why pisces

🪐 POSICIONAMENTOS:

Sol em Capricórnio

Lua em Touro

Mercúrio em Capricórnio

Marte em Capricórnio

Vênus em Aquário

🪐 ASPECTOS:

Sol em trígono com Lua

Sol em conjunção com Júpiter

Lua em quadratura com Mercúrio

Lua em quadratura com Vênus

Lua em quadratura com Marte

Lua em trígono com Júpiter

Lua em quadratura com Urano

Lua em quadratura com Netuno

Mercúrio em conjunção com Urano

Mercúrio em conjunção com Netuno

Marte em sextil com Saturno

Marte em conjunção com Urano

Marte em conjunção com Netuno

🪐 TIPO IDEAL:

Joshua tem um mapa extremamente saturniano, pois seus posicionamentos estão ou em Aquário ou em Capricórnio e fazendo aspectos diretos uns com os outros. Esses signos enxergam o amor de uma maneira mais realista, prática e menos tradicional - assim, o tipo ideal dele não seria uma pessoa que enxerga o amor como um conto de fadas ou através de lentes cor-de-rosa. Pouco improvável cenários de comédia romântica por aqui.

É necessário também uma pessoa que não seja constipada ou complicada emocionalmente falando porque, além dos posicionamentos astrológicos derem ficarem muito sobrecarregados com esse tipo de coisa, ele por si só é assim. Quanto mais honesta e direta a pessoa for, mais seguro ele fica.

Uma pessoa que tenha a sua própria vida e não requeira atenção ou validação constante é importante também. Pessoas com posicionamentos regidos por Saturno precisam de espaço e de solitude - coisas ou pessoas que tirem o foco das suas metas são um grande não por aqui.

Joshua tem a Lua em Touro que, apesar de, no geral, ser um posicionamento ótimo, faz ele ter uma certa preguiça - ou seja, se algo não é emocionalmente fácil + ele tem a opção de não se envolver, ele nem entra.

CONTUDO, apesar do que eu disse até agora sobre ele ser distante, prático e realista, é um pouco questionável porque ele tem uma Lua SUPER mal aspectada…fazendo quadraturas com quase todos os planetas que compõem um mapa astral.

Quando se tem uma Lua mal posicionada, é comum que a pessoa não confie no que sente por conta da confusão interna que ela enfrenta - logo, seria super benéfico para ele alguém segura e confiante em si e no que sente para que, consequentemente, o ofereça segurança para demonstrar seu interior.

Além disso, com a Vênus em Aquário, ele precisa alguém que o permita ser ele mesmo e ser livre, enquanto ambos têm um senso de responsabilidade no relacionamento. Joshua gostaria de uma pessoa tão segura e independente ao ponto que não há outra razão para ela estar em um relacionamento com ele além do puro querer.

Capricórnio e Touro no mapa do Joshua faz ele ser mais tradicional - no sentido de “ritos” românticos e são signos que expressam o amor através deles geralmente. Assim, uma pessoa que saiba apreciar, que deixe ele bancar o cavalheiro e retribua esse cuidado, é a pedida por aqui também.

Alguém que não saiba se expressar ou espere que ele leia a mente dele é um BIG NO por aqui. Sem nenhuma paciência para esse tipo de coisa. Alguém inteligente, curioso, com a mente aberta, que tenha seus próprios interesses e é muito bom no que faz é parte da espinha dorsal do tipo ideal do nosso capricorniano. Alguém que pensa e PENSA BEM antes de fazer ou falar algo. Joshua precisa ter uma certa confiança e previsibilidade em relação à pessoa com que ele está se relacionando ou ele nem chega perto.

Em resumo, uma pessoa reservada, responsável, que tenha sua própria vida e particularidade, mas que também seja um pouco única e diferente em alguns aspectos é a receita para deixar ele caidinho.

🪐 COMO DEMONSTRA QUE GOSTA DE ALGUÉM:

Para que a gente avalie como uma pessoa demonstra que gosta de outra, na Astrologia, analisamos a Lua, a Vênus e o Marte.

Joshua possui a Lua bem mal aspectada que, em conjunto com os posicionamentos regidos por Saturno dele, ele não sabe muito bem o que fazer quando entende que está gostando de alguém. Mas, no geral, ele busca demonstrar afeto por maneiras mais tradicionais.

É possível perceber que ele gosta de alguém quando começa a tocar a pessoa, de maneira leve, do nada - sabe quando alguém começa a rir e toca o braço da pessoa?

A Vênus em Aquário dele faz com que seja um pouco morde e assopra - em um dia, ele tá super presente e no outro, some (posicionamentos em Aquário são conhecidos por dar ghosting - não por maldade em si, mas porque precisam de um tempo maior sozinhos e não gostam de ficar em cima das pessoas).

Com a Lua em Touro e o Marte em Capricórnio do Joshua, é possível notar que ele gosta de alguém quando compartilha detalhes da vida dele ou encaixa a pessoa na rotina dele no geral - passa o tempo livre com ela.

🪐 LINGUAGEM DE AMOR:

Atos de serviço + presentes: é a expressão mais pura dos posicionamentos regidos por Saturno dele e da Lua em Touro. É sobre prover cuidado, estabilidade e agradar o parceiro, adicionando algo que realmente seja útil na vida dele.

Não espere por aqui expressões super românticas ou afeto físico/verbal exagerado. O amor do Joshua não é muito expresso dessa forma.

🪐 MOTIVOS DE BRIGAS:

O Marte em Capricórnio, a Lua em Touro e a Lua em quadratura do mapa do Joshua apontam para uma pessoa que prefere guardar a raiva para si do que expressá-la e resolver o conflito de uma vez. Então, ainda que tenha esses motivos listados abaixo, até chegar numa briga [que, acredite, é melhor não], Joshua vai observar, conversar, tentar encontrar algum caminho para só aí existir uma discussão.

Falta de responsabilidade ou maturidade: quer fazer o Joshua ter um piripaque? Se comprometa a fazer algo e não cumpra, ou não tenha o mínimo de preparo para alguma situação. Então, imagine um cenário em que você vai viajar e perdeu o passaporte, ou diz que vai preparar o jantar e não faz [esse tipo de situação], e o veja querer explodir.

Instabilidade emocional : a Lua em Touro dele tem pavor de drama ou de pessoas que não sabem conversar e resolver as coisas como adulto. Gritar, espernear, tratamento do silêncio, não o deixar contar seu lado da história é um grande NÃO por aqui. O pavor desse homem é viver romance de novela mexicana.

Controle excessivo: sabe aqueles relacionamentos em que uma pessoa tem que pedir permissão para fazer algo [o clássico: "amor, posso sair com meus amigos?"] ? Cortar a independência do Joshua é uma das piores coisas que se pode fazer com ele...é necessário construir uma vida independente do relacionamento e não tê-lo como o foco da sua vida.

Parceiros preguiçosos : esse homem tem PAVOR de gente encostada ou que não tem ambição nenhuma. Estar com o Joshua é entender que ele quer construir um Império com você - então, nada de gente que não estuda, que não evolui, que não busca viver por aqui.

🪐 COMO MIMÁ-LO:

Facilitar a vida dele: é possível que Joshua seja uma pessoa que não saiba muito equilibrar vida pessoal e trabalho. Então alguém que facilite algumas coisas da rotina dele ia ser ÓTIMO.

Conforto por meio do toque: Joshua não é um grande fã de toque físico, mas ele AMA um chameguinho bem feito [calma, aqui é family friendly ainda] em momentos de estresse ou que está relaxando - um cafuné, uma abraço por trás, uma massagem nos ombros, uma conchinha.

Deixá-lo com seus momentos de independência: novamente, o Joshua precisa ter tempo só para ele. É importante fazer um esforço para não ser TÃO grudenta por aqui.

Criar tradições: a Lua em Touro + Marte em Capricórnio AMAM isso aqui! Pode ser qualquer coisa, desde que façam juntos. Um jantar toda sexta-feira, uma viagem internacional anual, uma noite do filme. Criar um momento constante para vocês dois.

Conversa sem julgamento: Joshua tem Mercúrio em conjunção com Urano e Netuno, então se prepare para ouvir lorota e papo torto! É aqui que o lado mais doidinho do centro dele se manifesta e é importante que você não corte a vibe dele - e, melhor ainda, se junte!

🪐 NAMORADO NO DIA A DIA:

No geral, eu diria que conviver com Joshua seria ter dias calmos com um pouco de caos controlado.

É do tipo que gosta de manhãs mais lentas, previsíveis [por conta da Lua em Touro que precisa de algo mais calmo e devagar mesmo] e de fazer perguntas mais básicas como: "você dormiu bem?". Nada de profundo ou complicado por aqui.

Durante o dia, demonstra cuidado perguntando se você precisa de algo ["já almçou?" , "está tudo bem por aí?"] e te assistindo quando necessita. Mas, quando está no trabalho/compromissos, costuma ficar meio off até acabar tudo.

Se tiver mais livre, é aquele que enche a DM de meme, coisas interessantes que viu no tiktok/reels.

Gosta de ter momentos de afeto e de tradições do casal durante a semana. É alguém que gosta de planejar, então, sem coisas repetinas por aqui - o que não significa tédio, mas é que até o novo precisa de um plano.

🪐 O QUE O FAZ FICAR:

Precisa admiriar o parceiro pelo o que é e o que faz - Joshua 🤝 Sabrina Carpenter: I get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy.

Estabilidade emocional: problemas se resolvem por meio da conversa...nada de ataques por aqui [até porque ele bem saberia como lidar...ia ficar parado assim 🧍‍♂️]

Liberdade para ser quem é: deixe-o liberar o lado maluquinho do bairro e sem julgá-lo, por gentileza!

Joshua precisa sentir que tem um futuro e que construirá algo com você! Nada de gente que pensa só no presente ou vive a vida como Zeca Pagodinho.

Lealdade

🪐 O QUE O FAZ IR :

Quebra de confiança

Caos

Falta de respeito

Sentir-se preso

Perder a admiração no parceiro

🪐 SUMÁRIO [+] OU [-]:

[+]: Leal, demonstra amor através de atitudes, pensa no relacionamento a longo prazo, paciente.

[-]: Dificuldade de falar sobre sentimentos, acumula ressentimentos, frio, teimoso, exigente, se afasta em momentos que passa dificuldades.

🪐 SPICY TIME:

BDSM leve.

Brinquedos

Dom/sub

Lugares inusitados

Sensorial

Oral

Edging

Incluir outras pessoas

The restaurant he chooses is quiet in a way that costs money—muted lights blending with soft voices, a view that looks curated rather than natural. You tell yourself it’s just a dinner. One meal, one hour, and then he’ll vanish.

That’s the story you stick to.

Joshua pulls your chair out for you. You don’t thank him. He doesn’t seem to mind. He watches you the way investors watch graphs—patient, certain that eventually the line will move in his favor.

You order first.

“The grilled fish,” you say, then pause, tilting your head as if reconsidering. “Whole.”

Joshua smiles faintly. “Bold choice.”

“They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” you reply lightly.

The food arrives. The fish is pristine—untouched, staring upward at you with one cloudy eye. You don’t hesitate. You cut cleanly, precisely, lifting the eye out with your fork.

Joshua’s glass stills halfway to his lips.

“They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” you repeat, softer now, like a still oasis. You place it in your mouth. Chew. Consider.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “I like them. Makes me wonder how souls taste.”

A soft smile curves up your lips.

He lets out a sharp laugh. “You’re trying to scare me.”

“Am I?” you ask with airy curiosity.

The server refills the drink without asking. Joshua thanks him by reading his nameplate. You notice that—how carefully he keeps track of small dominions.

“You don't flinch around me,” he says at last, nodding towards the plate. His voice has settled back into a calm ocean wave. “Most people do.”

“Most people perform,” you counter back, setting down your fork neatly. “I get bored with that.”

Joshua surveys you like a puzzle, as if its few pieces are missing on purpose. “You think I’m performing?”

“I think you’re rehearsed,” you claim. “There’s a difference.”

That earns a genuine stretch across his lips—slower and considered. “Rehearsal is just respect for the audience,” he debates.

“And yet,” you pause, glancing around the dining room, “you chose somewhere where no one’s really watching.”

“Privacy has its own kind of audience.” He leans back with a pleased nod. “Tell me—why did you agree to this dinner?”

You let the silence engulf the table, opting to take a sip of water. It doesn’t bother him. That bothers you.

“Curiosity,” you say finally. “People like you always want something they can't have. I wanted to see if you are after me to just bandage your bruised ego or something else.”

Joshua nods, as if you’ve confirmed a hypothesis, but you don't miss the derision twinkling in his eyes. “Fair. And?”

“And I wanted to see if you’d be disappointed when I didn’t give it to you.”

His shoulders shake with a chuckle. “You assume I know what I want.”

“You assume you don’t?”

Touché hangs between you with a bead of a shared joke neither of you will admit to enjoying it.

He gestures toward your plate. “You talked about souls earlier. Do you believe in them?”

“I believe in leverage,” you say. “People call it different things depending on what comforts them.”

“Interesting,” he mutters, tapping his glass lightly. “I believe in inevitability. Systems move in predictable ways. People too, if you give them enough time.”

“Time,” you echo. “That’s generous of you.”

“I am generous,” he says easily. “With the right investments.”

You laugh, quiet and unamused. “You talk about people like assets.”

“Everyone does,” he replies. “I just don’t pretend otherwise.”

The server returns with his dish—something minimalist and expensive-looking. Joshua doesn’t rush to eat. He stays still—watching you, an unattainable woman grown up with a silver spoon and charm.

“Families,” he continues, picking up the thread you left dangling earlier. “They’re the worst-run organizations in existence. No bylaws. No exit clauses. Just obligation and decay.”

“And yet,” you pause, “people cling to them harder than anything else.”

“Fear of starting from zero,” he says. “Sunk cost fallacy. Sentimentality.”

“Or love,” you offer, flatly.

He tilts his head, dripping with mockery. “You think love is exempt from economics?”

“No,” you answer. “I think it’s often used as a cover charge.”

That earns a fogged silence. Joshua finally takes a bite of his food.

“You’re not wrong,” he says after a moment. “But you’re not entirely right either.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Do explain.”

“Control,” he says in a lower octave, “is easier when people think they’re choosing it.”

The words land with soft steps—careful and deliberate.

Your eyes lock with his—unblinking. “And you invited me here because…?”

“Because,” Joshua pauses, “you don’t think you’re choosing anything. Which makes you interesting.”

You smile again—small and sharp as if carved with a blade. “Careful. Curiosity is expensive.”

“So is boredom,” he replies with a twinning smile. “And I can afford both.”

The check arrives, discreet as everything else. Joshua reaches for it. You let him.

As you stand, he says almost casually, “Same time next week?”

You want to scoff at his audacity, but somehow you consider him—the curated view, the muted lights, the way the evening has been shaped without ever feeling rushed, and everything was molded with his hands—dancing to the beat of his fingertips.

“We’ll see,” you chew over. “I don’t like inevitability.”

Joshua smiles like someone who’s already accounted for that.

“Neither do I,” he agrees with an amiable smile once more.

You leave first.

But at the door, your steps halt, patting your pockets with polished exasperation. “Damn. I think I dropped something.”

Joshua is already moving. “I’ll find it,” he offers.

You wave him off. “It’s nothing important.”

You walk out.

The next sunrise you splash your face with frigid water, its chill biting into your skin, but you don't mind it. Your eyes stare at your own through your reflection—staring. Your fingertip traces them in the mirror, its cool surface matching your pupils.

You wonder what your soul looks like—and his too.

Your phone vibrates on the marble surface. Call of the devil, indeed.

“I think you left behind your keychain…uhh of an eye,” he says. “How about I hand it over with another dinner?”

"You don't have to. Just send—"

"No, let's meet up, or else I'm going to keep it as a gift from you."

You let out a heavy sigh. "Fine, but this time I'll pick the place."

He lets out a small cheer, contented that you caved in with little struggle. "Okay, send me the address!" he beams, and you hang up.

Neon lights flicker with the bass; bodies sway on the dance floor, pulsing with energy in the nightclub. The music vibrates too loudly; the crowd breathes too close to each other, but it feels like the perfect place to hide, like a fish in the sea of people. And yet, here he is—Joshua Hong, right in front of you, as if fate had conspired to force you into this moment yet again.

You spot him before he spots you, his back turned as he scans the crowd, probably looking for your head. When his eyes pin on yours, they emit that familiar flicker—hope. But today, the air shifts differently for them. There’s no softness in your expression.

He approaches with soft steps as his voice cuts through the noise.

“So, this is capable of dragging you out of your hermit but not me, huh?” he asks with a light huff, swinging your keychain—a little eye-shaped charm that’s been with you for years. The metal gleams in the flashing lights, a constant reminder of something you’ve left behind.

You let it swing in front of your face like a trinket for a cat, not moving to claw it away. Instead, you narrow your eyes, lips curling into something that’s not quite a smile, but almost one.

“That's funny,” you reply with a curved edge in your words. “You are the one who found it, huh? What a coincidence.”

He laughs; the dripping suspicion is not lost on him. His fingers secured around its chain. “Maybe we are meant to be together. Fate has made us meet again.”

Your eyes roll back as you lean against the bar, assessing the crowd. This isn't the place for a private conversation. The lights are too bright, the space too full of people; eager ears can easily blend in to eavesdrop.

“You wish," you huff. "Spout your nonsense, I’m listening,” you order disdainfully. Your tone is stitched with taunts, meant to discourage him, but he has the gall to still shamelessly open his mouth to utter another thread of nonsense. A wave of exasperation floods over you, making you curse under your breath, already preparing yourself to snatch the keychain and leave. You don’t need this.

“About us,” he continues, his words soft and clear as conjunctiva, but the underlying urgency doesn't escape your keen eye. He steps a foot closer into your bubble, just a hairsbreadth away. “I know you didn't mean to turn me down, and I think I—”

You cut him off, folding your arms. “This isn't the time or place. And honestly? I don’t think I need to hear it at all.”

He blinks, then stands still like a statue, then the corners of his mouth pull down in a way that makes your stomach coil for a moment. But you know his sadness is plastic.

Joshua reaches into his pocket, and you know exactly what he is about to fish out next. The ring. That damn ring. You’d seen it before—more than you would like to—the one he’s been holding onto for far too long, the one he keeps pulling out, hoping for a different answer every single time. This time—it's a desperate, final plea.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” his words quiver with such downy thoughtfulness that if you were naïve enough, you would have thrown yourself in his arms out of sheer pity. "I love you. And I know you don’t feel the same, but I—I can’t keep waiting for you to change your mind." He stammers, looking down at the ring, his hand quaking as he holds it out to you. "Please... will you marry me?"

The words hang in the air.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it—quicker, cutting, and punitive than you meant it to be. Your gaze flickers around the room, the noise growing more distant as the entire club seems to slow down, like time itself is holding its breath.

And when you speak, your voice cuts through the volatile silence between the two of you. “I told you already,” you remind him firmly, the words thick with disinterest, like a sentence you’ve repeated so many times like a mindless recording that it has lost its meaning. “I’m not marrying you.”

His face falters—so subtly it’s easy to miss. A flicker of pain slips through, breaking past the desperate mask he’s struggling to hold together. His eyes drift, unfocused, as if he’s trying to make sense of something he can no longer quite grasp.

You step back, your gaze freezing cold as you notice the crowd gape at his humiliation—rejection delivered like a guillotine. The club thumps not only with music but countless eyes on both of you and a chain of whispers being spread among the people. Someone laughs—a sharp, ugly one that bounces off the walls like the snort of a pig. Your rejection is echoing, sinking into the air with its anchor, its weight heaving up on Joshua's shoulders. You let it linger, savoring the moment, watching his embarrassment bloom in front of everyone.

Another laugh echoes. Someone snickers behind you, a little too loud to ignore. You can feel the eyes of the club on you now, the murmur of voices spreading like wildfire.

"Wow," someone lets out a derisive snort. “She just shut him down in front of everyone.”

The whispers sting him. It's satisfying to see him shrink, his shoulders folding inward as if he's trying to make himself smaller. The guy who used to stand tall, full of confidence, now seems like a child pleading for validation (unfortunately with no tears glinting in his eyes yet).

For the first time, you see it—genuine hurt. Not the forced kind he tried to sell you over the months, but raw, real vulnerability. The people surrounding you don’t seem to notice it. They just keep talking, their attention already shifting elsewhere; the whole world keeps rotating while he stands still—stuck in this moment.

