#billlie

Fuck you’re so tight. You whisper to your monthly budget after spending three thousand dollars. You then realize it is in your best financial interest if you just died yesterday.

That’s what the plate costs. You’d balked at the number when you researched it, but then you’d calculated the potential return on investment and transferred the money anyway (you’re starting to feel like you don’t have a choice in Tsuki’s games). 

It’s just a month of eating nothing but instant ramen, all good.

Now you’re standing in the Park Hyatt ballroom, nursing champagne you’re forced to carry around, scanning the crowd for a woman you’ve never actually seen.

Kwon Eunbi. Runs the family’s venture fund. Daughter of Kwon Minjun, the shipping magnate who built an empire from a single cargo container and what your research politely categorized  “aggressive business practices.”

You’ve perused her resume. You know her role in this game of thrones. Her mask is still on and you’ve yet to see her true face.

She keeps a low profile which means no socials—no press conferences; a ghost to people who are not in the same tax bracket. The only photo you found was from a Harvard alumni newsletter, grainy and five years old, mostly obscured by a podium. Smart, probably. When your family’s net worth has eleven digits, anonymity is a luxury worth protecting.

Your phone buzzes. You’re not surprised anymore.

But this time it isn’t Tsuki.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review · Voicemail (3)

Three voicemails. Three. From a journalist whose byline alone makes lawyers nervous. This is fine. You silence the phone in your pocket and pull it out again, this time braced for what comes next.

般若: stop looking so constipated

般若: show them that you belong here

般若: act like it Akihiro-kun~

You glance around the room. She’s nowhere to be found. Of course, she’s never anywhere until she wants to be. You give up trying to figure it out.

You slide your phone in your pocket and try to actually look like you belong.

Nope. It doesn’t work. Who am I kidding?

Three people you recognize from past industry events have already done the classic Tokyo Sidestep: That maneuver when someone spots you; calculates the reputational cost of association; and then suddenly discovers the most fascinating painting on the opposite wall.

The gratitude of the finance world. So fickle. Truly heartwarming.

You’re contemplating whether the open bar is worth the walk across the room when someone appears at your elbow.

“You look like a man who’s doing math he doesn’t want to do.”

The words hit you like a slap. You turn, half-expecting dark eyes and that dangerous smile.

But the woman standing there is nothing like Tsuki.

“Sorry”, you manage. “What?”

She’s short. Barely reaches your shoulder, even in heels. But she carries herself like she’s six feet tall, shoulders back, chin lifted, taking up space in a way that makes you notice her despite her size. Her face is open and expressive, eyes bright with amusement, mouth curved into a smile that’s warm instead of cunning.

“You’re doing calculations.” She points and gestures at your face with her champagne glass. “I can see the spreadsheets running behind your eyes. Let me guess. Cost-benefit analysis of whether the networking potential justifies the plate price?”

“More or less.”

“The answer is no, by the way. The people worth talking to at these things don’t care about the gala. They come for the after-parties.” She extends her hand. Her grip is firm, warm, no hesitation. “Kwon Eunbi.”

Kwon…

Kwon!

Your brain, still hungover from a week of Tsuki’s games, takes a full three seconds to catch up. This is her. The daughter. The one Tsuki pointed you toward.

“You’re…”

“The chairman’s daughter. Yes.” She’s still smiling, and finally lets go of your hand. “And you’re Hinode Akihiro. The Ishikawa refugee father won’t stop talking about.”

“Your father…”

“Mentioned you, raved about you even. Multiple times over dinner, actually. Something about discretion, and restructuring and a man who actually reads the fine print.” She tilts her head, studying you so openly that it’s almost unsettling after Tsuki’s constant obscurity. “He said you seemed like someone who could be trusted. And hmm. I wanted to see that for myself.”

“And? What do you think so far?”

“Hmmm. I’m not sold yet.” She’s still smiling; the corner of lips reaches her eyes. “Buy me a drink or two and improve your odds.”

You’re already walking toward the bar before you realize you’re doing it. I hope she likes water because that’s all you can afford right now.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

She’s an animated yapper; talks with her whole face and her hands. 

That’s the first thing you notice. Everything she says comes with gestures: pointing, waving, occasionally touching your arm with her soft, warm hands when she’s making a point. 

Normally, it would be annoying. It isn’t; far from it.

“Harvard was a blast but academically, it was fine,” she’s saying, swirling her wine. “The MBA was useful. But true education was watching my father breeze through a hostile takeover when I was just fifteen: Boardroom politics, shareholder manipulation, the art of knowing which knife goes in which back—and when to twist it.” She grins. “You don’t learn that in business school.”

“Uh… Your father seems…”

“Ruthless? Yeah, of course he is. But, he is also fair, which I understand might be hard to believe.” She sets her glass down. “He’s a man who respects competence. Maybe that’s why he’s drawn towards you.”

“He doesn’t know me that well yet.”

“He knows your work. The Taniguchi restructuring, that was all you, wasn’t it? Everyone assumed it was Matsuda leading, but the footnotes told a different story.”

You blink. Closed your mouth you didn’t know opened. The Taniguchi deal was four years ago. Buried in the middle of your tenure, overshadowed by bigger clients, and flashier wins. You’d honestly forgotten anyone outside the firm even knew about it.

“Wait, how did you…”

“My father taught me that truth lives in what people don’t say out loud.” She leans in, conspiratorial, and you notice the curve of her neckline, the fullness suggested beneath her understated black dress. You look away before she catches you. “Font-size twelve is for show. It’s theatre. The real story is buried in font-size eight, where details are synonymous to the truth.”

“And what did you find buried about me?”

“That you’re thorough… you’re careful. That you caught three errors in the Taniguchi financials that could have tanked the whole deal, and you fixed them behind the scenes without stealing the show.” She sits back. “It’s a rare quality you showed there. Most people would have made a scene. You just.. Played your part. And you played your part well.”

Your shoulders drop. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding them so tight. 

“It wasn’t my intention to look noble,” you say. “I just wanted to get the job done, move on, and close the deal.”

“No need to minimize your accomplishments Hinode-san.” She flags down a waiter, orders something in rapid Korean that you don’t catch. “To pose as a noble man is easy. Literally anyone can look noble with an audience. Continuing to do so when no one’s watching? That’s the quality of a man I look for.”

The waiter returns with two small plates. Some kind of appetizer. Looks expensive, it has caviar on it so it must be. She pushes one towards you.

“Eat. You look like you’ve been running on coffee, instant ramen, and spite for a week.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly lying.” She picks up her fork, takes a bite, side-eyes you until you do the same. “There. Was that so hard Hinode-san?”

It wasn’t. The food is good—sooo fucking good. You’re famished, actually. It’s been the most normal food you’ve eaten in days. You’d skipped multiple meals just to save up for the plate fee.

“My father wants to meet you properly,” she says. “Not in this gala. Somewhere we can actually talk. I’m flying to Seoul on Wednesday. You should come with.”

“I… what?”

“You sound like I’m taking you hostage.” She laughs, nothing like Tsuki’s. Bright and loud and unbothered by who might hear. “It’s a business opportunity, Hinode-san. The family has some restructuring needs. Complicated, sensitive, the kind of thing that requires someone who reads between the lines and doesn’t make scenes.”

“You don’t know me all that well yet.”

“I know enough.” She meets your eyes; holds them. “The question is whether you’re willing to go tit-for-tat. Full disclosure, Hinode-san: I don’t do slow. So… are you in or should we go back to pretending we’re enjoying our time in this gala as just acquaintances.”

What is this? You’re taken aback by the directness. It’s the opposite of Tsuki: She’s not an abyss with the sole intention of manipulating you. Just a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it wholeheartedly.

“Why me?” you ask. “Your father could hire anyone, firms or people without scandals attached to their names.”

