Yada yada noise cancellation

Her breath hitched. “W-Where are they?!” she gasped, voice trembling as her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. Panic surged through the fog in her head. She turned sharply—only to find Jongho lying unconscious beside her, peaceful and unmoving. Everything felt too quiet. Too empty.

A nurse gently placed a hand on her arm while draping a blanket over her. “They’re in the waiting room, sweetie. You’re safe.”

“Safe?” she whispered, tears already filling her eyes. “But they said they’d stay. They promised. They left us…”

The nurse moved quickly, giving a signal to the nearby staff—who sprinted out of the room.

Seconds later, chaos arrived.

“YNIEEEEE!” San’s voice boomed as he bursted through the door.

Wooyoung nearly collided into the nurse trying to comfort her. “DON’T CRY, WE’RE HERE!”

Seonghwa rushed in, gently cupping her face. “Oh, sweetheart… we didn’t leave. miane, we didn’t want to wake you.”

“I—I thought you left me… and Jjongie…” she hiccupped, blinking like she wasn’t totally sure where she was. “I thought—I got abandoned… like… like a side character or something… no lines, no screen time…”

She sniffled, eyes glassy.

“Just… cut from the script…” she mumbled. “Didn’t even make it past the pilot…

Yunho winced. “Oh, that’s oddly.. specific.”

“You’re not abandoned, aegi,” Yeosang assured, brushing her hair from her forehead. “We’re right here. We never left.”

“I held your hand before they took you away,” Mingi cried, dramatically offended. “You already forgot?!”

Y/N sniffled, blinking up at all of them. Her panic began to ease, comforted by the circle of familiar faces.

And then… the nonsense began.

She blinked at nothing for a second. Then slowly, she smiled.

“ATINY…”

The boys paused.

“ATINY said…” she mumbled, voice dreamy, “…Hongjoongie-oppa told them… they’re not allowed to look at other oppas.”

Hongjoong, standing at the foot of her bed, tilted his head proudly. “Mm, that sounds about right—”

“But…” Y/N giggled suddenly, her cheeks blooming red.

The boys leaned in, curious.

“But…” she slurred again, head swaying slightly. “He didn’t say… we can’t look at his brother…”

The room fell dead silent.

Yeosang blinked. Mingi gasped. Yunho slapped a hand over his mouth. San froze in place.

Wooyoung broke first. He screeched, dramatically sliding on the wall. “NO. SHE. DIDN’T.”

“She’s talking about Bumjoong-hyung!” Mingi cried.

“Y/N, NO!” Seonghwa laughed, eyes wide.

Hongjoong stood there, stunned, hand on his chest like she’d just stabbed him with a knife.

“She really said—” Yunho was doubled over, trying not to choke. “She REALLY said—”

And before anyone could respond—

Y/N blinked slowly… eyes fluttered…

And she knocked out.

Dead asleep. Drooling. Smiling like she knew she didn’t just wrecked Hongjoong’s ego.

“YAH!” Hongjoong finally shouted. “Y–YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT TO ME AND FALL ASLEEP!”

His voice cracked at the end, pure betrayal written all over his face.

“She really aired you out and left you hanging,” Wooyoung wheezed.

“I’m going to call Bumjoong-hyung right now and tell him to BLOCK HER,” Hongjoong muttered.

“It’s too late for that ,” San grinned.

Hongjoong just pointed at her sleeping form. “This isn’t over. When she wakes up, I’m revoking her princess treatment. Gone.”

And yet… he still grabbed a blanket and gently tucked it around her.

Hongjoong just glared at all of them while Y/N slept peacefully, completely unaware she’d just shattered her captain’s pride with a single half-conscious sentence.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled under his breath, still betrayed.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

When Y/N finally woke up again, she groggily sat up, prompting two nurses to rush over and help her. Her steps were shaky, eyes barely open, and her hair a mess from all the tossing during sleep

“She’s still a little drowsy,” one nurse said gently. “But she kept asking for you all.”

The boys immediately jumped to their feet.

“Aigoo, our aegi’s awake,” Seonghwa smiled warmly.

“Aw, look at her. She’s barely functioning,” Mingi whispered like it was the most precious thing ever, watching her shuffle in.

But their teasing halted the second they saw how disoriented she looked. Seonghwa walked over carefully, hands outstretched.

“Hi, baby,” Seonghwa said gently.

But the moment her eyes landed on him—Y/N shuffled forward and latched onto Seonghwa like Velcro, burying her face into his chest with a content sigh.

“Gwaenchana?” he asked softly.

“…Tired,” she mumbled into his chest.

The boys cooed.

Except for one.

Hongjoong.

Arms crossed.

Eyebrow raised.

Staring at her like she committed a crime.

“…Why are you looking at me like I committed a federal crime?” she croaked, confused.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” he said, tilting his head. “Interesting.”

She blinked. “…What?”

“Should we show her the video?” Mingi called out from the other side of the couch.

“What video?” she sat up a little, now alert.

“Oh, sweetheart,” San said, peeking in with a grin. “You told all your secrets.”

“Secrets?!” she panicked. “What did I say?!”

“You cried about being left like a second lead in a K-drama who didn’t even get closure.” Wooyoung offered helpfully. “You said you were ‘a walking subplot with no arc.’”

“That sounds like me…” she mumbled.

“And then,” Yunho added, entering the room dramatically like it was a courtroom, “You said ATINY aren’t allowed to look at other oppas… because Hongjoong-oppa said so.”

Her face flushed. “…Okay well. It’s true, right?”

Hongjoong leaned in.

“You then said…” he paused, for maximum impact, “‘But… he didn’t say we can’t look at his brother.’”

Y/N froze.

Mouth parted.

Eyes wide.

“NOOOOOOOOOO—”

She threw her hands over her face and collapsed into Seonghwa’s neck like she could hide from her own shame. “There’s no way I said that. I didn’t say that. I REFUSE to believe I said that out loud.”

“Oh, it was loud,” Seonghwa said, adjusting his arm around her as she snuggled into his side. “Crystal clear.”

“Verbatim,” Yeosang added, playing with the small yellow ball on his palms.

“And then…” Wooyoung giggled, “You fell asleep like this—” he mimicked her with closed eyes and a smug little smile, “‘Bumjoongie-oppa… heehee…’”

“I’m going to pass away,” Y/N groaned.

Hongjoong just stood there, fake wounded. “After all we’ve been through… That’s how I find out I’ve been side-eyed for my own brother.”

“I WASN’T EVEN CONSCIOUS!” she defended.

“You were honest,” Mingi corrected.

With a dramatic huff, she peeled herself away from Seonghwa’s side, limbs dragging like she was heading to her own execution. On shaky legs, she made her way over to Hongjoong and promptly flopped into his lap, clinging to him like a koala with a guilt complex.

“I was under anesthesia and clearly out of my mind,” she said, eyes wide with fake innocence. “You know I love you. Not your brother. Definitely not your brother. Like—95% sure. The rest was pharmaceutical betrayal.”

She peeked up at him, pout locked and loaded.

“Oppa,” she whispered, grabbing his hand as she looked up at him. “Please.”

“…You love me more than Bumjoongie?” he asked, dead serious.

She narrowed her eyes. “Well…” she started, but immediately trailed off the moment she met Hongjoong’s very serious death glare. Their eyes locked for a long, tense second—until she blinked and looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor.

He looked away too. Jaw tight. As if her gaze alone had personally offended him.

She swallowed.

“…He is handsome though,” she muttered under her breath.

“Mworago?!” Hongjoong snapped his head toward her so fast it nearly gave him whiplash.

He turned slowly to the others, expecting backup—only to find Yunho, Mingi, San, and Seonghwa already laughing, Yeosang covering his mouth to hide his grin, and Wooyoung giving a single, slow nod like, “I mean… she’s NOT wrong though.”

“Ha… ha…” she laughed nervously, practically sweating.

She huffed, words tumbling out in a panic. “Did he write our songs? No. Did he lead us through every comeback, every practice, every breakdown? Also no. Only you, Joongie. Always you.”

She grabbed his hand tigher, eyes wide. “You’re my favorite Kim brother—I swear.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then sighed… dramatically. His arms came around her anyway.

“Fine. You’re forgiven. But if I even hear the syllables ‘bum’—”

“I’m changing his contact name to ‘He Who Must Not Be Named,’ I promise,” Y/N mumbled, kissing his cheek.

The room erupted—San nearly launched off the couch, Wooyoung wheezing as he smacked him mid-laugh, Yunho clapped like it was an encore stage, Mingi full-on screamed into a pillow, and Seonghwa and Yeosang were laughing helplessly along.

“…Can I still text him—”

“NO.”

And Hongjoong? He was still petty about it.

But deep down?

that piece of me that never left, has much to see- to not regret

You don't know when it started, only that somewhere between touring and having comebacks, everything changed. It was like their love disappeared without a warning. And now, when they speak to you, the look in their eyes twists your insides. It isn't love anymore...

It's pity.

When Seonghwa asked you out after a recording, you couldn't hide your excitement. Finally, a real date with your lover. You came out dressed up, heart racing with anticipation, only for it to shatter the moment you two entered the same recording room. You should have known then. There were no compliments. no kiss. not even the usual door opening.

" yn... we should...we should break up."

The words barely finished leaving his mouth before tears burned at your eyes. You wiped them away harshly, almost angrily, refusing to let him see. You couldn’t look at him. Not when the embarrassment was already clawing its way up your throat, not when you suddenly felt ridiculous standing there all dressed up.

Dressed up to be discarded.

The realization hit so hard it made you nauseous. Your stomach twisted, anxiety crashing through your body in suffocating waves until it felt like you might actually be sick. Your ears rang, your chest tightened, and Seonghwa’s voice faded into a dull, distorted hum, words spoken to you, but no longer meant for you.

" i promise it's not you, yn. i just fell out of love, and you know.. i would still love to be friends with you.."

You stopped listening after that. Your head nodded on instinct, a hollow agreement to words that didn’t register. You could’ve been anywhere else, anywhere but here.

Your fingers betrayed you, picking at your skin, nails digging in as you wrapped your arms around yourself like that might hold you together. It didn’t. It barely slowed the shaking.

Your mind turned cruel instead.

Did you gain weight and just not notice? Did he notice first and decide not to say anything?

Had you laughed too loudly, talked too much, taken up too much space?

Were you too public with Hongjoong, too obvious, too careless, forcing Seonghwa to stand on the sidelines until resentment curdled into indifference?

Or worse, had you made him feel replaceable?

Had you texted too little? Asked for too much? Loved him in a way that felt heavy instead of easy?

Maybe this wasn’t sudden at all. Perhaps he’d been falling out of love for weeks, months, every smile forced, every touch an obligation, every “I love you” said out of habit while you stood there believing it.

You swallowed hard.

Because if he could fall out of love this easily, then maybe the problem had never been when.

Maybe it had always been you.

Seonghwa placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you back into the room. You looked up, and whatever fragile part of you was still holding together finally gave way.

Pity.

That was all that stared back at you. Not love. Not regret. Just that careful, sympathetic look people give when they’ve already moved on and you’re the unfortunate thing they’ve left behind.

You jerked away from his touch instantly, your body recoiling on instinct, like his hand had burned you. Revulsion twisted through you, sharp and humiliating. Hurt flickered across his face, brief, startled, before he smoothed it over, already understanding. Already adjusting.

“Do you want me to—”

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered.

The lie trembled its way out of you, thin and brittle, barely recognizable as your own voice. You didn’t wait for him to answer. You couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you, like something fragile, like something finished.

You turned and walked out of the recording room, the door closing behind you with a sound that felt far too final. Your legs felt hollow, your chest tight and aching, breaths coming shallow and uneven.

It felt like forever before you reached the dorm. Every step dragged, every breath too heavy, like your body was already giving up on you.

When you stepped into the living room, the sight stopped you cold.

Your other lovers were sprawled on the couch, a movie playing on the screen, the same one you’d begged to go see. The one they’d turned you down for. Schedule issues, they’d said. Maybe next time.

And yet here they were.

Watching it without you.

The hurt stacked on top of everything else, sharp and sudden, stealing the little air you had left. Your chest tightened, thoughts spiraling faster than you could stop them.

Had they lied to you?

Had it been easier to exclude you than admit they didn’t want you there?

Was this how it started, quietly, casually, without a conversation?

The question lodged itself deep, ugly and unforgiving.

Did they fall out of love with you too?

Or were you the only one who hadn’t noticed you were already being left behind?

It was just you and Yunho in the practice room.

He was helping you with a move you couldn’t quite get right, one you’d never felt confident doing to begin with, not when they decided to have you partnered with Seonghwa. Not even a month had passed, and it already felt like they were rubbing salt straight into an open wound.

“Hey… can we actually talk, Yn?”

You froze. Your body went stiff, movements halting mid-step as you nodded slowly. Your breath was already uneven, chest tight as you tried and failed to steady yourself.

But it didn’t matter. Yunho stole the air from your lungs before you could find your footing.

“I know Seonghwa hyung broke up with you, and I…” He hesitated, just long enough to make it worse. “I was also thinking we should too.”

The room felt too big all of a sudden. Too loud. Too empty.

Another one.

You stood there, staring at him, the realization settling in with sickening clarity. This wasn’t a conversation. It was a pattern. A line forming. One by one, quietly and gently, they were deciding you were no longer worth the effort.

Yunho lifted a hand toward you, hesitating like he thought you might still let him.

You stepped back.

No words. No expression. Just distance.

The space between you felt deliberate, final. The kind that couldn’t be crossed without doing more harm. Yunho noticed, of course, he did. His hand faltered midair before dropping back to his side, the reality of it hitting him all at once.

And the worst part wasn’t the breakup.

It was the certainty settling in your chest that this wouldn’t be the last.

You sat at the dining room table, headphones on, pen moving relentlessly across the page as you poured your heartbreak out in ink. The music blared loud enough to drown out the world until something made you pause it.

You hadn’t even taken the headphones off yet when you heard it.

Your name.

Your breath hitched instantly, chest tightening at the sound of it. In the way Seonghwa’s and Yunho’s names followed right after, stitched into the same sentence, as if it were already common knowledge. Like it was already settled.