“Good,” you say, almost too softly for anyone but him to hear. “It was never going to happen.”

Joshua stands there, arm still outstretched, the ring caught between you like a mistake he made too fast to take back. His fingers twitch, grip tightening, loosening—like he’s resisting the urge to snatch it away or force the moment forward. Silence presses in.

His jaw flexes. He swallows whatever he almost says.

For a flicker of a second, something reckless sparks through him—his gaze snapping to the bottle on the table behind you, his fingers curling around its neck, smashing it against the corner of the table. And then he swings it at your head—

No, he doesn’t.

The cloud dissipates as he stays frozen instead, breathing unevenly, the impulse passing through him without landing, leaving only the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

“I told you already,” you remind him. “I’m not marrying you.”

Something fractures behind his eyes.

That’s when he hears it.

Two men sitting a few tables away. One voice low, crude, and careless. Complaining about women. About stubborn ones. Laughing about how they need to be taught lessons. Suggesting things that make Joshua’s jaw tick.

You notice his attention swaying towards those men.

Joshua leans in closer to you. “You hear that?”

You shrug. “Men talk.”

His face contorts, not in reaction to them, but to the universe and the possibility of anything encroaching on his perceived possessions.

You watch the realization bloom in his mind, its branches stretching out with leaves engraved with threat, protection, and possession.

You take advantage of his astonishment, fishing your keychain from his other hand, and by the time he realizes it, you're already blended into the crowd, slipping out of his reach.

Later, when you’re alone, your fingertip traces the eye of your keychain as you swim in your thoughts.

You had punctured his pride through and through.

You let out a heavy sigh, shaking your head to disperse your thoughts, and began a long trudge to the bathroom.

Frigid water splashes your face and drips down your hands slowly like a draining waterfall. You straighten up, staring at your reflection. Eyes look back—whole and intact.

A small smile curves up your lips.

You wonder what your soul looks like—

And his too.

A stack of papers snaps your face to the other side. Your cheek burns; you press your tongue against it, steadying yourself. After a moment, you lift your gaze again, smoothing your hair back into place.

"What did you say? No?!" your father screams in your face."You think I'll forget about it if you avoid me for days? How dare you humiliate me in front of him?" He shrills, his fingers digging into your hair and yanking your head back with all his might.

You choke back a whimper, but still maintain your glare.

He scoffs and spits in your face at your audacity. With a forceful push, he sends you reeling, your back colliding with the wall in a deafening thud.

A sharp pain shoots up your lower back; you bite down your boiling scream by digging your nails into your palms. Everything throbs, but you won't hand him the satisfaction of witnessing your misery.

"Get out of my face. Scram!" he yells, and you do, limping your way out.

You step outside, inhaling a sharp breath of the city. Sunlight reflects off the gray concrete sidewalk, which is lined with green bushes. You walk towards the cacophony of the main road, leaving a trail of dripping humiliation. At the intersection, the air grows thicker, carrying the sharp scent of gasoline and hot rubber. The muted, sleepy environment of the street abruptly met the frantic buzz of life—cars rushing past, music thumping from a passing vehicle, and the scattered conversations of people walking by. You don't pay mind to the bustling city as your mind occupies itself by flipping through today's events.

An abrupt vibration travels from the soles of your feet up to your chest, followed by a guttural, tearing roar that rips through the quiet afternoon.

You look up just in time to see a bright streak of neon cutting through the traffic flow, weaving erratically in your direction; the rider hunched low over the tank like a jockey in a race. You freeze, your breath hitching.

It all happens too fast.

A splatter of sizzling liquid rises high like tsunami waves onto your face—slopping into your eye.

A bloodcurdling scream erupts from your lungs as you instantly shield your left eye.

You watch a blurry figure rushing in your direction from the other side of the road. You blink—Joshua Hong.

He ran towards you, his saucer eyes puffed up with flaming rage and concern. He gently but firmly moves your hand away from your eye to inspect the damage.

"Are you okay?!"

He clumsily fishes out his phone, swiftly pressing it to his ear. His words are stern and curt as he speaks to someone on his phone. "Get security here, now!"

A blend of your blood with bubbling acid stains your palm. He cautiously pulls your hand away from your eye once again. He watches you, his gaze locked on your face. Your left eye remains squeezed shut so tightly that it sends a tremor through your cheek, while a steady, silent stream of tears leaks out, mapping down the path of your immense pain. He hears you hiss softly under your breath, trying to hide your pain. He scrutinizes the crowd that is beginning to encircle around you both, everyone whispering and covering their mouths in shock.

Without hesitation, he scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. Keeping you steady with one arm, he begins striding towards the waiting car, barking orders into the phone with deadly calmness. "I want that acid analyzed immediately. Find out who did this."

Joshua carefully places you down in the backseat of the car, climbing in after you. He is quick to grab a handful of tissues, gently pressing them against your eye, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. You grunt in protest, your eye still throbbing endlessly. The driver speeds off towards the hospital, leaving the chaotic scene behind. "Stay still," he says, squeezing your shoulder in solace.

At the hospital, his hand remains steadfast in your hold as Joshua accompanies you throughout the entire examination. Refusing to step outside, his hand holds yours more firmly as the doctor examines your eye, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. (The security gave up trying to take the man outside when he answered with a grim scowl; no one wants to offend this man with tremendous influence after all.)

When they finally gave the news that you had lost vision in your left eye because of the acid attack, his face ashes up and a winter chill settles in his eyes.

He listens meticulously as the doctor explains that the acid had burned through your retina, causing permanent blindness in your left eye. He saw your porcelain pale face remain gray—sheeted with an uneasy layer of placidity. He hears the doctor mention that he spotted a small sign of infection, which might likely spread more.

"Can she still keep her eye, or does it need to be removed?"

The doctor hesitates before answering Joshua's knotty question. "The eye is severely damaged and infected. Removing it would prevent further infection and pain for the patient," he explains while keeping his eyes downcast. Joshua's jaw clenches, his knuckles turn pale merely from his tight hold on your hand. "We recommend removal within the next forty eight hours."

He takes in a deep breath, trying his best to bottle in his swirling rage and grief. His gaze flickers down at you, looking for the shock and pain in your remaining eye. He sets the decision in stone. “Do it.” The words were thin—arctic and absolute. The doctor froze, then nodded. "Remove it."

They don’t let him stay long.

You’re still holding his hand when they start moving you, the bed rolling too smoothly, just like this decision which was made swiftly. The lights above smear together in a static lane of white. You try to sit up, to ask him not to let go.

“Wait,” you screech, or your voice only echoes in your head.

The needle slides into your arm. Cold spreads fast—chasing your thoughts. His grip tightens, desperate, as if he holds hard enough he can keep you here.

Your fingers betray you. They loosen. Your body follows.

“No,” he pleads, but the nurse peels your hand away from his as if it no longer belongs to either of you.

The doors close.

Inside, everything is too bright. They move quickly now in a careful motion blur of efficiency as if the gentleness will soften the inevitable outcome.

They drape a blue sheet over your face, leaving only your left eye exposed. The light still reaches only one place. Only one thing left to take.

You’re not asleep. You’re not awake. Your mind floats somewhere above your body, watching it lie there in obedience. Sounds echo strangely—metal clicking, voices murmuring like they’re in another room.

“Breathe,” someone says.

You do. Once. Twice. The air smells sharp—wrong. Your thoughts begin to slip like water through your fingers. You try to hold on to something—his face, his voice—but it all stretches and thins out into nothingness.

You’re not asleep yet.

But you’re already leaving.

The room pulls away from you in pieces. Sound warps—metal clicking too loudly, voices melting into each other. Your body grows distant, heavy, obedient in a way that suddenly feels appalling.

Something is happening.

Panic sparks bright and instinctive just as your chest forgets how to answer it. You try to inhale deeper. Try to move. Nothing listens. The fear blooms anyway, trapped inside a body that’s already going still.

Then—

Nothing.

The surgeon places the removed eye in a container and hands it to a nurse. His experienced hands began to stitch up the empty socket with clinical precision.

Joshua's restless feet echoes around the hallway, getting jittery as the clock ticks minute by minute. Finally, the doctor comes out. "She's bandaged and all well. We placed in a conformer for now. Let it heal, and then she can get a prosthetic eye."

His shoulders slope down with relief at hearing the surgery went well.

The doctor gives a nod and walks off to his other duties. The nurse leads Joshua to your room. He finds you asleep as a tranquil sleeping beauty. The mattress dips as he sits beside you, lightly tracing the edge of the bandage. He sighs, planting a soft peck on its fabric.

He clasps your hand firmly, afraid that you will slip through his fingers.

You are given the green light to discharge after a few follow-ups on the same evening. Your exhaustion drags you back into a world of dreams every few hours; you barely gave nods to countless questions from the doctor during the check-ups. He gently lifts your unconscious body into his arms, holding you close to his chest. He felt like a monster for causing you to lose your sight.

Joshua takes you back to his mansion, his men following behind with your medical supplies and medications. He carefully laid you down in his own bedroom, removing your clothes and replacing them with one of his oversized shirts that fell down to your thighs. He sat beside you for hours, watching over you as you slept.

As you stir awake, he notices your bandage has bled through and needs re-dressing. He gulps down a lump in his throat, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him once more. You reach up to touch your face, only to find an unfamiliar void. He quickly grabs your hand, stopping you from touching the bandage.

You wince as you attempt to open your left eye again, forgetting that it was gone. He watches your brow furrow in confusion as you try to touch your bandage this time. A soft whimper escapes from your lips as your brain finally registers that something was wrong—missing. He keeps his gaze steady as memories of recent tragedy run behind your remaining eye. Your hands fall onto your lap as the reality brushes its harsh strokes into your brain.

Your body stills, mirroring an aloof statue. Your right eye blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to seeing the world with only your sliced vision. He peers at your steady sangfroid attitude, knowing that you were comprehending the permanent loss of your left eye.

You lift your hand to the bandage again, pressing to feel the empty socket behind the closed eyelid. You go rigid, slowly lowering your hand back into your lap. He waits for your reaction.

"It's gone," you say, your words flowing lightly with the breeze.

Joshua’s hand lingers near your cheek, hovering as if you will blow away like ashes into the wind.

An eccentric silence engulfs the room—just the faint hum of the flowing curtains and the distant murmur of voices down the hall. Gentle sunlight filters weakly through them, not too bright nor sharp enough. You turn your head slightly away from it, your right eye struggling to judge the depth of the light.

You swallow.

“It doesn’t… hurt,” you comment after a moment, almost clinically. “It just feels…” Your fingers twitched in your lap. “Wrong.”

He exhales shakily, tucking his hands back into his lap. “The doctors said that might happen. Phantom sensations. Your brain’s still catching up.”

You nod faintly, absorbing the information the way you always do—carefully, methodically. Your gaze drifts back towards him, though it takes a second to align properly. You miscalculate the distance at first, focusing slightly past his shoulder before correcting it.

He notices it, and that almost shatters him into countless shards.

“I should’ve—” his words ruptured into a quake. He clears his parched throat as his jaw tightens. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”

Your brow furrows faintly. “No.”

“It was my fault,” he insists, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. “If I had just—”

“Joshua.”

The way you say his name renders him completely—steady, grounded and certain.

“You didn’t take it,” you breathe. “You didn’t make the call. You didn’t arrange it. You didn’t cause the attack.” A slight pause. “You took me to the hospital right away.”

His eyes glisten with a fresh wave. “Too late.”

You study him—really scrutinize every edge and contour of him—with your only visible eye left in your socket. It feels different now—narrower field with harder edges, but it works nevertheless. You can still see him.

“I’m alive,” you state simply.

A lone tear trails down his cheek before he could stop it. He looks away, ashamed of it, but you reach out this time—slowly, carefully—until your hand finds his wrist. Your depth perception is off, causing you to brush the air first. He immediately moves closer so you wouldn’t have to search.

Your fingers wrap around him.

“It’s gone,” you repeat, your words subdued softly now. Not in shock nor in disbelief—just crude acknowledgment.

Joshua covers your hand with his other one, holding it as if it's something fragile and sacred.

“I’m so sorry,” his apology quivers.

You let the silence linger a moment longer. The weight of everything gravities between you both, pressing down on your hearts. The future has shifted—permanently.

“I’ll have to relearn things,” you murmur. “Walking. Driving. Pouring coffee without missing the cup.” A faint, almost humorless breath leaves you. “Stairs are going to be annoying.”

Despite himself, Joshua lets out a weak, watery laugh.

You tilt your head slightly, testing your vision in a landslide view. “But I’m still me,” you softly hum.

He scrutinizes you—really looks at you. The same stubborn set of your jaw. The same quiet steel in your voice. The same mind is already adapting instead of collapsing.

“You are,” he says, his face twitching with fierce determination.

Your grip clenches just a fraction. “Then don’t look at me like I’m broken.”

Your words drills in his chest. His spine straightens as he wipes his face quickly. He nods, swallowing his guilt down as best he could.

“Okay,” he admits. “You’re not broken.”

You lean back against the bed as the exhaustion starts seeping into your bones. Losing an eye was one thing. Accepting it was another. And you had done both within minutes.

But as your fingers drift once more toward the edge of the eye patch—hesitant this time—your composure wavers for a moment.

“I’m going to look different,” you mutter, much quieter now, not out of fear—just… awareness.

Joshua leans over carefully, pressing his forehead gently to yours, mindful of the bandages.

“You’re going to look like someone who survived,” he reassures you. “Like someone who fought and lived.”

Your breath hitches—just once.

And for the first time since you woke up, your calm demeanor cracks—not into sobbing, not into screaming—but it morphs into a single tear slipping from your right eye, trailing down toward the pillow.

Joshua stays by your side, cradling your hand, letting you swim in your emotions.

Letting you feel all of it.

But not leaving you to face it all alone.

"It's gone," you repeat calmly despite your glassy eye.

He hears his heart crack at the calmness still blanketing your voice. You state it as a fact, not questioning it or showing any emotion. He reaches out slowly, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Yes... it's gone," he whispers with guilt clogging his throat and tears drenching his eyelashes.

That night, when he thinks you are asleep, you quietly slip out of the bed.

Darkness shrouds the bedroom, making it difficult to navigate and not bump into things. Your depth perception falters; you misjudge the distance and clip your shoulder against the wall. You don’t react—just let your remaining eye adjust to the dead of the night.

You manage to find the attached bathroom.

The light inside illuminates too brightly when you flick it on.

For a moment, you just stand there, gripping the sink.

Then you look up.

The woman in the mirror stares back with one uncovered eye and a stark white patch (re-dressed a few hours ago) cutting across her face. Bruising yellows the skin beneath it. The bandage bulges slightly where the socket was still healing.

You don’t blink.

You study the angles. The asymmetry. The way your expression looks… distant—the sea in your remaining eye feels shores away, the waves ripple faintly through the murky night as the fog engulfs the view.

A bloodied figure reflects behind you in the doorway. Joshua's shirt wrinkles with stains of crimson. You are not surprised to find him looming behind you; you knew he was out somewhere and you were not curious enough to figure out where. Neither does the blood astonish you.

He mirrors your silence.

You reach up slowly and peel the edge of the patch back just a fraction—not enough to damage anything, just enough to see the hollow contour beneath the protective dressing.

Joshua jolts forward. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” you breathe with firmness.

Your gaze never leaves the mirror, now tracing his eyes through it with your own remaining one.

There is no horror on your face—not even tears.

Blankness smogs onto your face and morphs into acceptance.

He takes a faint step closer but holds himself back from grabbing you. His hands flex ineptly at his sides.

After a long moment, you let the patch fall back into place.

“I look like a stranger,” you assist.

Joshua grits roughly, yet a twitch of solace lingers in his words. “You look like you.”

You turn off the bathroom light without responding and walk back to the bedroom.

After a few weeks of your surgery, your empty socket spurts out a pink discharge and swells with a hue of bruise around it. You constantly want to dip your finger into the socket to explore it and scratch away the itch but the annoying Joshua always holds your wrist hostage if you get even an inch closer to your patch, which makes you roll your eyes (oh, your bad, you meant to say eye now.)

The day began to blur as you were swamped with post-recovery care and follow-up appointments.

Joshua starts to orbit in your circle, from working often from home to bringing you all your three meals on a tray to adjusting your pillows. He religiously times your medication and tends to you like a stern nurse. When you stand—he stands. When you move, he hovers.

If you drift too close to the bedroom door, he suddenly materializes there.

“Where are you going?”

“Kitchen.”

“I’ll get it.”

“I can get it.”

“I know. I’ll get it.”

It becomes a pattern—an intricate web on which you are stuck like a dying fly.

On the fourth day of the same week, you manage to reach for the doorknob with pin drop silence.

His hand abruptly slams against the door before you could turn it.

“Don’t,” he grits curtly.

You stare at his hand, then crane your neck up at him.

“I need air.”

“You can open the window.”

“I need to go outside.”

His jaw tightens. “Not yet.”

Your right eye twitches slightly. “Why?”

Because I almost lost you.

Because if you fall—

Because if someone looks at you wrong—

Because I can’t watch you break.

Instead, he offers a flat explanation: “You’re still healing.”

You step back, studying him the same way you had in the hospital.

“You’re keeping me in here.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Silence stretches taut between the pair.

Joshua cards through his hair; frustration begins to seep through the cracks of his careful composure. “You walked into a doorframe yesterday.”

“I’m adjusting.”

“You almost fell on the stairs.”

“I caught myself.”

“You don’t see things coming on your left!”

“And I will learn.”

Your voice doesn't climb octaves, and that makes him feel worse.

He paralyzes with terror—his jaw ticking and his brow furrows a deep valley.

Your edges soften a quarter. “Joshua,” you breathe his name velvety.

He swallows a lump.

“I lost an eye,” you point out. “Not my legs. Not my mind.”

His shoulders slops down with guilt burdening across his face.

“I can’t lose you too,” he confesses with barely audible words.

Something flickers across your face. You take a faint step closer with slow deliberation, navigating the space. You stop a few inches away from him.

“You saved me,” you acknowledge. “I won't turn my back on you anymore.”

He hesitates for a moment, unable to bear the thought of losing you; he pulls you into a careful embrace, his arms holding you as if you were delicate glass.

You stand rigid like a statue for a moment, your mind's wheel gets stuck at his action, but gradually your hands come up to claw his shirt.

Although over his shoulder, your open eye remains fixed on the bedroom doorway—

On the hall beyond it.

On the rest of the house.

And the world waiting outside.

Joshua didn’t mean to make it a prison.

It just… became one.

The curtains began to stay drawn.

At first, it was because the light gave you headaches. Then, because the neighbors might see and 'misunderstand' their relationship. Later came the excuse that your eye needed ‘consistent lighting.’ The room settles into a dim, gray half-world where time blurs and shadows stretch long across the walls.

He moves your things in piece by piece.

Your clothes.

Your make-up and jewelry.

Your books and necessities.

Still, there’s no trace of your any devices. When you ask for your phone, he smiles the way salespeople do before denying a refund. The excuse arrives polished to perfection: "Your eye needs rest; screens would only make it worse, and maybe it’s healthier this way anyway—using your recovery to take a break from the world outside.”

"You won’t need to go downstairs," he says lightly after checking all your belongings are in place. “It’s easier this way.”

Easier.

You stop arguing after a few futile attempts.

One afternoon you notice a white sheet draped over the mirror, tucked neatly at the corners.

You didn't ask him to cover it.

“Why did you do that?” You ask.

“So you don’t have to look at it,” he replies evenly without meeting your eye.

You don't mention that it won't stop you from standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fixedly gazing at it at two in the morning.

You don't tell him when you mourn your missing window to your soul—you wonder what his looks like too.

A few nights later, you often wake to the faint sound of movement.

Floorboards creak beneath slow, restless footsteps.

The sound dies from the outside.

The noise drifts in from somewhere beyond the bedroom door. Then comes the soft click of the handle. The door eases open. Closes again.

You keep your breathing slow and steady, watching through barely parted lashes as he trudges to your bedside and looms over you.

He doesn’t touch you.

He only watches your chest rise and fall.

Counting.

Joshua whispers something under his breath.

“Still here.”

The world beyond the room began to feel theoretical.

You could hear it sometimes—dishes clinking in the kitchen, the indistinct murmur of the television, the distant rumble of a car passing outside.

But you don’t see it.

Every time you reach for the door, Joshua seems to materialize.

“I’ve got it.”

“Do you need something?”

“Tell me what you want.”

One afternoon, you decide to test him.

“I want to sit on the porch.”

He freezes.