“Because the firms are slow and people who play safe are boring.” She leans forward, and you catch a hint of her perfume. Airy floral with a hint of citrus and musky notes; subtle, and expensive. Not loud, nothing you can name, like the whisper she imparts: “And I’ve talked with your old firm and one thing is consistent when they mention you: he’s good, but he’ll never make partner because he refuses to play the game.”

“That’s not a compliment at all.”

“Of course it is.” Her hand finds your arm again. “The game is rigged anyways. I don’t need someone who plays it. I need someone who wins despite it.” 

The words land somewhere deep and you just had to take a mental note on it.

“Before I give my answer. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“You can ask me anything. Whether I answer is a different question.”

“Why venture capital? With your family’s resources, you could easily do anything. Run a division. Start your own company. Why spend your time evaluating other people’s dreams when you can just build on the foundations you already own?”

Her eyebrows lift. 

“Because building something from scratch is terrifying,” she says. “And I like being terrified.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does. My father built his empire from nothing: Started with one shipping container, made a lot of friends and enemies, and faced it all head on. By the time I was born, we had everything. Money, power, the whole package. I’ve never had to struggle for anything in my life.”

“Most people would call that lucky, privileged, and being blessed.”

“Most people get it wrong.” She sets her wine down, her expressions stiffen. “I refuse to be a nepo baby coasting life carefree on comfortable ground. That’s how people get soft, weak, and they start believing they deserve things they never earned.” She picks up her glass, takes a sip, and leans back; watching you. “I’ve seen my cousins live like that. Drowning in money, no clue how to survive without it. I’d rather burn than end up like those pathetic losers.”

“So instead you chose the hardest path to get there?”

“I chose a path that scares me. Venture capital isn’t hard, it’s just math and trusting your gut instinct. But every investment is a bet. Every bet can fail. And every failure is mine. Not my father’s. Not my family’s. Mine.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I needed something that was mine.”

“Ishikawa wasn’t mine,” you say. “It only felt like it was. I gave it twelve years. I worked my ass off, but when everything fell apart… they cut me out like I was nothing. Like I’d never been there at all. Like everything I’ve done isn’t the reason why we’re up there in the first place.”

“That’s what happens when you build someone else’s house.” Her eyes lock in on yours. “You’re never going to do that again, are you?”

“No.”

“Good boy.” She finishes her wine. Sets down the glass with a decisive click. “Then we’re quite the compatible pair, aren’t we?”

Your heart did a thing. Your body who you’ve trusted all these years betrays you as well. Those combinations of words are not what you’d expect in this setting. 

You should really be saying no; ask for time to think. You should do the careful, logical thing that twelve years of professional discipline has trained you to do.

“Wednesday,” you say. “What time?”

Her smile could power a small nation.

“I’ll text you the details.” She stands, and when she stretches slightly you finally see her full figure. Compact but curved. Full bust straining subtly against understated fabric. Hips that move with confident purpose. She’s been hiding it well, but now that you’ve noticed, you can’t unnotice. “And Hinode-san? Wear something that fits. You’ve got the shoulders for a good suit. Stop hiding them in whatever that is.”

“This suit is fine.”

“That suit makes you look like a grandpa.” She’s already walking away. “I’ll send you the name of our tailor. Consider it a business expense.”

Why does everyone always have something to say about your suits?

She’s gone before you can respond.

You stand there, holding an empty champagne glass, trying to understand what just happened. A woman you’ve never met just offered you a lifeline, insulted your wardrobe, and walked away like she owned the room. (She probably does own this room—or her family does at least; you figured it’s the same thing.)

Your phone buzzes.

般若: good boy~

般若: she’s exactly what you need

般若: stable, normal, everything I’m not, am I right?

般若: she’ll take good care of you

般若: in ways I won’t~

般若: oh and are you not curious about me yet, Akihiro-kun?

You stare at the screen. Then at the bustling crowd, where Eunbi has disappeared. Then back at the screen.

In ways I won’t.

What the fuck does that mean?

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Tsuki is waiting when you get home.

She’s sitting on your couch like she belongs there, legs crossed, one of your books open in her lap. The lamp casts warm light across her face, and for a moment you just stand in the doorway, keys in hand, too tired to even be surprised.

“The key under the fire escape,” you say. “Really?”

“You should find a better hiding spot.” She doesn’t look up from the book. “That’s the first place anyone checks.”

“Anyone who’s breaking in, maybe.”

“Anyone who’s paying attention.” Now she looks up. Those eyes. You notice it now in a way you didn’t before. At the bar, in the hotel, in the corridor, and here in your apartment. The same flat darkness, catching light wrong. Human eyes dilate with arousal, fear, interest. Hers don’t. “I pay attention.”

You close the door behind you. Drop your keys on the counter.

“That Kwon daughter,” you say. “That was all you, huh? You set that up.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t.” You cross the room, stop in front of her. “Don’t play games. Not tonight. I’m tired.”

She sets the book aside. Uncrosses her legs. Stands in one fluid motion, close enough that you can smell her. That dark sweet scent that’s haunted you for a week.

“You’re tense, Aki-kun” she says. Her hands find your chest. Presses flat over your heart. “I can feel it. All that anxiety, all that fear about what comes next, about Seoul, about whether you’re good enough.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” She steps closer. Her body presses against yours. “But I can help with that.”

“How?”

“How about I take care of you tonight.” Her fingers work at your tie, loosening it. “Let me remind you what you’re capable of.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well. It’s the only answer I’m giving.” She pulls the tie free. Drops it on the floor. “Do you want me to stop?”

You should say yes. You should demand explanations, answers, something that makes sense. You should—”

“No.”

“Good boy.”

She kisses you. Hard. Hungry. Her tongue slides against yours and her hands are everywhere, pulling at your shirt, your belt, anything between her skin and yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” she breathes against your mouth. “Thinking about how you tasted. How you sounded when I had you in my mouth.”

“Tsuki—”

“Shhh.” She pushes your shirt off your shoulders. Her nails rake down your chest, just hard enough to sting. “Stop talking and just…” She drops to her knees. Your belt is already undone. She pulls down your zipper, frees your already throbbing cock from your boxers, and looks up at you with those flat dark eyes.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “Already aching hard for me. Already. This. Desperate.” She wraps her hand around your base, strokes slowly. “Did you touch yourself this week thinking about me Aki-kun?”

“Yes.” The words come out strangled.

“How many times?”

“I don’t—”

“How many times, Akihiro?” She squeezes. Just enough pressure to make you gasp. “Three. Maybe four.”

“Did you come?”

“No.” You hadn’t let yourself. It felt wrong. It felt like cheating. “I couldn’t.”

“Because you knew, all this belonged to me.” She strokes again. Twists her wrist at the top.

“Your cock. Your cum. Your pleasure. All. Of. It. Mine.”

She leans forward and licks a stripe from base to tip. Slow. Savoring. You shudder.

“Tsuki—”

“I love the way you say my name.” She swirls her tongue around your cockhead. You start almost chanting her name like a prayer—barely coherent; like you’re begging but words won’t form.

She takes you in.

Hot. Wet. Her mouth is impossibly soft, you swear it’s borderline illegal how her tongue moves, and she takes you deep, deeper than should be comfortable, until you feel the back of her throat and she swallows around you.

“Fuck—” Your hands find her hair. Grip without meaning to. She moans around your cock. The vibration makes your knees buckle.

She pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing your top. “That’s it. Feel free to fuck my mouth. Take what you need.”

“I don’t want to hurt—”

“Don’t worry, you won’t.” She looks up at you through dark lashes. “I can take it. I can take anything you give me.” She opens her mouth. Sticks out her tongue. Looks at you directly with her dark eyes. Waits.

You thrust.

Shallow at first. Testing. But she moans encouragingly, her hands gripping your hips, pulling you deeper. So you thrust again. Harder. And again. Until you’re fucking her face with a rhythm that’s animal and desperate and nothing like the man you thought you were.

