheeks flushing pink as he realizes how disheveled he must look.

He offers you a shy, slightly nervous smile, unsure of what to say after such an intense and unexpected encounter in your office. His heart races, wondering if this changes anything between you.

The hallway wasn't exactly busy after her exciting announcement of a week-long vacation. But there was always someone who wanted to stay behind. "What should we do?"

Wooyoung swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Do? About…?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He's not sure if you're asking about how to proceed with the new relationship, or how to make sure no one finds out about what just happened in your office. Either way, he had not a fucking clue.

You walk over to him tirelessly and sigh, straightening up his appearance for yourself. "We'll get to that later, but first,  we need a way out of here without looking suspicious.”

Wooyoung nods, understanding your unspoken words. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart and appear nonchalant. "How about… we just walk out together? Like we were just having a meeting?" He suggests, his voice steadier now. 

"You look like you ran a mile baby”, you giggle. “What kind of meeting would that entail?"

He pouts slightly at your teasing remark. "A… passionate one?" he offers, trying to match your teasing tone. He grins mischievously. "We can say we were discussing… the details of the company retreat, and that we decided to pop off some champagne. The one behind your desk over there."

A lightbulb shined over your head from the idea, you glanced over and grabbed the bottle quickly from the fridge. "I don't have a cork for this thing. I got it as a gift a while back when some money-chasing assholes tried to sway me in a meeting. This is good stuff… otherwise it would've been in the trash."

Wooyoung chuckles softly, walking over to you. "Well, it seems like fate that you kept it then. We can use it as our cover story.”

He stands tall looking handsome as ever, like you were the one sitting in the chair. He takes the bottle from your hands and looks down at the floor, tilting his head in deep inspection. "That's it."

You look down on the floor, looking down and stumbling around like a frantic mess. "What is it? What's that?" 

He looks up at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He carefully places the champagne bottle on the floor, descending to his knees. Your eyes widen at the moment, and he makes dangerous eye contact with you as he caresses your golden stiletto heel. "Your heel, I can pop open the cork with it."

In shock and confused arousal, you look down upon him and instinctively quirk a brow. "Yeah…good thinking."

Wooyoung grins up at you, his hands gently caressing your ankle as he positions the heel of your shoe over the cork of the champagne bottle. With a swift, practiced motion, he pops the cork, sending it flying across the room. You duck in response, and when calm takes over again, you snap out of your trance and smile at him with a nervous laugh. “Holy shit! You did it!”

Wooyoung laughs softly, getting back up to his feet. He picks up the now open bottle of champagne, and takes a swig straight from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "See? Now we've got our alibi."

Even the simplistic action of him taking a swig out of the bottle made him fondly attractive. "Yeah…but who opens champagne without shaking things up a little?" You then grab the bottle out of his grasp and do the action of shaking things up. You pour the bubbling liquid on his chest and yours the same. A bit sprinkles on the floor for the added effect of "the mess" you've made.

As the cold, fizzy liquid hits his skin he inhales sharply. His soaking shirt gave an appealing view of his erect nipples and muscles. He looks at you, eyes wide with surprise, but laughter erupts suddenly in his throat. "Well, now we've really got to sell this."

You nod, drinking the remaining bits, then jerk your head up to indicate for Wooyoung to tilt his backward. You provide him a nice pour as your hand supports his jaw. "We just stole on a major renovation of our business. We can do anything."

Wooyoung swallows the remnants deliciously. Some of it spills down the sides of his face, onto his neck, and down his chest, mingling with the earlier pours. He swallows convulsively, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The two of you giggle out of the room as if you were on your way to a honeymoon getaway. But honestly, that's what it felt like.

Wooyoung leads the way out of the office, champagne dripping from his clothes and pooling on the floor behind you. As you both reach the elevator, he presses the button and turns to you, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Suddenly, the doors open once again, and Jeong Yunho, your second-longest colleague after Mark, follows in. "Mrs. Hart and Mr. Jung! It looks like you two had some early celebrations amongst yourselves."