The silence stretches taut a bit too long.

“It’s windy,” he says finally.

You tilt your head slightly. “The windows are closed.”

He doesn’t smile.

The eeriest part is not his hovering.

It is his calm.

He never raises his voice—never snapping and doesn't even let anger crease his expression.

He is just watchful.

And measured.

Like he is guarding something fragile.

Like you are not a person anymore.

Like you were an artifact salvaged from rubble.

Your depth perception begins to improve slowly. You practice it when he isn’t looking—tossing a pen from one hand to the other. Reaching for the glass of water without spilling it. Walking the perimeter of the room in the dark.

You stop bumping into things.

But he doesn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe he didn’t want to.

Another night, a metallic click pulls you from sleep.

A soft, deliberate click.

You stay still.

A second click follows a moment later.

Your right eye strains against the dark until the shape near the door slowly becomes Joshua.

His fingers slips away from the doorknob. Something small disappears into his pocket with practiced ease.

Then he turns toward you.

Unaware that you’re awake.

He walks back to the chair beside your bed and sinks into it heavily, elbows braced against his knees, eyes fixed on you in the darkness.

Watching the rise and fall of your chest.

Counting again.

The next night, he didn’t come.

No creaking footsteps outside your bedroom door. No soft click of the handle turning at late hours. No looming figure sitting in the chair beside your bed, counting your breaths in the dark.

The silence feels unnatural after days of constant observation, and eventually the restlessness gnawing beneath your skin becomes unbearable enough for you to slip out from beneath the sheets and tiptoe downstairs.

The house is steeped in darkness. Moonlight spills through the tall windows in pale silver stripes, illuminating just enough of the floor for you to navigate without crashing into furniture. A gentle late-April breeze drifted by, fluttering the curtains in its wake.

Every step makes the old wood sigh beneath your weight, and you pause after each creak, listening carefully for movement somewhere upstairs.

Nothing.

You didn’t come downstairs to escape. You already know the front door will be locked, the windows probably sealed shut in some discreet way Joshua had taken care of long before you ever woke up here. Running would be pointless in your condition anyway.

You are simply bored out of your mind.

There are only so many hours a person can spend staring at closed curtains and counting cracks in the ceiling before the walls begin pressing inward.

So you wander.

The rooms all feel unmistakably Joshua. Carefully arranged. Controlled. The living room is decorated in muted colors and sharp lines, all expensive furniture that looks barely touched, as though it exists more for appearance than comfort. Neatly stacked books line dark wooden shelves, every spine aligned with obsessive precision. A chessboard rests atop a side table midway through a match, black pieces cornering white in a slow, merciless defeat.

The dining room is equally pristine, with polished silverware laid out inside a glass cabinet and long curtains drawn tightly over the windows despite the hour. Not a single object seems misplaced. Not a single sign suggests another person has ever lived here besides him.

Even the kitchen carries the same unsettling orderliness. Every knife hangs in perfect alignment. Every surface gleams spotless beneath the moonlight. The refrigerator hums softly in the silence, sounding strangely loud in the empty house.

Your gaze eventually lands on a door left slightly ajar at the end of the corridor.

Your steps move faintly.

For the first time since arriving here, something has been left open.

You plod toward it cautiously before nudging the door wider with your fingertips and peering inside.

A grand piano sits in the center of the room, bathed entirely in moonlight.

For a moment, you simply stare. Then a quiet clap of excitement escapes you before you can stop it.

The sight of it feels absurdly personal, like stumbling across an old friend in unfamiliar territory.

You drift toward the piano almost instinctively and lower yourself onto the cushioned bench, your fingers hovering over the keys for only a second before muscle memory takes over.

The first notes ring softly through the room, delicate enough to blend with the sleeping house. Gradually, the melody unfurls into Clair de Lune, smooth and aching and familiar beneath your fingertips.

If there is another thing capable of exposing the soul as nakedly as eyes do, it is music.

The piano had been your best friend since you were seven years old, the only thing that understood how to translate feelings too tangled to speak aloud into something beautiful. Your fingers know the language instinctively now, moving across the keys with effortless intimacy as the melody swells quietly through the dark.

For the first time in days, you almost forget where you are.

A sharp clap suddenly echoes behind you.

You jolt violently, your hands slipping from the keys as you whirl around to find Joshua leaning against the wall.

But you are not surprised.

The moment you found the door left ajar, you already knew tonight was intentional.

A test.

A reward.

Maybe simply another one of his experiments.

That is why you never bothered trying to stay quiet. Why you had allowed yourself to sink fully into the music instead of holding back.

Joshua’s expression is unreadable in the dim light, but there is something disturbingly intent in the way he watches you now.

Like he had been listening long before you ever touched the first key.

He pushes himself away from the wall slowly, the sharp sound of his applause fading back into silence as he walks further into the room.

The moonlight catches briefly against his watch, against the faint crease of his rolled sleeves, before he stops beside the piano. Close enough now that you can smell cedarwood and the lingering trace of frosty night air clinging to his clothes.

“You play beautifully,” he praises.

The compliment should sound ordinary. Instead, it settles strangely beneath your skin, coming from him, spoken with that same unnerving attentiveness he uses when watching you sleep.

You let out a small breath and turn slightly back toward the keys, your fingers resting against polished ivory. “You left the door open on purpose.”

A pause stretches behind you.

Then, softly, almost amused, “And you still walked in.”

Your hands resume moving before you consciously decide to play again. The melody returns quieter this time, slower; the notes flowing softly into the dark while Joshua remains standing beside you in silence.

You can feel him watching your hands.

Not your face.

Not your injury.

Just your hands gliding across the piano keys as if he is trying to understand something through them.

After a while, the bench dips slightly beneath the added weight.

Joshua sits beside you without asking.

The warmth radiating from his shoulder feels startling after so many cold, lonely nights upstairs, and suddenly you become acutely aware of every tiny movement—the brush of fabric when he shifts, the slow sound of his breathing beneath the music, the way his knee nearly touches yours without quite doing it.

Neither of you speaks for several moments.

The room fills instead with piano notes and moonlight and something heavier threading silently between the pauses.

Then he reaches forward unexpectedly, his hand sliding over yours atop the keys.

Not forceful.

Not restraining.

Just enough pressure to still your fingers mid-note.

The unfinished chord lingers softly in the air as your breath catches.

“You hide inside music,” he murmurs, eyes lowered toward your joined hands. “It’s the only time you stop looking dead.”

His thumb shifts slightly against your knuckles before he finally lifts his gaze to yours.

And for the first time since arriving here, the silence between you no longer feels entirely stagnant.

The silence stretches after that, neither comfortable nor tense, but something suspends carefully between the two.

Joshua’s hand remains loosely over yours for another moment before he finally withdraws it, though not completely. His fingers linger near the edge of your wrist, close enough that you still feel their warmth against your skin.

“You stopped playing,” he observes quietly.

You glance down at the keys. “You interrupted me.”

A faint smile ghosts across his face at that, small enough to vanish almost immediately. He leans back slightly on the bench, one arm resting along the edge behind you while the other taps absentmindedly against his knee in time with some rhythm only he can hear.

“You knew I was listening,” he says after a while.

It isn’t phrased like a question.

You hesitate before answering. “I figured the open door was too convenient.”

Joshua hums softly in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting toward the piano again. “Most people would’ve been trying to escape.”

“But you made sure I couldn’t.”

The words leave your mouth more lightly than intended, though the meaning beneath them remains sharp enough to settle heavily between you.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then he exhales through his nose, almost thoughtfully, and tilts his head slightly toward you. “You could’ve screamed while you were down here.”

“You would’ve heard me.”

“I hear everything in this house.”

The statement should feel threatening. Somehow, spoken in his low, even voice beside the soft moonlit piano, it lands differently. More intimate than dangerous.

Your fingers drift unconsciously across a few keys again, producing a quiet string of absent notes. Joshua watches the movement with that same unwavering focus that always makes you feel pinned beneath his attention.

“You watch me a lot,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

Something unreadable flickers across his expression.

“I like knowing you’re still here.”

The room falls quiet again after that.

Outside, the wind brushes softly against the windows, stirring the curtains just enough for the moonlight to shift across the floorboards. He remains beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch now, his presence no longer looming but surrounding.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers pausing briefly near your temple as though resisting the urge to linger longer.

The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that it unsettles you far more than his watching ever did.

His gaze lowers afterward—not to your injury this time, but to your mouth for the briefest second before returning to your eyes.

Then, very quietly, Joshua says, “Play something else for me.”

“Should I play you instead?” you murmur with a mocking little scoff, expecting at least some reaction from him.

But Joshua only looks at you.

Unblinking.

Waiting.

The silence stretches long enough to turn the joke into something else entirely.

You let out another breath of disbelief in your smile. “God, you’re impossible.”

Yet he still says nothing.

Well, he asked for it—a part of you wants to see if he’ll finally crack—you shift sideways and climb into his lap.

For the first time all night, he goes completely still beneath you.

The piano falls silent behind you as your fingers curl loosely against his shoulders, and suddenly the room feels far more smaller than before.

His gaze searches your face carefully, intensely, as if he’s trying to memorize every flicker of expression you make.

“Well?” you whisper teasingly. “What song do you think I sound like?”

His hands settle carefully at your waist, not pulling you closer yet, simply holding you there as though testing whether you’ll change your mind and move away.

But you don’t.

The moonlight spills across the piano keys behind you, pale ivory glowing softly in the dark while the unfinished melody still hangs faintly in the room like the last breath of a performance.

“Something dangerous,” Joshua says at last, his voice low enough that you feel it more than hear it.

Your lips curve slightly. “That’s not a song.”

“No,” he murmurs, eyes lowering briefly to your mouth again. “But it sounds like one.”

The air between you thickens after that.

Joshua’s restraint had always felt frightening before—his stillness, the way he watched instead of touched—but now, sitting in his lap with his hands warm against your waist, it feels like standing too close to a thunderstorm waiting to break.

You become painfully aware of every tiny movement. The slow drag of his thumb against your side. The measured rise and fall of his breathing beneath yours. The way his gaze lingers on you with terrifying concentration, as though nothing else in the world exists beyond this room.

Your fingers drift unconsciously toward the collar of his shirt, grazing the fabric there.

He exhales softly at the contact.

Such a small sound.

Yet it alters the atmosphere instantly, like the first piano key pressed before a symphony begins.

Then his hand slides upward along your spine, slow enough to make your pulse stumble, and suddenly the distance between you disappears altogether.

The kiss feels less like affection and more like surrendering to something inevitable. Slow at first—hesitant and careful. Then deeper when your hands tighten against him and his composure finally fractures beneath your mouth.

Somewhere in the haze of tangled breaths and moonlight, your back brushes the piano keys accidentally.

A soft discordant note rings through the room.

Neither of you pulls away.

Another note follows when Joshua’s hand slips lower against you, deeper and richer this time, blending quietly with the unsteady sound escaping your throat.

The piano begins answering every movement in scattered murmurs of music—low trembling chords, broken half-notes, sharp gasps of sound whenever your bodies shift against the keys.

And eventually even your moans seem to melt into it, threading together with the instrument until the entire room sounds like one long aching composition played entirely out of breath.

The next morning, when he leaves briefly to shower, you plod quietly to the bedroom door.

Your fingers curl around the knob and turn it carefully, expecting the familiar resistance of a lock, but the handle gives way easily beneath your hand. The door opens barely an inch before stopping abruptly against something solid.

You pause.

It's not locked.

Just… restrained.

Frowning faintly, you try again with more force this time, but the result is the same. The handle turns completely, yet the door refuses to open wider than that narrow sliver.

A strange calm settles over you despite the warning bells beginning to ring somewhere deep in your mind. Crouching down, you try to peer through the narrow gap.

A chair sits wedged beneath the handle from the outside.

It's placed not out of caution but strategically. The door has shut on the canary bird's face, leaving it only to flutter and chirp around in its cage.

You straightened up tardily.

The room cages in, feeling smaller and the air grows thinner against your lungs, but the panic never arrives.

You simply step back and return to the edge of the bed, lowering yourself onto it with eerie composure, your hands folding neatly together in your lap as though preparing for a conversation already rehearsed in your mind.

By the time Joshua returns, damp hair clinging slightly to his forehead while he absently dries it with a towel, your expression has smoothed itself into something unreadable.

He smiles softly the moment he sees you.

“Morning.”

You hold his gaze without acknowledging his greeting.

“How long?” You ask quietly.

His movements falter almost imperceptibly, fingers stilling against the towel. “How long what?”

“How long have you been blocking the door?”

For the briefest fraction of a second, his smile slips.

“I’m not blocking it.”

“There’s a chair under the handle.”

Joshua hesitates before speaking again. “That’s only so it doesn’t swing open.”

Your eyes remain fixed on him.

“It opens inward.”

Silence floods the room.

Something shifts visibly in his expression then, though it is not anger and not irritation either. It resembles fear too closely for comfort—raw, trembling fear struggling beneath all that careful composure.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he says at last, the words escaping more like confession than explanation.

You study him with the same detached concentration you once used on your own reflection after the accident. Blankly. Clinically.

“You think the world is what took my eye.”

His breathing turns uneven almost immediately. You struck the center of it too easily.

“It did,” he insists.

“No,” you reply softly. “A moment did.”

Joshua takes a step toward you, fingers tightening unconsciously around the damp towel in his hands. “You don’t understand,” he says, voice beginning to crack beneath the strain. “I saw you clutch your bleeding eye, screaming in pain. I saw—” He swallows hard. “I won’t survive that twice.”

The room becomes unbearably still after that. Every object remains perfectly arranged around you, every curtain neatly drawn, every corner controlled with suffocating precision, yet Joshua himself suddenly looks like the only unstable thing inside it.

Slowly, you rise from the bed.

You move around it carefully, deliberately, until only a foot of space remains between you.

“I survived,” you say firmly.

He shakes his head immediately, as though survival itself had never been the point.

Your gaze drifts briefly toward the restrained door before returning to him again.

“You’re afraid I’ll break,” you murmur.

His eyes glisten faintly in the dim morning light.

You tilt your head slightly.

“But Joshua…”

Your voice remains unnervingly calm—gentle, even.

“I’m not the one who’s breaking.”

The words linger heavily between you.

And for the first time since the hospital, his expression shifts into something uncertain, as though he no longer knows whether he is protecting you from the world outside the room—or from himself.

"You are afraid," you point out.

The atmosphere shifts almost imperceptibly after that. Joshua had been standing close enough for you to feel the lingering warmth from the shower still clinging to his skin, his hands half-raised like he might reach for you if you sway even slightly, but now you straighten fully beneath his gaze, posture smoothing into something composed and deliberate.

Your visible eye fixes on his.

“And you’re hiding something from me.”

He stills.

There is no accusation in your voice, no sharpness meant to provoke him. The certainty alone is enough.

For a moment he simply watches you, jaw tightening faintly before his expression smooths itself back into careful control. “I’m protecting you,” he says again, quieter this time, as though repeating it enough might make it true.

“You say my father is still angry. That he’ll harm me if I go out.” Your voice is steady, almost detached. “But you won’t let me go speak to him. You won’t let me make it right.”

His jaw tightens and something flickers behind his eyes, brief enough that most people would miss it entirely.

You don’t.

“It was me who rejected your marriage proposal,” you continue softly. “If there are consequences, I’ll deal with them myself.”

The words land heavier than any shouting ever could, followed by a silence that stretches thin between you.

Joshua’s grip tightens unconsciously around the damp towel in his hands before he finally exhales through his nose and looks away for the first time since entering the room. “You don’t understand the situation.”

“And Mr. Hong,” you add curtly, with deliberation, “you still haven’t caught the man who threw acid in my face.”

That makes him look back immediately.

You haven’t called him Mr. Hong in days.

You used to reserve it for moments when distance was intentional. Joshua notices the shift instantly. You can tell by the way his expression hardens for only a second before softening again into something almost pleading.

He inhales slowly. “The investigation is ongoing.”

“That’s what you’ve said for weeks.”

“You were unconscious.”

“And before that?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out immediately. His gaze flickers briefly toward the covered mirror near the corner of the room before returning to you again, and the movement is subtle enough that he probably thinks you won’t notice.

You do.

“You tell me my father is furious,” you went on. “That he’s unstable. That he’ll hurt me if I leave this house.” A faint tilt of your head. “But you don’t let me see him. You don’t let me call him. You don’t even let me step outside.”

Joshua takes a slow breath with a step back, though it does little to steady him. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“From him?”

“Yes.”

Your gaze remains fixed on his face. “Or from the truth?”

The room feels strangely smaller after that question; the silence pressing inward from every direction. He drags a hand down his face slowly, composure beginning to fray around the edges in a way you’ve never seen before. He heaves out as he throws the damp towel carelessly on the bed.

“You don’t understand how dangerous this is,” he says.

“Then explain it to me.”

His breathing grows uneven. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to hear it in the quiet room.

When he doesn’t answer, you do it for him instead.

“My father opposed your expansion deal, didn't he?” you murmur a guess. “He probably rejected your terms publicly.” Your gaze never leaves his. “I rejected you with much less crowd.”

Joshua’s eyes sharpen immediately. “You think I would hurt you because of that?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

The honesty in your voice lands heavier than anger would have.

A tense silence blankets the room.

“You were there that evening,” you continued after a moment. “You were the first one to reach me. You were the one who pulled me away.”

His throat moves as he swallows.

“You told me it was some hired criminal. Some disgruntled competitor.”

“It was.”

“Then why haven’t you found him?”

His mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.

For the first time since you woke up in the hospital, he looks genuinely cornered by you, and the realization settles strangely in your chest. You had grown so used to his control that seeing cracks appear beneath it feels almost surreal.

“If my father truly wanted to punish me, he would confront me. He wouldn’t hide.” You tilt your head slightly. “And he certainly wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tell me, ‘I told you so.’”

Joshua’s lips part, but no words crawl out.

“You kept me in this room,” you continue. “You covered every mirror. You blocked the door with a chair.” Your voice remains calm enough to be unsettling. “You speak to me as if I’m something fragile enough to break apart if handled incorrectly.”

His jaw tightens. “Because you’ve been through something traumatic.”

“But you never let me see the reports. Or the footage. Or anything that actually happened.”

His voice drops a few octaves. “Because you don’t need to relive it.”

“Or because you don’t want me seeing something.”

That finally breaks something in him.

Not loudly. Not violently. Just a small, unmistakable fracture in the careful composure he has been maintaining since the hospital.

“You think I did this?” Joshua asks evenly.

You hold his gaze without flinching.

“I think,” you say after a moment, “that you’re terrified of losing control.”

The words hit him harder than an accusation ever could. You see it immediately in the way he recoils slightly as if it had struck him somewhere tender.

"I would never hurt you," he says, and this time the words sound bruised rather than defensive.

“I know."

That answer somehow makes his expression worse.

“You wouldn’t throw acid at me yourself,” you continue softly. “But you would decide what I’m allowed to know. Where I’m allowed to go. Who I’m allowed to speak to.” Your eye sharpens faintly. “You would decide which version of the truth I’m permitted to live with.”

Joshua’s hands begin trembling almost imperceptibly at his sides.

“Your father threatened me,” he blurts out. “After you rejected me. He said I would regret involving you in my world.”

“And you believed he would scar his own daughter to make a point?”

Joshua hesitates.

Only briefly, but long enough.

Understanding doesn’t hit you like a wave. It settles slowly inside you after that, cold and heavy rather than sudden.

“Who benefits?” You ask.

His breathing becomes uneven.

“You moved me into your house,” you murmur. “You isolated me from everyone else. You became my only source of information.” Your gaze drifts briefly toward the blocked door before returning to him again. “My only protection.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“You became indispensable.”

The room falls silent again. Outside the windows, wind brushes softly against the curtains, stirring them just enough for the shadows to shift faintly across the floorboards.

You take one slow step toward him.

“I rejected you,” you carry on. “Not because I doubted your power."

Your expression barely changes.

“Because I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?”

A quiet breath leaves you.

“Of loving someone who only knows how to love himself.”

The words linger heavily between you.

Joshua looks at you differently after that—not like something fragile anymore, nor like someone he needs to be carefully preserved. He looks at you like someone steadily slipping beyond his control, and the fear in his expression deepens in a way that feels far more honest than anything else he has said tonight.

Outside the room, the house remains unnervingly quiet.

And for the first time since the accident, you begin wondering whether the danger you had been warned about had ever truly been outside this house at all.