Spit starts to drop down her chin. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. And still she takes it, takes all of it, making sounds that are wet and obscene and somehow grateful.

“God, you’re—” You can’t finish the sentence. Can barely form coherent thoughts. If this is how you die, then so be it. You’re nearing nirvana. “I’m going to—”

She pulls off.

Fucking hell.

“No.” She wipes her chin with the back of her hand. Stands. “Not yet Aki-kun.”

“Please, Tsuki.” The words come out broken. You’re so hard it hurts, cock slick with her spit, throbbing. “Tsuki, please, let me—”

“I know what you need.” She turns. Walks towards your bedroom. Looks back over her shoulder. “Come with me Akihiro.” You follow her with no hesitation.

She’s already undressing when you reach the doorway. Her dress pools at her feet. No bra. Just black lace panties that barely cover anything. Her breasts are full and perfect, nipples already hard, and she watches your face as you take her in.

“See something you like?”

“Everything.”

“Good answer.” She lies back on your bed. Spreads her legs. Hooks her thumb into her panties and slowly, torturously, slides them down her milky thighs. “Your turn.”

You strip. Practically tear off your remaining clothes. Stand at the edge of the bed, naked and aching, and she looks at you like you’re exactly where she wants you. “On your knees boy,” she says. “I want that mouth of yours on me.”

You kneel. She’s already wet, glistening in the low light, and when you lean in and breathe against her, she shivers. 

“Stop teasing Aki-kun,” she warns.

Your tongue navigates through her already soaked folds and when it finds her clit she gasps, her hips jerking up off the mattress.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Right there. Just like that.”

You eat her like you’re starving; like she’s the first meal you’ve had in weeks. You learn the rhythm she responds to, the pressure, the way she cries out when you suck her clit and push two fingers inside her.

“Fuck. Aki-kun~” Her hands find your hair. Pull hard enough to hurt. “That mouth of yours is so good, so fucking good, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop—” You don’t plan on stopping any time soon. You work her with your tongue and your fingers until she’s shaking, until her thighs are clamped around your head and her moans have become one long continuous sound.

“I’m going to come,” she gasps. “I’m going to—oh god—”

She breaks.

Her whole body seizes, cunt clenching around your fingers, her cry sharp enough to echo off the walls. You work her through it, gentler now, drawing out every aftershock until she’s pushing you at your shoulders.

“Enough.” She’s panting. Flushed. “Enough. Come here.”

You crawl up her body. She kisses you, tasting herself on your lips, and wraps her legs around your waist.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers. “I’ve wanted it since that first night. Wanted to feel you stretch me, fill me to the brim, fuck me until I can’t think.”

“Then let me—”

“Just. Kidding~”

She pushes you off. Rolls you onto your back. Straddles you, her wet heat hovering just above your cock, so close you can feel her.

“Not tonight Aki-kun.” She rocks her hips. Your cock slides through her folds, slick and hot, the head catching against her entrance on every pass. “Tonight you learn.”

“Learn what?” 

“That I decide when you get to come.” She reaches down. Takes your cock in her hand. Positions you right at her entrance, just barely pressing in. “That I decide how much you get. That every time you close your eyes in Seoul and think about what you want, you’ll think about this—” She presses down. Just the tip slides in. You nearly black out. “—about how close you were. About how good it would have felt.”

She lifts off. Completely. Your cock slaps against your stomach, wet, and desperate, and denied.

“No.” She’s already climbing off the bed. “That’s enough for tonight.”

“Tsuki—”

“Hush.” She picks up her dress. Pulls it on like nothing happened. Like you’re not lying there ruined. “Go to Seoul. Meet her father. Let her take care of you.”

“And then?”

“Then come back to me~” She pauses at the doorway. Looks back over her shoulder with those flat, dark eyes. “I’ll be here.”

“What are you?”

She smiles. Lips closed. Her face is unreadable.

“I’m what you can’t stop wanting. No matter what happens, some part of you will wish it was me.”

Then she’s gone.

You lie there on your bed, cock aching, body thrumming with denied release, more confused than you’ve ever been in your life. Her underwear from the networking event is still in your dresser drawer. You never threw it away.

You don’t touch yourself tonight either.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

般若: looks like your flight is at noon

般若: nice suit, her tailor?

般若: oooh, that’s expensive~

般若: did you get a sugar mommy now?

般若: oh, and Aki-kun…

般若: try not to fall too hard, ok? (wink tongue emoji)

You stare at her texts until your screen goes dark. Then you close your eyes and try to sleep. You dream of nothing.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Wednesday, 6:03 AM

Kwon Eunbi: Good morning! Here’s the flight details: KE706, Narita to Incheon, 12:15 PM

Kwon Eunbi: First class. My treat. Don’t argue.

Kwon Eunbi: 6:04 AM

You: That’s too generous. I can pay for my own ticket.

Kwon Eunbi: 🙄

Kwon Eunbi: No! I’m gonna reimburse this when we get there. Business expense!

You: What happened to refusing the life of a nepo baby?

Kwon Eunbi: 🙄🙄🙄

Kwon Eunbi: Consider it hazard pay then. You’ll be sitting next to me for a few hours. 

You: Hazard pay?

Kwon Eunbi: I’m a terrible plane companion. I don’t stop yapping 😜

Kwon Eunbi: Also I’ve been known to aggressively critique strangers’ work over their shoulders

You: I don’t think I’ll be able to do any work in the air anyways with you yapping beside me

Kwon Eunbi: Then you’re safe

Kwon Eunbi: Text me your address. Car will pick you up at 10.

Kwon Eunbi: See you soon, Hinode-san

You set your phone down. Stare at the ceiling.

Try not to fall too hard.

Too late for that.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

By noon, you’re in a window seat watching Tokyo shrink beneath the clouds, and Eunbi beside you with a laptop open, running numbers that would make most CFOs weep.

“Stop watching me work,” she says without looking up. “It’s creepy.”

“I’m not watching you work.”

“Well if you’re not watching me work, then you’re watching something.” She glances over; catches you staring at her hands. You can’t help but do so: the way her fingers almost glide across the keyboard, quick and certain; like each character she inputs has already been considered. “Ah. The hands thing. My ex used to do that too.”

“The hands thing?”

“Apparently I have ‘pianist hands.’” She wiggles her fingers. “I can’t play piano, for the record. Complete waste of good genetics. I wonder what it’s good for though.”

“I wasn’t…”

“You were. It’s fine. I get that a lot.” She closes the laptop. Gives you her full attention. “Talk to me. You’re nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous. I’m meeting your father. This will be my first job ever since leaving Ishikawa.”

“You’re meeting my dad. A potential client that already thinks of you highly.” She shifts in her seat, angling toward you. “You’re going to be fine. You’ve already passed the first test. Stop catastrophizing.”

“I’m not catastrophizing.”

“Your legs say otherwise.”

You look down. It has. Goddamnit.

“I don’t do well with… uncertainty.”

“Then you’re going to hate this, because nothing about working with my family is certain, like at all.” She says it matter-of-factly; no apology. “We’re extremely complicated. We fight. We scheme. Oh, we scheme a lot, you’re not gonna hear the end of it. Half of my cousins want my father’s job and the other half want him dead. It’s like Game of Thrones but with better skincare.”

“Yeah, that’s totally reassuring.”

“It should be. If I wanted safe, I would have hired literally anyone else, you know.” She reaches over; squeezes your hand once, then lets go. “I want someone who can handle messy. Who doesn’t flinch when things get ugly.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“I think you survived Ishikawa and you walked out of that building with your integrity intact, which is more than most people manage. And I think…” She pauses; studies your face with an intensity that makes you want to look away. “You look like someone who’s tired of playing defense. You’re ready to fight again. You just need someone to point you at the right enemy.”

Fight.

That word again. Tsuki said the same thing. That first night. After she left you aching in the hotel room.