“They broke up with Yn… can you believe that?” San said, concern threaded through his voice.

Wooyoung scoffed softly. “Yeah. Seonghwa hyung said he fell out of love. And Yunho said she didn’t give him enough attention,” he continued, tone sharpening. “Which I thought was really rude.”

The words sank into you slowly, each one finding a weak spot you hadn’t managed to armor yet.

Didn’t give him enough attention.

As if love were something you’d neglected. As if this was a failure you could’ve prevented if you’d just tried harder, noticed sooner, been better.

Grabbing your notebook off the table, startling the two as they watched your figure retreat. They had a sinking feeling that things were going to change.

and it wasn't going to be for the better.

You kept your distance from Seonghwa and Yunho after that, not out of anger, not even hurt, but something colder. Detached. Like whatever tether had once existed had finally snapped, leaving nothing worth reaching for.

Instead, you clung to Yeosang and Wooyoung. Quietly. Desperately.

They became your refuge, not because they asked to be, but because they didn’t push. They didn’t demand explanations or offer reasons. They just stayed while you unraveled in pieces.

You cried into them until your chest ached, until your throat burned raw. Apologies slipped from your trembling lips over and over again. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’ll do better, I promise I won’t be like this for long, as if your heartbreak were something you needed to atone for.

And even as they held you, even as they whispered reassurances, a quiet truth settled deep in your bones:

You were learning how to survive by loving less.

You were asleep on Mingi’s chest, his hand moving in slow, absent circles against your back as he scrolled through his phone. He knew you’d been hurting ever since Yunho and Seonghwa had broken up with you so close together, leaving barely any time to breathe between losses.

And with that weight sitting heavy in his chest, the thought took root.

He wanted to break up too.

Not because of you, god, no. Never because of you.

He was so hopelessly, painfully in love that it terrified him. Terrified him that no matter how tightly he held you, how carefully he loved you, he would never be enough to fix what others had broken. That he’d only end up being another disappointment you carried quietly.

So he made the decision alone.

When you were overseas, busy promoting your new solo album, smiling for cameras, standing under bright lights with no one close enough to see the cracks, your phone buzzed.

Mingi’s name lit up the screen.

And with one message, gentle and apologetic and devastating in the way only love can be, he broke up with you from thousands of miles away, leaving you to read it alone, in a foreign place, realizing that even the people who loved you most were choosing to let you go before they could hurt you any further.

You called Hongjoong the second you shut the hotel room door behind you.

Makeup streaked down your face as soon as he answered, your reflection in the dark screen barely recognizable. He spoke softly, urgently, trying to soothe you, grounding words spilling from him like they could hold you together if he just said the right thing fast enough.

They didn’t.

You were hiccupping, breaths sharp and uneven, fingers clutching the edge of the bed like it might keep you upright. Every attempt to calm down only made it worse, your body betraying you over and over again.

“Yn hey, hey, breathe with me,” Hongjoong pleaded, voice breaking just slightly when you didn’t respond.

All he managed to piece together through the sobs was one thing.

“Mingi… broke up…,” you choked out.

And then

nothing.

The call ended.

Hongjoong stared at his phone, your name still lit up on the screen, the silence louder than anything you’d said. Half a story. No explanation. Just the aftermath of something that had shattered you mid-breath.

And somewhere, alone in a hotel room thousands of miles away, you slid down the door with your phone clutched in your hand, heart breaking in real time, with no strength left to explain it to anyone.

Months after you returned from your solo promotions, you went on hiatus. Quietly. No explanations that felt real enough, no reassurances you believed yourself.

You moved out soon after, putting distance between you and the boys like it was the only way to breathe without reopening wounds that never seemed to close.

Where you once cried into Wooyoung’s shoulder, where Yeosang used to sit beside you in silence and let you fall apart without questions, there was nothing now.

Just you.

You cried alone in your bed, the apartment too empty, too still. No familiar footsteps in the hallway. No voices bleeding through walls. Just the hum of the city outside and the weight of everything you’d lost settling into the quiet.

The loneliness wasn’t sharp anymore.

It was dull. Constant.

The kind that sank into your bones and stayed there, teaching you how to grieve without witnesses, how to hurt without reaching for anyone, because reaching had only ever ended the same way.

Alone. Again.

Jongho was the last one you expected.

Maybe because he’d stayed quiet through everything. Maybe because he never made promises he couldn’t keep, never loved you loudly enough to make you doubt it. He was steady. Careful. Safe.

Which made it worse when he asked to see you.

He didn’t sit too close. Didn’t touch you. He looked at you the way people do when they’ve already made a decision and are just bracing themselves to say it out loud.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped. Not sharp, heavy. Like your body already knew where this was going.

“But I think… staying would hurt you more.”

You waited for the explanation. For the but. For the reassurance that this wasn’t about you.

It never came.

He told you he didn’t know how to love you without watching you fall apart. That every time you smiled, he wondered how much of it was real. That he felt selfish holding onto you when you were clearly still bleeding from everyone else.

“You need time,” he said. “And I don’t think I get to be part of that.”

You nodded. Of course you did. You were so good at that by now, accepting, understanding, making things easier for the people leaving.

You didn’t cry in front of Jongho. You didn’t argue. You didn’t ask him to stay.

He was still talking, lips moving, voice probably gentle the way it always was but you couldn’t hear anything. The world had gone muffled again, like you were sealed behind glass. All you felt was numb.

When he tried to touch you, you stepped back on instinct. No hesitation. No apology. You opened the door and stepped into your apartment. Leaving Jongho hurt, worried, and still reaching for something you no longer had the strength to give.

You didn’t look back when the door shut between you.

Wooyoung stood in your kitchen, quietly cooking like he used to, like nothing had changed.

You sat on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself, watching the familiar shape of him move around the space that had started to feel too big for just one person.

It had been a while since you’d even seen him.

Messages you’d sent trying to make plans had gone unanswered. Weeks of silence stretching between you until you’d finally broken down and begged Hongjoong and Yeosang to send him over just this once.

One by one, they’d slipped out of your life.

You’d stopped talking to seonghwa, Yunho, Mingi, and now even san had quietly disappeared after Jongho left. like the last thread tying you to him had snapped, and everyone else had drifted with it.

The apartment felt heavier with that realization sitting in your chest.

Wooyoung set a plate down in front of you without a word, like he knew anything he said might shatter what little composure you had left.

And for the first time in months, you realized how quiet your life had become. not peaceful, not calm…

just empty.

The only sound in the room was the soft clink of utensils against the bowl, Wooyoung deliberately keeping his distance like he was afraid getting too close might break something fragile.

You both sighed at the same time.

You set your plate down, appetite long gone, eyes fixed anywhere but him as you pulled the blanket tighter to your chest, shielding yourself, guarding the tiny scrap of peace you still had control over.

“Yn-ah…” Wooyoung murmured.

You didn’t let him finish.

“If this is you breaking up with me too,” you whispered, voice thin but steady, “your things are in the closet.”

You stood from the couch before he could answer, already retreating, already preparing for the next loss like it was inevitable.

Wooyoung watched you go, something deep in his chest twisting painfully as he saw it clearly for the first time.

the cracks, the fractures, the quiet damage he and the others had left behind.

And the worst part wasn’t that you expected him to leave.

It was that you sounded ready for it.

Hongjoong and Yeosang exchanged a look, both of them silently trying to piece together how everything had unraveled so badly within the span of a year.

You used to be bright, so full of laughter, affection, and warmth that it felt impossible to imagine a room without you lighting it up.

Now, you felt distant even when you were right in front of them. Quiet. Guarded. Like something inside you had shut down and never quite come back online.

Your hiatus had started as a gentle step back, something everyone understood you needed. But months had passed, and the concern hadn’t faded, instead, it had grown.

Fans were starting to notice. Ask questions. Speculate.

And now even the CEO had begun asking what was going on, why you hadn’t returned, whether anyone had actually checked on you beyond surface-level reassurances.

The truth was harder to admit than either of them liked.

They didn’t know how to reach you anymore.

They didn’t know what words wouldn’t feel like pressure, or pity, or just another reminder of everything that had broken.

And for the first time since all of this began, they were forced to confront a terrifying thought: they might have waited too long to figure out how to help you.

“Baby, we’re just so worried about you” Hongjoong started softly, his chest tightening when he heard the faint sound of you sniffle.

“And we promise we’re not going anywhere ” Yeosang added, only to be cut off by the brittle sound of your scoff.

“They said the same thing when we first started,” you croaked, your voice raw, throat aching from the sickness you’d hidden from them for far too long.

Yeosang didn’t argue. He just turned quietly toward the kitchen, already pulling out what he needed to make you soup, choosing care over words.

Hongjoong stayed close, pressing tissues gently into your hands.

“We’re still trying to figure that out too, baby,” he admitted, voice low and honest. “But Yeosang and I… we still love you. We don’t have any plans on leaving.”

His fingers brushed your hair back from your face, the touch cautious, like he was bracing for you to pull away.

Instead, you leaned into it, just slightly.

You tried to blink the tears back, tried to keep them contained, but they spilled over anyway, hot and relentless.

You turned away from Hongjoong, hiding your face in your hands as the first sob broke free from your chest. Then another. And another, until you couldn’t stop them anymore.

Hongjoong didn’t hesitate. His arm wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close, his hand moving slowly up and down your back in steady, grounding motions as you cried into him.

Yeosang moved to the other side of you, his hand going to your lap. all you could do was cry. You cried like something inside you had finally given permission to break.

Months of swallowed grief, of forced composure, of pretending you didn’t need anyone spilled out all at once as you clung to Hongjoong.

It wasn’t just the heartbreak.

It was the relief.

The comfort you’d denied yourself.

The warmth you’d been starving for.

The touch you’d craved so badly but had been too terrified to reach for.

Because losing the others had taught you something cruel: that love could leave quietly, gently, without warning.

And the thought of losing the last two people who still chose you, Hongjoong and Yeosang, had been enough to keep you distant, guarded, half-present in your own life.

You’d convinced yourself it was safer not to need them.

Because somewhere along the way, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be unloved…and you were terrified of remembering.

When your breathing finally steadied, you wiped at your nose with the back of your hand. Yeosang quietly handed you another tissue, and you took it with a small, embarrassed nod. “Thanks…” you mumbled.

A heavy pause settled before you spoke again, voice small and worn.

“I’m sorry… for being so emotional.”

“Oh, baby…” Hongjoong murmured gently. “Don’t apologize. We’re here. Yeosang and I are still here. And we’re not going anywhere.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands, twisting the tissue between your fingers.

“That’s what everyone else said,” you whispered, voice cracking again. “And look… I’m all alone again.”

“Wrong,” Yeosang said softly, but firmly. You glanced up, surprised by the steadiness in his tone.

“You’re not alone again,” he continued, eyes warm but unwavering. “You’re forgetting Hongjoong hyung and me.”

“I can’t speak for the others,” Yeosang said quietly, voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “But Yn… I meant it when I said I love you. I don’t see myself with anyone else. And if that means still sharing you with hyung… I’m okay with that too.”

Your vision blurred again, tears slipping free before you could stop them.

“I love you, Yn,” he repeated, softer now. “We love you. Both of us. More than you think. So please… don’t push us away. No matter how scared you are.”

A hand squeezed yours gently, grounding you before you could retreat into yourself again.

“We’ll reassure you every day if we have to,” Hongjoong added, voice low but certain. “As many times as it takes for you to believe it.”

Your weight hit them hard enough that Hongjoong had to brace his feet, but neither of them faltered. Not for a second.

Hongjoong’s arms wrapped around your shoulders first, firm and grounding, one hand cradling the back of your head as if shielding you from the world. Yeosang followed a heartbeat later, his arms slipping around your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between the three of you.

You broke then.

Not the loud, gasping sobs from before, but the quiet kind. The kind that shook your whole body in tiny tremors, breath stuttering against Hongjoong’s chest while your fingers twisted desperately into the fabric of Yeosang’s shirt like you were afraid they might disappear if you loosened your grip.

they held onto you tightly, and you knew then that you’re still loved.

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—The crowd moves like a river, thick with tourists and businessmen, all too absorbed in their own lives to notice you. Perfect. You slip through the bodies with practiced ease, brushing against a man in a suit just lightly enough to slip your fingers into his coat pocket. Your touch is quick, ghostlike. By the time he takes another step, his wallet is yours.

You don’t stop walking. Rule number one: never stop. Casually, you slip the wallet into your jacket and veer into a side alley. Only then do you let yourself exhale. Flipping it open, you scan the contents—credit cards, an ID, a few hundred in cash. Easy. Routine.

The thrill is always the same, a sharp rush that hums under your skin.

But you’re not done.

You step back onto the main street, eyes scanning for the next mark. That’s when you spot him.

A man stands near a sleek black car, phone pressed to his ear. His suit isn’t just expensive—it’s power wrapped in fabric. The kind of power that turns heads, that makes people step out of the way without thinking. His dark eyes flicker up, sharp and unreadable, before dismissing everything around him. He’s focused on the call.

A passing group provides perfect cover. You slip in close, your shoulder barely brushing his as your fingers work. The weight of the wallet slides into your palm so smoothly it almost feels too easy. Your heart pounds, but your face remains impassive as you keep walking, melting into the sea of people.

It takes fifteen minutes before you check your prize.

You’re perched on the steps of an old building, half-hidden in the shadows, when you pull out the wallet. It’s heavier than most. Your fingers flip it open, expecting cash, cards—maybe something extra.

What you find instead makes your blood run cold.

Black leather. Minimalist. Inside, an ID stares back at you. The name is one you’ve only ever heard in hushed whispers, in stories told between thieves who knew better than to try their luck.

Kim Hongjoong.

You don’t need to read the rest. Your fingers are already shaking. The emblem on the card is enough—a symbol of the underworld, of power beyond money. A name that commands fear.

You just stole from the most dangerous man in the city.

Your pulse is hammering now, cold dread settling in your stomach like a stone. You’re good—one of the best—but even you know there are lines you don’t cross. Kim Hongjoong isn’t just another rich bastard flashing wealth like a target on his back. He’s the kind of man who has people dragged off the streets for less than this.