The frightening part is that even now, standing right in front of him, you still cannot tell how much of Joshua is performing and how much of him is real. You had always been good at recognizing others' acts but you never have been good at putting one on your own.

His performance could really rival the stars of the theater, you think.

You walk closer.

"Let me ask you again, Mr. Hong, did you catch the hitman?"

His face ashes at your question. He looks away briefly before meeting your gaze again; his jaw clenching taut. "Yes. He's been dealt with," he says coldly, not elaborating on what exactly he had done to the person responsible for taking your eye.

The answer didn’t surprise you. You had known ever since he appeared behind you in the bathroom mirror—his clothes stained with blood. In that moment, you understood he had been dealt with that very night.

"How so?"

Joshua hesitates before answering honestly, "I had him brought to my warehouse. My men... they broke every bone in his body. Then I personally shot him in the head seven times." His voice was crisp and detached, revealing how ruthless he truly was.

"Oh, so you silenced him. Not a bad strategy," you opine.

His eyes expand an inch at your nonchalant response. He expected shock, maybe even disgust. Instead, you simply accept his brutal methods with a calm nod. He feels a strange sense of respect for your understanding of his world. "You're not... disgusted?" he asks curiously, tilting his head.

"Mr. Hong, it's you who arranged everything. Why act so shocked now?"

He throws his head back and laughs his head off. You have a point. He should stop treating you like a fragile woman. You have the capability of being his equal, understanding his world better than most. He replies to your previous question instead, "Yes, I silenced him. No loose ends. No information at risk of getting out."

You stare at him for a good minute, seeing his mask echo off with his laughter lifts a rock off your chest.

"Did you take my eye because I rejected you?" You inquire out of the blue.

His laughter fades as he takes a step back, his gaze settling on your face with quiet vehement. The calm acceptance of your injury, the understanding of his methods... and now this direct question. He realizes you are not just beautiful, but intelligent and unfiltered. "Yes," he admits curtly.

You scoff, "What a fragile ego you've got."

He freezes.

For a fleeting moment, an unsettling silence descends upon the room.

No woman has ever dared to speak to him like this. People fear Joshua Hong too much to challenge him, too much to even breathe wrong around him. Yet you stand across from him with one ruined eye and the audacity to mock the very ego that destroyed it.

You look at him with sharp amusement, as though his violence is nothing more than an inconvenient character flaw.

And God—he finds it intoxicating.

Something vile and rancid flickers behind his eyes.

“Watch your mouth,” he breathes, the faint warning far more alarming than any shouting ever could be.

You stare at him in silence—not a trace of fear creases your expression.

Joshua scrutinizes your face, waiting for the flinch that never comes. Refusing to look away, your one eye remains fixed on him with a steadiness sharp enough to challenge him outright.

His hand reaches out to clip your chin firmly without his conscious thought, tilting your face up more. "You know what your problem is?" He growls, his words grating like gravel. "No filter. No fear." His thumb drags brusquely across your bottom lip. "And one less eye to roll at me."

His lips mashed against yours in an animalistic claim. It's a hungry attempt meant to consume you whole—a war of colliding teeth and tongue invading your mouth. He sucks up all your breath as his heat steams you up. The calm gentleman act is peeling off him as his grip slides from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you while his mouth devours yours, swallowing every smart remark before it can leave your tongue. The heat from him is overwhelming—anger, tension, want—all tangled together.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his breath ghosts against your lips.

“Marry me,” he proposes while still panting.

"No."

Joshua leans back more, his eyes brewing with rage and desire. No one ever says no to him. Especially not after a kiss like that. His hand clenches on your nape with untamed possessiveness. "Yes," he corrects, his face only a few inches from yours with his hot breath fanning over your mouth. "You will marry me and wear my ring. My last name. My everything."

"Why do you want to marry me so badly?" You blurt out with a huff.

He searches your face, seeing the confusion and stubbornness in your one good eye. He wanted to marry you because you rejected him. Because you stood up to him. Because you were beautiful, intelligent, and fearless. But he admits to none of that. "Because I want what I can't have," he says simply.

"You will never have it."

An ominous smile curves up his lips at your defiance.

He likes this part of you—the refusal to bend, the fact that you don’t throw yourself at his feet the way everyone else seems to. Your resistance only sharpens his interest, it feeds something possessive and relentless in him.

"We'll see about that," he murmurs, his thumb pressing coarsely against your bottom lip again, firm enough to demand your attention as his gaze locks onto yours.

“I always get what I want,” he whispers softly, the promise in his voice far more menacing than if he’d raised it.

“Eventually.”

Joshua leans in closer, his words soaking in a perilous intent. "You think I'm joking? I took your eye because I was angry. I'm offering marriage because I'm intrigued. What do you think I'll do when I'm tired of waiting?"

"Explode with anger?" You snigger.

A deep, stormy hue whirls in his eyes.

You had no idea how dangerous he was.

He watches you in silence for a moment—your calm expression, your single beautiful eye studying him without a trace of fear. Most people broke beneath his stare. You only looked back harder every single time.

“Yes,” he agrees with his words kneaded with deceptive softness. “Angry.” His jaw clicks. “You rejected me. You called me an animal. You slapped me.” A deliberate icy pause blows by. “So I took an eye.”

Your expression doesn’t change.

“You can’t change your nature,” you reply evenly. “A pig stays a pig its entire life.”

Something boils in him with raucous gurgling, bubbles forming then popping again and again.

His hand slides from the back of your neck to your throat, fingers wrapping around it with controlled pressure—not enough to truly hurt, just enough to steal the air from your lungs. He pulls you closer until his face hovers inches from yours again, eyes blazing with fury and something else—

Excitement.

"Careful with your words," he growls. "This pig will eat you alive."

You struggle against his grip, but your attitude remains flippant with another smile curving up your lips.

"You can't reverse the food chain either," you taunt.

The silence stretches taut between you, then he throws his head back and lets out a loud guffaw. God, you are smart, sharp-tongued, and incredibly foolish. Although he admits that it's refreshing to see someone not scared of him.

When his gaze settles on you again, it's heavier, with edges curved with obsession. His voice drops an octave when he speaks again. "You know what your problem is?" He didn't give you a chance to answer, snapping his fingers instead. "No filter. No fear. One eye."

Joshua releases your throat instead of squeezing tighter; his fingers trail down your neck with ghost touches as they tickle like a feather. Your lack of fear keeps fascinating him more and more. The most fearless man would at least be terrified of him by now, but not you. "You'll really call me every animal imaginable, huh?" he ponders. "Dog, pig, beast..."

His lips twitched at witnessing your quiet expression. No smart remarks. No insults. Just one beautiful eye staring blankly, giving nothing away. He realizes something—"You're like a snake,"he mutters faintly, almost to himself. "No reaction. No sound. One sudden bite..." he chortles.

"Snakes are two-faced—I'm not," you point out with no shame.

His eyes enlarge an inch at your curt response, then he laughs again. You are right. You aren't sneaky or two-faced like a snake. In fact, you are direct and honest, even when insulting him. "You know what?" he asks out of the blue.

"I'm going to marry you whether you like it or not. You can keep your sharp tongue and your one eye. Maybe I'll even let you keep calling me names." His touch ceases on your neck as he steps back abruptly, making you inhale big gulps of air. "Consider it your engagement gift."

Joshua watches you regain your composure with no fluctuation of anger or fear, not even helplessness in it. He was used to women fainting at his feet, crying happy tears at his proposals. You just sat there like a statue with your one good eye staring blankly at him like you couldn't care less. "You haven't screamed or slapped me for so long," he grumbles.

You stay silent, pondering over your available cards as you calculate your best feasible option. "You want to marry me? Then you must give me in dowry what I ask for," you challenge, setting up a condition.

His eyebrows shot up at your sudden demand. No woman would dare to ask for a dowry from him. They would be too busy thanking their lucky stars for marrying a powerful man like him. "Oh?" He takes a step closer to you again. "And what exactly do you want?"

"I want your eye," your lips curve up.

His expression freezes. He thought you'd ask for money, cars, houses... but an eye? His hand automatically touches his good eye. "My eye?" He repeats dubiously.

No, you don't resemble a snake but an orca—it is known for waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

An involuntary chill travels up his spine.

"An eye for an eye, fair enough, isn't it?" You arch a brow, lolling your head—daring him to reject your bold demand.

Joshua stares at you for a long moment, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't catch up to. He had expected many things from this woman, but not this. Not such cold, calculated revenge. He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Fair enough," he agrees with no hesitation.

A haughty smile blooms on your face.

He really isn't joking or bluffing anymore. You want his eye? Fine. He respects the hell out of that ruthless demand, although he doubts you have the guts to carry it out. Most women want jewelry or cars, but you want him to experience the same blindness he'd given you. "You know what?" he asks suddenly.

"No wonder they say don't get into arguments with intelligent women. You're dangerous. One eye. No filter. No mercy," he snorts, finding this whole situation whimsical and clearly still doubting your ability to carry through it. He heaves out, carding his digits through his strands messily.

"You realize if I give you my eye, I'll be half blind?" He coos as if giving a toddler with explosive tantrums a last chance before they fuck things up.

"Serves you right. You must first blind yourself like you did me," you scoff and roll your eye.

An amused smile spreads across his lips at your bitter response. He finds himself strangely attracted to this woman's brutal honesty and justice more and more. "Fucking perfect," he snickers, echoing a sharp clap and leaves the bedroom to fetch his favorite dagger. After a couple of minutes he comes back with it and sits down on the bed in front of you.

"Do it," he says as he drops the dagger into your hand with glee and ridicule sparkling in his eyes.

"I'll take my sweet time," you pass a half-smile as you slide off its sheath.

Joshua lets out a chortle even though he doubts you meant every word—you'd make him suffer slowly with sheer anticipation of it, then will chicken out like he expects you to.

He spreads his legs further, getting comfortable as if preparing himself for a long torture session. His good eye keeps an eye on you. "Take your time," he glib with a challenge.

He watches you straighten your back and study the dagger. He feels a strange mix of fear and... exhilaration. You trudge off to lock the door, and when you return, he realizes this is actually happening. You are really going to blind him like he blinded you.

His breath hitches as you reach out and grab his wrist, forcing his hand flat on the silk sheet. Your grip is surprisingly strong. He feels the cold metal of the dagger press against his palm, then it ghosts against his knuckles, making him bite his lip as he hisses. Your legs bracket his own as you straddle him, pushing his back to the silk sheet. The icy blade travels up to his face, pressing lightly under his right eye.

Joshua breaks into a cold sweat, his heart hammering fiercely against his ribcage as the dagger now hovers mere millimeters away from his eyeball. He watches the cold steel display a trembling mess—a reflection of his own trembling self. Abruptly, he grabs your wrist with his free hand, stopping the blade.

"Wait," he hoarsely pants.

His grip on your wrist is a constraint, but not a painful one. His good eye locks onto your single eye; a concoction of fear, arousal, and something else stirs in his gaze. He is giving you a chance to stop, but also testing your resolve.

"Scared?" You arch your brow tauntingly.

He let out a titter, his thumb rubbing against your wrist. "Terrified." He admits softly. He is terrified of the pain, yes. But also terrified of the raw power you hold over him in this moment.

"Good," you grin. Joshua almost scoffs at how grinning you have gotten. He hasn't seen you so jolly before, but he also never expected that he would one day end up under today's dooming circumstances.

His right eye flickers down to the blade pressing under it, then back up to your single, merciless eye. He'd never felt so helpless, so completely at someone else's mercy. And he finds it strangely... arousing. "You're actually going to do it," he acknowledges the elephant in the room.

Your lack of response—no smirk, no sigh, no hesitation—sends a shiver down his spine. You are serious. Deadly serious. He takes a deep breath as he steadies himself. He is about to experience the same darkness he'd forced upon you.

"Do it!"

Joshua watches your jaw tick, your knuckles turning white as you grip the dagger handle tighter. He sees your single eye concentrate back on his right eye, realizing you are not going to give him mercy like he'd given you—none at all. He hisses as the blade abruptly presses into his pupil, blooming a dull ache.

He closes his good eye, bracing himself for more pain. He feels the cold metal press in harder, then suddenly—

"Ahhh!"

He cries out as you plunge the dagger straight into his eye socket. Blood splatters across your face like a fountain. He screams his lungs out, trying to hold onto your wrist as he drags his nails across your skin in a futile attempt. His bloody crescent moons travel up to your face, making you screech.

His digits claw at your eye patch, punching into it, which echoes by a loud crack of the conformer breaking with it. A gush of blood pours down your eye patch, his knuckles are now pressing much closer to your hollow socket behind the patch.

He screams—you scream.

"AHHH!"

"AHHH!"

Despite the excruciating pain throbbing behind your eye patch, you fight against his grip, trying to press the dagger more into his eye socket.

"Sir? Ma'am? Is everything okay?" One of his men starts banging on the door, and it only gets more insistent and louder as they receive only screams in reply.

"Hello? Please open the door!" The doorknob twists but refuses to budge open, as you had locked it earlier.

The intolerable pain paralyzes him, making it easier for you to hold him down—the world almost blacks out on his end.

You laugh manically, thrusting it in and out over and over again.

After you had your fun—roughly seventeen stabs into his eye—you do take your sweet time cutting the attached substances to his eyeball and scooping it out while ignoring the obnoxious banging on the door.

Joshua hisses sharply, his body going rigid as the pain shoots through his skull.

He'd given you one eye—now you have returned the favor. He felt hot blood trickle down his cheek, and he bit back another cry as an agonizing pain threatened to overtake his consciousness.

He is officially half-blind like you.

He opens his remaining good eye to look at you. His injured eye is weeping bloody tears, and you are more than happy to wipe them away; in fact, you even coo at him as you wipe them off.

He stares at you, his remaining good eye brewing with a mix of pain, shock, and something else—respect. You have done exactly what he had done to you. He reaches up and touches his injured eye socket gently, wincing at the pain.

You get off him with his eyeball in your hand. Crossing the room, you put his eyeball on an unused ashtray, which was resting on the nightstand.

Your feet amble to the door before they tear it down.

You hand over the ashtray with instructions to store it away. Joshua's right hand-man boils red as you nonchalantly instruct the maid standing beside him, whose face is draining fast of all the colors at the unhinged sight of an eyeball on the ashtray.

The right hand-man looks over your shoulder to find Joshua still bleeding on the bed. He wants to scream at you, but he thinks better of it and gives a curt nod, and shouts at the poor maid to hurry up and bring in the first aid box.

His right-hand man knows Joshua is an unhinged man himself, and he was fully capable of avoiding this catastrophe. He gulps down his questions and scrams off.

By the time the maid returns with the first aid box, he genuinely feels nauseous and lightheaded.

He put a hand over his injured eye socket, still processing the fact that you had actually gone through with it. He had expected guilt, hesitation, mercy—but you gave him none of those things. You gave him exactly what he'd given you. "You're insane," he mutters flatly.

You laugh at his comment, licking his blood off the dagger.

The maid flinches at the odd, suffocating atmosphere and swiftly starts to bandage his eye while he sits there stunned and bleeding. Luckily for him, the maid is a drop-out med student, so she can deal with this deranged injury and situation. Although he will still have to pay a proper visit to the doctor later.

Joshua watches as you lick the blood off the blade insouciantly, as if nothing crazy happened. His good eye expands in shock and revulsion. That laugh—that cold, insane laugh—echoing in his mind. "Fucking psychopath," he scowls.

A boiling rage rises up in his chest.

He is half-blind now. One eye is gone. Replaced with darkness. Just like you. He suddenly realizes how fucking dangerous you are. How quickly you went from a calm woman with soulless eye to laughing your head off while stabbing into his eye. The maid finishes bandaging his eye fast and leaves silently with hurried steps.

You just smile.

He gulps, realizing he has invited a psychopath into a marriage proposal.

Joshua stands up slowly, testing his balance with one less eye. He feels off—disoriented. He looks at you with his remaining good eye. Your single eye sparkles with pure joy. He suddenly had the urge to run—to get as far away from you as possible.

He backs away step by step as his heart races almost out of his chest. He is scared—scared of you, scared of the marriage proposal he'd just made to a literal psychopath. He trips over his own feet and falls back onto the bed with a winch, clutching his bandaged eye.

"Stay away from me!"

"C'mon, Hong. Your pretty eye might taste just as good as you look." You lick your lips, standing up and strolling towards him with a half-smile.

Joshua stumbles back, suddenly reminded of how you liked eating fish eyes in the restaurant that day. He lets out a choked scoff in disbelief—he fell for your game—hook, line, and sinker with your eye as bait.

He scrambles back further on the bed as you approach him with that half-smile—a smile that now sends shivers down his spine instead of butterflies in his stomach. His good eye widens in horror as memories flood back—you complimenting his eyes during that date—dropping your keychain.

"Stop!" he blurts out in desperation.

"Why? We are going to get married just like you wanted," you say, leaning down to his eye level.

Joshua flinches back as you lean in closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He is trapped—trapped by his own stupid marriage proposal to a woman who seems to take the phrase 'having an eye on each other' way too literally.

He could see your single eye up close—cold—insane.

"Don't forget to join our celebration dinner tonight," you beam, kissing his forehead, your lips rather feeling cold.

Joshua gulps.

He knows what's going to be served on the table tonight.

He nods numbly, his body shaking slightly as you kiss his forehead. He knew what was coming tonight—a celebration dinner where he would be the main course. His good eye wells up with tears as he grasps the horror of his situation—he had proposed to a monster who literally wanted to eat his eyes.

Joshua sits there frozen on the bed as you leave the room. He buries his face in his hands as sobs wrack his body.

He has fallen in love with a beautiful, cold monster who loves to eat fish eyes. He still can't believe he is going to marry a psychopathic eye-eating monster. "Why did I propose to her?" He cries into his hands.

Later that night, you hum in satisfaction, finding it delicious as you munch on his well cooked eye.

Joshua doesn't know when he fell asleep but he does know the ringing question in his head when he wakes up with the throbbing pain in his empty socket.

How did you know he was behind the acid attack and took your eye?

His brain files through countless theories as he washes up. He walks downstairs absentmindedly and almost bumps into the dining table.

You chuckle at his clumsiness, making him finally look up at you sitting across the mahogany table. The table is adorned with various dishes but that one dish sitting in front of you makes him gag.

It's his mangled eyeball soaked in sauce and surrounded by a lush lattice.

He watches in horror from the other side of the table as you happily cut his cooked eye and eat it, savoring every bite. Tears start to stream down his face as he realizes the truth—you loved eating eyes so much that you were willing to marry just to get more eye meat. He feels sick and violated.

A bile crawls up his throat, making him bend over and cover his mouth.

His stomach churns as he watches you chomp down his eye like it was some kind of delicacy. He had always been attracted to your unhinged cold look, he was always curious to discover you more... but now he sees the devil behind those lies. He stands up abruptly, trying to inhale some air and avoid looking at the table and you.

You look up from your plate, your mouth slightly stained with the juices of his cooked eye. You smile coyly like you had just eaten a gourmet meal instead of someone's bodily organ. He feels physically ill at the sight of it all over again. "Mmm...so delicious~" You hum happily, munching on it more.

Joshua takes a step back, looking for his moment to escape from this hell.

"Sit," you order curtly.

He sits down feebly with his trembling legs. He feels like he is in a nightmare—one where the woman he loved turns out to be a cannibalistic monster who had just eaten his eye for dinner—unfortunately for him he doesn't wake up from it. You commanded him to sit, and he obeyed like a scared puppy, his good eye filled with terror.

Right now, he is nothing like the arrogant and proud self-made millionaire, who tried to put you in a cage but now, he ended up locking himself in it.

His mind wanders off to the question he woke up with and the events of all the time he spent with you start playing in his head. An odd feeling blooms in his chest: everything went too smoothly in your favor as if… it was all calculated.

He rubs his clammy hands against his thighs and asks the question that has been weighing on his mind. "Did you arrange that hitman to approach me with this crazy acid attack idea?"

Your knife stills on cutting his eyeball.

Joshua looks at you with a mixture of fear and realization. Then all the pieces click together in his head.

You dropping the keychain—the men talking about teaching women a lesson at the back of the club—you humiliating him publicly by rejecting his proposal and then the hitman attacking you with an acid—it all seems too convenient, too perfectly timed. He had never considered it before, but now it seems obvious.

You have orchestrated this entire thing just to get him and his eyeball.

"You... you arranged the acid attack?"

"All is well now," you reassure him, attempting a coy smile but it rather reminds him of a Cheshire cat, who's toying with him and always had been although he realized it too late.