“Is there anything wrong? You’re making a weird face,” Eunbi says.

“What face?”

“It looked like you zoned out there, like you’re somewhere else.” She doesn’t seem offended, just curious. “Where do you go? When you check out like that?”

“Nowhere important.”

“Liar.” But she doesn’t push. Just flags down the flight attendant and orders two whiskeys. “Drink with me. It’ll make the rest of the flight less boring.”

The whiskey arrives. You both drink. The silence isn’t awkward exactly, but it’s become weighted. You’re both starting to feel a bit more loose too. The alcohol doing its job.

“Can I ask you something more personal?” you say.

“You can, but I reserve the right to deflect with humor.”

“What do you do for fun?” Her face changes; like she’s expecting a punchline from you. “When you’re not reading financial records and terrorizing your cousins.”

She laughs without restraint. Surprised, maybe, that you’d ask.

“I watch the worst reality TV shows imaginable,” she admits. “The trashier the better. Singles Inferno, The Bachelor, dating shows, anything where people make increasingly dramatic poor life choices.”

“Really? But why reality tv, specifically?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I spend all day making rational decisions. Sometimes you need to watch someone throw wine at another person because they’re being a bitch.” She takes a sip of her whiskey. “What about you? What does the Hinode Akihiro do when he’s not staring at spreadsheets?”

“I used to rock climb before everything fell apart.”

“Used to?”

“Hard to motivate yourself when you’re not sure what you’re climbing toward.” You swirl your drink. “Now I mostly drink and read. I must sound so fucking miserable, huh?”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you. I’m cultivating a specific aesthetic.”

“Brooding middle-aged accountant?”

“Hey, I’m not that old.”

“Brooding almost-middle-aged accountant.” She grins. “It’s a good look. Very Mr. Darcy energy.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Oh, what the heck do you read? You are absolutely getting a reading list.” She pulls out her phone, starts typing. “Pride and Prejudice. Mandatory. No arguments.”

“I don’t… I mostly read self-help books.”

“Eew. Self-help books? No. You don’t need that at all. You’re changing that, now. No further arguments.” She looks up. Mock-stern. “This is happening, ok? Consider it part of your professional development.”

“How is reading a two-hundred-year-old romance novel professional development?”

“It’s about a smart woman falling for a man who’s terrible at expressing emotions but secretly has a good heart. Very applicable to our working relationship.”

“Which one am I in this scenario?”

“Not sure yet.” But she’s giving you the biggest smile. “Probably Darcy. You’ve got the brooding down.”

You laugh uncontrollably. You haven’t laughed like this in a while. It surprises both of you.

“Oh and by the way, my father will ask about your failures,” Eunbi says as the seatbelt sign dings on. “Not your successes—he already knows those. He wants to know how you handle losing.”

“What should I tell him?”

“The truth. He can smell bullshit from three prefectures away. So, don’t even try.”

“What if the truth makes me look bad?”

“Then at least he’ll know you’re honest.” She smiles and it’s so different; so warm and unguarded. “That’s infinitely worth more than looking good.”

You swear your heart skipped a beat, but it could as well be the whiskey playing tricks on you. It has enchanted you a couple of times, you might as well not know the difference between fantasy and reality with it in your system.

The plane touches down. And as you taxi toward the gate, watching Seoul sprawl beneath the overcast afternoon sky, you realize something.

You haven’t thought about Tsuki at all in almost three hours.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The meeting with Kwon Minjun goes surprisingly better than you deserve.

He’s smaller than you expected. You swear he was a titan back at the networking event; maybe clout in a public setting grows you a few inches.

His place reflects him very well. High ceiling, wood-paneled walls, dim warm lighting, and a single window with a serene view of the river. Modern interiors mixed with traditional accents. One wall has a glass case with three masks mounted. Two are masks you recognize from the textbooks. The third is a Hannya. Female’s face, twisted between rage and grief, small horns curving from the forehead. 

It’s an artform that eludes you but seeing it somehow evokes some kind of fight or flight. You’ve seen it before. The hotel hallway, the night Tsuki took you upstairs. You were not sure what it was called then.

Minjun catches you looking. “My wife’s. She was into traditional Japanese folklore.”

“Was?”

“She passed, twelve years ago.” A pause. “Some of her collection ended up in my office. I look at them more than I should.”

You’re not sure why but that information feels useful, you file it away for now.

He spends the first thirty minutes asking about everything except your business: Your family. Your education. The book you’re currently reading (you’re currently realizing how much of a bookworm this family is, not that it’s a bad thing but it’s making you rethink your current collection.)

Whether you prefer mountains or oceans:

“Mountains,” you answer. “The ocean is vast and deep, it reminds me of how small I am.”

“And mountains don’t?”

“They do but mountains at least make me feel like there’s something worth climbing.”

He laughs at that; a short, surprised sound. He looks at Eunbi, who’s been watching from the corner of the room with barely concealed amusement.

“Tell me about the day you decided to ‘leave.’ Ishikawa”

You set down your tea. “It wasn’t my decision, I was basically forced into it. I resigned because the alternative was being laid off.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His face switched into serious-mode; first time this happened throughout the conversation. “I asked when you decided. There’s a difference between resigning and choosing to resign. You made the call before HR did. I want to know when.”

You think. Honestly. “There was an incident two years ago… An arrangement I helped structure. I had questions but decided not to ask them. When I recalled that I knew I wasn’t fully innocent.”

A long pause. “Then we understand each other.” A pause. “You were right,” he tells Eunbi. “This man is interesting.”

“Father, I’m always right,” Eunbi says. “You should remember that.”

The business discussion happens over dinner: Three hours of restructuring proposals, tax implications, family trust complications that would make a lesser accountant wet their pants and cry themselves to sleep. You take notes on your phone. Ask questions that got Minjun to pause and reconsider. By the time the last course arrives, you’ve outlined a preliminary strategy that addresses concerns he hasn’t even voiced yet.

“Incredible! You’re really good at this, huh, young man?” he says.

“I try, sir.”

“Alright, we’re done for today.” He stands, signaling to everyone in the room that the meeting is over. “My daughter will handle the details. I look forward to working with you, Hinode-san.”

He leaves. And suddenly you’re alone with Eunbi in a private dining room that probably costs more per hour than your rent for the whole year.

“That was terrifying,” you say.

“That was him at his nicest.” She’s grinning. “He usually makes people feel dumb and have them cry by the second course. You made it to dessert with no speck in your eye. That’s impressive.”

“You really think so? I think I blacked out for a better part of it.”

“You didn’t. You were brilliant. Be proud of yourself, I am.” She stands, stretches. The movement pulls her dress tight, and you see her full figure now without obstruction. Compact but curved. The kind of body that expensive clothes are designed to downplay and now you’re suddenly very aware of. “Come on. I’m starving.” 

“Huh? We just ate dinner.”

“We ate business dinner. That doesn’t count. Pretty much empty calories. I know a place nearby that cooks real food.” She’s already heading for the door. “My treat. Don’t argue.”

“You’re going to bankrupt yourself treating me to things.”

“I’m worth eight hundred million dollars, Akihiro. I think I’ll survive buying you food.”

You follow her out into the Seoul night.

(Eight hundred million. You can’t even conceptualize that number.)

(Also: she called you Akihiro. Not Hinode-san. You noticed. Progress. You’re not sure why you’re tracking progress suddenly.)

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The “place nearby” turns out to be a pojangmacha. A street tent with plastic chairs and a woman who greets Eunbi by name.

“They know you. You come here often?”

“When I need to feel normal and when I want actually good food.” She orders for both of you in rapid Korean. “Tteokbokki. Kimbap. Soju. The essentials.”

“Eunbi-ah,” the woman says, swatting at her arm with a kitchen towel. “Where have you been? You don’t visit auntie anymore.”

“Auntie, I was here last Friday.”