And you just made yourself his problem.

Your first instinct is to return it. Just slip back through the crowd, drop it at his feet, walk away before he even notices. It wouldn’t undo what you did, but maybe—just maybe—it’d buy you a few extra seconds of life.

Before you could turn around and fix your mistake, you hear footsteps. Not the usual aimless shuffle of the street.

"She must’ve gone this way."

A voice, low and sharp, cutting through the noise of the city.

"Spread out. Don’t let her slip past."

"Hyung said not to make a mess. Just get her."

They’re already looking for you. Your pulse spiked, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Without hesitation, you tossed the wallet onto a rusted barrel near the alley’s entrance and bolted.

Your feet hit the ground hard as you sprinted down the alley, boots skidding slightly against the damp pavement. A pipe jutted out from the wall ahead—low enough to grab. Without breaking stride, you jumped, gripping it tight, muscles straining as you hoisted yourself up. You swung over, landing on a fire escape, the metal groaning under your weight.

A second later, footsteps thundered into the alley you’d just been in.

"Fuck—where did she go?"

"Check the sides. She couldn't have—"

"Up there!"

Shit.

You climbed the fire escape two steps at a time, your breath coming in sharp exhales. The city stretched out before you as you reached the roof, neon lights bleeding into the night sky. No time to admire the view. You took off, your legs burning as you sprinted across the rooftop.

Behind you, the sound of pursuit. Metal rattling. Footsteps heavy against concrete. They were following. You could hear their curses, the way they moved with precision.

You leaped to the next building without hesitation. The drop between them was sharp, an alley yawning below, but you barely felt it. Your hands hit the edge, fingers scraping as you pulled yourself up. The moment your feet touched the rooftop, you ran again, weaving between rusted vents and old signs, each movement instinctual, each decision made in the space of a heartbeat.

Another gap ahead. Wider this time. You forced your legs to push harder, faster. The city blurred, wind cutting against your skin as you jumped.

Your foot barely caught the ledge. You scrambled, fingers digging into the rough surface.

"She's over there!"

Damn it. They were still behind you. But you had distance. You could still make it—

A gunshot rang out.

Your body reacted before your mind did, dropping low just as a bullet sparked against the metal vent beside you. They weren’t aiming to kill. Not yet. A warning shot. A reminder that you were running out of time.

You had to get off the rooftops. Fast.

You spotted a lower building to your left, a stack of crates leading down. Without a second thought, you veered off course, sliding down the side, your boots landing hard against the wood before jumping to the next level. The moment you hit the ground, you took off into the maze of alleyways.

The streets twisted and turned, shadows stretching long under flickering streetlights. You weaved through them, ducking behind dumpsters, slipping between narrow gaps between buildings. The sound of pursuit never faded. Heavy footsteps. Low voices barking orders. They weren’t giving up.

You turned a sharp corner, only to halt. A figure stood in your path.

The dim light barely illuminated him, but you saw the way he stood—calm, patient. Not out of breath like you were. He had been waiting for you.

Dyed red hair, catching the faint glow of the streetlamp. You couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but it didn’t matter. The way he held himself told you everything you needed to know. He worked for him.

Your body reacted before you could think. You spun on your heel, ready to bolt in the other direction—

But then another figure emerged from the darkness.

He was tall, dark hair tousled from the chase, sharp eyes burning with something dangerous. His presence was heavier, more imposing, like a wall of sheer force. The way he carried himself was different—broader shoulders, longer strides. Even standing still, he looked like he was hunting.

Your instincts screamed at you to move, to fight, to do anything but stand there like a deer caught in headlights. You turned sharply, ready to try your luck past the first man, but the second you stepped forward—

Something struck the side of your head, and the world tilted. Your vision blurred, the edges darkening. You barely registered the way your knees buckled, the sensation of the cold pavement meeting your skin. The last thing you heard was the sound of footsteps drawing closer, then darkness.

—The first thing you felt was the ache. A deep, pulsing pain at the side of your head, radiating down your neck. The second thing you felt was cold—metal biting into your wrists, the sharp edge of a chair digging into your back.

You blinked. The world came back in pieces. Dim lighting. A concrete room. A single table in front of you, sleek and empty except for a glass of water placed just within reach. Your hands—chained. Thick metal cuffs locked around your wrists, fastened to the table.

Panic clawed at your chest, but you forced it down.

Then, the door creaks open. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the room. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Kim Hongjoong.

He walked in like he owned the air in the room, like the walls themselves bent to his presence. Sharp suit, rings glinting under the dim light. He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned against the table, tilting his head slightly as he studied you.

"You gave my men a bit of a workout," he said casually.

You didn’t answer. He sighed, almost amused, and finally lowered himself into the chair across from you. He moved slowly—not out of laziness, but control. Like a man who knew he had all the time in the world.

"You know who I am," he continued, tapping his fingers against the table. "That makes this easier. Saves me the trouble of introductions."

He exhaled through his nose, noticing you were quiet, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Smart. You’re not talking. That’s good. Means you’re thinking."

Your fingers curled slightly against the cuffs, but you didn’t break eye contact. Don’t let him see weakness. Don’t give him anything.

Hongjoong leaned forward. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—gunpowder, blood, smoke—lingered around him.

"You stole from me," he said. "You ran. You made my men chase you. So tell me—why shouldn’t I put a bullet in your head right now?"

He said it so easily. Like he was asking what was for dinner. Like your life was just another business decision.

When you didn’t answer, he hummed lightly, dragging his fingers across the table. A small, absent-minded movement, as if he were thinking of a hundred different ways to break you.

"You’re not dead yet," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "That means I see value in you."

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. "And if I don’t want to be of value to you?"

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then you’ll be of value to the bottom of the Han River."

A chill ran down your spine. There was no malice in his voice. No anger. He meant every word.

Hongjoong exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "I’ll give you some advice," he said. "People who sit in that chair? The ones who talk too much usually end up screaming. The ones who talk too little?" He tilted his head. "Well. They usually don’t get a second chance."

His fingers tapped against the metal cuff on your wrist. "But you?" His voice dropped lower, softer.. "You’re different, aren’t you?"

He let the words settle, watching you. Then, he leaned back, exhaling like this was all just mildly inconvenient for him. "So. Let’s get to the point."

"You’re good," he said. "Too good to waste. That little stunt you pulled? Impressive. Cost me time, men, resources." He shook his head slightly, clicking his tongue. "Which means you owe me."

You have two choices," he continued, completely unfazed. "You work for me."

He smirked. "Or I put you in the ground."

The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. You barely heard the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance.

"And before you think about the third option," he added, smiling slightly, "let me remind you. No one gets away from me. You run? I’ll find you. You fight? You won’t win."

You swallowed, fingers flexing slightly against the cuffs. His eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something colder.

"I don’t need an answer now," he murmured, standing up. "I’ll let you think about it."

He moved to the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder.

"But don’t take too long, sweetheart."

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room—with the weight of your own inevitable decision.

You stared at the metal cuffs around your wrists, the skin beneath them raw from how tightly they were fastened. The cold from the table seeped into your bones, and despite how still you were sitting, your pulse hadn’t slowed since Hongjoong walked out that door.

There were no cameras you could see, but you weren’t stupid enough to think they’d leave you completely unwatched. They were waiting. Letting you stew in your own thoughts. Letting you understand exactly how trapped you were.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think, to plan.

Escaping was impossible.

You didn’t know where you were, didn’t know how many people were guarding the place, didn’t even know if you were still in the same part of the city. Even if by some miracle you managed to slip out, Hongjoong made it painfully clear—you wouldn’t get away.

He had an army. Resources. Eyes everywhere.

And you?

You had bruises, a throbbing headache, and a death sentence hanging over your head.

You could try running anyway. Disappear. Change your name. Burn your fingerprints off if you had to. But men like Hongjoong? They didn’t forget. Didn’t forgive. They would hunt you down, and when they find you—because they would—it wouldn’t be pretty.

Which left two options.

Option one. You refused. You died. Simple.

Option two? You worked for him.

Got tangled in the very world you spent your whole life avoiding.

The underworld didn’t let people walk away. The only way out was a body bag. Once you were in, you belonged to them. No freedom. No future. Just the slow, inevitable march toward a violent end.

You didn’t want to die. Not today, at least.

And that meant—

The door opened again.

Hongjoong stepped back into the room, looking exactly the same—untouched, unfazed, as if the last conversation had been nothing more than a casual business deal.

He sighed, stretching slightly as he sat back down across from you. "I was hoping you’d try to run," he mused. "Would’ve been fun to chase you again."

You didn’t rise to the bait. His lips twitched, amused. "Nothing? You’re no fun, sweetheart."

The word was drenched in sarcasm, and yet the way it rolled off his tongue made your skin prickle.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow against the table. "Have you made up your mind, or are we going to sit here all night?"

Your throat felt dry. Your fingers curled against the cuffs, nails pressing into your palms.

You knew what you had to say. You just hated saying it.

You swallowed once, then forced yourself to give a small nod.

He smiled. "Smart girl."

He stood, moving around the table, and you tensed instinctively as he reached for the cuffs. The metal clicked, and just like that, you were free.

Hongjoong stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Welcome to the family, darling,"

—The meeting room was too fancy.

Dark oak table, expensive leather chairs, dim lighting that cast long shadows along the walls. It wasn’t what you expected from a place run by men who could kill without blinking. It looked more like a CEO’s office than a mafia hideout.

But the tension? The tension gave it away.

You could feel it the moment you stepped inside. Eight men sat around the table, and the moment they saw you, everything shifted.

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking over you like he was trying to read something between the lines. San and Wooyoung, sitting side by side, exchanged looks before Wooyoung smirked and muttered something under his breath. Yunho was drumming his fingers against the table absently, but his eyes weren’t relaxed.

Mingi, the one who knocked you out, was watching you with an unreadable look, while Jongho’s gaze was sharp, suspicious. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he didn’t trust you.

And then there was Yeosang. Sitting off to the side, legs crossed, scrolling through an iPad like he couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

Hongjoong strolled past you, heading straight for the head of the table. "Relax, boys," he said casually. "If I thought she was a threat, she’d already be dead."

"She’s still a thief," Jongho muttered, arms crossed. "I don’t trust her."

"Same," San added, though his tone was more amused than serious. "What’s stopping her from running the second we let her out?"

"Us," Hongjoong said simply.

You didn’t miss the way a few of them smirked at that.

Right. Running wasn’t an option.

Hongjoong settled into his chair, fingers tapping against the table. "I want to see what she’s really capable of," he said. "A test, if you will."

"The casino job," he continued, glancing around at the others. "She’ll do it alone."

The reaction was immediate. Wooyoung laughed. "You’re joking."

"You can’t be serious," Jongho muttered, eyes narrowing.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Yunho just exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

"She’ll have backup," Hongjoong said smoothly. "We’ll be watching. But I want to see how she handles herself."

Yeosang didn’t even look up from his iPad. "If she screws up, I’m not covering for her."

"I don’t expect you to," Hongjoong replied, unimpressed.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" you finally asked.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a smirk. "Steal something for me."

Of course.

"A casino in the city has something I want. A small USB drive—valuable information on it." He leaned forward slightly. "It’s kept in a private security room, heavily guarded. But I have a feeling you’ll figure something out."

"Try to pull anything," he added, "and you won’t make it out of the casino’s parking lot. Understood, sweetheart?"

You exhaled through your nose. "Crystal clear."

—The inside of the van was dimly lit, the glow from multiple screens casting an eerie blue hue over the space. You sat in one of the chairs, back straight, fingers tapping idly against your thigh as Yeosang secured an earpiece for you.

"Try not to break it," he said handing it to you.

Behind you, Yeosang settled back into his seat, eyes flicking over the monitors like he couldn’t be less interested in what was happening in real life. Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood near the front, buttoning up his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs like he wasn’t about to send you straight into the lion’s den.

"Listen carefully," he said, his voice smooth but firm. "For you to get inside the security room, you’ll need a passkey." He met your gaze, eyes sharp. "Only the personal bodyguard of the casino’s owner, Seojun, carries one. That means you’ll need to wait for Seojun to arrive—then get close enough to his guard to lift it."

"Once you have it, you’ll head to Seojun’s private office. The drive will be in his safe—somewhere behind the bar shelf. We don’t know the code, but we do know he’s a cocky bastard who keeps it written somewhere in the room."

Hongjoong straightened his tie. "Get the drive. Get out. Simple."

You scoffed. "Not as simple as you make it sound."

He smirked. "No. But I trust you’ll manage, sweetheart."

You exhaled, shifting slightly in your seat. The black dress they’d given you clung to your skin, sleek and elegant—perfect for a casino setting. Terrible for escaping.

"If you expect me to run in this," you muttered, tugging at the fabric slightly, "you should’ve given me a proper dress."

Hongjoong chuckled. "I think you'll manage, darling."

Easy for him to say.

A small beep echoed through the van as Yeosang pressed something on his tablet. "Alright, we’ve got eyes inside," he said lazily. "Seojun isn’t here yet, but the others are already in position."

Hongjoong nodded, then turned to you. "Time to go."

You took one last deep breath before stepping out of the van.

The casino loomed ahead—bright lights, luxury cars pulling up to the entrance, security stationed at every door. You slipped in smoothly, moving with the kind of ease that only came from experience. The moment you crossed the threshold, the noise hit—laughter, the chime of slot machines, the low murmur of expensive deals being made.

Mingi and Yunho near the bar, pretending to be absorbed in their drinks. Wooyoung at a poker table, laughing too loudly at something San had said. Jongho standing near the entrance, arms crossed, watching.

You were in. Now, all you had to do was get the job done.

—You had been winning.

That was the real tragedy here.

The game wasn’t even interesting anymore, but the rush of flipping the right card, the glint of irritation in the dealer’s eyes—it was fun. And you were raking in chips like you were born for this.

Then, just as you were about to go all in, Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Seojun just arrived. You’re up, sweetheart."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the pile of chips in front of you. "Damn shame. I was on a roll."

The dealer looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to play your turn. You flashed him a lazy smile. No use getting greedy.