He feels like a fool. Not only are you a cold monster, you had managed to be a master manipulator, who had planned every step of their relationship with chilling precision. He scoffs, wondering if even that night you played the piano was planned—everything was a lie designed to trap him.

"You..." he trails off.

Your expression remains blank as you study his reaction. Your mouth opens and closes just for a moment. "The hitman just made you a suggestion. It's you who choose to take my eye in the first place," you explain coldly. "Actions have consequences, Joshua Hong."

Joshua feels a chill run down his spine at the cold, calculating way you spoke. The hitman was just a pawn in your game, and he was too—the fool who had agreed to take your 'eye'—is a sacrifice at the end.

He feels violated, manipulated, and utterly stupid for falling for your charms.

He sits in stunned silence, his mind racing with the realization that he had been played like a violin from the very beginning. He takes in a shaky breath, steeling himself for what's to come next.

"Now," you pick up your glass, expecting him to follow you.

Joshua picks up his glass mechanically.

"Congratulations to us getting engaged," you cheer, clinking their glasses in celebration.

He numbly clinks his glass against yours, his hand still shaking to no end. He feels like a zombie going through the motions as you celebrate your engagement—an engagement built on lies, manipulation, and the literal loss of his eye. The irony is bitter as he toasts to their 'happily ever after'.

"We're matching like a couple too," you laugh, pointing to your re-dressed eye patch and his lost bandaged one.

"Couple goals," you crowed, clinking your glass against his again, making the red wine swirl and almost spill over.

Joshua forces a weak smile, his heavy heart already weighing with dread and despair. The sight of your finger pointing at your own eye patch and at his bandaged socket was like a punch to his gut—a constant reminder of the horror he had willingly walked into. Your laughter echoes off like mocking jeers in his ears as he realizes just how perfectly you had played him.

"An eye for an eye, babe."

That phrase sends a shudder down his spine. It was clear now that every step of this relationship had been calculated—a twisted game where you have always held the upper hand.

You slide the ring onto his finger. He hadn't even noticed the velvet box sitting on the table beside you. The engagement ring feels like a shackle around his finger instead of a symbol of love. "Right..."

Joshua really fell for the hook, line, and sinker with your eye as bait.

Epilogue: First Look into Dazzling Eyes

The New Year’s gala unfolded in a vast candlelit garden, where frost clung to marble pathways, bare winter branches swayed in the freezing air of the last December night, and delicate gold-trimmed fountains shimmered beneath a thin layer of ice. Beneath fair lights hanging from ancient trees, the city’s elite mingle in glittering couture as live musicians play beside overflowing champagne towers and walls of white flowers.

You swirl your red wine mindlessly against the rim of the glass, raising them like waves that never reach shore. Endless chatter bores your eardrums, making you want this celebration to just be over.

You occasionally nod and send synthetic smiles to the greetings of your plastic friends.

“Are you planning to look miserable all night?” Mina asks, appearing beside you with a flute of champagne balanced between her fingers.

You hum absentmindedly. “Depends. Is there anything here worth entertaining?”

She snorts softly and leans in closer. “You sound like an old heiress trapped in a twenty-three-year-old’s body.”

“Maybe I am.”

Your eyes drift across the garden anyway, over the glittering gowns and clusters of polished smiles. Then they stop.

A man stands a few tables away beneath the hanging fairy lights, dressed in a black suit that fits like it was stitched onto him. He laughs at something an older businessman says, the sound warm and effortless as he clinks glasses with the group around him. There’s nothing loud about him, nothing attention-seeking, yet people orbit him naturally, drawn in by the calm gentleness in his expression.

Beautiful.

Dangerously so.

Mina notices your stare almost immediately. “Oh,” she beams with amusement. “So you do have a pulse.”

You tear your gaze away for half a second. “Who is he?”

“That,” she says dramatically, “is Joshua Hong. The newest heartthrob of the elite socialite circle.”

The name settles strangely in your chest.

“He came back from abroad six months ago,” Mina continues. “Started his own company from scratch and somehow already became a self-made millionaire. I heard he has branches opening all across the country now. Everyone’s obsessed with him.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you reply flatly before taking another sip of wine.

But your eyes betray you, drifting back to him almost instantly.

Joshua tilts his head while listening to someone speak, smiling softly in a way that barely reaches his eyes. The golden lights above scatter against the dark brown of his irises, making them glimmer like sunlight over amber glass.

Then the countdown begins.

“Ten!”

The crowd erupts around you as voices echo through the garden.

“Nine!”

Joshua glances upward just as the first firework explodes across the midnight sky.

Colors bloom over the garden in brilliant gold and silver, reflecting in the crystal fountains, in champagne glasses, and in his eyes.

And for one suspended moment, with fireworks painting light across his face and laughter spilling from his lips, you can’t look away.

“Three!”

Your pulse quickens unexpectedly.

“Two!”

Mina says something beside you, but the sound fades into the night.

“One!”

The sky bursts into dazzling color as cheers erupt through the garden.

You stare at Joshua Hong beneath the falling sparks of light and decide right there and then—

He will be your New Year’s goal.

His eyes twinkle with colorful fireworks, peering into a bright soul behind those pupils.

Such pretty deer eyes.

You wonder what they will look like caught in headlights.

Note: The turns have tabled.

I actually watched an eye removal surgery for this fic and I wanted to show off my new knowledge but that would had been an info dump so I didn't lol

Important Characterization Note: If you haven't noticed the fl is 'weird' at expressing emotions. Well, technically bad at putting an act on to be precise. Throughout the story, they both express their emotions at odd timings because they're both putting on an act in front of each other for their own agendas. However, Joshua's curiosity towards fl is genuine. And they both do have their moments where their masks slip and they're vulnerable.

I tried to include a lot of subtext in their dynamic and in story. Let me know your perspective. I would love to read y'all's theories.

This was my first attempt at writing unreliable narrative, so how was it?

Joshua:

Tagging readers from the waiting list: @dontwonder05 @joshujin @eskoupe

Tagging readers who showed interested in it (sorry, if you didn't want to be tagged): @arkihives @aethnie @bobathi

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since the dawn of their friendship, everything’s been a competition. which crayon scribble got more praise from teachers. which academic achievements made their parents prouder. which of them had the better build, the prettier face — and garnered the more attention from girls as a result.

only one mattered, though. because when it came to crushes, joshua and jeonghan only ever went after the same girl. and yes it was personal. 

they say you win some and you lose some. joshua’s yet to see the truth in that. attempting to rival jeonghan’s lazy grins and smooth tongue for a girl’s attention was always a sinking ship.

there’d been a few times when joshua had made the first move — taken the girl out, kissed her under the moon and left her eager for more — all for jeonghan to swoop in while she’d been waiting and fill the absence joshua left.

it’s not fair, just building off of the care and effort joshua already put in, and it sure as hell shouldn’t count as besting him. but at the end of it all, it’s jeonghan who gets to call her mine. and that’s what they’re competing for.

you weren’t just the same old story, though.

maybe it’s because you weren’t some other high school hook-up or college fling that they were competing to have in their bed. they’re grown now, you’d think they’d matured out of wanting a girl only if the other did. but you entering their lives proved that they were far, far off.

you’d been the first one to pick up on their rivalry, too — but that can be attributed to both of them being more forward and downright desperate than they’d ever been for a girl before.

what was it about you that had joshua’s voice cracking, jeonghan’s hands trembling? they could feel like they just hit puberty again. and it was serious this time — losing meant failing for life. because you had them wrapped snug around each of your pointer fingers, and they had no intentions of letting go. forever was nonnegotiable.

you knew this. you indulged in it. and watching them fall over their own feet trying to win you over the other was the most alive you’ll ever feel.

it’s nothing, compared to how joshua felt when you ended up choosing him, though.

months of not-so-friendly competition and foul play had somehow landed in joshua’s favour. joshua could play it smart, but jeonghan played it dirty, and brains never bested a total absence of morals. jeonghan always won in the past for that reason. but this time, it’s why he didn’t. 

joshua almost cried in relief when you confessed your love to him. being a gentleman instead of a schemer had finally paid off. and when you took him into your bed that night, he could’ve sobbed into your hair as he fucked into you.

because all of his losses up to this point are meaningless. they all built up to this: holding your hand, moaning your name as your pulsing heat sucked him in.

it’s the only win that matters — knowing jeonghan can only dream of what you feel like.

“joshua, are we—okay?

you don’t usually use his full name. not unless there’s a real issue. but he doesn’t flinch at it, since what he asked was so out of left field.

“as far as i’m aware.” he replies coolly.

“so why are you asking me that?” 

since joshua bested jeonghan for your love about half a year ago, you hadn’t seen the latter since. not if joshua could help it. partly due to fears that you might change your mind, that jeonghan might even coerce you there with his forked tongue.

of course, they didn’t stop being best friends. you don’t just give up a friendship that started in diapers over one girl — except you can, and they very well did for a few weeks. it wasn’t until joshua’s mother started asking about the other that he texted him, asking how he’s been like nothing happened. like the girl they were mutually lusting over wasn’t sucking his dick an hour earlier while jeonghan had been left in the dust.

but regardless, jeonghan texts him back, and it’s as if nothing really did happen when they meet up at their favourite fried chicken spot an hour later.

things start to click back into place, into routine. jeonghan didn’t ask about you, and joshua didn’t mention you either. maybe this could just be a blurry patch in their shared history, and you’d have to squint to remember why they were mad at each other. maybe this could be a funny story to laugh about when they were wrinkled and grey, once jeonghan had fallen for another.

except it can’t be. because jeonghan holds onto grudges like they’re his beating heart.

joshua made the mistake of inviting jeonghan to drinks, where the older of the two was much keener with his alcohol. jeonghan was properly wrecked within an hour, swaying in his seat and chasing his own words.

when jeonghan admits that he’s hated him ever since, joshua just blinked at him, in disbelief that he heard that right.

jeonghan went on: saying that it’s only grown worse with each passing day, and he’s at his wits end. he can’t take it anymore. he still wants you and he’s not sure it’ll ever pass.

rage surged in joshua like a tidal wave, and his knuckles were kissing jeonghan’s jaw within the next second.

for a good five minutes, jeonghan had managed to rip the sheets off of joshua’s usual gentlemanly composure. he berated his best friend until his throat ran raw, and only when he stopped to catch his breath did jeonghan interject — proposing an idea that could’ve full-well earned him another punch in the face.

but joshua was tired. the adrenaline comedown left him lightheaded, his voice was almost gone, and his hands hurt from clenching them into fists. so he listened. tossed it over in his head. but then left his best friend without an answer. not like he deserved one anyways.

still, it clung to his thoughts like smoke.

“just let me have her,” jeonghan had spat out while joshua caught his breath. it was the most shameless he’d ever seen his best friend. “just one time and i’ll never bring it up again.”

the more he thought back on it, the more he considered it, and the less he.. felt bothered by it. he’d even caught himself envisioning it one night as he laid in a cold bed while you were showering — you mounting jeonghan, riding him till he was in tears, all the while watching joshua for his approval.

with the way his dick pulsed in his boxers over the scene, he figured it was about time to bring it up to you.

which brought him to now: you gawking at your boyfriend like he just confessed to murder, when really he had admitted that jeonghan begged him to fuck you, and joshua wasn’t opposed. not that far off in terms of shock factor actually.

“aren’t you upset?” you ask him, perplexed on why he seems so composed saying this when he’d been so adamant on keeping you on the other side of the earth as jeonghan.

“oh baby, you didn’t see me.” joshua perches on the bed next to you, pulling the covers down where you’re holding them to your chest. he rubs little circles onto the skin of your arm, perhaps to ground you or himself.

“he’s got an ugly bruise on his face from where i hit him. i was fucking furious. but,” he sighs, large hand coming to hook around your fingers. “i thought on it. haven’t been able to stop, actually.”

you hold joshua’s hand back, reassuring him that you’re listening.

“i already came to terms with it, a while back. before you chose me. i was expecting jeonghan to win again, so i thought, if it came down to it: i’d ask him if he’d be up to sharing.” 

“sharing me.” 

“you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty finger, babe. i wanted you in any way that i could get. i’m more than grateful it’s this, don’t get me wrong.” he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “i was just preparing for the worst.” 

“so why this? and now?”

he smiles with a slow exhale. “because i want you forever. and unfortunately, i’m stuck with jeonghan for forever too. if he hasn’t come to terms with it now, i’d rather it be sooner than later. before he gets really desperate and does something i can’t forgive.” 

“you think he’ll just stop after having me the one time?”

“of course not. but doesn’t that make it all the more satisfying? one taste of what he could’ve had, yet he lost. you’re mine, and he can never have you unless it’s on my word.” he smirks. clearly he’d already thought it through. it’s cruel, cruel in a way that could rival jeonghan. and you.

“what if i prefer him?” 

joshua’s eyes darken, smirk tilting into something sinister. he’s missed this.

missed chasing you, trying to run faster than jeonghan. missed putting his dignity on the line for a girl with no guarantee he’d even get her. the possibility of giving his all and more only to watch you choose his best friend instead. it was exhilarating — the rush, the fear.

you love him, you really do. you chose him. but this whole thing, it’s like he’s got something to lose again. and he still can’t get enough of the feeling.

“well, we haven’t gotten there yet, have we?” 

then he’s kissing you, tongue teasing yours the moment your lips meld together. you give a pleased hum when his hand dips down, knuckles brushing your clothed crotch.

“will you be there?” 

when jeonghan walks through the door of joshua’s house, he’s carrying an air of insufferable pride with him. his face is plastered with a shit-eating grin as he greets you, hands snaking around your waist and chin dipping to your collarbone.

he and joshua lock eyes, and for a second, it looks like jeonghan’s about to kiss your neck before you’re moving off of him. joshua can’t tell if it’s a gesture more directed to you or at him.

you all share glasses of dark wine on the massive C-shaped couch. you sit first, with each boy perching close on either side — leaving a laughable amount of room on the rest of the couch.

jeonghan’s only really here for the one thing. joshua had set the details of how tonight will play out, such as what’s on and off the table. with how joshua’s been talking about this, you can’t imagine there’s much jeonghan isn’t allowed to do with you.

this is supposed to be the only chance he’ll ever have. the more freedom jeonghan gets, the more he’ll want you again — meaning the more joshua wins, because you still belong to him and only him.

jeonghan’s unapologetically handsy. he’d always been, especially when they were both courting you since jeonghan was a lot more daring with his advances. but tonight it’s as if he’s making up for the lost time. one glass of liquor down and his palm’s glued to your thigh, body slouching against yours, head lolling onto your shoulder. he even absentmindedly leaves a few pecks on the skin there.

instinctively, you glance at joshua whenever you think jeonghan’s being too pushy. but your boyfriend’s features remained firm, certain. even curious. it all feels like a show put on just for him. so if he’s daring you to not hold back, then what else to do than your worst?

you lean in to jeonghan’s touches. you guide his hand to slink around your back, palm coming to hold his head upright as he tells you about a particularly shit day he had at work about three months ago.

your attention gradually hones in on jeonghan solely, and he can tell when the shift happens, because he starts acting different too. it’s not just about provoking joshua with what he’s allowing to happen anymore. his pupils swallow the light, lips parting in bated breaths as he gazes at you. now, it feels like it’s just you, him, and your shared desire. what he’s been waiting to happen since the damn day he met you.

it’s soft when you lean in to kiss him. he could’ve just leaped at you and been hard enough to fuck you within seconds, but jeonghan’s got all night to take his time. to engrave your entirety into his memory: your body, your noises, your heat wrapped around him.

you slide your tongue against his, hand resting flat on his thigh, and it’s enough to pull obscene noises from jeonghan. you’d think he was already close to cumming with how vocal he was being, and from just kissing you. it’s cute. and you can’t wait to keep pushing him further down the deep end.

you stay soft and restrained as you kiss him — while jeonghan’s practically eating your face. he’s moving his body so much that your hand rides dangerously high, and he starts mindlessly bucking to the feel of your fingers on his clothed crotch.

he’s needy and whiney and you don’t know how he expects to last even just one round. maybe this’ll work in joshua’s favour and jeonghan makes a pathetic mess of himself.

speaking of which, he’s so caught up in the feeling of your tongue hot in his mouth that he literally forgot where he was. you have to still jeonghan with gentle hands on his shoulders, and he pouts as you pull away from the kiss.

“where do you want it?”

you have to give jeonghan a second to buffer, remember that this isn’t his home where he can just fuck you wherever he pleases. he’s still the guest here.

“upstairs, the bath.”

“no. it stays down here.”

you both crane your necks towards joshua — who was leaning back into the couch with a topped-up glass in hand, watching it all intently. he’s serious. jeonghan scoffs.

“in front of you?” he near whines in annoyance. it sounds like this wasn’t in the deal. joshua must be changing his mind in real time.

“this is my house,” joshua reminds him with a scowl over his glass. “and my girl.”

jeonghan just rolls his eyes. it’s tough talk for someone who’s a spectator to his best friend playing tonsil hockey with his girlfriend.

you softly cooing to jeonghan is enough for him to turn his attention back to you and stop trying to explode joshua with his mind. you plant his hand on your breast, and it’s like neuron activation with how he’s back to looking up at you with a watery mouth and doe eyes.

“wanna taste you,” jeonghan whimpers when you press your palm over where he’s hard and leaking. “please,”

“okay.” you hum, pressing a kiss to his hair. you shift in your seat and catch sight of jeonghan smiling. it’s cute. no sly intentions. it feels soft — it’s almost like you’re not basically cheating while your boyfriend watches from the sidelines.

you’d worn this dress for the sole purpose of easy access. you only have to flip the skirts up, jeonghan watching your every move as you lean back for him, and you only get your panties to your knees before jeonghan’s springing forward. he pries your legs apart enough to slot himself in the gap between, breath hot and heavy on your cunt as he lowers himself to lay flat on the couch. your core pulses as he licks his lips, pressing a shaking kiss to your clit before diving in.

there’s no patience in how jeonghan takes you. he laps at your wet heat like a dog, an obscenity of squelching noises filling the room as he bobbed his head. you bite your own fingers to muffle yourself, overcome with embarrassment and arousal in equal amounts.

jeonghan’s head dips, tongue fucking into your hole while his nose keeps your clit occupied. your thighs tremble around his head, and you can feel the saliva and arousal leaking down your legs. what’s more is he moans right into you, the pretty noise reverberating on your cunt, and your eyes fucking roll back — mouth clamped tight on your fingers.

until there’s a hand prying them out, cocking your head backwards. you’re met with an upside-down view of your boyfriend, mouth parted in a breathless smile, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

“i wanna hear it,” he tells you softly, hand snaking down your neck and to your chest, slipping under the hem of your dress. he finds your nipple with ease, pinching the bud between his fingers. it has your hips rocking up into jeonghan’s face, and you’d think he’s almost too caught up in your cunt to care about what’s happening up here.

“yah, you fucking mind?” jeonghan turns your attention back to him when he splits you open with two of his slender fingers, wasting no time before starting to piston them in and out. joshua rolls your nipple under his thumb in retaliation, and you could almost scream from how much and how good it all feels.

“she’s my girlfriend.” joshua says, the smirk in his voice audible.

“yeah, about to cum on my damn mouth,” jeonghan bites back, flattening his tongue on your pussy to lick up a hard stripe. you glance down and realise he’s rutting furiously into the couch cushion, and you clench around his fingers, earning another moan from jeonghan that rumbles on your clit.

you roll your head back, staring up through your lashes at your boyfriend while his best friend swirls little eights around your clit, fingers curling ruthlessly inside you. you fumbles with the top of your dress to find joshua’s hand, and then hold it tight. he snickers at the gesture. you can barely keep your eyes open from all the sensations, but you still wanna hold his hand as you hit ecstasy. his heart swells, as debaucherous as the circumstances are.

except you don’t even get there before the cold air’s hitting your cunt, jeonghan pulling off of you with a wet pop. your brain’s still catching up when you see jeonghan’s arm stretch out above you, shoving joshua back on the couch.

“fuck off,” he snaps, hooking his arms around your legs to pull you away from joshua and flush against his lap.

his belt knocks your thigh as he unbuckles it hastily, not even waiting to get his pants off fully — just pulling the waistband of his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free, slapping his stomach and leaving a string of precum.

jeonghan catches you staring, and he snickers to himself, sitting his palm on your stomach as his thumb comes to prod at your clit.