“Aigoo~ You’re getting thin-ah! I’ll give you extra, eat more! Eat more!” She squints at you. “Mmm. He’s new.”

“He’s working.”

“Working at what?”

“Numbers.”

The woman makes a face like numbers personally offended her. “Sit! Get comfortable. I’ll bring you what you should eat. Not whatever you ordered.” She walks off.

Eunbi turns to you. “She’ll feed you something with intestines. Don’t react.”

“Noted.”

“Also, she might ask if we’re married. Just go along with it.”

You wait for the smile to break. It doesn’t. “Are you serious?”

“It speeds up the meal, and they give us more servings because of it.”

The food arrives fast. It’s spicy and cheap and perfect. Everything you’ve been missing this past few hours.

“So,” she says, pouring soju into tiny glasses. “You survived my father. You good? How are you feeling right now?”

“Like I just ran a marathon while someone asked me increasingly personal questions.”

“That’s accurate.” She hands you a glass. “To surviving.”

You drink. The soju burns.

“Can I ask you something?” you say.

“You’re asking that a lot today. But sure.”

“Why are you doing this? The dinner. The streetfood. The…” You gesture vaguely at everything. “You could be anywhere. With anyone. Why are you eating intestines with a disgraced accountant?”

“You’re not disgraced, don’t be dramatic. You’re just… undergoing a transition in your career. There is a clear difference.”

“Well, the world doesn’t see it that way.”

“The world is… well, frankly it’s stupid.” She takes another drink. “And I’m doing this because I like you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

“That’s the saddest thing you’ve said yet.” She pours more soju. “You know what I think? I think you’ve spent so long performing competence that you’ve forgotten people might actually just enjoy your company.”

You nod. “That’s a good theory.”

“It’s a fact you dum-dum. You’re funny. You’re smart. You ask good questions and you actually listen to the answers. Most men I meet spend the whole conversation calculating: my net worth, my cup size, or what I can do for their career. It’s exhausting.” She meets your eyes. “You’re also present; like, actually in the room with me instead of three moves ahead. Do you know how rare that is for a man nowadays?”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you drink instead and gulp the burning alcohol.

“I should show you the apartment,” she says eventually. “It’s getting late, and tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“What do you mean apartment, huh?”

“Where you’re staying. Family guest suite. It’s nicer than a hotel and the kitchen is stocked.” She’s already standing, leaving won on the table and waves farewell to the auntie with her signature big smile. “Plus it’s attached to my suite, so if you have any questions about tomorrow’s meetings, I’m right there.”

She’s… right… there…

You follow her into the Seoul night, feeling something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Hope, maybe. Or something that resembles it.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The Kwon family apartment is less an apartment and more a penthouse that happens to have multiple apartments inside it. Your ‘guest suite’ has two bedrooms, a full kitchen, and a view of the Han River that looks like a postcard. People would kill to get this vantage point.

“This is the small one,” Eunbi says, watching your face as you take it in. “My father’s is upstairs.”

“Seriously? The small one.”

“I know. It’s too much.” She doesn’t sound bothered. “Bathroom’s through there. Kitchen’s stocked, feel free to take anything. I’m through that door if you need me.”

She points to a connecting door between the suites.

“Get some rest,” she says. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Eunbi…”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you. For today. For… all of it.”

She looks at you. The sharpness leaves her face for a moment. She looks warm.

“You don’t have to thank me. This is all just business.”

“Is it?”

The question hangs there. She doesn’t look away.

“Get some rest now Akihiro,” she says again. Way softer this time.

She disappears through the connecting door. You hear it click shut behind her.

You shower. Change into the one nice pair of pajamas you packed. Lie down in a bed that’s too comfortable, in a room that’s too big, in a life that suddenly makes no sense.

Your phone buzzes.

般若: sooo… how was daddy kwon?

般若: did he make you cry?

般若: mhmmph~! no response. it means you’re either sleeping or sulking

般若: either way~

般若: sweet dreams, aki-kun

般若: don’t think about me too much 💋

You turn off your phone. Press your face into the pillow, cool and soft to the touch.

You dream of dark eyes, dangerous smiles, and the sound of your own name; distorted and mocking.

Akihiro-kun.

Aki-kun.

Akihiro.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Day Two in Seoul

Another day. Another opportunity to kill it; or yourself. You haven’t decided yet but work today went well at least.

You spend the morning going through different files with Eunbi, untangling the Kwon family’s trust structures, finding the pressure points and leverage opportunities. She’s extremely sharp, sharper than you expected, catching details you miss and building on your insights.

By afternoon, you’ve developed a preliminary framework. By dinner, you’re finishing each other’s sentences.

“This cousin here, Wonbin, he’s the problem,” you say, pointing at a family tree scrawled on a hotel stationery.

“He’s always been the problem. But we can’t cut him out without destabilizing the whole eastern division.”

“What if we don’t cut him out? What if we give him something he wants more than a chairmanship?”

“Like what?”

“Autonomy. His own subsidiary. Let him feel like a king of a smaller kingdom instead of a prince in a larger one. Let him think he holds the cards.”

She stares at you. Dumbfounded. Proud. A mix of things. Then grins.

“You’re either brilliant or insane.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“No,” she says. “They’re not.”

She orders room service. You eat on the floor of her suite, papers spread around you like a nest.

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

“You’re asking that a lot this week.”

“Touché.” She sets down her chopsticks. “What happened at Ishikawa? What really happened? Not the PR bullshit that spread around.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. You’ve told this story before, to lawyers and HR and partly to her father. But you’ve never really laid it all out honestly.

“I didn’t know,” you say finally. “That’s the short version. The partners were running a scheme, using client accounts to funnel money into shell companies, and I didn’t know. I should have. The signs were all there, if you knew where to look. But I was so focused on my work, on making partner, that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

“That’s…That’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it? I prided myself on catching what others missed. I was that guy. The one that reads between the lines. But I missed the biggest thing that’s happening in my own firm.” You stare at the mess of papers on the floor. “I think that’s what bothers me the most. Not that I lost my job. That I was so blind.”

“You weren’t blind. You were trusting. There’s a difference.”

“The result is the same.”

“No, it’s not.” She moves closer. Sits beside you instead of across from you. “Blind people don’t learn. Trusting people who get burned learn to be more careful next time. You’re not going to make that mistake again.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re already looking to be redeemed. You’re already questioning everything. You double-check every assumption. That’s not blindness. That’s someone who got hurt and refuses to get hurt the same way twice.”

You really don’t know what to say after that. So you don’t say anything.

She reaches over. Squeezes your hand. Lets go before it becomes something else.

“Well, we should get some sleep,” she says. “Tomorrow’s going to be long.”

“You said the same thing yesterday.”

“Every day with my family is long.” She stands. Offers you a hand up. “Come on. Out of my suite. You’ve got your own perfectly nice apartment to brood in.”

You take her hand. She pulls you to your feet. And for a moment you’re standing very close, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough to feel her breath.

Neither of you moves.

“Goodnight, Akihiro,” she says. Softly.

“Goodnight, Eunbi.”

You walk to the connecting door. Open it. Look back.

She’s still standing where you left her. Watching you with an expression you can’t read.

You close the door behind you.

Your phone buzzes.

般若: still thinking about me Aki-kun?

般若: good boy~ ♡

You turn off your phone and try to sleep.

You don’t dream of Tsuki tonight.

You dream of Eunbi instead. (Great. This. Whatever this is. It’s going to be a problem.)

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Day Three

You’re in a meeting room with three Kwon cousins arguing about a holding entity. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t check.

Later, in the bathroom, you look.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review: “I know you’re in Seoul, Hinode-san. I’m based here. Coffee? Twenty minutes anywhere you pick. I just want to have a conversation.”

You close the message.

Walking back to the meeting room you wonder briefly how the fuck she knows you’re in Seoul.

The day goes by with more work. A lot more progress. Extremely more time spent in her orbit, gravity pulling you close but not quite touching.