With calculated ease, you leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes drift toward the entrance.

Seojun strolled inside like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. A sharp navy-blue suit, rings glinting under the casino lights, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. But your attention wasn’t on him.

It was on the man walking beside him.

Broad shoulders. Black suit. Cold expression. The personal bodyguard. And more importantly, the passkey clipped discreetly to his belt.

Simple in design, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. But you were.

"Try not to drool," Wooyoung’s voice cut in through the earpiece, amused.

You didn’t miss a beat. "Try not to cry when I outdo you, pretty boy."

Mingi’s low chuckle hummed through the comms. Wooyoung scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, just hurry up and do your thing."

You smirked, but your attention stayed on your target.

Seojun was already moving toward the VIP section, his guard following like a shadow. You pushed back from the table, grabbing your winnings, and made your way toward the bar instead.

The moment Seojun stopped to greet another guest, you moved.

One of the waitresses passed by, carrying a tray of expensive cocktails. You bumped into her—just slightly—just enough to send one of the glasses tipping. She gasped, catching it before it spilled completely, but the motion sent her staggering right into the bodyguard.

A sharp inhale as cold liquid spilled down his sleeve. He turned, annoyed, swiping at his jacket as the waitress flustered out apologies.

You moved then. A step forward. A brush of fingers. The passkey slipped free from his belt and into your sleeve in less than two seconds.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Passkey secured," you murmured under your breath, already making your way toward the back.

"Show-off," Wooyoung muttered.

—The office was too clean. Rich mahogany desk, sleek leather chairs, an expensive globe that definitely had some hidden contraption inside. But your focus wasn’t on any of that. Your focus was on the safe.

It was exactly where Hongjoong said it would be—behind the bar shelf. A high-tech model, sleek steel, keypad glowing in the dim light. You crouched in front of it, exhaling slowly.

"Alright," you muttered to yourself, scanning the room. "If I were an arrogant bastard, where would I hide my secrets?"

You started with the desk—flipping through papers, checking drawers. Then the liquor shelf—bottles arranged in obnoxiously perfect symmetry. Nothing

You clenched your jaw, heart pounding a little faster. You didn’t have time for this.

"Hurry it up," Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Yeah, I totally wasn’t planning on taking my time and sipping some whiskey while I’m at it," you snapped back. You could hear Wooyoung laughing in the background.

Then, just as frustration was starting to creep in, your eyes landed on a small, glass plaque on the desk.

Seojun’s name, etched in gold. You picked it up, flipping it over and there it was. A small, handwritten note, barely noticeable.

7482.

You grinned. Idiot.

Moving quickly, you punched in the numbers, the safe letting out a soft click as it unlocked. You pulled it open, snatching the small USB drive from inside.

Done. Easy.

Then, Footsteps. Right outside the door.

Your stomach dropped. "Shit," you whispered.

"What?" Hongjoong’s voice came sharp through the earpiece.

"You said the guards weren’t supposed to check this floor for another two hours."

A groan. "They weren’t."

"Then tell me why they’re right outside the damn door?"

Then Jongho’s voice, cursing. "Where the hell is Mingi?"

Seonghwa gritted his teeth, "Gambling."

You almost choked. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Are we even surprised?" Wooyoung said, voice dripping with amusement. "I told you not to bring him to the casino. He always gets distracted."

"Shut up and get her out of there," Yunho muttered.

You weren’t listening anymore. The voices outside were getting closer.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching—anything. And then—

A window.

You ran towards it, pushing it open, cold air immediately slamming against your skin. The city lights stretched out below, cars honking, the distant murmur of life continuing completely unaware that you were about to risk breaking your neck.

Clutching the USB drive in one hand, you gripped the edge of the window, stepping onto the thin ledge. The wind was brutal, cutting through the fabric of your dress. Your heels scraped against the ledge as you tried to steady yourself—you stumbled, catching yourself at the last second.

A series of very creative curses spilled from your lips. Yunho scoffed. "Never heard anyone swear this much before."

San’s voice, slightly amused. "Where are you?"

You took a shaky breath, gripping the pillar beside you as your balance wavered.

"One step away from death."

—The team was already waiting by the van, gathered in a loose semicircle under the dim glow of the streetlights. The tension was thick, but not because they were worried. But because they were arguing.

"I told you—don’t bring Mingi to the casino."

"Okay, but in my defense—"

"There is no defense!" Seonghwa snapped, arms crossed, looking dangerously close to smacking Mingi upside the head. "You were supposed to be watching for security! Not—not placing bets on a damn poker table!"

Mingi shrugged, completely unbothered. "I was winning."

"You—!" Seonghwa inhaled sharply, turning away like he needed a moment to pray for patience.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, was losing it. Laughing so hard he had to lean against Yunho for support. "You were right, hyung. This is why we don’t bring him here."

"Like watching a child," Jongho muttered, shaking his head.

Yeosang, who had been silently scrolling through his iPad the entire time, finally looked up. "Where is she?"

"Maybe she sold us," San suggested, only half-joking.

Jongho scoffed. "Or maybe she got caught."

"Or maybe she died," Wooyoung added, grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Jongho tilted his head, considering. "Honestly, I’d prefer that over the first option."

"Wow, thanks," came a hoarse voice from behind them.

All eight of them turned in perfect sync.

There you were, leaning heavily against a metal pipe, completely disheveled. Hair a mess, dress wrinkled, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

Hongjoong blinked. "What the hell happened to you?"

You glared, lifting your hand. The USB drive dangled between your fingers. "I got the damn drive," you said, voice dry. "And almost died in the process, by the way. In case anyone cares."

"Nope," Jongho said immediately.

"Not really," Wooyoung added, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the drive into Hongjoong’s hand. "Next time, if you’re gonna send me on a mission, don’t let the walking skyscraper near a poker table."

"Hey," Mingi muttered. "It was a good game."

Hongjoong turned the USB over between his fingers, watching the way the dim light reflected off its smooth surface. He looked too pleased with himself, like he was holding a winning card no one else had seen.

You were still catching your breath when he finally spoke. "You know," he mused, voice casual, "this drive is useless."

Your heartbeat, still erratic from your near-death stunt, stumbled. "What?"

Hongjoong smirked, tapping the USB against his palm. "There’s nothing in it. It was a test."

Your body stiffened, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. A test? Your fingers curled at your sides as you processed.

The impossible ease of this mission. The predictable guard patterns. The fact that Hongjoong never seemed remotely concerned, even when you almost got caught.

"You’re telling me," you said slowly, voice colder than before, "that I just risked my life… for a test?"

Hongjoong gave a small tilt of his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "The casino belongs to us. Seojun works for me."

You felt stupid. A slow, creeping anger slithered into your chest. How did you not see it? It made sense. Too much sense.

"Don’t look so shocked," Yeosang muttered from behind his iPad, not even bothering to look up. "It was necessary."

"Yeah," Wooyoung chimed in, arms crossed, grinning. "We had to make sure you wouldn’t run or sell us out the second you got the chance."

Jongho let out a short laugh. "Would’ve been funny if she tried, though."

San shook his head, smirking. "Nah. She’s not that dumb."

"You sure?" Yunho teased. "She did almost break her neck back there."

A sharp, burning frustration coiled in your stomach. You wanted to lash out, to snap something reckless—but you bit down on your tongue.

They were still the men who kidnapped you.

But at the same time… you couldn’t exactly blame them. It was smart. If you had been in their position, you might’ve done the same thing.

"You all suck," you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Wooyoung grinned. "On the bright side, you’re not dead."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to calm down.

"You got anything else planned for me?" you asked, voice clipped.

Hongjoong just smirked, slipping the USB into his pocket. "We’ll see."

With those two words, the conversation was over. The others started piling into the van, still amused by your reaction. You, on the other hand, were doing your best not to show just how embarrassed you were.

Without a word, you headed straight for the first seat—the one nearest to the door but furthest from them.

The van was huge, almost a mini-bus, with rows of seats stretching all the way to the back where the seven men sprawled comfortably. Too comfortably. Meanwhile, you sank into your seat, arms crossed, staring out the window like it personally offended you.

The van started moving.

Streetlights blurred past as you glared outside, jaw clenched. You still couldn’t believe it.

A damn test.

Every risk, every second of near-death, the whole mission—just one elaborate way to see if you’d run. And the worst part? It made sense. You were angry at them, but you were even angrier at yourself for not seeing it sooner.

A small scoff broke your thoughts.

You turned slightly—just enough to see Hongjoong leaning over the seat beside you, arms folded against the backrest, smirking.

"You look pissed," he mused.

"You don’t say," you muttered.

He chuckled, but instead of replying, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

Antiseptic cream.

You blinked at it before realizing—your palms. You hadn’t even noticed, but the skin was scraped raw, a painful souvenir from your little stunt on the pipes.

You hesitated, but then snatched the tube from him without a word.

Hongjoong didn’t move. Just stayed there, watching as you carefully applied the cream, the slight sting making you wince.

Finally, he spoke. "You handled yourself well tonight."

You scoffed. "Yeah, because I love almost dying for no reason."

Hongjoong hummed, clearly amused. "Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart."

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, you finished applying the cream, shoving the cap back on a little too aggressively before tossing it back to him. He caught it easily, rolling it between his fingers.

Just when you thought he was finally going to leave you alone, you saw him shrug off his suit jacket.

You barely had time to process it before he threw it at you. You blinked, staring down at the expensive black fabric now draped over your lap.

"You’re shivering," he said simply, pushing himself off the seat.

"I’m—" You stopped. Okay, fine. Maybe you were cold. The dress you were given was meant to look nice, not keep you warm.

Still, you rolled your eyes. "What, suddenly feeling generous?"

Hongjoong just smirked. "Don’t get used to it."

And with that, he turned, heading back to the others.

You exhaled, glancing down at the jacket in your hands. It smelled like cologne and gunpowder.

For a second, you considered leaving it there. But then you sighed and pulled it on, letting the warmth sink into your skin.

—The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the silence.

For a split second, you forgot where you were. The bed beneath you was too soft, the air too still, the faint scent of expensive cologne and leather lingering in the sheets. Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room was unfamiliar—but not in a way that made you panic.

Right. Hongjoong had given you a room.

Now that you were technically part of the team, you weren’t stuck in a cell anymore. The room wasn’t extravagant, but compared to some of the places you’d slept in before—abandoned buildings, dirty motel rooms, street corners when things got bad—it was more than enough. A clean bed, fresh clothes, a door that locked from the inside. That was already more than you ever had.

But your moment of peace didn’t last long.

A loud knock on the door made your body jolt into high alert, your instincts snapping back into place. Before you could even sit up properly, the door swung open.

"Wake up," a voice said flatly.

You blinked. Yeosang stood in the doorway, looking as unbothered as ever, one hand gripping an iPad, the other resting against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you like he was making sure you were still alive.

"Excuse me?" you muttered, voice rough from sleep.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hongjoong says to meet him at the practice arena. I’m just the messenger."

You frowned, trying to push yourself up, still groggy. "The practice what now?"

Yeosang sighed, clearly already over this conversation. "Training grounds, whatever you want to call it. Get up. He’s waiting."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, not bothering to make sure you followed..

You groaned, running a hand through your hair before dragging yourself out of bed. If you had any hope of keeping up with these people, you couldn’t afford to waste time.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself stepping into what could only be described as a personal fight club.

The underground practice arena was bigger than you expected—high ceilings, concrete walls, various training equipment scattered throughout. A boxing ring sat in the center, but what caught your attention was the man standing near the weights, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the wraps on his hands.

Hongjoong.

He wasn’t in his usual expensive suits today. Instead, he wore a loose black tank top and sweatpants, his toned arms on full display. He looked relaxed.

His gaze flicked up when he heard you approach, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Took you long enough."

You folded your arms, giving him a look. "I wasn’t exactly expecting an early morning brawl."

He chuckled, motioning for you to step closer. "You’re going to need to learn how to fight properly. Pickpocketing and running won’t always save you."

You huffed but stepped forward anyway. "I do know how to fight."

"Sure," Hongjoong mused, tilting his head. "But I want to see it for myself."

He gestured toward the ring, and you sighed, stepping inside. The second you did, the atmosphere shifted. It was just the two of you now.

"You think you can take me?" he asked, rolling his shoulders.

You smirked. "I think I can surprise you."

"Then try."

Your feet barely made a sound as you closed the distance, aiming straight for his ribs with a sharp jab. But Hongjoong wasn’t just fast—he was anticipating you. He sidestepped smoothly, barely shifting his weight before he was behind you.

"Too slow," he muttered.

You spun around, adjusting your stance. Fine. If speed wouldn’t work, you’d try something else.

This time, you faked a punch, using the momentum to aim a kick at his side instead. It almost landed—but Hongjoong caught your ankle with ease, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Clever," he mused, tilting his head. "But predictable."

He shoved your leg away, throwing you off balance. You barely caught yourself before hitting the mat, breath coming a little faster now. But you weren’t done.

Your fist shot toward his jaw, only for him to duck effortlessly, his body moving like he had all the time in the world. And then—before you could react—his foot hooked behind your ankle, and your world tilted.

A sharp thud echoed as your back hit the mat.

You barely had time to process before Hongjoong was on top of you, pinning you down with one knee pressing against your thigh, hands gripping your wrists. His face hovered dangerously close, eyes glinting with something between amusement and control.

"Not bad," he murmured. "But not good enough."

You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He smirked, clearly enjoying this.

"You rely too much on speed," he continued, voice unhurried, as if he wasn’t holding you down effortlessly. "And instinct. It works on amateurs. But against someone trained?" His grip tightened slightly before he let go. "It’ll get you killed."

The second he released you, you rolled onto your feet, muscles aching from the fall. You expected him to gloat, but instead, he simply dusted off his hands, tilting his head slightly.

"You want to learn?"

You hesitated for only a second before giving a small nod.

"Good."

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward. You barely had time to react before your chest nearly collided with his, breath hitching at the sudden proximity. His grip was firm, but not crushing. Guiding. Before you could flinch away, he spun you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms looping over yours in a controlled lock.

"Lesson one," he murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear. "Control."