“what? haven’t seen a dick this big before?”

you can’t even quip back at the comment, let alone deny it — not as you’re being launched right back to the edge of bliss, your orgasm rearing its head again as jeonghan draws slow, lazy circles with his thumb. the head of his dick nudges at your core, all the beaded precum barely even noticeable once he’s coated in your slick, and if jeonghan thought he was about to cum from just kissing you then he knows he’s not gonna last now.

it just means he’ll have to make up for it with many, many more rounds. he has till sunrise to do whatever he pleases with you: joshua’s orders.

you distantly hear a strained noise leave you when jeonghan finally pushes in, tuned out by his own louder moan. he spends a second still, cock twitching inside of you with his heavy pants at your ear. but once he’s found himself again, he sucks in a big breath to his chest before he starts ramming into you, just like how he does in his wet dreams.

you’re not sure if the moaning and borderline sobbing is you or him anymore. jeonghan looks rabid as he fucks into you: hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyes blown wide open with a hand roaming over every curve of your body like he’s committing it to memory. he replaces his thumb with his pointer and middle, and you’re about to be hit by your almost orgasm in tenfold. and from what you hear, jeonghan’s having just as much trouble holding back as you are.

you hear your neck crack as you turn your head to stare at the man behind you, only to see nothing but an empty couch. you then catch sight of joshua moving beside you — kneeling in front of where your head’s lolling back on the cushion. your eyes flutter shut when jeonghan thrusts up into a particularly sensitive spot, and when you open them again, you’re met with the view of your boyfriend smiling at you with heart-eyes, a hand shoved beneath his slacks and stroking himself.

“doin’ so well,” joshua coos, lips ghosting close to your forehead. “my pretty girl.”

you can only whimper in response. jeonghan starts drawing out his thrusts, hammering his hips periodically. you take notice of how joshua’s hand movements slow down to match the pace — pumping himself to the sight of you getting fucked.

a sharp pulse of his dick deep inside tells you he’s about two seconds from letting loose, and you squeeze down on him in kind. jeonghan’s fingers stutter on your clit, head falling onto your chest with a strangled groan.

“oh fuck, please don’t do that, ah,”

you can hear a faint chuckle from joshua under his breath. “keep on going, baby,”

jeonghan lets out a guttural noise — irritated over joshua interfering yet again with what’s his for the night — before he’s raising himself up on his palms, one of them shooting out to wrap around your neck. it’s not hard enough to hurt, but the dizziness hits you instantly.

jeonghan grits his teeth, anchoring his weight into the hand at the base of your throat when he starts fucking into you like a madman. this time, his sole purpose is chasing both of your orgasms.

“baby, ah. ‘m not ready just yet, just hold out for me, fuck,” joshua’s voice at your ear is strained, and you can hear the slick sound of him pumping himself in tune to the squelching of your pussy getting rammed by jeonghan. it’s so incredibly lewd and your brain’s fuzzy from all the blood rushing to your head at this angle and jeonghan’s hand on your neck and all the overwhelming sensations.

“look at me,” jeonghan growls, hand coming to snatch your jaw up into his direction. his face dips close to yours, breath hot on your neck — but when you’re looking up at him, you realise that it’s joshua who his gaze is directed towards instead. 

“if you love shua,” he pants out, hand coming to rub his palm on your clit — other hand keeping your thrashing legs pried open. “you’ll moan my name.” 

you’re literally right there, one exhale away from cumming, but you hold your breath. you wait to hear joshua’s voice in response — and yet, nothing. just more grunting and all the wet noises of your arousals. he’s not refuting it. he’s waiting.

you don’t want to. it’s wrong. it’s so fucked up and yet so fucking hot and you’ve never felt this turned on in your life. 

you let yourself go, cumming with a loud cuss broken with a cry, and you do it. you call out his name. not your boyfriend’s. but the boy who he called his best friend.

“f-fuck—hannie!” 

you don’t know when their orgasms started and when yours ended. you just know that it went on for what felt like minutes, pleasure so good that it delved into pain, and you’ve never felt so sweaty and sore in your life.

in the aftermath, you all lay there heaving and limp. there’s body odour, spit and cum in the air, along with some skeletons in the closet you’ll definitely have to discuss with joshua tomorrow. or maybe you’ll agree to never speak of what just happened again.

you finally crack open an eye, glancing towards where your boyfriend’s still sitting on the floor. he’s tucking himself back into his pants, and he’s not looking at you. you whip your head the other way, catching jeonghan mirorring him, and realise the boys had been staring at each other. sizing the other up, you think at first. but then on second glance it looks more like they’re eye-fucking.

you sigh loudly, which has their heads turning back to you.

“still need me here or what?”

mlist · taglist 〃 note. can u tell i stopped being medicated🤔

You greeted your regular customers as usual, the place busy from morning until noon. You were grateful that the bakery’s success repaid every sacrifice you had left behind. Even though becoming a lawyer had once been your greatest dream. Helping people, fighting for justice, but seeing customers happily buying your goods and complimenting them each day made you feel like the happiest person alive.

Still, deep inside, you were just a girl who once dreamed of becoming a good lawyer—someone who could help others obtain the justice they deserved.

So focused on your work, you didn’t notice Seokmin tailing you like an excited puppy until he startled you from behind.

“Goodness, Min,” you sighed, rolling your eyes as you stepped back into the pantry to refill the bread display. “Don’t scare me like that. What brings you here?” you asked without looking up at him.

Seokmin hummed, crossing his arms. “Can’t I stop by to see the lovely Miss Baker?” he chuckled, still following you as you busied yourself. “Say… are you perhaps available this weekend? I mean— I’d love to take you out for a nice dinner.”

When you didn’t respond immediately, too focused on arranging the croissants, he sighed dramatically.

“Okay… I’m sorry, just this once,” he continued, stepping in front of you so you had no choice but to look at him properly. “I know the last time you said you couldn’t, but please give me a chance.”

You softly sighed, patting your hands against your apron as you shook your head. “I’m sorry, Min. I just… I can’t, okay?” you said, moving to the cashier counter to busy yourself with nothing in particular. “I’m already occupied. I don’t know if I can make time for…”

You hesitated to mention the word love or relationship.

Seokmin had been your friend since childhood. Though he was two years younger, you always treated him as an equal. At first, you saw him as a younger brother, maybe you still did, even after he grew into a fine young man. Still, you couldn’t allow yourself to enter a relationship, let alone think of marriage. You had always been content with what you had… especially when you weren’t ready to leave your father’s side.

You had lost count of how many times Seokmin had tried to ask you out. His attraction toward you wasn’t subtle, he had always pined like a lovesick puppy. You, on the other hand, never took his feelings lightly. Even after rejecting him when you were younger, he remained persistent. You appreciated him deeply, as a friend, perhaps even as family, but your bond with him had always remained platonic.

Before you could even answer his many questions, your attention was already stolen by the customer standing in front of you.

Mr. Yoon.

He was one of your regulars. You stated the total, and he handed you the money, which you politely accepted. You weren’t sure when it began, but there had always been something melancholic about him. He usually bought the same thing, the castella cake, or simply a plain pound cake. On rare occasions, when he seemed to be in a particular mood, he would choose the lemon-flavored one. You never questioned it. In fact, you had memorised his preference so well that you made sure it was always restocked, just in case.

You thanked him, offering your usual polite smile as you watched him walk toward the door. You didn’t even realize you had been staring at his figure as it slowly disappeared outside until Seokmin called your name, snapping you out of your thoughts. Blinking, you looked at him. “If you keep startling me like that, you might as well help around here,” you huffed, pretending to count the notes in your hand.

Seokmin smiled sheepishly. “Alright, alright. I’ll help.”

It wasn’t that you were understaffed. But the bakery had been packed all day, with massive pre-orders and constant restocking. You felt a little guilty watching Seungkwan and Chan shuffle back and forth without proper breaks.

You had always greeted your customers cheerfully, even asking about their day with genuine warmth.

The only exception was that man.

Mr. Yoon,  the judge of the courthouse in town. Known as one of the most respectable individuals in the district. You first met him years ago when you were still a student. He had been invited to your university for a legal workshop. You remembered admiring him back then. He was articulate, confident, someone who spoke about justice as if it were sacred.

After you dropped out, he became nothing more than a distant memory. Seeing him again years later felt… different.

It wasn’t as though you had any lingering attachment. Still, the unfortunate incident involving his late wife, the arson case the newspapers wrote about had changed him. At least, that was what people said. Perhaps that was why he carried that quiet heaviness around him now.

But it was none of your business.

“Seeing Judge Yoon this close was kind of scary, if I’m honest,” Seokmin said while helping pack the goods. “It feels like a shiver runs down my spine whenever I’m around him.”

You stilled, eyes still fixed on your list, not responding immediately. “Come on, you’re exaggerating. If anything, everyone probably feels that way because of his position.”

Seokmin only grinned, nudging you gently, and you returned a faint smile. “If I were serious like him, would you have accepted me?” he leaned closer, voice playful. “You know… my sex appeal would be more attractive if I used it properly.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile lingered as you moved away so he wouldn’t get distracted. “Less talk, more work. I like a hardworking man, Min.”

Chapter 1: The Corrupt Judge and His Sullied Court

People’s gossip was never something that interested you. Sometimes you overheard things here and there, but you rarely paid attention.

Although, you couldn’t deny it unsettled you whenever the subject revolved around Judge Yoon.

It wasn’t surprising for people to talk about scandalous marriages or secret affairs. But this time, the conversation was about something more serious.

“I heard about the recent case, Mrs. Kwon being accused of murdering her own husband?” one of the middle-aged women said suddenly, making you subconsciously listen as you stood with your back facing them. “They said in court she claimed it was self-defense. Apparently, she revealed that her late husband had been abusing her.”

“Oh dear, that’s horrible,” the other woman gasped. “I hope everything goes well… I wonder how she’s feeling now. It would be unfortunate if she fails to prove her innocence. All that fortune from her husband would eventually go back to his family.”

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, yet there you were, listening to every word as you gathered the ingredients you had just bought. The conversation eventually died down, and you hurried along, mentally cursing yourself for rejecting Seokmin’s offer to help.

It wasn’t that you thought their discussion was unnecessary.

If anything, it made you uneasy.

When you first heard that Mr. Kwon had died from murder, it genuinely shocked you. He had been one of your regular customers and, if you remembered correctly, an acquaintance of Seokmin’s. You could still vividly recall the bright smile he wore whenever he stood at your counter, proudly bragging about how smoothly his business was running.

Though he was one of the wealthiest men in town, he carried himself with humility, at least, that was how he appeared to you. He had a way of making you feel like you were no less important than he was. So hearing that he had allegedly abused his wife felt almost unbelievable.

You had met Mrs. Kwon a few times at the clothing boutique. She often spent lavishly on glamorous pieces. You were never one to judge someone’s lifestyle, but the news still came as a shock.

Almost too suspicious. Or perhaps you simply shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover.

When you returned to the bakery, it didn’t go unnoticed that your staff were slacking off in the back. You shook your head as you approached them, both far too invested in the newspaper spread across the table.

“Would you like your pay to be cut short?”

Your voice nearly made Seungkwan and Chan jump out of their skin as they scrambled back into position. Seungkwan was the first to break the tension, attempting to smooth things over with a dramatic whistle. “Oh dear, I think I might’ve forgotten how to make pain au chocolat—do you know where the recipe is, Chan?”

“I seriously don’t know, man,” Chan agreed smoothly, wiping an already spotless surface with his rag.

You sighed, shaking your head before picking up the newspaper they had been so absorbed in. Your eyes skimmed over the article.

Ah.

Of course.

A small column near the top mentioned the recent court case. You were certain details like this weren’t meant to be public, yet here it was in ink.

Mrs. Kwon’s case.

According to the article, she had been sentenced only to probation. Which meant the court had acknowledged her claim of self-defense. Meaning… the allegations about her husband’s abuse were true after all. You weren’t sure how to process it. It felt unreal. Yet, in the end, it didn’t matter anymore, Mr. Kwon was already dead.

Still, something inside you twisted uneasily.

Just a week ago, he had been standing at your counter, smiling brightly. You had always assumed he was a kind man. Seeing this revelation in print felt almost impossible to reconcile. Your eyes drifted toward the familiar surname printed beneath the article. The reporter had made it clear that the case was handled under Judge Yoon.

That name always lingered somewhere in your mind, though you could never quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was simply because you saw him at the bakery so often. Standing near someone of his caliber had always felt surreal. Even meeting prosecutors or judges once in your life carried a certain weight.

The desire to become one of them had already died long ago.

You folded the newspaper and set it aside, returning to your stock work while your staff resumed whispering about the news.

“Man, I can’t believe Mr. Kwon was that kind of person,” Chan murmured as he arranged the trays.

“I know, right?” Seungkwan replied, hands busy shaping pastries. “I never imagined someone we knew could turn out like that. What’s crazier is that I saw his wife shopping at the jewelry boutique the other day like she didn’t have a care in the world. Then boom— murder.”

That was enough.

You cleared your throat deliberately, and their chatter died instantly. There was no use crying over spilled milk now.

──

Your life had always been simple, you preferred it that way.

Though that never stopped people from running their mouths, especially in a neighborhood like yours. They often commented that your life had been “robbed” by your sick father, as if you hadn’t chosen to drop out of your studies to care for him yourself. As if sacrifice had not been your own decision.

After all, he was your only family.

Sure, it had been years since then, yet some still criticized your choice to remain a bakery owner instead of pursuing a “more respectable” profession,  especially as a woman in this era.

You had grown used to it.

But you would never allow them to speak badly about your papa. He was everything you had left after your grandmother passed away. That was why you chose to continue the business, pouring everything you had into rebuilding it. And now, seeing familiar faces return each day, watching customers smile at the taste of your pastries, it felt worth it.

The bakery was filled with warmth and sweetness.

At your age, it was only natural for people to question your marital status — a topic you always brushed off with a polite smile. It was rather nosy of them, prying into matters that did not concern them. So what if you chose not to settle down?

It hadn’t gone unnoticed that a few bachelors had shown interest in you, but you politely declined before anything could even begin. Most people found you odd, perhaps they always had. Even when you were younger, you had been too engrossed in books, too eager to learn and discover more.

The only man you allowed close was Seokmin. He was perhaps the only one who never attempted strange advances or crossed lines. Even after being rejected more times than you could count, he continued to respect your boundaries.

When he suddenly entered the bakery, his face looked unusually troubled. Before you could even greet him, he grasped your arms gently, as if steadying you or himself, while carefully choosing his words. He called your name softly.

“Listen to me… I need you to stay calm. Just listen to what I’m about to say.”

You stared at him, confused, searching his expression for any hint of what was coming. Your heart began pounding, a nervous rhythm echoing in your ears.

He wasn’t joking.

“Your father…”

The rest blurred. The moment he uttered the words of arrest, accusation, embezzlement, and everything else drowned in a loud buzzing inside your head. The details slipped past you, lost somewhere between disbelief and fear.

Your papa has been arrested for embezzlement. It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

You didn’t waste a second. There was nothing you wanted more than to see your father immediately.

At the detention centre, where your papa was now being held, the sight of him behind the metal barrier made your heart clench painfully. His face brightened the moment he saw you and Seokmin approaching.

“Papa!” You rushed forward, fingers curling around the bars as if you could reach him through sheer will. Your chest felt unbearably heavy at the sight of him confined like this.

“My dearest… thank God you’re safe,” your father sighed in relief.

Safe?

You were the one falling apart.

“____, you shouldn’t worry about me—”

“Please, Papa,” you interrupted quickly, shaking your head. “This is serious. Of course I need to be involved.” Your brows furrowed. “I’m not a child anymore. You should be worrying about yourself. How did this even happen?”

Your eyes scanned him anxiously. He looked physically fine, healthier than he had been two years ago, but that didn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Stress alone could undo his recovery.

Your father gently placed his palm over yours against the cold barrier, grounding you.

“My dear, take care of yourself,” he said softly. “You mustn’t fret over me. We can hire an attorney…”

His gaze shifted to Seokmin, giving him a meaningful nod just as the officer called for the end of visitation.

“Take care of her for me.” Before you could say another word, your papa was already being led away. The metal door shut with a sound that echoed too loudly in your chest.

“Hey—it’s alright,” Seokmin murmured, gently turning you to face him as you stood frozen. “I’ll help you, okay? I’ll hire an attorney for your father. We’re in this together.”

Your expression softened, though you slowly shook your head, much to his visible disappointment.

“No, Min… I can’t do that to you.” Your voice trembled slightly. “Your family already helped us when Papa was ill. And when I reopened the bakery…”

You couldn’t ask for more. Seokmin’s family had always been better off financially. They had never once made you feel small for it. His parents adored you, yet accepting more help felt dangerously close to indebting yourself.

And you hated feeling indebted.

Seokmin’s hands tightened gently around yours as he called your name. “Please let me help. I want to do this. I mean it.”

You hesitated. In a situation like this, you couldn’t afford an incompetent attorney.

After a long moment, you nodded.

“…Alright.”

──

In the Union States of Sebong, there was a man who directed the courthouse under government administration while quietly collecting profit for himself.

His name was Yoon Jeonghan. In posterity, he would be remembered as the Collector.

No one ever understood how he determined the outcomes of his cases, whether the accused were found guilty or not. It hardly concerned honor. If you had money, you were saved. But even that did not guarantee your life. That decision belonged to corruption itself.

No one dared to question him.

Yoon Jeonghan was regarded as the most respectable man in town. Therefore, once his verdict was spoken, it was final. In the courtroom, Jeonghan liked to believe that every sin committed passed through his hands alone. He decided who was guilty. He decided who was innocent. And if they paid enough to be acquitted, then their crimes would be permitted.

Only cash would do.

Well… at least in hell.

He did not consider himself greedy. After all, wasn’t he helping those in need? In the end, they should all understand that their lives depended on him.If they wanted salvation, they would pay the proper fee.

Jeonghan adjusted his judicial gown as he prepared to enter the courtroom for the next case. The doors opened at his silent command. The room stilled. Prosecutors, attorneys, defendants, and spectators rose to their feet in respect.

He took his seat, face stoic, voice low and neutral.

“Now,” he said calmly, “let the trial begin.”

You tensed in your seat, sitting rigidly on the wooden bench with your fingers clasped tightly in your lap as your father stood before the court. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but diminished under the weight of accusation.

What you hadn’t expected was that Judge Yoon would be assigned to your father’s case.

You had to remind yourself that he was not the quiet regular customer who bought castella cake from your counter. Not the man you occasionally admired from afar.

Down here, beneath the towering ceiling of the courtroom, he felt different.

Intimidating. Distant. Powerful.

And you felt very, very small. You had heard the whispers before, that defendants prayed never to fall under Judge Yoon’s trial. They called him ruthless, though the public preferred a more refined word.

Impartial.

He carried that reputation flawlessly.

And yet, despite everything you had heard, you silently prayed that this time. Just this once, the case would favor your father.

You needed his innocence to be proven, and him to come home.

As the trial progressed, your heart remained heavy with distress and unease. Sleep had abandoned you entirely these past few nights. For now, the bakery was left in the capable hands of Seungkwan and Chan while you dedicated yourself to gathering every possible record, financial statements, receipts, testimonies — anything that could support your father’s innocence.

You have done everything.

When the opposing counsel finally rose to speak, your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t help but frown at the confident cadence of his voice, at the certainty dripping from every word he uttered. His client sat beside him, posture relaxed, almost assured as if victory had already been promised.

That unsettled you.

You weren’t supposed to feel doubt.

Not when you knew your father was innocent.

“Your Honour,” the prosecutor began, voice clear and unwavering, “the evidence will show that this was neither a mistake nor a misunderstanding. This was a deliberate, long-term scheme of embezzlement.”

He paced slowly as he spoke. “We will present the paper trail—the bank transfers, the altered receipts, and the final destination of those funds: the defendant’s own pocket.”

A pause.

“At the conclusion of this trial, we will ask this court to hold him accountable for this grave breach of trust.”

The words echoed in the chamber, heavier than they had any right to be.

You felt your fingers tighten against each other in your lap.

Deliberate. Long-term scheme. Embezzlement.

It sounded so certain when spoken aloud.

The defense attorney rose slowly, adjusting his spectacles. “Your Honour,” he began, voice firm but measured, “the prosecution presents a compelling story. Thus, a story is not a conviction.”

A murmur rippled faintly through the gallery.

“The transfers cited required dual authorization. My client did not possess unilateral access to those accounts. Furthermore, the alleged altered receipts were processed through a third-party accountant, one who has yet to be summoned before this court.”

The prosecutor scoffed lightly. “Deflection.”

The defense ignored him.