She brushes against you when she reaches for the documents. Her hand finds your arm when she’s making a point. Once, leaning over your shoulder to look at something on your laptop, you feel her breath against your ear and have to excuse yourself to get water. (The skinship that’s happening is beyond what you imagine.)

“You okay?” she asks when you return.

“Fine. Just needed to stretch.”

“You’ve been stretching a lot today.”

“I’m a stretchy person.”

“Who are you? Monkey D. Luffy?”

“No. Sorry. I just panicked.”

You both burst of laughter and the tension ratchets up another notch.

By dinner, you’re both avoiding eye contact.

“This is ridiculous,” she says finally. “We’re adults. I like you and you clearly like me. We can both acknowledge attraction like grown adults without making it weird.”

“Can we?”

“Apparently not, based on the last three hours.” She sets down her chopsticks. “Cards on the table. I find you attractive. I’m pretty sure you also find me attractive. We’re both single, we’re both consenting adults, and we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future. So we need to decide how to handle this.”

“How do you want to handle… this?”

“I asked you first.”

“That’s… That’s not fair.”

“I never said I was fair.” She leans back in her chair. “Tell me what you want, Akihiro. No wrong answers. Just honest ones.”

What do you want?

If you really are being honest then… You want to kiss her. You want to pull her into your lap and find out what sounds she makes when she’s not the feisty venture capitalist that she is. You want to forget about Tsuki, about Ishikawa, about everything that’s happened in the last month, and just be present with someone who seems to actually see through you.

But you also know there’s something else. Someone else. A presence in your head that won’t let go, no matter how much you want it to.

“I want to figure out what I want,” you finally say. “That’s the honest answer. I’m attracted to you. I like spending my time with you. But there’s… something else. Something I’m still trying to understand. And until I do, I don’t think I can give you what you deserve.”

For a moment the room is filled with silence.

“That’s either the most honest thing a man has ever said to me,” she says, “or the most elaborate brush-off.”

“It’s not a brush-off Eunbi.”

“Then what is it?”

“A rain check.” You meet her eyes. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying not yet. Not until I can be fully present with you.”

She nods slowly; processing. 

“Okay,” she says. “I can work with that.”

“You sure you can?”

“I’m not going to force myself on someone who isn’t ready. That’s not who I am.” She stands. Starts aggressively gathering the dinner containers. “But I’m also not going to wait forever. Figure out your shit, Akihiro. Then let me know.”

She leaves the room. You hear her in the kitchen, washing dishes with more force than strictly necessary.

You don’t blame her.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Day Four

Meetings all morning with various Kwon relatives, each more complicated than the last. Then a working lunch with Minjun where he asks pointed questions about your five-year plan and seem satisfied with your answers.

By evening, you’re exhausted. You order room service and eat alone in your suite, staring out at the river.

Your phone buzzes.

Kwon Eunbi: I owe you an apology

You: For what?

Kwon Eunbi: Last night. I was pushy. You set a boundary and I made it weird.

You: Don’t worry about it.

You: You didn’t make it weird.

Kwon Eunbi: I definitely made it a little weird. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it.

You: You’ve bought me a lot of drinks this week.

Kwon Eunbi: One drink. Connecting door. Bring your best brooding face.

You: I’ll be there in twenty

You shower. Change into a clean shirt. Tell yourself this is just a drink. (You know it’s not just a drink. She knows it’s not just a drink. You repeat it over and over inside your head, this ain’t just a drink, right? You’re clearly going insane.)

You knock on the connecting door anyway.

She opens it in silk pajamas. Hair loose. Face bare of makeup.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

“You asked.”

She steps aside. You step through.

The suite is warm. Jazz playing softly from somewhere. Two glasses of wine already poured on the coffee table.

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” she admits.

“What would you have done if I said no?”

“Drank both glasses myself and pretend it never happened.” She hands you a glass. “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

“Everything about this makes me nervous.” She sits on the couch. Leaves space for you. “I don’t do this, you know. Invite men to my suite. Mix business with… whatever this is.”

“What is this?”

“I don’t know yet.” She looks at you. Those bright eyes, so different from Tsuki’s. “But I’d like to find out. If you’re willing.”

You should say no. You should protect her from whatever’s happening in your head, the presence that won’t let go, the unfinished business you have with someone you don’t understand.

But she’s looking at you like you matter. Like you’re worth the risk.

“I’m willing,” you hear yourself say.

She sets down her wine. Moves closer. Her hand finds your jaw, turns your face toward hers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because once we do this, we can’t undo it.”

“I know.”

“And I meant what I said. I don’t like sharing. If this happens, I need you here. With me. Fully present.”

“I’m here.”

“Are you?”

You kiss her instead of answering.

She makes a sound against your mouth. Surprised, maybe. Then her hands are in your hair and she’s kissing you back, and everything you’ve been holding back floods out.

“Wait.” She pulls back. Breathing hard. “Wait. I need to tell you something first.”

“What?”

“I haven’t—” She closes her eyes. Opens them slowly. “It’s been a long time. Years. I’ve been so focused on work, on proving myself, that I haven’t… this is the first time I’ve wanted anyone in a very long time.”

“Eunbi—”

“I’m not saying that to pressure you. I’m just saying it because I need you to know that this means something to me. I don’t do casual.”

You touch her face. Trace the line of her jaw.

“Neither do I.”

She kisses you again.

This time neither of you pulls back.

Her hands find the buttons of your shirt. She works them open one by one, her mouth never leaving yours, and when the fabric parts she runs her palms across your chest.

“Mhmm~” She pulls back just enough to look. “You’ve been hiding this.”

“I haven’t been—”

“Shut up.” She pushes the shirt off your shoulders. Kisses your collarbone. Your sternum. The hollow of your throat. “Let me enjoy this.”

You reach for her pajama top. She raises her arms and lets you pull it over her head.

God.

Her breasts are fuller than you expected. Heavy and round, nipples already hard, flushed pink against her skin. Nothing like Tsuki’s, which were pert and perfect and calculated to destroy you. Eunbi’s are generous. Soft. Extremely soft. The kind you want to bury your face in and willingly suffocate in.

“You’re staring,” she says.

“I can’t help it.” (You really can’t. Her body is a super massive blackhole and your eyes are getting pulled into it and your mind is in mid-spaghettification)

“Good.” She takes your hands. Place them on her breasts. “Don’t help it.”

You cup them. Feel their weight in your palms. When your thumb brush her nipples she gasps, arching into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Like that. Fuck, like that—”

You lean down and take one nipple in your mouth. She cries out, her hands flying to your hair, pulling you closer. You suck. Roll the other nipple between your fingers. She writhes beneath you making sounds that are nothing like Tsuki’s. These are raw and real.

“More,” she gasps. “I need more—”

You kiss down her stomach. Hook your fingers into the waistband of her pajama bottoms and pull them down slowly, kissing each new inch of skin as it’s revealed. Her hips. Her thighs. The crease where her leg meets her body. She lifts her hips to help you, kicking the fabric away, and then she’s naked beneath you.

A gift from the gods unwrapped in its full glory. All of her. Curved and soft and warm and confident and… all yours.

“Your turn,” she says, reaching for your belt.

She undoes it with fumbling fingers. Pulls down your zipper. You help her get your pants and boxers off, and when your cock springs free she makes a sound low in her throat.

“Oh.” She wraps her hand around you. Strokes. “Oh!~”

“That good or bad?”

“That’s…” She gulped. “Good. That’s very, very good.” She strokes again, watching your face.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the plane. Watching your hands. Wondering how they’d feel.”

“Oh?” She slides off the couch onto her knees. “How does it feel so far?” Looks up at you with those bright eyes.

You fail to give her any sort of response from that assault.

“Let me taste you.”

Before you can respond, her mouth is already on you.

“Fuck,” you groan as she takes you deeper. “Your mouth—”

She hums around your cock. The vibration makes your hips jerk.