Your muscles tensed on instinct. His hold wasn’t painful, but you couldn’t move. Every shift of your body pressed you further against him, the heat of his skin impossibly close through the thin fabric of your clothes.

"Getting caught in a hold like this means you’re already losing."

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides.

"Now," he continued, voice almost amused, "let’s see if you can get out."

You clenched your jaw, shifting your weight, trying to maneuver an escape. But Hongjoong’s grip was calculated—his arms tightening just enough whenever you tried to break free.

"Struggling won’t work," he murmured, his lips close enough that you felt every syllable. "Use their hold against them."

Instead of fighting his grip head-on, you shifted your stance, leaning into him rather than away. It was enough to make his weight shift, just barely—and in that split second, you twisted, slipping out of his grasp.

You stumbled back, chest rising and falling as you turned to face him.

Hongjoong just smirked. "Better."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again.

This time, he came at you directly, his palm pressing against your shoulder to push you off balance. You caught yourself before falling, swiping at his legs in retaliation—but he jumped back smoothly, anticipating you again.

"Too slow," he taunted.

Your frustration flared, and you lunged again—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion.

Before you knew it, he had twisted your arm behind your back, pressing you forward until your chest nearly touched the mat. His hand rested just above your hip, keeping you trapped in place, while the other held your arm firmly in position.

"You're fast," he murmured, low, almost mocking. "But you let yourself get frustrated. That’s a weakness."

You glared at the floor, lips parting slightly as you exhaled sharply through your nose. He was right. And that irritated you even more.

But before you could retaliate, Hongjoong suddenly let go. The second his grip loosened, you spun around—expecting him to step back.

He didn’t and you were suddenly too close. Your chest almost brushed his as you stopped abruptly, your breath catching in the tight space between you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Hongjoong wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing. He was just watching you, his gaze dark and steady, his breathing even. He was close. Too close. The weight of his body was warm, grounding, a sharp contrast to the chill of the gym air against your sweat-damp skin. Every small movement made you aware of just how little space there was between you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that—seconds, maybe longer.

"Get some rest," he murmured, stepping back. "We’ll try again tomorrow."

—The night was quiet—too quiet. Missions like these never went as planned, but tonight, something felt off from the start.

You stood with the others in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with gasoline and metal. The plan was simple: retrieve a shipment that belonged to them but had been stolen by a rival gang. Get in, grab it, and get out. No unnecessary bloodshed.

At least, that’s what you thought.

"Keep your comms open," Hongjoong murmured, adjusting the sleeves of his black jacket as he surveyed the surroundings. His voice was calm, but you’d been around him long enough to recognize when he was on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to move, his steps silent as he disappeared into the shadows. Yeosang stood beside you, scrolling through something on his damn iPad, completely unbothered. Jongho checked his gun, casting you a skeptical glance.

"Try not to mess this up, darling," Wooyoung teased through the earpiece, earning himself a smack from San.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the hidden blade strapped to your thigh. You didn’t need weapons. Your hands were fast enough. But something told you tonight might be different.

Then, just as Yunho signaled that the coast was clear, everything went to hell.

Gunfire. Loud, sharp, and too close.

"Fucking hell," Mingi cursed, diving behind a stack of crates as bullets rained down on you. The rival gang had been waiting. You had walked straight into a trap.

"Get down!" Hongjoong barked, shoving you behind a metal container as more bullets whizzed past. The others were already fighting back—Jongho and Seonghwa taking out enemies one by one with brutal efficiency.

You could handle yourself in a fight. You had to. Years of surviving on the streets made you quick on your feet, a ghost when you needed to be. You weaved through the chaos, using your knife to disable anyone who got too close.

But then you saw him.

A man—one of the rival gang members—cornering Yunho, gun raised. You moved before you thought.

You ran, tackling the man before he could pull the trigger. The impact sent both of you crashing to the ground. Your knife was against his throat in an instant.

The man’s eyes were wide, terrified. His breathing was ragged, a silent plea forming on his lips. Kill him. That’s what Hongjoong would expect. That’s what everyone would expect.

But you couldn’t.

Your grip faltered. The hesitation lasted a second too long.

Pain exploded in your side as the man’s fist collided with your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You stumbled, hand flying to your waist—he had a knife. You barely had time to react before he was on you again, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

A gunshot rang out. You flinched, but the bullet wasn’t meant for you.

The man collapsed, a clean shot to his skull. Hongjoong stood behind him, gun still raised.

Your chest heaved as you stared at the body, your mind racing.

Hongjoong’s jaw was tight as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet. His grip was bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he dragged you away from the fight.

"Move," he snapped, shoving you toward the exit.

The others were still fighting, but Hongjoong didn’t care. His priority was getting you the hell out of there.

The second you were inside the van, you ripped your wrist from his grip.

"What the fuck was that?" you spat, eyes burning with anger. The rest of the boys filed in behind you, panting, bruised, but alive. Wooyoung took the driver's seat, starting the engine.

Hongjoong turned to you, and for the first time since you met him, he looked furious.

"You hesitated," he said, voice dangerously low.

"I’m not a fucking killer," you snapped back, still breathing hard.

Hongjoong let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You think this is a joke?"

"I think you knew exactly what I was before you forced me into this mess," you shot back. "I’m a thief. I don’t kill people."

"You almost died," he growled, stepping closer. "Because you hesitated."

"It’s my problem," you hissed.

He was in front of you now, too close, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You," he said, voice like a blade against your throat, "are my problem."

"You don’t get to choose which parts of this life you accept," he continued, voice softer now but no less threatening. "If you’re with us, you do what’s necessary. Or you die."

You clenched your jaw. "I won’t cross that line."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, he chuckled—not amused, but something else.

"Then you better get faster, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Because next time, I might not be there to save you."

—The second the van stopped, you shoved the door open and jumped out first, ignoring the weight of their stares burning into your back. You could still feel Hongjoong’s words curling around your throat like a noose. You’re my problem.

No, I’m your damn thief.

Your boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as you stormed inside the building. The hallway was dim, only a few overhead lights buzzing faintly, casting long shadows against the walls. You barely registered the familiar space—just another reminder that you were here now. Trapped.

You reached your room, pushing the door open with too much force, and slammed it shut behind you.

Your breath was still ragged as you sat down on the bed, palms pressing into your thighs. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind the weight of what had just happened.

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the sheets as you tried to steady yourself. But no matter how many deep breaths you took, it didn’t erase the fact that you had frozen. That in this world, hesitation got you killed.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut.

Hongjoong.

Probably in his office, brooding like the dramatic bastard he was. You weren’t surprised. He was pissed, and for once, so were you.

A knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t in the mood. Didn’t matter. The door creaked open anyway.

Yunho.

Unlike the others, he didn’t lean against the frame with a smirk or crack a joke to lighten the mood. He simply walked in, calm and steady, shutting the door behind him before crossing the room and leaning against the dresser.

"You okay?"

You scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

Yunho didn’t react to the bite in your tone. He just crossed his arms, watching you for a moment before sighing.

"You’re lucky to be alive."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, thanks to Hongjoong’s great aim."

Yunho tilted his head slightly, as if debating what to say next. Then, he pushed off the dresser and sat down beside you on the bed.

"You know he cares about you, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "He cares that he’d lose his best thief."

Yunho huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe. But that’s not all."

Silence stretched between you. You refused to look at him, eyes trained on the floor, on your hands—anything but the truth in his words.

Yunho sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Look. I get it. I know what it’s like, the first time you hesitate." He paused. "The first time you have to make that choice."

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants.

"I don’t want to make that choice."

Yunho let that sit for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "You will."

You turned to look at him now, finally meeting his eyes.

"Because if you don’t," he continued, "you won’t survive here."

The words sat heavy in your chest.

"Just… think about it," Yunho murmured, standing up.

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "You’re good at what you do," he said, turning back to you. "But Hongjoong won’t always be there to save you."

Then, without another word, he left.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door, feeling the weight of everything settle on your shoulders.

—The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows against the walls. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside Hongjoong’s hand, his fingers tapping against the polished wood in a slow, irritated rhythm. His jacket was discarded over the chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned back, jaw clenched.

Seonghwa stood near the door, arms crossed. Unlike the others, he didn’t hesitate before speaking. "You’re being too hard on her."

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, not even looking up. "No, I’m being realistic."

"You’re being an ass."

That finally made Hongjoong glance up. His dark eyes glinted under the light, amusement flickering for a second before fading just as fast. "She hesitated, Hwa. Almost got herself killed. Almost got us killed."

Seonghwa sighed, stepping further into the room. "She’s not a killer, Joong. She’s a thief."

"And thieves who hesitate get caught. Or worse." Hongjoong’s voice was sharp, the words laced with frustration. He picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. "She needs to learn."

"She is learning." Seonghwa’s voice was firm, unyielding. "But you don’t train someone by throwing them into the deep end and getting mad when they drown."

Hongjoong didn’t respond right away, but the way his fingers gripped the glass just a little tighter didn’t go unnoticed.

"She’s not ready," Seonghwa continued, softer this time. "You and I both know that."

Hongjoong sighed, tilting his head back slightly, eyes closing for a moment before he finally set the glass down with a dull clink. "And what? I go easy on her?" He scoffed. "That’ll get her killed even faster."

"She’s strong."

"She’s stubborn."

Seonghwa gave him a pointed look. "So are you."

Hongjoong let out a dry chuckle, rubbing his temple. "She pisses me off."

Seonghwa smirked slightly. "Because she doesn’t bend to your will?"

Hongjoong opened his mouth, then shut it, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him.

Seonghwa sighed, finally taking a seat across from him. His voice was quieter now. "You saw what happened today. She couldn’t do it. And I don’t think it was just fear. That’s not who she is."

"And that’s exactly why she won’t survive here," Hongjoong muttered.

Seonghwa tilted his head. "Or maybe that’s why she will."

Hongjoong let those words hang between them, the weight of them settling in his chest. He didn’t respond, just reached for his glass again, taking another slow sip.

Seonghwa stood up. "Just… ease up a little." Hongjoong didn’t look at him.

"Why do you care so much?" Seonghwa pressed.

"I care about all of you." His voice was firm, immediate.

Seonghwa scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it." He took a step forward, eyes locking onto Hongjoong’s. "You don’t react like this with any of us. When one of us messes up, you get mad, sure, but not like this."

Hongjoong’s hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable.

Seonghwa took that as his cue to leave. But just as he reached the door, Hongjoong spoke again, voice quieter this time. "She needs to understand that hesitation is the difference between life and death."

Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder. "She will." A small pause. "But don’t push her to the point she stops trusting us altogether."

Then, without another word, he walked out, leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts.

—The knock on your door was sharp, deliberate—the kind that didn’t wait for an invitation. You barely had time to roll over in bed and groan before the door swung open, revealing Hongjoong standing in the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but you could still feel the weight of last night’s argument lingering between you.

"Get up," he said flatly.

You buried your face in your pillow. "Go away."

"You’re not getting a choice in this, sweetheart."

Your muscles tensed. You hated that nickname. It was never sweet—always mocking, always sarcastic. You sat up with a scowl, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "What do you want?"

Hongjoong leaned against the doorframe, the dim morning light casting shadows across his face. "If you refuse to kill, fine," he said. "But you need to learn how to shoot."

You frowned. "I have a knife."

His brow arched. "And if someone has a gun?"

You clenched your jaw. You hated that he had a point.

"Five minutes," he said before turning on his heel and walking off. Like he already knew you’d follow.

The shooting range was at the edge of the compound, hidden beneath an old warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside but was anything but. The space smelled of gunpowder and metal, the walls lined with various weapons. Hongjoong stood beside the table, checking the ammo in the pistol before sliding the magazine into place with a practiced ease.

You stood stiffly beside him, arms crossed, still annoyed that he’d dragged you here.

He handed you the gun, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. "You ever shot before?"

You snorted. "Do I look like someone who’s shot before?"

His lips twitched. "No. But it’d be nice if you surprised me for once."

You rolled your eyes and took the gun, but the second you raised it, he let out a sharp exhale.

"Wrong," he muttered. Then, before you could react, he was behind you.

You stiffened as his hands settled over yours, guiding your grip. He was warm—too warm. His voice was low near your ear, calm but firm.

"Loosen your shoulders," he said. His fingers ran along your arms, adjusting your stance. "You’re too stiff. You won’t hit shit like that."

Your jaw tightened, but you followed his lead. "Feet apart," he continued, nudging your foot slightly with his. "Bend your knees a little."

You exhaled slowly, adjusting yourself.

Hongjoong hummed in approval, his hands lingering a second too long before he finally stepped back. "Better," he said. "Now aim."

You lifted the gun again, trying to focus on the target ahead, but the weight of his stare was distracting.

"Relax your grip," he murmured. You adjusted your hold.

"Pull the trigger gently. Don’t jerk it."

You inhaled, bracing yourself before squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing through the range.

You missed. You groaned, lowering the gun.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, stepping forward again. Too close again. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, adjusting your aim. You could feel his breath against your cheek.

Your eyes flickered to his, only to realize he was already looking at you.

The space between you was barely there, his hand still over yours. The world outside the shooting range felt like it didn’t exist. For a split second, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Hongjoong cleared his throat and stepped back. "Try again," he said, voice carefully neutral.

You swallowed, gripping the gun a little tighter.

The shot rang out. This time, you hit the target.

Hongjoong smirked. "See? You might not be useless after all."

You glared at him. "Careful. I’m armed now."

He chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table. "You’re still a long way from being dangerous, sweetheart."

You scowled. But when you turned back to the target, your hands weren’t shaking anymore.

—The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You sat at the far end of the long conference table, arms crossed, staring at the blueprint of a luxurious penthouse sprawled across the surface. Another mission. Another mess you were being dragged into. The rest of the team was already gathered, some leaning against the walls, others sitting lazily in their chairs.

Hongjoong stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, rings glinting under the low lighting. "We need the ledger," he started, tapping his finger against the blueprint. "It’s in Kang Jisoo’s private office. Second floor, past security, locked behind a biometric safe."

You frowned. "That sounds impossible."

"It is," Yeosang muttered, scrolling through his tablet like he couldn’t be bothered to be here. "Which is why you two are going in as his guests."