“My client built that company from the ground up. Twenty-two years of work. If he wished to steal, he would not do so through traceable bank transfers under his own name.”

Your father finally stepped forward.

His voice trembled, not from guilt, but from exhaustion. “I would never steal from my own partners,” he said. “That business fed my family. It fed theirs too. I have nothing to gain from destroying it.”

Your throat tightened.

For the first time since the trial began, the room felt human.

All eyes slowly shifted toward the bench.

Judge Yoon had not moved once. His hands were folded neatly before him. His expression is unreadable.

He studied your father.

Then he spoke. “Mr. ____,” he said evenly, “you claim loyalty.”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“You claim integrity.”

“Yes.”

“And yet,” Jeonghan continued softly, “the funds did arrive in an account bearing your name.”

Silence.

Your father swallowed. “They were transferred without my knowledge. I reported the discrepancy.”

“After how long?”

A pause. “…Three weeks.”

The courtroom shifted. Jeonghan leaned back slightly. “Three weeks,” he repeated.

The way he said it made it sound like a confession.

Your fingers dug into your palms.

The defense attorney quickly intervened. “Your Honour, my client needed time to verify the irregularities before escalating—”

Judge Yoon raised one hand. The entire courtroom went silent instantly. “I find,” he said calmly, “that the evidence presented thus far establishes sufficient ground to treat the defendant as a potential flight risk.”

The words didn’t register at first. Your head snapped up.

What?

The defense attorney stiffened. “Your Honour?”

“Pending further examination of financial records,” Jeonghan continued, voice cold as winter steel, “the defendant’s bail privileges are hereby revoked.”

The courtroom erupted.

Your heart stopped. “No—!” you nearly rose from your seat.

Your father turned toward you, shock written across his face as two officers approached him.

“Your Honour, this is highly irregular!” the defense protested. “My client has complied with every summons—”

Judge Yoon’s gaze sharpened. “Compliance,” he said quietly, “does not erase capability.”

The room fell into stunned silence again. That was it. That was the ruthlessness people whispered about.

He simply decided. The reality bent.

Jeonghan adjusted his sleeve. “This court will recess for thirty minutes,” he declared. “Proceedings will resume thereafter.”

His gavel struck once. Final and absolute.

As people began to move in frantic confusion, he stood from his seat. For the briefest second, you swore that his eyes met yours, you find his eyes were not apologetic or cruel. Just… assessing. As if he was calculating something. Then he turned and disappeared through the chamber doors, leaving you frozen on the bench.

──

The trial continued, though the entire session blurred together in your mind.

Arguments were dismissed one after another. Evidence you were certain was clear enough seemed to crumble under the opposing attorney’s effortless rebuttals. Every time hope rose in your chest, it was quietly struck down.

You kept telling yourself this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be.

Yet when you finally heard Judge Yoon deliver the verdict, your head snapped up.

“This court has reviewed the exhaustive ledger entries, the third-party forensic audits, and the defense’s claims of ‘procedural irregularities.’ However, the law does not operate on intentions that remain silent for three weeks. It operates on facts.”

Your throat went dry. Your gaze flickered anxiously between your father and Seokmin.

“The facts show a systematic diversion of five hundred and eighty thousand dollars. It shows a breach of fiduciary duty that crippled a twenty-two-year-old institution.”

The judge paused.

The silence in the courtroom felt suffocating.

“Therefore, on the count of Grand Larceny and Embezzlement in the First Degree, this court finds the defendant—”

Your heart pounded violently.

“—GUILTY.”

The word struck the room like a physical weight.

You watched as your father’s expression did not change, but his head lowered slightly. That small movement shattered something inside you. Across the courtroom, the opposing party erupted in quiet satisfaction, their lawyer already gathering his papers with a victorious air. Meanwhile, you sat frozen in your seat, the world around you collapsing into noise and silence all at once.

Judge Yoon had already risen from his chair. The gavel had fallen. The case was closed.

Just like that.

──

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you ran toward the estate gates. Your dress and cardigan clung to your skin, drenched from the rain as you rushed toward Mr. Yoon’s residence begging for the fifth time to plead your papa’s innocence. You had called out to him when he declared your father guilty of embezzling a large sum of money, a crime you were certain he had been framed for. Your papa would never do such a thing. He was the gentlest and the sweetest man you had ever known.

It couldn’t be happening.

Even when you tried to approach the judge as he exited the courtroom, an unease settled deep in your stomach. The case had been decided in a single day. It was unfair. No one listened to you. Evidence was dismissed as if it meant nothing, when it was obvious some high-ranking bastard had set your father up.

It was heartbreaking.

Your papa was the only family you had aside from your bakery. When he fell ill during your studies, you dropped out to care for him. He was your world. And so you continued your grandmother’s bakery, running it just as she once had. Your knees ached from kneeling too long. Your fists rested against them as you bowed your head before the estate gates. The rain poured relentlessly, yet you remained there for nearly two hours, desperate to speak with Mr. Yoon. What had your papa done to deserve this? Was it about money? Of course you didn’t have enough to bribe him.

But why your papa?

The men who framed him were celebrating their victory while your father bore the blame.

You needed answers. You would do anything to prove them wrong.

Your father had only just recovered from his illness. You never wanted him to work again, but he insisted. Maybe you should have tried harder, then none of this would have happened.

The estate doors opened. A housekeeper approached, likely to dismiss you as usual but instead, a pair of polished leather shoes stopped in front of you.

You didn’t dare look up.

Your soaked fists trembled against your knees. You weren’t sure if you had any tears left, or if they had simply blended into the rain.

Then something shielded you from the downpour.

An umbrella.

Mr. Yoon stood above you, one hand holding it over your head, the other tucked neatly inside his robe. He did not look surprised. “Get up,” his familiar voice said calmly.

You slowly lifted your head.

“We’ll discuss this inside.”

You felt awkward changing into the nightgown one of his female employees had handed you. A shawl was draped over your shoulders, a gesture of courtesy from him. Now warmer, you sat quietly with a cup of tea cradled between your palms, staring into the amber liquid absentmindedly.

It was late.

Even if you returned home now, no one would be waiting. Ever since your papa was imprisoned, the house had felt unbearably hollow. The cell must be colder than the rain you endured outside his estate. The food, if they even fed him properly, would be nothing like the warm bread you baked every morning.

God… you just wanted him to be alright.

Your thoughts spiraled into darker possibilities. Prison was never kind. Guilty or not, men often met terrible ends there. So lost in your mind, you didn’t hear Mr. Yoon calls your name more than once. You blinked, startled, quickly mumbling an apology. When you tried to speak, your words got tangled. “Why… the evidence was there. You didn’t even… hear us out. Why?”

Silence settled between you.

He did not look offended nor surprised. “Why?” he repeated smoothly, placing his cup down. “The case was decided. The defendant’s side presented their argument well. Their attorney was… quite persuasive.”

You frowned in disbelief.

Of course. That would be his answer.

“But Mr. Yoon, it was obvious my father had nothing to do with it,” your voice trembled, almost pleading. “He was framed. Used by those—”

He lifted a hand, silencing you effortlessly. “The case is closed. I have no intention of reopening it.”

Before he could rise again, you spoke. “…You took a bribe from them, didn’t you?”

Your eyes didn’t waver.

Something in your gaze despite your soaked, pitiful state caught his attention.

He thought that it’s either you were bold or simply foolish. Either way, he decided to entertain you. “What makes you think that?” His expression remained unreadable.

You swallowed, intimidated by his composure but pressed on. “I heard rumors. I didn’t want to believe them. But I looked into your past cases.” Your voice steadied slightly. “There’s a pattern.”

For a moment, he studied you. Then a slow, faint smile appeared on his face, “So you finally completed your assignment. Impressive. As expected from a law student.”

There’s a pause in between. “Though you are a dropout now.”

Your breath hitched at the sudden revelation. You wanted nothing more than to understand how he had unearthed pieces of your past you thought were long buried.

He began listing your full name. Your birthplace, your former university, your academic standing and last but not least, your withdrawal records. Basically your entire history.

Cold crept up your spine.

You wanted to ask how he knew, but no words came.

“I have my ways,” he said lightly. “This isn’t the first time someone has accused me. And you’ll notice…” He took another sip of tea, responding to your accusations, “I never directly deny it.”

Your stomach twisted at that. So he wasn’t even ashamed.

“Go on,” he gestured lazily. “Threaten me, expose me, harm me. Others have tried but I’m not sure about you.”

But you did none of that. Instead, you only lowered your head. “…Please release my papa. He was wronged.”

He watched you carefully. Most people would’ve shouted at him. Threatened him with a murderer or arson, maybe threw chairs too.

But you only knelt before him at the gate, in front of his estate, looking docile and desperate. Like a little kitten seeking shelter after getting caught in the rain.

He sighed softly, tilting his head slightly. “You want me to help your father?” He leaned back, fingers interlocked over his knee. “Then pay the fee for your life, little bird. Salvation isn’t free, you should already know how it works.”

You stared at him, stunned by how openly he admitted it. He wasn’t even trying to deny it. Those bastards who framed your father must have paid thousands to secure their victory enough to bury your father behind the iron bars. So logically, you would need to offer double that amount. 

Obviously, you didn’t have that kind of money.

The bakery barely covered expenses. The staff salaries and maintenance. The lawyer you already hired though you paid more than that. Your family had never been wealthy. Just ordinary people trying to live quietly in town.

Your silence answered him.

Jeonghan observed you for a moment and seemed to understand. He had only presented the option to demonstrate how the world functioned. He already knew you couldn’t afford it.

He rose from his seat, “I thought so.”

When you saw him move to the door, panic surged through you as he walked toward the door. His unreadable face made it clear, he would not consider it unless it benefited him.

“Judge Yoon, wait!”

If he walked out now, everything was over.

Something inside you just snapped. “Please—just this once—I—” Your voice faltered. Then the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I’ll do anything!”

His steps halted just before reaching the doorknob. Slowly, he turned. “Be careful with those words, birdie,” His voice lowered. “Those words shouldn’t be used so carelessly. They carry weight.”

You didn’t care and didn’t know what else to offer. Pride might as well had no place here. Without hesitation, you knelt again. Hands resting on your thighs, eyes lowered to the floor. At that moment, humiliation and dignity meant nothing.

Only your papa mattered.

“…I mean it, Mr. Yoon,” your voice cracked. “I’ll do anything to prove my papa’s innocence. Just this once. I won’t ask again.”

He stared down at you. Your trembling lips, your clasped hands and the way you refused to look up. Something twisted inside him. It had been a long time since he felt this… entertained. And he loved the sight before him.

Anything huh?

He stepped closer. Then slowly knelt in front of you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear with deliberate gentleness. “Don’t cry, little bird,” he cooed softly, almost tenderly. “Tears don’t suit you.”

His gaze darkened, there’s a pause in between as he continues. “And kneeling…” His thumb lingered under your chin, tilting your face upward just enough. “Though I must admit, it is rather fitting.”

His lips curved faintly. “Still, I’d prefer you in other positions.”

It made you stiffen slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. Yet you didn’t pull away. You weren’t even sure you were allowed to.

“Now,” he murmured, voice softer, “did you truly mean what you said just now?”

You could have sworn you saw the faintest grin tug at his lips.

You nodded slowly, and his smile widened. Not close to amusement nor pleasant. Something darker, like he had planned something evil behind those eyes. You felt a chill creep up your spine. In that moment, it truly felt as though you had struck a bargain with the devil himself. Maybe you should have thought about this. But what choice did you have when you were already standing at such a disadvantage?

His gaze lingered over you, studying every reaction. Your eyes. The slight tremble in your brows. The way your lips parted unconsciously. He exhaled quietly as his slender fingers traced from your cheek down to your bare neck. The nightgown clung softly against your skin, the very one he had provided after the rain.

You realized then that he had planned this comfort far too smoothly.

“I must say, birdie…” His voice lowered, almost silk-like. “You look rather exquisite in my late wife’s nightgown.”

Your breath faltered. Only then did the realization fully settle in. You were wearing his wife’s clothing. You hadn’t thought much of it earlier, too consumed with desperation to question the wardrobe he kept. But now, standing this close to him, the fact felt intimate in a way that made your stomach twist.

So this was why he owned a woman’s nightgown.

His fingers drifted to the shawl resting on your shoulders, the one he had draped there himself. Slowly, almost thoughtfully, he toyed with the fabric between his fingers.

The same shawl meant to keep you warm. You hadn’t even noticed how close he had moved. His face hovered inches from yours now, his presence overwhelming, his eyes never once breaking contact. You forgot how to breathe. You couldn’t remember the last time you had stood this close to a man, close enough to feel the warmth of him, close enough to sense the quiet control radiating from his stillness.

And he knew it.

“I’m not a good man, as you can see…” His voice lingered, gaze lowering in a way that made your skin prickle. “Perhaps you’ve already realized that, but I can be gentle… if I choose to.”

Your eyes met his grin. It was a smile, yes, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those held something unhinged. Something close to dark, that made your pulse thunder in your ears. You had never felt fear like this before. People always exaggerated when they spoke about walking into hell. But if anyone ever asked you what it felt like, you would describe this moment.

And this was only the beginning.

You hadn’t even touched the fire yet.

The tip of the iceberg.

Suddenly, he yanked the shawl from your shoulders. You let out a soft gasp, instinctively clutching the thin fabric of the nightgown as though you had been exposed.

“Say it again.” His tone shifted, no longer smooth, but commanding. It was controlled and final. “Did you truly mean what you said?”

His fingers tightened slightly around the discarded shawl. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t make me repeat myself. Just because I said I can be gentle… doesn’t mean I am patient.”

Your lips parted, breath trembling. “Y–yes,” you managed, voice barely steady. “I’ll do anything. Please… save my father.”

You didn’t even realize you had maintained eye contact the entire time.

It felt as though he was pulling the words out of you without touching your mouth at all. Like you were stepping forward willingly, even as every instinct told you to run.

And there he stood. The devil himself.

Your karma. Your judge. Your biggest nightmare.

Yoon Jeonghan was the very definition of a blessing in disguise.

He grinned, almost too satisfied with what you had told him. His fingers lifted your chin, prompting you to look up at him as though he were inspecting you. “Just to make sure… are you being courted, Miss ___?” he asked lightly. “I figured a woman of your age would be married by now. It’s a shame such a lovely lady like you hasn’t.”

Hesitating, you slowly shook your head. “...N-no… I wasn’t… and never…”

You swore you saw the glint in his eyes sharpen. Whatever idea had formed in his mind was not something you were thrilled about.

“Ah,” he hummed. “You’re one of a kind. I honestly thought someone had already taken you off the shelves.” Then he leaned closer, too close for your liking yet you stayed still, not daring to make the wrong move and risk upsetting the man before you. “I’ll need to make sure of something…” he murmured against your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shudder.

Suddenly he dipped his head, his face brushing near your jaw as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

A soft gasp slipped past your lips.

His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his grip anything but gentle. At that moment, you almost forgot how to breathe as he inhaled your scent.

“M-Mr. Yoon?!” you whispered weakly.

He shushed you at once.

His hold tightened. Your breath hitched as he began trailing soft kisses along your neck. You hated how the closeness made something unfamiliar stir within you.

It started softly. But gradually it became greedy.

He pulled your body flush against his, arms wrapped firmly around your waist as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. A quiet moan escaped you before you could stop it. Your eyes widened. You had never expected a sound like that to come from yourself. Jeonghan chuckled lowly at your reaction, continuing to scatter hot kisses along your neck before moving down to your collarbone. His fingers tugged slightly at the shoulder of the nightgown, pulling the sleeve lower.

He grew rougher with each passing second, as if he wanted to devour you whole. You bit your lip, struggling to keep any more sounds from escaping. After a while, he finally pulled back, studying the marks he had left behind like an artist admiring his work.

You felt flushed—hot, exposed, and strangely dazed.

A sly smile curved on his lips as he leaned close again, your noses brushing. “If I had known you were like this,” he murmured softly, “I would have swept you away right there from the bakery.”

You blinked, sharply inhaling at his words.

Seeing this side of Yoon Jeonghan awakened a dangerous thought in the back of your mind. You had stepped into territory far more dangerous than you ever imagined.

Chapter 2: The Doting Father and His Daughter

That night, you ended up sleeping at Yoon’s estate with one eye open the entire time. When you finally returned to the bakery the next morning, you were greeted by a cluster of worried faces, including Seokmin’s. It seemed your sudden disappearance had sent everyone into a panic, searching for you like anxious hens.

You only brushed it off with a small smile. You could never tell them you had been at Yoon’s estate.

“Um, actually… there’s a gentleman looking for you,” Chan spoke up, causing you to frown in confusion.

Curious, you stepped out to meet him. A man stood there in a neatly pressed suit, offering you a gentle smile. He looked calm and warm—almost the complete opposite of Jeonghan.

“You must be Miss ___,” he said, extending a hand.

You hesitated for a moment before accepting it. Instead of a firm handshake, he simply held your knuckles lightly, far gentler than expected. “Yes… yes, that’s me,” you replied, returning a faint smile. “Is there a reason you’re looking for me?”

“Ah,” he said politely, “I suppose Judge Yoon has already informed you beforehand. Hasn’t he?”

Oh.

You remembered then.

Mr. Yoon had mentioned that a new attorney would be appointed for your father’s case.

You were surprised he had helped you this easily. Too easily. Something about it made your stomach twist. You knew better than to believe this was kindness.

Nothing from Yoon Jeonghan came without a price.

But he did it. He really did.

You just hated knowing the price you would eventually have to pay.

“With that,” the man continued gently, “my name is Joshua. I will be representing your father’s case from this point forward.”

And just like that, Joshua—now your father’s newly appointed attorney had entered your life.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Even though you were physically present, going through your usual routine, your mind drifted somewhere else entirely.

Too many possibilities. Too many outcomes.

You knew you had to see Mr. Yoon again tonight. Perhaps you could ask him more about everything. Somehow, it all felt unreal—too easy, too good to be true. Your heart refused to calm down. If anything, the unease only grew stronger. No one knew about this arrangement except the two of you. Yoon Jeonghan and you. That night, you really did meet him again, just as the two of you had agreed for further discussion, yet somehow, you had a bad feeling about this meeting.

Was this how Judge Yoon handled every arrangement tied to bribery?

But you weren’t like those people. You hadn’t bribed him.

Instead, you had offered yourself willingly to do anything. That was what you told him, yet even now, you weren’t sure what you were actually willing to give. The thought alone made your stomach twist in discomfort, especially when you knew you couldn’t possibly repay him with money. You glanced around his study as you waited for him, examining the room and its surroundings. That was what the maid had told you to do when you first arrived.

Obviously, he was a busy man.

You couldn’t expect someone like him to spare much attention for a matter like yours, someone who had come here desperately begging him to release a father accused of a crime he didn’t commit.

It was pathetic, really.

You refused to accept defeat even when it seemed painfully clear that the odds were against you. So why had Judge Yoon even bothered to pay attention to someone like you?

Your thoughts scattered the moment the door suddenly opened.

The devil himself had arrived.

Mr. Yoon stepped into the room, looking as though he had just finished dealing with something important. “I apologize for the delay, Miss ___,” he said casually, tossing his coat onto the chair behind his desk. Then his eyes landed on you. “Now,” he continued coolly, “spit it out. What can you offer me?”

Something about Mr. Yoon was unsettling. He could combine politeness and cruelty within the same sentence.

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his question. “Pardon?”

Mr. Yoon began unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up, exposing his forearms. “You heard me,” he said flatly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that heat rushed to your face.

You didn’t know what to say.

Yes, you had agreed to this arrangement, but the thought of what it might truly mean suddenly made your resolve waver. A cold feet.

He could take your bakery. Your savings. Everything you owned.

But offering yourself—

That possibility had never crossed your mind when you first begged him. And now you are here. Standing in front of him, unsure of what you had truly agreed to.

“Or perhaps,” he murmured, his voice lowering, “you’re pretending you didn’t know what you signed up for… little bird.”

Suddenly, his hand gripped your waist. You gasped as he effortlessly lifted you onto the edge of his study desk. His arms caged you in on both sides, trapping you there as his gaze bore into yours—dark and unreadable. His hand moved to loosen his tie, the knot sliding down as he undid two buttons of his shirt.

The sound of his slow exhale made your body tense. It was obvious now that he was in a foul mood. And he had no patience left to entertain hesitation.

“I told you, I’m not a patient man…” he murmured lowly, leaning closer.

You felt his hands creep up along your thighs, the touch almost sensual, and instinctively you stopped him. His lips tugged into a smirk at your reaction.