“You like that?” She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips brushing your tip. “You like my mouth on your cock?”

“Yes—”

She takes you deep again. Deeper. You feel the back of her throat, feel her swallow around you, and your hands fist in her hair.

“I’m gonna—if you keep doing that—”

She pulls off. Stands. Climbs onto your lap, straddling you, and before your mind catches up to what’s happening she’s reaching between you, positioning you at her entrance. She’s soaked. You can feel it. The head of your cock sliding through her folds, coating you in her wetness.

“Look at me,” she says. “I want to see your face when you finally stop calculating.” You look at her. Time stops. Seconds become years.

She sinks down.

“Oh fuck—” Her head falls back, her mouth open, her whole body trembling. “Christ. Christ, Akihiro. I had a number for this in my head and you just blew right past it.”

You try to find the right words in your head. She’s tight. Tighter than you expected, her walls gripping you, and wet, so fucking wet that you slide all the way to the hilt.

“Eunbi—”

“Shhh.” She rolls her hips. Adjusts. Takes a shaky breath. “Just—let me feel you. It’s been so long. Let me feel how deep you can go.”

“Eunbi—”

She starts to move. Slow at first. Finding her rhythm. Her hands on your chest, her eyes half-closed, making sounds that are high and breathless and abso-fucking-lutely real.

“You feel amazing,” she gasps. “Fuck, you feel—I forgot how good this could—You’re so big inside me—Fuck!”

You grip her hips. Start moving with her. She cries out.

“There—right there—don’t stop—please—fill me up—”

You don’t stop. You fuck up into her while she rides you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. Her breasts bounce with every thrust and you can’t stop watching them, can’t stop thinking about how different this is from Tsuki. She controlled you, denied you access, always keeping you on the edge without ever letting you fall. But Eunbi is giving everything. All she’s got. Generous. Taking everything you have and giving it back twofold.

“Harder,” she moans. “Fuck me harder—”

You flip her. Put her on her back, her legs wrapped around your waist, and you pound into her tight pussy the way you’ve wanted to pound into someone for longer than you can remember.

“Yes—yes—yes—yes!” She’s almost chanting now, mindless, her nails raking down your back. “Just like that, please don’t stop, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—Fuck!”

She comes. Her whole body seizes, her cunt clamping down on you so hard you start seeing stars constructing whole constellations in your head. You fuck her through it, watching her face contort with pleasure, feeling her pulse around your cock.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps as soon as she can breathe. “Keep going. I told you I don’t do slow. I told you I don’t do half. Don’t make me a liar.”

“Turn around.”

She gives you the horniest grin. Wild. Hungry. The composed heiress is gone; this version wants to devour you.

She flips onto her hands and knees. Look back at you over her shoulder. And the view—fuck, the view. Her ass is round and peach-perfect, her pussy glistening and swollen, her spine curved in invitation.

“Like this?”

You grab her hips. She arches. God that arch. You push inside. She moans, dropping her head, pushing back against you.

“Oh God. There. Right—there. Akihiro, there.”

You fuck her like you’ve never fucked anyone else. Hard. Deep. Starved. Watching yourself disappear into her over and over. Watching her body shake with each impact. Feeling how tight she grips you with every thrust. She’s so wet you can hear it, slick and obscene, and her moans are building higher with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck yes—don’t stop—”

And then—

Something shifts.

Her hair looks darker suddenly. Her skin paler. The curve of her spine changes, becomes something more familiar, and when she looks back over her shoulder her eyes turn flat and dark and everything warm turns cold, everything bright turns dark, and—

Tsuki.

She’s Tsuki. Under you, taking you, moaning your name, and you’re fucking her the way you’ve wanted to fuck her for weeks, hard and deep, and desperate, and she’s finally letting you, finally giving you what she’s been denying—

“This is what you’ve been wanting, Aki-kun,” Tsuki croons. “Take. Take it. I let you, this once. Don’t think I won’t take it back.”

You slam into her. Feral. Desperate. Angry. All the frustration of the past week pouring out. She takes it, takes all of it, crying out with every thrust, and you’re so close, so fucking close—

“Akihiro—”

It shifts again. Eunbi’s voice. Eunbi’s face. Eunbi’s body. The vision shatters.

You freeze. Heart pounding hard. Cock still throbbing inside her. (What the fuck was that?!)

“Akihiro please don’t stop,” she gasps. “God, don’t stop, I’m so fucking close—”

You force yourself to move. Force yourself to be present. This is Eunbi. This is real. She is real. Her warm, soft body. Her genuine moans. Her need that matches your own.

Stay here, stay with her.

I’m gonna cum again,” she warns. “Fuck I’m gonna—”

She does. Harder than before. Her whole body convulses, her cunt milking you, and this time you finally let yourself go with her. You bury yourself to the hilt and come, pumping your seed into her, filling her up while she shakes beneath you.

“Oh fuck—” She’s still trembling. “Oh fuck, I can feel it—you’re cumming so much—so warm”

You collapse on top of her. Both of you panting. Both of you wrecked.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Yeah.”

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

She laughs. Breathless. Turns her head to kiss you sloppily.

But she’s not done. After a minute, she pushes you onto your back. Your cock is still half hard, slick with her wetness and your cum, and she wraps her hand around it, stroking until you’re fully hard again.

“I told you,” she says, grinning down at you. “It’s been three years. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

She straddles you. Sinks down onto your cock in one smooth motion, and you can feel how wet she is, slick with you, dripping at each motion.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” she breathes, starting to move. “Feeling you inside me like this. Feeling how wet I am from you. Feeling your cum going deeper in me.”

She rides you slowly this time. Her hips rolling in lazy circles, her breasts swaying in your face. You watch them. Reach up and cup them, squeeze them, roll her nipples between your fingers.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Touch me. Take what’s yours. I love the way you touch my tits.”

You lean up. Take one nipple in your mouth. She cries out, her rhythm stuttering.

“Fuck—and your mouth—” You suck harder. She fucks you faster. Her moans building again, her walls tightening around you, and you can feel another orgasm building in both of you.

“I’m close,” she gasps. “Fuck, I’m close again—”

“Me too Eunbi.”

“Come with me.” She’s riding you frantically now, chasing it. “Come inside me again—I want you to fill me up—”

She comes. Clenches around you, crying out, and you follow her over the edge. Spilling into her for a second time, adding to the mess you already made inside her, and she collapses onto your chest with a satisfied groan.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles against your skin. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“I don’t really know where I came from but just know that now, I feel like I’m in heaven.”

You laugh. She laughs.

“Well you and me both.” She lifts her head. Grins at you, sweaty and satisfied, your cum leaking out of her onto your thigh. “We’re doing that at least three more times before you leave.”

“I might actually die.”

“Worth it.” She kisses you, soft and sweet. Nothing like Tsuki. “Totally fucking worth it.” You hold her. Let yourself be held. You don’t mention anything about the vision.

You really don’t know how.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

She curls against your side, pulls the blanket over both of you, rest her head on your chest.

“That was so good,” she says, sleepy and satisfied. “I forgot how good that could be.” She traced patterns on your chest. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten how.”

“You definitely didn’t forget.”

“Good to know the equipment still works.” She yawns. “You’re staying in Seoul for another few days. My father has more meetings scheduled.”

“Okay.”

“And I cleared my calendar.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m keeping you.”

You should clarify. Set expectations. Manage whatever this is becoming.

“Okay,” you say.

She falls asleep within minutes

You lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, watching Seoul glitter beyond the windows.

You’re thinking about the vision. About Tsuki’s face where Eunbi’s should have been.

No matter what happens, some part of you will wish it was me.

Some part of you does. You don’t know how to feel about that.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The nightmare comes around 3AM.

Masks. Hundreds of them. The mask you saw from the hotel hallway when you first met Tsuki, multiplied across every wall of an endless room. Their faces shift, anguish to rage, to something that might be hunger, and they’re all watching you.