You blinked. "Who’s ‘you two’?"

Hongjoong didn’t even look up. "You and me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wooyoung cut in, barely holding back a grin. "You’re telling me she and Hongjoong are going undercover as a couple?"

Your stomach twisted. "No way."

"You don’t have a choice," Hongjoong said smoothly, finally looking up at you. "Kang Jisoo only trusts couples. He has a soft spot for rich, in-love guests with money to burn. Any solo operatives would immediately raise suspicion."

San whistled, leaning back in his chair. "This is gonna be fun."

You ignored him, focusing on Hongjoong. "There has to be another way."

"There isn’t."

You gritted your teeth, heart pounding in frustration. This was the worst idea imaginable. You barely trusted Hongjoong, and now you were supposed to pretend to be some lovestruck couple?

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa. "Oh, this is gonna be hilarious."

Seonghwa shot him a warning look. "Stay focused."

Ignoring the others, Hongjoong pushed a sleek black envelope across the table toward you. "Inside are the details. Our identities, our backstory, and everything Kang Jisoo needs to believe we’re the real deal."

You hesitated before picking it up. Your new name was printed neatly on the first page. Below it, in elegant cursive—‘Spouse: Kim Hongjoong.’

You wanted to burn it.

"How long do we have before we go in?" you asked tightly.

"Three days," Jongho said, arms crossed as he leaned against the table. "Enough time to get your story straight and make sure neither of you slip up."

You exhaled through your nose. "This is a terrible idea."

Hongjoong smirked. "It’s an effective one."

Across the room, Yunho sighed. "Try not to kill each other before the mission starts, yeah?"

No promises.

—You sat stiffly on the couch, flipping through the file in your hands for what felt like the hundredth time. Across from you, Hongjoong lounged in an armchair, legs crossed, looking completely at ease. Of course he was. He wasn’t the one about to get grilled like a schoolkid cramming for an exam.

The others were scattered around the room, some leaning against the walls, others perched on furniture, all of them way too excited about this.

"Alright, lovebirds," Wooyoung grinned, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Let’s see how believable this marriage is."

You groaned. "This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous would be getting caught because you don’t know your own husband’s birthday," Yeosang muttered, still scrolling through his tablet.

You scowled at him, then flipped to the section labeled ‘Personal Details’. You were supposed to be married to Hongjoong for three years. Met at a gallery in Paris. He proposed on a yacht. All the details were laid out, but they felt foreign—like wearing someone else’s skin.

"Let’s start easy," Yunho said. "What’s your anniversary?"

You glanced down at the file. "April 14th."

Hongjoong hummed. "Good. Where did we go for our honeymoon?"

"Maldives," you answered smoothly.

Jongho leaned forward. "What’s his favorite drink?"

You paused. Shit. You had skimmed that part, assuming it wouldn’t come up.

Seonghwa sighed. "If you don’t even know that, how are you supposed to convince Kang Jisoo that you’re in love?"

You clenched your jaw, taking a wild guess. "Whiskey?"

"Wrong," Hongjoong said, tilting his head. "Negroni."

You glared at him. "Who even drinks that?"

"I do," he said smugly.

Wooyoung snorted. "This is gonna be a disaster."

"Alright," Seonghwa finally cut in, probably to save you from having a mental breakdown. "We should wrap this up. But you two need to get better at this. You slip up once, and the whole operation goes to hell."

"You memorized everything already, didn’t you?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at Hongjoong.

He merely smirked, tapping his temple. "I don’t like losing."

You swore under your breath. This was going to be a long mission.

—The morning of the mission, you were rudely awakened by a sharp knock on your door. You groaned, turning over in bed, pretending you hadn’t heard it. Maybe if you ignored it long enough, whoever it was would go away.

No such luck.

A second later, the door creaked open, and Seonghwa’s voice cut through the quiet. “Get up.”

You cracked open an eye to glare at him, only to groan again when you saw the bundle in his arms. A neatly folded, expensive-looking gown draped over his forearm.

“Oh, hell no.” You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “I am not wearing that.”

Seonghwa raised an unimpressed brow, stepping further into the room. “You’re infiltrating a high-profile event as Hongjoong’s fiancée. What did you expect? Jeans and a hoodie?”

“That would be ideal.”

Seonghwa sighed, tossing the dress onto the bed beside you. “You have twenty minutes to get ready.”

You scowled. “And if I don’t?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Then I’ll let Wooyoung come in here and dress you himself.”

You visibly shuddered at the thought. Wooyoung was many things—loud, irritating, way too smug for his own good—but above all, he was shameless. The last thing you needed was for him to burst into your room, waving around a curling iron and critiquing your ‘lack of class.’

“Fine,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “But if I break an ankle in this thing, I’m haunting all of you.”

Seonghwa just smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

The dress Seonghwa had given you was beautiful, sure—but it was also ridiculously difficult to put on. The deep emerald silk hugged your body perfectly, the slit high enough to allow movement but still elegant. The problem? The damn zipper.

You had been wrestling with it for the past five minutes, twisting your arms at unnatural angles, but it wouldn’t budge past the middle of your back. And, of course, in a house full of trained mafia members, none of them were exactly the kind of people you’d casually ask for help zipping up a dress.

You let out a sigh, debating if you could maybe just leave it halfway up when the door suddenly swung open without warning.

"You're taking forever," Hongjoong's voice came lazily as he stepped in, fixing his sleeve. "The car's ready, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence. You froze too, your bare back exposed to him as you stood in front of the mirror. Your hands instinctively gripped the front of the dress as if that would help, your breath catching in your throat.

His gaze locked onto yours through the reflection, his movements stilling completely. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His tie matched your dress. You noticed it then, how the color blended perfectly, how intentional it felt.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His hands, usually so confident and sure, were unmoving at his sides.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "Zip me up?"

For the first time, he hesitated. Then, as if snapping himself out of it, he stepped forward. His approach was slow, almost cautious. The heat of his presence behind you made your spine stiffen, every nerve hyperaware of how close he was.

His fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as he reached forward, gathering your hair and sweeping it over one side. His touch was gentle—so unlike the Hongjoong you were used to. No calculated moves, no teasing smirk.

You shivered, though you weren’t sure if it was from the chill or the sudden proximity.

He caught that, his lips quirked up for just a second before he reached for the zipper.

His knuckles skimmed against your spine as he pulled it up, the touch feather-light but enough to send an unfamiliar heat crawling up your neck. You kept your gaze locked onto the mirror, watching as his eyes followed the path of the zipper, his face unreadable.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away immediately. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary before he finally let go.

"You’re done," he murmured, voice lower than usual.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Hongjoong met your eyes in the mirror again, something unreadable flickering behind his usual sharp gaze. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you standing there, heart hammering in your chest.

—The van was gone. Instead, a sleek black car sat waiting in the driveway, its polished surface gleaming under the dim streetlights. Hongjoong stood beside it, leaning against the passenger door, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other toyed absentmindedly with his cufflinks.

"You take longer than I expected," he mused as you approached, opening the car door for you.

You didn't respond, still reeling from the moment in the room just minutes ago. Instead, you slid into the passenger seat, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you adjusted yourself. Hongjoong walked around to the driver's side, settling in with a practiced ease before starting the car.

The engine purred to life, and with a smooth motion, he pulled out onto the road.

The silence stretched between you, tense and unspoken. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon lights and dark alleys. The entire drive had an eerie stillness to it—something about being in a car alone with Hongjoong made the air feel heavier, charged in a way you couldn’t explain.

After a few minutes, he finally broke the silence. "Nervous?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it.

You turned to look at him, expression neutral. "Should I be?"

He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "You tell me."

You rolled your eyes and went back to staring outside. The drive stretched on, the atmosphere shifting between charged silence and occasional glances from Hongjoong that you pretended not to notice.

At a red light, he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head toward you. "This is your first mission as playing the role of my lover." His lips curled into a smirk. "Try not to look so disgusted by the idea."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "I’d rather not think about it at all."

His smirk deepened. "You're a terrible liar."

You didn’t have a response to that, mostly because he wasn’t wrong. The idea of pretending to be his lover wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but admitting that was out of the question.

The car slowed as you approached the mansion’s long, winding driveway, the wrought-iron gates parting as if they had been expecting you. You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as the reality of the mission settled in.

"Just follow my lead," Hongjoong murmured, his voice lower now, more serious. "And don’t forget—we’re supposed to be madly in love."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I’ll try not to die from the excitement."

He just chuckled under his breath, pulling the car up to the grand entrance. "Welcome to the show, sweetheart."

The mansion loomed ahead, bathed in golden light that spilled from the massive chandeliers inside. The grand entrance was framed by towering marble pillars, and beyond the open doors, the warm glow of crystal chandeliers reflected off polished floors.

Couples dressed in the finest attire flowed effortlessly into the event, their laughter and hushed conversations blending into the soft melody of a live orchestra. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey filled the air, wrapping around you like a second skin.

The second the car came to a stop, a valet stepped forward, bowing slightly before Hongjoong flicked the keys in his direction. "Don’t scratch it," he said smoothly, barely sparing the man a glance. The valet nodded, quickly taking the car and pulling away.

As you stepped out, the cool night air hit you, making you shiver slightly. The dress Seonghwa had picked was stunning, but practical? Not in the slightest. The slit ran high, teasing too much with each step, and the fabric clung in all the right ways, but the biting chill didn’t care about aesthetics.

Hongjoong rounded the car and came to stand beside you, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before extending his arm. "Shall we?"

You hesitated for half a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm, fingers grazing the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. It was meant to be a simple gesture, something natural for a couple walking into an event like this. But the second your hand settled, he pulled you closer—so close you stumbled, your heel catching on the stone pavement.

Before you could react, Hongjoong steadied you with a firm grip, his other hand coming up to press lightly against your waist. Your noses nearly brushed, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in ever so slightly.

"It has to look real," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes flickered over your face, sharp and unreadable, but something about the way he held you there made the world blur around you. The murmuring voices, the distant clinking of champagne glasses—it all faded.

You forced yourself to exhale, nodding slightly. "Right. Real."

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close. Then, with a final squeeze to your waist, he pulled away just enough to lead you forward.

Hongjoong’s grip on your arm remained steady, guiding you through the sea of people with practiced ease. He belonged here—he moved like someone who knew he was untouchable, every step controlled, every glance carrying weight.

You, on the other hand, were hyper-aware of everything. The way the air buzzed with hidden agendas. The way eyes lingered a second too long. And most importantly, the way Hongjoong's fingers pressed lightly against your waist, keeping you grounded in a room full of sharks.

"You’re doing fine," he murmured near your ear, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. "Just smile, sweetheart. Pretend you like me a little."

You let out a breathy scoff, tilting your head up at him just slightly. "That’s pushing it."

He only chuckled, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. "Fake it better, then."

Before you could roll your eyes, before you could even think of a sharp response, his arm slid away from yours—only to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement was smooth, natural, as if he had done it a thousand times before. And maybe he had, just not with you.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, and you knew he noticed. Of course, he did. His fingers pressed lightly into the fabric of your dress, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. He was claiming you in the most effortless way, a silent announcement to the room that you were his for the night. His date, his partner, his distraction—whatever story they wanted to believe, Hongjoong was letting them.

The shift in attention was immediate. People who had been subtly watching before were now openly glancing in your direction, curious murmurs hidden behind crystal champagne flutes. Some eyes lingered with interest, others with suspicion.

"Relax," Hongjoong murmured, his voice a soft hum against your ear. "You’re supposed to enjoy this."

Enjoy? The sheer audacity of him. But you knew better than to stiffen under the weight of so many watchful eyes. So, you did what you had to. You leaned in, just slightly, tilting your head toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're having way too much fun with this," you whispered back, your voice light, teasing, the way you imagined a woman in love would sound.

His thumb brushed against your waist, a barely-there touch, but enough to make your skin prickle. "If you’re going to play a role, sweetheart, you might as well play it well."

You smiled, a slow, knowing smile, tilting your chin up to look at him as if he had just whispered something sweet and not borderline condescending. The act was seamless, almost effortless, but it was still just that—an act.

"Lucky for you, I always play my roles well."

The words were meant to be smug, but Hongjoong only grinned, the kind of grin that said, we’ll see about that.

Hongjoong chuckled, amused, before taking a slow sip of his own drink. His eyes scanned the room, and you followed his gaze, recognizing the moment his expression sharpened ever so slightly. A man, mid-fifties, sharply dressed in a navy suit, was making his way toward you both.

Kang Jisoo. The owner of the estate. The man you were here to steal from.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the delicate glass in your hand, but you kept your expression relaxed, the same way Hongjoong did. His grip around your waist subtly shifted, his fingers pressing slightly firmer against your hip, almost like a silent command to stay still, stay calm.

"Captain," Jisoo greeted, his tone light, casual, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that said he didn’t trust easily. He looked at you next, his gaze dragging over you like he was trying to figure something out.

Hongjoong smiled easily, a practiced smirk that barely reached his eyes. "Jisoo, I was wondering when you’d find me."

Jisoo let out a small chuckle, but his eyes never left yours. "And who’s this?"

"This," Hongjoong said smoothly, "is my darling."

You barely had a second to react before he turned toward you, his arm still securely wrapped around you as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The touch was fleeting, but his breath lingered near your skin, warm, steady. A silent warning. Play along.

You exhaled slowly, schooling your features into something softer, something lovestruck, and turned your gaze to Jisoo. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Kang Jisoo," you said, voice smooth, perfectly polite. "My husband speaks highly of you."

Jisoo hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?" His tone was mild, but you could see the gears turning in his head. Suspicion.

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you took a risk. One that might make or break the illusion.

You turned to Hongjoong, resting your hand lightly against his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. Then, before you could second-guess it, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was brief, barely a touch, but when you pulled back, you caught the flicker of surprise in Hongjoong’s usually unreadable eyes.

Jisoo watched closely, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Hongjoong, to his credit, recovered fast. His grip on you tightened slightly, his hand sliding up your waist to rest just beneath your ribs. His smirk returned, this time more genuine.

Jisoo studied the two of you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, as if deciding to let it go. "Well, I hope you both enjoy the evening."