You try to run. The floor is soft, wet, giving way beneath your feet. Slowly eating you alive.

Laughter echoes from everywhere. High-pitched. Demonic. Distorted. Mocking.

“Aki-kun,” a voice croons. Tsuki’s voice, but wrong. “Where are you going, Akihiro-kun?”

You run faster. The masks lean down from the walls.

“Akihiro.” The voice is everywhere. Nowhere. “Did you think you could escape me?”

“AKIHIRO.”

You jerk awake. Heart pounding. Sheets damp with sweat.

Eunbi is propped up beside you. Her hand is on your chest.

“Nightmare?” she asks softly.

“I—yeah.”

“You were saying a name.”

Your blood goes cold.

“What name?”

“Tsuki.”

The word hangs between you. Heavy. Damning. (You’re fucking screwed)

“So that’s the mystery woman,” she says.

“Yes.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she pushes the blankets aside and stands.

You see her in the low light. All of her. The curve of her spine, the fullness of her hips, her breasts swaying slightly as she moves. Even now, even in this moment, she’s beautiful. Unconsciously sensual in a way that’s nothing like Tsuki.

She walks to the bathroom. You hear water running. She returns with a glass, sits on the edge of the bed, offers it to you.

“Drink.”

You take the glass. Drink. Your hands are shaking slightly.

“How long has this been happening?” she asks. “The nightmares.”

“Since I met her. About a week ago.”

“That’s when you met me too.”

“I know.”

She nods. Processing.

“We all have our ghosts,” she says finally.

“Eunbi, I—”

“Don’t.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “Don’t apologize for your subconscious. You can’t control what you dream about.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me.” She takes the glass from your hands. Sets it on the nightstand. “But I knew what this was when I started it. I knew you were carrying something. I just didn’t know her name.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be.” She lies back down. But there’s distance now. Inches that weren’t there before. “Try to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Eunbi—”

“Morning, Hinode-san. Everything makes more sense in daylight.”

She turns away. Not hostile. Just… done.

You lie there in the dark, watching the ceiling, feeling like you’ve broken something you didn’t know was fragile.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

Morning comes too early.

You wake to gray light and an empty bed. For a moment you think she left. But then you hear sounds from the kitchen.

She’s making coffee.

You find her at the counter, wearing nothing but one of your shirts. It barely covers her thighs. Her hair is mussed. She looks soft. Domestic. She looks like something you could have.

“Cream and sugar are on the table,” she says without looking up. “I didn’t know how you take it.”

“Black is fine.”

“Of course it is.” She pushes a cup toward you. Meets your eyes. “You look terrible.”

“Didn’t sleep well.”

“I noticed.” She takes a sip of her own coffee. Studies you over the rim. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“Last night. The nightmare. Tsuki.”

You wait.

“I like you, Hinode-san,” she says. “I think we could be good together. Professionally, personally, whatever. But I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

“You’re not…”

“Let me finish.” She holds up a hand. “I believe you when you say you don’t understand what’s happening with this Tsuki person. I even believe you when you say you want to be here, with me.”

“I do.”

“I know.” She sets down her cup. “But I also know what I heard last night. You weren’t just dreaming about her. You were terrified of her. And when you said her name…” She trails off. Shakes her head. “There was longing in your voice. Need.”

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Then don’t. Not now.” She takes another sip. “Here’s what I propose. The business arrangement stands. My father likes you. The restructuring work is real. I’ll make sure you get it, because you deserve it, and because it’s the right decision for the family.”

“But?”

“But this—” she gestures between you “—needs to wait. Until you figure out what you want. Who you want.”

“Eunbi…”

“Figure it out Hinode-san.” She says it simply. Without cruelty. “I mean that. Whatever this is, obsession, curse, trauma response, I don’t know, you need to figure it out. Not for me. For you.”

“And if I do? If I figure it out and come back?”

Her jaw unclenches. The sharpness leaves her face.

“If I’m still not taken then we’ll have a different conversation.” She reaches across the counter. Squeezes your hand once, then lets go. “I like you, Akihiro. More than I probably should. But I didn’t build a career by making exceptions for people who couldn’t even meet me halfway.”

“That’s fair.”

“I know it is.” She checks her watch. “You have a meeting with my father in two hours. The car will be here in ninety minutes. I suggest you shower.”

“Eunbi…”

“We’re okay.” She says it firmly. Like she’s decided it. “This isn’t goodbye. It’s just… a pause. Figure out your ghost. Then call me.”

She disappears into her bedroom before you can respond.

You stand alone in the kitchen of her penthouse you don’t deserve, drinking coffee that’s better than anything you’ve ever made, watching Seoul wake up beyond the windows.

Your phone buzzes. You check it more reflexively than expectantly.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review: Hinode-san. Following up. The Polaris piece is closing this week and I think we should talk before it runs.

You don’t answer. You don’t even read past the first line. You put the phone face-down on the countertop.

A minute later it buzzes again. This time you look.

般若: well done

Two words. Nothing else. You stare at the screen until it goes dark.

She knew. She always knows.

I’m what you can’t stop wanting.

You’re starting to believe her.

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡

The rest of the week passes in a blur of meetings, contracts, and careful distance.

Eunbi is professional, cordial, and warm; business associates type of warm. A hand on your shoulder during introductions. A smile when you make a clever point. Nothing that would seem out of place to an observer.

But she doesn’t touch you or look at you like she did that night. Whatever door opened between you, she’s closed it. Gently but firmly. You don’t push. You wouldn’t know how.

The work is solid. The Kwon family is complicated but you’re used to complicated (Eunbi wasn’t exaggerating comparing it to Game of Thrones, only unlike the show you’ve produced a better ending).

By Saturday, you’ve outlined a restructuring plan that will save them approximately twelve million dollars in tax liability while keeping the various cousins from actively murdering each other.

“Impressive,” Minjun says when you present it. “You work fast.”

“I had good information to work with.”

“My daughter said you’d be modest.” He signs the retainer agreement with a flourish. “She also said you were more interesting than you let on. I’m inclined to agree.”

You fly back to Tokyo that evening. Eunbi sees you off at the airport.

“Thank you,” you tell her. “For all of it.”

“Don’t thank me. This is business.” But she smiles when she says it. “Figure out your ghost, Hinode-san. Then call me.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you’ll have a very successful consulting career and a string of mediocre relationships.” She kisses your cheek. “But I don’t think that’s what you want.”

Your phone buzzes between you. Eunbi glances at the screen automatically. So do you.

Kim Jiwoo · Seoul Financial Review

“The Polaris journalist,” Eunbi says. “I know her.”

“She’s been emailing for weeks.”

“About Ishikawa?”

“About something else, she keeps saying. I haven’t found out what.”

Eunbi looks at you. Says nothing. Files the information away the way you’ve watched her file every other piece of information about you all week.

She walks away before you can respond.

Your flight lands at Narita at 8PM. You take the train home. Climb the stairs to your apartment.

The door is unlocked.

You know who’s waiting before you even step inside.

But when you open the door, what you find stops you cold.

Tsuki is on your couch. Same position as before. Same book in her hands.

She’s completely naked.

Every inch of her exposed. Pale skin glowing in the lamplight. Those full breasts you’ve only glimpsed before. The curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.

She doesn’t look up from the book.

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“Welcome home, Aki-kun,” she says. “We need to talk.”

You don’t react. But you’ve never seen her hesitate. Three weeks of texts. Two encounters: the hotel and your apartment. The corridor. And you’ve never seen her need a second to find a word.

You don’t say anything about it.

You don’t think she noticed.

You stand in the doorway, frozen, unable to look away.

“Close the door, Akihiro-kun.” She finally looks up. Those flat, dark eyes. That dangerous smile. “You’re letting the cold in.”

✦✦⟡⟡⟡⟡