Hongjoong gave a short nod. "We will."

Jisoo walked away, but even as he disappeared into the crowd, you could feel the tension in Hongjoong’s posture. You glanced up at him, searching his expression.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "Do what?"

His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower, more calculated. "You’ll pay for that later, sweetheart."

—The grand ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft melody of a string quartet. But your mind was elsewhere—focused on the second-floor office, hidden past layers of security and surveillance.

Hongjoong’s fingers barely brushed yours as he subtly tugged you toward the far end of the room, away from the main crowd. It was seamless, the way he maneuvered you both, weaving through guests like this was just another stroll at a gala.

As you neared the hallway leading toward the restricted area, his voice was low in your ear. “Cameras shift every ten seconds. We take the blind spot and move when the waiter passes. Act natural.”

You nodded slightly, fingers brushing the stem of your glass. Just two lovers sneaking off for a moment alone. Nothing suspicious.

The moment the waiter moved past, you both stepped into the hallway, slipping behind a curtain leading to the back corridors. The noise of the party dulled instantly, replaced by the soft hum of the security system.

"Left," Hongjoong whispered, leading the way down the hall. The lights here were dimmer, meant only for staff, but it worked in your favor.

The door to Jisoo’s private office was at the end of the hall, a sleek black panel with a biometric scanner. Hongjoong pulled out a small device from his jacket, attaching it to the scanner’s side. A small light flickered red, working its magic to bypass the system.

“You always this prepared?” you murmured, glancing at him.

His lips twitched. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

A soft beep signaled the override, and the lock clicked open. Hongjoong pushed the door inward, stepping inside first, scanning the room before letting you follow.

The office was pristine—dark wood, leather, and a massive window overlooking the estate. But your focus was on the safe built into the wall behind the desk.

“Time’s ticking,” Hongjoong muttered, already moving toward it.

You kneeled, fingers brushing over the keypad. Biometric lock. You knew this already. That was why Hongjoong had procured a fingerprint mold beforehand. He handed it to you silently, eyes scanning the door as you pressed the gel-like material onto the scanner.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the lock clicked open.

You exhaled, reaching in for the file, fingers closing around the thick folder. Just as you turned to Hongjoong—

Footsteps.

Your head snapped up. Hongjoong’s gaze darkened, sharp and alert. The hallway outside. Close. Too close.

Hongjoong grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the corner of the room, where a barely-there gap between the bookshelf and the wall created the smallest possible hiding space. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, pressing both of you into the tight space.

You froze, barely daring to breathe. Hongjoong’s body was flush against yours, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm while your own heart pounded wildly. His arm curled around your waist, anchoring you against him, his fingers pressing firmly into the small of your back.

A flashlight beam swept across the room.

Hongjoong’s other hand moved—slow, deliberate. His fingertips ghosted over your lips, a silent command to stay quiet.

Your breathing hitched, eyes flickering up to meet his. Even in the dim light, you could see the sharp angles of his face, the way his gaze locked onto yours, unwavering. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but he didn't.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the soft hum of the security radio crackling from the guard outside.

Then, the light receded. The door shut again.

You swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how close you still were. Hongjoong’s fingers hadn’t moved from your waist. His breath was warm against your cheek, his hand still lightly brushing your lips.

Slowly, you reached up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away.

“We should go,” you whispered.

His eyes lingered on yours for a second longer before he finally stepped back, exhaling softly. “Yeah.”

You turned, pushing down whatever lingering feeling had settled in your chest, and crept toward the door. The hallway was clear now, the guards seemingly moving along with their patrol. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your nerves.

But as soon as you both stepped out, the sharp click of a safety being turned off made your blood run cold.

“Move, and I shoot.”

A guard stood at the far end of the hall, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes flickered between you and Hongjoong, narrowing with suspicion.

“Hands up,” he ordered.

Hongjoong, always smooth, barely even hesitated before lifting his hands slightly, his expression one of careful indifference. You followed suit, though your mind was already racing.

Hongjoong’s voice was eerily calm when he spoke. “Let’s not do anything rash. You don’t want to shoot. We don’t want to die. Let’s just talk—”

“Shut up.” The guard stepped forward, grip tightening around the gun. “I know who you are.”

Shit.

Hongjoong shifted slightly, positioning himself in front of you just the tiniest bit. The guard noticed. His lips curled.

“She’s important, huh?” he mused, taking another step closer. His gun tilted slightly, no longer pointed at Hongjoong’s chest but at yours. “I bet the boss would love to have a chat with her.”

You stiffened seeing Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. In the second that the guard’s attention was more on you, Hongjoong moved.

A sharp step forward, a twist of his wrist—his hand slammed into the guard’s arm, knocking the gun downward just as the trigger was pulled. A deafening crack echoed through the hallway as the bullet buried itself into the floor.

Then all hell broke loose.

Hongjoong was fast, but the guard was strong. They struggled, limbs tangling as Hongjoong fought for control of the weapon. Another shot fired into the ceiling. The sound was so loud in the enclosed space that your ears rang.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to do something—

But then it happened. The guard got the upper hand, twisting Hongjoong’s arm back with a sickening force. Hongjoong let out a sharp, pained grunt, his knees nearly buckling. The gun was turning, tilting—pointed right at him.

Before you could think, your fingers curled around the knife strapped to your thigh. One step forward. A swift, desperate movement. The blade slid between his ribs with no resistance.

The guard froze. His mouth opened—silent, stunned. Then, with a ragged exhale, he crumpled to the floor.

Dead.

The knife was still clutched in your trembling fingers, warm and slick. Blood coated your hands, thick and dark, staining your skin. It dripped onto the floor, pooling beneath the man who just seconds ago had been alive.

Hongjoong turned to you, rubbing his wrist, wincing slightly. But the moment he saw your expression—saw the way you were shaking, your eyes wide, horrified—he stepped closer.

“Hey—”

“I—I killed him.” Your voice was barely a whisper, strangled.

Hongjoong reached for you, but you stumbled back. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Too fast. The walls felt like they were closing in. The blood—it was everywhere. On your fingers, under your nails. You couldn’t breathe.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Hongjoong said, his tone gentler now, softer. He grabbed your wrist, firm but careful. “Breathe.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart slamming against your ribs. You couldn’t stop looking at the body.

“I didn’t—I don’t—I don’t kill people,” you choked out.

“I know.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “You had to. It was him or us.”

You shook your head, still gasping, still shaking. “I—I can’t—”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, then did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed both sides of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Breathe,” he ordered. “Focus on me.”

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, grounding you. His touch was warm, real. Not cold like the body behind you. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind.

“Listen to my voice,” he murmured. “You’re okay. You’re here. With me.”

You tried to match your breathing to his, tried to drown out the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Slowly, the panic ebbed, just enough for your vision to clear, for your lungs to expand again.

Hongjoong let out a breath of his own, relieved, but his hands didn’t move from your face. “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded weakly, still unsteady.

He let go, stepping back only to pull off his jacket. He grabbed one of your hands, rubbing the blood off with the sleeve before slipping the coat over your shoulders, covering the rest of it.

“You’re okay,” he said again, quieter this time.

You didn’t believe it.

But you let him pull you away.

—Hongjoong didn’t waste a second. The moment you were steady enough to move, he grabbed your wrist and led you away from the body, his grip firm but not rough. His pace was quick, urgent, his eyes flickering around the hallway to make sure no one else had heard the gunshots or the fight. The mansion was still alive with music and laughter, but it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the missing guard.

You barely processed anything as he guided you down the stairs, through the corridors, and out the side entrance. Your mind was still reeling, stuck on the image of the blood on your hands, the weight of the knife, the feeling of it piercing flesh.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “We’re almost there.”

The sleek black car sat at the far end of the driveway, out of the main view of the entrance. He didn’t let go of you, only releasing your wrist for a second to yank open the back door and toss the stolen file onto the seat. Then he turned back to you, his eyes flicking down, assessing.

“Get in,” he said, softer than before.

You didn’t argue, slipping into the passenger seat on autopilot. The moment the door shut, Hongjoong rounded the car, climbing in behind the wheel. Without hesitation, he started the engine, maneuvering out of the driveway with practiced ease, keeping his movements smooth, natural—like nothing had happened.

The mansion disappeared into the night behind you, but you barely noticed.

Your hands were still shaking. They rested on your knees, but the tremors wouldn’t stop, even as you tried to clench them into fists.

Hongjoong noticed immediately. His eyes flicked toward you before returning to the road, but then, without a word, his right hand reached over, covering yours. His palm was warm, steady, a grounding contrast to your trembling fingers.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the tires against the road, the occasional streetlight casting fleeting glows into the car.

“You did what you had to do,” he finally murmured, thumb absently brushing against your knuckles. “You saved me.”

Your throat felt tight, like something heavy was lodged there, something impossible to swallow. You didn’t respond, just stared at the way his fingers curled over yours, keeping you tethered.

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his thumb in slow circles, as if coaxing you out of your daze. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him. The weight of what you had done sat heavy in your chest, suffocating, pressing down on your ribs like a vice. Your hands were still stained, phantom blood lingering even after Hongjoong had wiped them clean with a cloth he found in the car. The scent of it clung to your skin, metallic and sickly sweet.

You didn’t even realize when the mansion came into view. The headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the grand entrance as the car rolled to a smooth stop.

The moment the engine shut off, you reached for the door, pushing it open with shaking fingers. You just needed to get inside—to your room. To scrub your hands raw, to tear off the dress that now felt suffocating against your skin, to forget the feeling of the knife plunging into flesh.

As the mansion doors swung open, you barely registered the group waiting inside. The others were all there—standing in the living room, their faces unreadable. Some looked concerned, others wary. Their postures stiffened when they saw you, their eyes flicking between you and Hongjoong, as if trying to gauge the situation.

Seonghwa was the first to rise fully from his seat, brows furrowing as he stepped forward. "What happened—"

You stormed past them, heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, the weight of Hongjoong’s jacket slipping off one shoulder. The room felt too bright, too open. You needed to get out of there.

Hongjoong didn’t stop you. But you could feel his eyes on your back as you disappeared down the hall.

—The door slammed shut behind you, rattling in its frame. You barely noticed. Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you, dragging the zipper of the dress down with jerky, uneven movements. It slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a heap of expensive fabric. You stepped out of it, barely feeling the cold air against your skin, barely feeling anything at all.

The bathroom was silent except for your shallow breathing as you turned the shower knob, watching as water cascaded down, steam curling into the air. You stepped under it without hesitation, letting the scorching heat sting your skin, letting it scald away the remnants of tonight.

Blood.

It wasn’t there anymore—you had scrubbed it off in the car, had wiped it away—but you could still see it, feel it, seeping into your skin, under your nails, staining you in a way you weren’t sure would ever fade. Your chest felt tight, the memory flashing behind your eyes like a cruel replay. The blade sinking in, the way his body jerked, the sound—God, the sound.

You pressed your forehead against the tiled wall, eyes squeezing shut. You weren’t supposed to do that. That wasn’t who you were. You were a thief, not a murderer. But when you saw him coming for Hongjoong, when you saw the gun raised, the look in his eyes, you hadn’t thought. You had just… moved.

You saved him.

It hit you all at once, the truth settling in like a weight pressing on your chest. If you hadn’t acted, Hongjoong would have been the one on the floor. Not breathing. Not alive.

You inhaled shakily, letting the realization crash over you.

You killed someone.

But you saved him.

The water poured over you, washing away everything but the one thing you couldn’t shake.

The fact that, if you had to, you would do it again.

—Hongjoong had been thinking about your reaction the whole drive back. He had seen fear before—lived in it, caused it—but the way it had taken over your face tonight, the way your hands had shaken, the way your breath had come out in sharp, broken gasps, was different. It wasn’t fear of dying. It wasn’t fear of pain. It was fear of what you had done. Of yourself.

You didn’t belong in his world.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, unwanted, undeniable. He had always known it—always known you were different, that you weren’t built for this life the way he and the others were. But seeing it tonight, seeing the horror in your eyes as you looked down at your own hands, had made something twist inside him.

He didn’t like it.

You looked better when you were scowling at him, rolling your eyes, throwing some sarcastic remark his way. You looked better when you were annoyed, when you were pushing back, when you weren’t afraid of him or anything else. But tonight, you had looked small. Shaken. Quiet.

And Hongjoong hated that.

With a sigh, he found himself outside your door, hesitating for only a second before knocking.

No response. He knocked again, a little firmer this time. When there was still no answer, he opened the door, stepping inside carefully.

You were sitting on the bed, your legs pulled up slightly, hair damp and clinging to your skin. Your face was still flushed from the heat of the shower, but your eyes… your eyes looked hollow. Distant.

Hongjoong exhaled softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He really, really didn’t like seeing you like this.

For the first time in weeks, Hongjoong felt something close to regret settle in his chest. He had done this to you. He had taken you from whatever life you had, dragged you into this world, forced you to play a game you never signed up for. And for weeks, he had justified it—told himself you’d be fine, that you were strong, that you were smart. That you’d adapt.

But tonight had proved what he had been denying since the day he forced you into this life.

You weren’t meant to be here.

You weren’t a killer.

You weren’t like him.

Hongjoong had seen you fight, had seen you steal, had seen you navigate situations with quick thinking and sharp words. But he had never seen you with blood on your hands. He had never seen your face shatter the way it did tonight, never seen you look so lost, so utterly destroyed by what you had done. And he had been the one to put you in that position.

He forced a breath out, running a hand through his hair. “You should go.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You should leave,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “Go back to your life. Before all of this.”

You stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Are you serious?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. “Dead serious.”

You exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the bed creaked beneath you. “So that’s it? You just decide I don’t belong here, and suddenly I have to go?”

His expression hardened. “You don’t belong here.”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That’s funny, considering you didn’t seem to give a shit about that when you kidnapped me.”

His stomach twisted. He didn’t have a defense for that.

You took a step closer, your voice rising. “You forced me into this. You made me a part of this world. And now that I actually did something that saved your life, you decide it’s too much for me?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“But I did,” you shot back. “And I would do it again.”

Something in his chest cracked. Hongjoong shook his head, looking away. “This isn’t you. You’re not like us. You—”

“Stop telling me what I am and what I’m not,” you interrupted, stepping even closer. “I don’t care if I’m not like you. I don’t care if I don’t belong here. You don’t get to make this choice for me.”

Hongjoong let out a humorless laugh. “You think this is a choice? You think you can just keep pretending this won’t change you?” His voice rose, frustration bleeding through. “You killed someone tonight.”

“I know what I did,” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “And I don’t want you to have to do it again.”

And then you whispered, “Why do you care so much?” He froze. You stared at him, searching his face. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, something desperate flashing in his eyes. He looked away, breathing heavily.

“Hongjoong,” you said quietly.

His entire body tensed. It was the first time you had ever said his name. No sarcasm, no mocking tone. Just his name. And it undid him completely.

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was trying to hold something back.

But then you asked again, softer this time. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I fucking love you!”

The words ripped out of him, raw and unfiltered, as if they had been clawing at his throat for weeks, waiting to escape.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening. Hongjoong’s own expression was wild—like he couldn’t believe he had said it either. But he didn’t take it back. He just stared at you, breathing hard, waiting for you to say something, to do anything.

You reached for him, hands trembling slightly as they cupped his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his lips parting slightly.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But I would do it again. For you.”

His hands came up, covering yours, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I would.”

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. And then, in the silence, in the lingering tension of everything that had been said, you kissed him.

Hongjoong groaned softly against your lips, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight, anchoring yourself to the moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he pressed one last lingering kiss against your lips before murmuring,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

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The smile didn’t even have time to fade slowly. Instead, it dropped sharply and immediately as if someone had ripped it straight off your face as you saw the first photo that loaded. 

There was no mistaking him, Bang Chan, dressed casually, a black cap pulled low, shoulders tense as if he were aware he was being watched. His hand was held slightly behind him, fingers wrapped around someone else’s wrist in a way that was instinctive and familiar.

A blonde woman walked beside him.

Another photo followed, it was blurry, clearly taken in a hurry. The two of them stepped out of a private building, dimly lit, discreet. The kind of place kpop idols didn’t go unless they really trusted who they were with.

Your chest tightened.

Your heart dropped for a split second but it was enough to knock the air from your lungs.

No. No, this had to be wrong.

You scrolled faster as you felt your pulse thudding in your ears.

There was a video that you played quickly. The footage was shaky and was taken from a distance. A bodyguard moved ahead of Chan and that woman, motioning them towards a car quickly. You saw Chan’s hand reach back automatically, fingers closing around her wrist protectively. He guided her forward, placing himself slightly between her and the cameras. His expression wasn’t soft. It was worried, stressed and almost strained.

You barely registered yourself breathing.

The video continued. He opened the car door for her, shielding her as she got inside, his body angled deliberately so she wouldn’t be seen. Only after the door shut did he move to follow, the bodyguard stepping in front just in time.

The clip ended and your chest felt hollow. You stared at the screen, replaying the moment his hand had closed around hers. Your heart broke seeing how easy it looked, and how it was done without hesitation, without fear and without the careful distance he always kept with you.

You scrolled further and read the comments under the video.

“who is that?”

“chan looked stressed as hell”

“is he dating??”

“bro was HOLDING HER HAND”

“we have a mom now?”

“that should be me”

“luckiest girl in the world”

Your fingers felt cold.

Maybe she was staff, or a new manager, or someone foreign who needed protection, maybe even someone important enough to warrant secrecy. There were explanations, yes, there had to be.

But none of them explained why it hurt like this.

You had been hidden from the beginning. Always a step behind him. Always waiting indoors while he left. Always careful not to touch him in public, not to stand too close, not to exist where someone could see. You’d learned how to love quietly, how to shrink yourself into the shadows because that was the price of being with him. And yet here he was holding someone else’s hand in public. Protecting her without hesitation. Letting the world see that.

Your phone felt heavy in your hand as your heart began to race, and maybe also because it wasn’t about who she was, but instead it was about the fact that he had never allowed to see you like that. Not even after your engagement.

Your phone vibrated in your hand bringing you back to reality. You flinched as if it had burned you. You didn’t have to unlock the screen to know who it was, but you did anyway. You were right, it was him, he was texting you.

Channie 💘

Baby, I can explain. 

I’ll be home soon, okay? 

I love you.

You stared at his texts, the words blurring slightly as your head began to spin.

Explain what?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, then froze. You couldn’t reply. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts crashing into each other too loudly to form a sentence. Whatever was happening felt too big, too sudden, like the ground had shifted beneath your feet without warning.

You set your phone down and stood up slowly, the room tilting just enough to make you pause.

You decided to make some tea. Tea always helped calm down your nerves. You moved into the kitchen on autopilot, filling the kettle, waiting for it to boil, focusing on the familiar routine because it was easier than thinking. Easier than replaying the video again and again in your mind.

When you finally wrapped your hands around the warm mug, your shoulders loosened just a fraction. You took a careful sip, letting the heat settle in your chest.

Your other hand drifted absentmindedly to your ring.

You twisted it gently around your finger, a habit you’d developed without realizing it. The engagement ring caught the light softly, quiet and private, just like everything else between you and him.

There was no way. He wouldn’t. Your Channie wouldn’t cheat. Not him. He was your angel boy. He couldn’t. You were engaged.

You remembered the engagement and how much effort he put in to propose to you, how his hands had shaken when he slid the most beautiful ring that you had ever seen on, how he’d whispered that you were it for him. That no one else mattered. The way he kissed you and how you both made love that night. 

Just then you heard the front door open. You heard his frantic steps as he called for you.

“Baby?” Chan’s voice called out, breathless and panicked.

“In here,” you said, clearing your throat.

His hurried footsteps followed as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hair was slightly damp, his chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide as if he’d been holding himself together by force alone. He crossed the room in seconds, as his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost desperately, pulling you against him as if he was afraid you might disappear. His body shook as he buried his face into your shoulder, a broken sound leaving his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, words muffled. “I’m so— I’m sorry.”

Then he started sobbing uncontrollably. It was raw and frantic, like everything he’d been holding back had finally snapped.

You stood there, frozen, your tea forgotten on the counter, your mind struggling to catch up with the scene unfolding in front of you. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t defensiveness. This wasn’t what you’d prepared yourself for on the walk to the kitchen.

You were confused. 

So many questions pressed against your tongue—Who was she? Why were you holding her hand? Why does the world get to see that and I don’t?

But his grip tightened, his breathing turning shallow and uneven, and you felt it then, he was on the verge of a panic attack.

You swallowed hard.

Whatever this was, whatever answers you deserved, they would have to wait.

Slowly, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around him, one hand pressing gently between his shoulder blades, the other rubbing small circles into his back.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, steadying your voice for him. “Breathe, Chan. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay?”

His sobs stuttered, uneven breaths hitching against your neck as you held him together while everything inside you threatened to fall apart.

You wanted answers but right now, he needed comfort, and you loved him enough to give it. As you felt him calm down a bit, you guided him gently toward the living room, one hand pressed firmly against his chest as you tried to ground him.

“Channie,” you said softly, steady despite the chaos in your head. “Let’s sit down. Okay? Come sit with me.”

He shook his head at first, arms tightening around you as if letting go—even for a moment—might make you vanish. His fingers dug into your back, his breath still uneven and sharp.

“Please,” you murmured again, firmer this time. “We need to sit.”

Reluctantly, he loosened his hold. The second your body shifted away from his, his hand shot out, gripping yours with startling strength, fingers lacing through yours so tightly it almost hurt. It felt less like affection and more like fear.

Like if he let go, he’d lose you.

You swallowed, your confusion deepening as he let you lead him to the couch, never once releasing your hand. Even when you sat, he stayed angled toward you, knees brushing, shoulders tense, eyes flicking to your face again and again as if memorizing it.

You sat there in silence for a moment, his thumb rubbing frantic circles against your knuckles.

He finally spoke.

“Please,” he said shakily, voice already breaking. “You have to know how much I love you.”

Your stomach tightened.

“I need you,” he continued, words tumbling over each other, desperately. “I need you more than I need air. I can’t— I can’t function without you. You’re everything to me, you’re my home, you’re—” He choked, dragging in a breath. “I would die without you.”

Your chest ached, but not in the way it used to when he said things like this.

Something felt wrong.

You gently pulled your hand back just enough to get his attention. He resisted at first, then froze, eyes snapping up to yours as if he’d been caught doing something unforgivable.

Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

“Chan,” you said, stern now, grounded. “What did you do?”

The words landed heavily between you. His face went pale.

You watched it happen—the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes flicked away, the way his breath stuttered like he’d been punched in the chest. Your heart sank slowly, dread curling deep in your gut.

“Don’t,” you warned quietly. “Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what happened.”

Your instincts screamed that something was deeply, horribly wrong.

He swallowed hard, shoulders slumping as if the weight he’d been carrying had finally become unbearable. His grip on your hand loosened just slightly as if he was bracing himself.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he whispered.

Your chest felt tight.

Find out what?

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, and you realized with a unsettling ache that whatever came next would change something fundamental between you.

He stared at the floor for a long moment, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“It happened during the North America tour.”

Your body went cold.

“One night,” he continued shakily, “after the concert, everyone was exhausted, and… there was drinking. Too much drinking. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself.” His words stumbled over each other. “One thing led to another and—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. He teared up and then confessed.

“I slept with her,” he said quietly. “Once. It was a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life.”

Your hand slipped out of his as if his skin had burned you.

The movement was small, but the effect on him was immediate. His head snapped up, eyes wide, devastation written clearly across his face.

“She contacted me recently,” he said, tears spilling freely now. “She said she’s pregnant.”

Pregnant.

The word echoed in your head as you felt your world spinning.

“Baby, please,” he sobbed, reaching for you again. “I made a mistake. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you so much.”

Your voice came out broken, stripped of warmth. “You cheated.”

The words felt unreal as they left your mouth.

“I never expected this from you,” you whispered. “Never.”

He shook his head violently, desperation etched into every line of his face. “It was an accident. I was drunk out of my mind, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care!” you yelled at him.

The sound shocked both of you.

“I don’t care,” you repeated, standing up abruptly. “Being drunk doesn’t erase what you did.”

He tried to grab your arm, words pouring out in frantic fragments—apologies, explanations, promises—but you pushed him away and walked straight toward your shared bedroom.

You didn’t look back.

Your hands shook as you opened the wardrobe and grabbed a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed. You began packing without thinking—clothes, essentials, anything within reach—your movements were sharp and angry.

Behind you, he followed, crying openly now.

“Please, stop,” he begged, pulling clothes out of the suitcase as fast as you put them in. “We can fix this. Please don’t do this.”

“Stop it,” you said, voice trembling.

He didn’t.

You turned on him, chest heaving. “I said stop.”

“Please,” he cried, pulling items back out. “Don’t leave. Please don’t do this.”

The slap landed before you could think twice. The sound of your palm against his cheek echoed sharply through the room. He froze as you continued packing.

“There is no us anymore,” you said, your voice trembling but unyielding. “You destroyed it.”

He collapsed in front of you, sobbing openly now. “Baby, please. Don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”

A broken laugh escaped you.

“Go to her,” you said bitterly. “Take care of the baby.”

“No,” he cried. “She doesn’t want it. She told me she doesn’t want the baby.”

“Oh,” you laughed again humorlessly. “So I’m supposed to stay?”

You pulled the engagement ring off your finger, the metal cold against your skin, and tossed it toward him. It landed on the floor between you with a dull clink.

“Do not try to contact me ever again,” you said. “Let’s pretend we never existed in each other’s lives.”

“No,” he sobbed, stumbling after you. “You don’t mean that. Please. You don’t mean that.”

You didn’t respond. You lifted the suitcase from the bed and walked toward the door without looking back.

He moved fast, panic overtaking him, and stepped directly in front of the bedroom’s doorway, blocking your path. His hands trembled as he reached out to hold your hand, you jerked your hand harshly.

“Please,” he cried. “Don’t leave. Please. I can’t lose you like this.”

You stopped inches away from him.

“You hid it from me,” you said quietly.

The room went still.

His breath hitched as the words sank in, his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding himself upright by force alone.

“I was scared,” he whispered. “I was so scared that my one night of drunken mistake would come back to haunt me. I thought if I kept it buried, if I never said anything, we could stay the same.”

Your grip tightened on the suitcase handle.

“I can never forgive you for this,” you said, voice breaking despite your resolve. “Not for cheating. And not for lying to my face every day after.”

He shook his head frantically, tears spilling. “I was drunk. I wasn’t in my senses. Please, baby—please. It never happened before. This was the only time.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him.

“I don’t trust you,” you said.

He broke completely then.

“Baby,” he cried, voice rising, raw and desperate. “Yell at me. Please. Slap me again. Do anything… hurt me, punish me but please don’t leave. I’ll take anything. Anything is better than this.”

The words made something in your stomach turn.

You stared at him, really stared, and for the first time you didn’t see the man you loved. You saw someone clawing at you out of fear, not love. Someone trying to keep you at the cost of your dignity.

“If you love me,” you said slowly, your voice shaking but firm, “if you respect me even a little bit… then you’ll move and let me leave.”

He shook his head violently, tears dripping from his chin. “No. No, please. I’ll do anything else. Literally anything. I’ll disappear, I’ll beg, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”

“Move, Bang Chan.”

The way you said his name flatly, made him freeze. He noticed how you looked at him with utter disgust. There was no warmth or love in those eyes, he never saw your eyes like this. His mouth opened, then closed. His shoulders sagged as shame crashed over his face, and his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet yours any longer.

You pushed past him firmly. His legs gave out, and he stumbled back against the doorway, collapsing to the floor. Your suitcase swung by your side as you moved past him, not looking back.

He reached for you one last time, fingers brushing empty air as you turned away.

Seconds later, the sound of the main door slamming shut echoed through the apartment.

He froze, eyes wide, chest heaving, listening to the finality in the noise.

And in that moment, standing in the bedroom doorway, he realized with crushing clarity that you were never coming back. And no amount of tears, apologies, or desperation could ever bring you through that door again. You were gone forever.

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