“My, my, ___,” he drawled teasingly, “you’re making me look like a monster with that reaction.”

He chuckled softly as he withdrew his hands, resting them back on the desk on either side of you. His head tilted slightly as he studied your expression.

“You knew the price for this,” he continued. “If you can’t seem to pay the fee… you might as well pay with something else.”

His gaze lingered meaningfully as he leaned close to your ear. “…or rather,” he whispered, “someone else.”

With a casual flick, he popped open the button of your dress collar. The fabric loosened instantly beneath his fingers, and you gasped, hurriedly clutching it closed again. He chuckled under his breath, almost mockingly, as though amused by how flustered you were. “You act like a virgin.”

Then, unexpectedly, his expression shifted. “I have a daughter,” he said suddenly.

That made you pause.

“…She has always liked the castella cake I buy for her. Which is probably why you realized by now why I always purchase that specific one from your little bakery.”

You stayed quiet, unsure how to react. You knew he had been married once, but you had never heard that he had a daughter. The thought that someone like him was actually a father felt strangely unsettling.

“Her mother and I were arranged in a loveless marriage,” he continued casually. “I never felt any romantic attachment to her. But we had a child nonetheless.”

His fingers brushed along your cheek, and you shivered slightly at the unexpected gentleness of the touch. “But I do dote on my daughter,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Quite a lot, actually. I cherish her.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Her nanny has grown rather old over the years. I’ve been looking for a replacement.”

Your brows lifted slightly in surprise. You weren’t sure if he was implying what you thought he was. You didn’t even know how old his daughter was.

He noticed the faint relief crossing your face. Then his hand suddenly slid back over your dress. You yelped softly when his warm palms settled against your bare thighs.

“Oh, don’t look so relieved just yet,” he murmured with a low chuckle. “I still have my interests in you, little dove.” His voice rumbled with quiet amusement as his fingers traced lightly over your skin. “You belong to me now,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours.

“For a lifetime.”

His hands slowly brushed along the inside of your thighs. He leaned closer until his lips were a hair’s breadth from yours. “I’m having a bad day dealing with some outdated fools,” he murmured. “The least you could do for me is be good.”

His nose brushed against your jaw as he inhaled deeply, as though savoring your scent. You instinctively held your breath. One of his hands pinned your wrist against the desk while the other settled at the back of your nape.

His lips curved into a wicked smirk, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You like this, don’t you?”

His hands slid higher, fingers grazing the lacy edge of your panties. A soft gasp escaped you before you could stop it.

He hushed you immediately, his voice dropping into something almost coaxing. “You signed up for this, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I think it’s far too late to back out now. Think about your precious papa sitting in that cell.”

This bastard.

He had done that on purpose, just to remind you.

You frowned, and he seemed to enjoy that reaction far too much.

Leaning closer, he pressed soft kisses against the edge of your ear before trailing them slowly down your jaw. He wasn’t touching you intimately, not truly, but it felt like he was.

Every brush of his fingers, every whisper against your skin set your nerves on fire. He was stoking something inside you, a slow-burning heat you weren’t sure you wanted to extinguish.

You weren’t even sure you could.

“Come now, little dove,” he breathed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Are you going to be good for me… or do I need to make you?” His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you yelped softly. A biting tease, a silent threat. He wanted to hear you say it. And if you didn’t, he looked entirely prepared to make you beg.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your panties, touching your bare skin for the first time. Your whimper fills the air, a sweet sound that makes his blood sing with hunger. He feels the heat of you, the slickness of your folds. “Dirty girl, already this wet while waiting for me?” he taunts you, the soft pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, the way your body yields to his touch. It’s intoxicating, addictive, and he knows he’s found something he wants to possess completely.

Your face grew warm at the realization, feeling embarrassment rush over your entire face that you were capable of such a thing. You were definitely ashamed of it.

His fingers stroke through your folds, teasing, exploring—learning what makes you gasp and what makes you moan. “You’re so soft, so responsive. I can feel you throbbing for my touch already.” He continued to circle your clit with the pad of his finger, applying the barest pressure just enough to make you ache for more. His other hand slides up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast, thumb pressing over the peak of your nipple through the fabric of your dress. He can feel it stiffen under his touch.

Part of it was that you hated how your body responded to him in every way possible. You couldn’t help but shudder at every touch he gave, your voice betraying you with involuntary sighs and soft whimpers.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice rough with desire. “Coming undone with the simplest touch. I’ve barely started, and you’re already panting for me.” His fingers dip lower, slipping between your folds, feeling your slick heat coat his skin. “I wonder how long it will take before you’re begging me for more?” He curls his fingers inside you, stroking your inner walls, feeling them clench around him. His palm grinds against your clit, the pressure delicious and maddening all at once. From the looks of it, he’s not going to let up, not until he’s had his fill.

And judging by the way your body responds, you might just let him have it. “Keep your eyes on me while I fuck my fingers into you, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice almost commanding. His dark eyes stayed fixed on you. Your mouth fell open as you struggled to maintain eye contact while he worked you through it.

His fingers thrust deeper—harder, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room. “Can feel you getting closer, your cunt tightening around me. You want to come, don’t you?” He taunts you as he leans in, brushing your ear, breath mingling with yours. “Come for me then, sweetheart.” With that, his fingers pump harder, faster—driving into you with a newfound urgency. He can feel you tensing, your walls fluttering around his invading digits, and he knows you’re close.

You gripped his shoulders, tightening around him as you finally got your release, coming undone hard enough that you moaned out his name.

“That’s it,” he praises, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. He swallows your cries, drinking in the sweet sounds of your ecstasy. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours as he claims you thoroughly. The kiss feels like more than simple desire. It’s as if he wants to devour you entirely, like he wants to crawl beneath your skin and stay there, chasing the heat and hunger only you seem able to give him.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you’re both left panting.

His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with desire, a wicked glint flickering in their depths. He’s not done with you yet. Not by a long shot. “Fuck… that was intense.”

He slips his fingers from you, bringing them to his lips. You watch, dazed and pleasure-drunk, as he slowly licks your essence from his skin. The way his eyes never leave yours only makes the sight more embarrassing, more intimate than it should be. “Tastes better than that sweet cake itself,” he confesses, a filthy smirk tugging at his lips.

“For someone so defiant like a kitty, you sure listen to me obediently.” He laughs softly, the sound edged with mockery.

His hands grasp your knees before he sharply spreads your legs wider, making you gasp. His gaze never leaves you, firm and unwavering. “From now on,” he says calmly, “you’ll cater to my daughter’s needs… and meet me like this every evening at six.”

With that, he captures your lips in another heated kiss. Your protest is muffled as he maneuvers you roughly against the desk.

The rest is history.

…

You had never had a child of your own, nor had you ever imagined caring for one. However, that didn’t mean you were bad with children.

So when you met the current nanny, a woman probably in her sixties, you couldn’t help but feel slightly surprised. She didn’t look nearly as fragile as Jeonghan had exaggerated. If anything, she seemed rather firm, strict even like someone who had managed the Yoon estate for many years.

It was clear she had experience.

You had no doubts about her abilities. If anything, your doubts lay with Jeonghan himself.

Whatever reason he had for suddenly assigning you the role of caring for his daughter felt unusual. Why would he entrust you with something so personal? Of all people, he should know better than to let a stranger become this close to his family.

The thought lingered quietly in your mind.

Once, when you had tried to pursue your original profession, you had worried it might someday put your family at risk. Perhaps that was why things had never worked out the way you had hoped.

Perhaps there had been a reason you never managed to follow that path.

As you listened to the rules she explained, you soon realized she wasn’t merely the young lady’s caretaker. She had been managing the Yoon estate for many years. You didn’t ask for further details, but it was clear she must know Jeonghan far better than most.

When she opened the door that presumably led to his daughter’s room, she began, “You will only need to prepare teatime for Miss Yoon. You don’t need to concern yourself with the rest of the household.”

You blinked as you glanced through the small opening of the door. From where you stood, you couldn’t see the girl clearly. She appeared to be sitting by the window, her figure faintly reflected in the glass, but the details of her face were indistinct.

“Then… may I ask?” you said cautiously. “How old is the young lady?”

Your question made the old woman hesitate.

It was subtle, but you noticed the way her shoulders stiffened as she tried to remain composed. “…She’s ten.”

That was all she said.

Something about the way she answered made suspicion stir within you. She had been sharp and confident before, yet now there was uncertainty in her voice, her eyes avoiding yours.

As if she were lying.

You brushed the thought aside, not wanting to make it a bigger issue than it was.

Everything should be manageable. You could balance your time between the bakery and this new responsibility. After all, Jeonghan wasn’t that cruel.

For now.

Soon, you would have to attend your father’s trial.

And then what?

Even if Jeonghan truly guaranteed your father’s innocence, you knew things could never return to the way they once were. You had already paid the price. There was no backing out now. You had chosen this yourself, after all. And yet… a quiet unease lingered in your chest, as though you had stepped onto a path that would never let you walk away.

Joshua handled the proceedings with remarkable efficiency.

The case was brought before a different judge that morning, an older man with silver hair and a stern expression who barely spared a glance at the spectators filling the small courtroom.

Documents were presented. Testimonies reviewed.

Joshua spoke calmly but firmly, pointing out the inconsistencies in the accusation that had placed your father behind bars in the first place. What had once looked like an open-and-shut case slowly unraveled before the court’s eyes.

By the end of the hearing, the truth was painfully obvious. Your father had been wrongfully accused.

The judge adjusted his spectacles before delivering the final verdict. “Given the evidence presented,” he said gravely, “the court finds no grounds to continue this prosecution.”

Your hands tightened around the wooden bench.

“The defendant is hereby cleared of all charges and released effective immediately.”

The gavel struck.

And just like that, your father was free.

Your heart suddenly felt lighter. The heavy weight that had been pressing against your chest for so long finally began to lift. Though you knew there were still many things waiting to unravel in the future, you couldn’t guarantee that life would ever return to normal after this.

All you could do was pray that the world would be kinder to you from now on. Although… that felt like too much to ask after bargaining with the devil.

Your father would be released properly soon enough. For now, you and Joshua stepped outside the courtroom together.

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that you were curious about how Jeonghan had managed to secure someone like Joshua as an attorney so quickly. Then again, a man like him probably had connections everywhere.

You wondered if Joshua knew what lurked behind Jeonghan’s deception.

“Thank you for everything, Attorney Hong,” you said, offering him a small smile. “You helped us a great deal.”

In return, he gave you his usual gentle smile.

“I already told you to just call me Joshua,” he said lightly. “But yes, it is my job.”

You couldn’t help but wonder more about him, whether he knew anything about the truth behind all of this. You searched his expression carefully for any hint of the kind of manipulation Jeonghan carried so effortlessly.

But there was none.

“I know this may not be my place to ask,” you began slowly, “but… do you and Judge Yoon know each other?”

Joshua chuckled softly as he adjusted his tie. “Ah, there’s no need to worry about that. We’ve known each other since we were students,” he replied. “So when he suddenly asked me for a favour… I’ll admit it was rather unusual coming from him.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “A favour, you mean?”

Joshua hummed thoughtfully. “He didn’t specify much. Only that there was a complicated case he thought would suit me.”

So that meant he was unaware of your situation… and of your arrangement with Jeonghan. Still, the thought of anyone else learning about it made unease stir within you.

“Miss ___?” Joshua’s gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Yes?”

“This may sound a little forward,” he said carefully, “but… is there someone waiting for you?”

You blinked, trying to process his question.

Seeing your confusion, he laughed softly, his expression charming and warm. “My apologies,” he clarified. “What I meant to ask is… are you currently seeing anyone?”

It took you a moment to respond before you shook your head with a faint smile. “No… there isn’t anyone like that waiting for me.”

Joshua smiled, almost with relief. “Then… would you mind if I sought to court you someday?”

That truly caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected such a question. It wasn’t the first time someone had expressed interest in you. There had been others before, even Seokmin once.

But that felt like a lifetime ago.

You hesitated before answering. “…I’m sorry, Joshua,” you said gently. “I don’t think I’m in the right place to pursue love or marriage right now.” You offered him an apologetic smile.

If you were being honest, you had considered such dreams once. But those hopes had faded long ago, first because of your father’s illness, and now because of your situation with Jeonghan.

Perhaps a life of your own family simply wasn’t meant for you.

Joshua accepted your rejection with remarkable grace. “I understand,” he said calmly. “Then I can only hope that if fate allows us to meet again… you might consider me with an open heart.”

You smiled in return, grateful for his kindness.

He reached for your hand and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Do write to me if you ever need my help.”

With that, he finally took his leave.

For some reason, you found yourself wishing him happiness. And deep inside, a small part of you hoped that perhaps, in another life or under different circumstances, you might meet him again properly.

As you watched Joshua disappear down the courthouse steps, a black carriage stood quietly across the street.

Inside it, a familiar pair of eyes observed everything.

...

Six o’clock was nearing.

You informed Chan to handle the closing at the bakery. After all, you trusted your staff completely, they had been working with you for years.

You also told your papa not to wait for you tonight. You claimed you had matters to attend to outside, much to his disappointment that you couldn’t spend the evening with him. It hurt more than you expected to lie to him like that.

You had told him you were fortunate enough to meet a capable attorney, that his case had been reopened through a petition. The lie tasted bitter in your mouth, but it was easier than explaining the truth. It pained you to lie to Seokmin as well. Though you had been careful and secretive about it, you could only hope he hadn’t noticed anything strange.

Something about the Yoon estate always made you uneasy.

There were maids and servants around, yet you could hardly feel their presence. They rarely spoke, barely interacted with anyone. Sometimes you wondered what the point of hiring them was if they behaved like shadows.

The only person who ever spoke to you normally was the nanny. She had been in the estate the longest.

It wasn’t the quiet that bothered you, it was the air itself. Something about it felt… unsettling. Perhaps it was just your imagination. Still, for such a large estate, the silence felt unnatural.

By now you should have heard a child running down the hallways, laughter echoing through the rooms.

But Miss Yoon wasn’t quite the child you had imagined.

It was strange, yet you never questioned it.

You replaced the tea and placed a fresh slice of cake on the table, just as the nanny had instructed. You didn’t look directly at the young lady, nor did you attempt to speak to her.

Still, you couldn’t help noticing that the table sat just beside the chair.

From behind, you could see the young girl sitting there, facing the window.

Unmoving.

At first, you hadn’t paid much attention to the details. But over time, you began to notice something odd.

The same warm tea would grow cold. The same slice of cake would remain untouched.

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. Night.

Every time you replaced them, they remained exactly the same. It felt wasteful, yet the nanny had insisted you change everything at every teatime.

A faint sense of dread began to creep into your thoughts.

While waiting for Jeonghan’s arrival, you took a quiet stroll through the estate. Your eyes wandered toward the library, a room that had quickly become your refuge. The shelves were filled with books of every kind, and whenever you had spare time, you found yourself drawn there.

Strangely enough, Jeonghan never seemed to mind. That alone unsettled you.

Your steps eventually slowed near a familiar door. His daughter’s room.

The door was slightly open.

You stepped closer, peering inside. The same chair faced the window, its back turned toward you. Once again, you could only see the girl’s silhouette.

You leaned slightly to catch her reflection in the glass.

Just before you could make it out—

“Miss ___.”

You startled at the voice. Mrs. Thompson stood behind you, her expression stern. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said firmly. “Lord Yoon will be arriving shortly.”

You blinked slowly, adjusting the silk robe around your shoulders. “…Right. I’m sorry. I was just returning from the library.”

Mrs. Thompson studied you for a moment before stepping forward and gently closing the door. Her movements seemed almost… protective or perhaps cautious.

Your attention then shifted to the suitcase she was holding. “Were you about to leave?” you asked, brows lifting in surprise.

The thought of her leaving so soon unsettled you more than you expected. If anything, you preferred having her around. It had only been a week since this strange routine began, and the estate already felt eerie enough.

She nodded. “I received a letter earlier today. One of my relatives has passed away,” she explained calmly. “I informed Lord Yoon beforehand. I trust you will be able to manage in my absence.”

“Ah… I see,” you murmured quietly. You tried not to show your disappointment. “My condolences.”

You were never the type to pry into other people’s affairs. Still, it was difficult to ignore when there were so many things left unexplained, so many mysteries surrounding this house. Everything in this estate… everything involving Yoon Jeonghan himself… felt unsettling.

Disturbing, even.

Ironically, when you first met him, you had assumed he was simply a lonely, sorrowful man. Now it felt like something far deeper than that. Whatever lay behind his actions, you knew better than to dig into it. Some things were better left unknown. Ignorance was bliss, as they say.

Your fingers drifted over the frame of a photograph resting on his mahogany desk, the very same desk where he had taken you before. The memory alone warmed your cheeks, and you quickly pushed the thought away.

The photograph showed a young girl. Her smile was angelic. You assumed it must be his daughter. At last, you were seeing her face clearly. It was almost amusing how much she resembled her father.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open.

Jeonghan had arrived.

You quickly set the photograph back down before turning toward him.

His eyes flicked briefly to the frame you had just replaced, then returned to you. “I assume Mrs. Thompson has already informed you about her leave?” he said casually.

He approached slowly, hands tucked inside the robe draped over his nightwear.

“She did,” you replied, straightening slightly. “Though I’m not sure when she’ll return.”

Jeonghan smirked. The expression alone sent a chill down your spine as he stepped closer, trapping you between him and the desk.

Your back pressed lightly against the wood.

“Why the worried face?” he murmured. “Afraid you’ll be spending more time here than you expected?”

You stiffened as he leaned down, his breath brushing beneath your jaw as he inhaled your scent. To him, the faint sweetness of flour and sugar lingering from the bakery, mixed with your soft perfume, was intoxicating.

“I wasn’t,” you replied.

But your voice came out softer than intended. Barely audible. Not when his face was already buried against your neck, his lips brushing down toward your collarbone while you instinctively steadied yourself with your hands against his chest.

He pulled back suddenly. His face hovered inches from yours. “Next time,” he said calmly, his dark eyes piercing into you, “try saying it properly. Like you’re standing in a courtroom… not whimpering beneath me.”

Heat rushed to the back of your neck.

The audacity of this man, placing the courtroom and your humiliation in the same sentence.

He chuckled. His hands slipped easily around your waist, pulling you closer as he hummed softly, clearly pleased by the sight of you in silk nightwear. “Don’t start acting shy now,” he teased. “Not when you were moaning my name beneath me just yesterday.”

You inhaled sharply, staring at him in disbelief. “Could you not say that?”

“Oh, of course I can,” he replied lightly. “You’re mine, after all.”

He tilted your head gently before pressing his lips to yours. This kiss was different. It was slow and sensual. Nothing like the rough intensity he usually showed. And you hated the way you found yourself melting into it.

You had never imagined something as simple as a kiss could feel so intoxicating—not when he deepened it, his tongue brushing against yours as though claiming you completely.

For a moment, you forgot why you were even here.

Eventually, you both pulled away, breathless. “You enjoy this more than you realize, little bird,” he murmured with a grin.

“Ugh.” You tried to turn away, but he caught your hips easily, holding you in place.

His chin rested against your shoulder as he whispered softly beside your ear. “Ah, ah. And where do you think you’re going?”

You exhaled slowly, your breathing shallow as your back rested against him, his arms loosely wrapped around you.

“Though I would prefer you to be more obedient,” he continued thoughtfully, “I must admit this defiant side of you is far more entertaining.”

His lips brushed gently against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

He was infuriating. A cruel bastard.

Those were the words you wanted to say. In spite of that, you had made an agreement with him. Even so, the strange atmosphere of this house continued to nag at the back of your mind. Yet you dared not ask directly.

Instead, you tried something safer.

You asked about his daughter. “I haven’t heard her name yet,” you said carefully. “May I ask, if you don’t mind?”

For a brief moment, silence filled the room. You didn’t dare turn around to see his expression. You couldn’t tell if he was upset or something else entirely. But eventually, he answered. “Jiae,” he said simply. “…It means wisdom and intelligence, combined with love.” His voice softened slightly. “Isn’t that beautiful?” His fingers tightened slightly around your waist when he said her name. 

You could feel his warm breath against your skin. For a moment, the way he held you felt almost like that of lovers.

Except that the two of you were nothing close to that.

You hadn’t expected him to answer so calmly. If anything, you had expected him to snap at you.

“It is…” you replied quietly.

The thought lingered in your mind. This man was a father, and yet he lived a life surrounded by corruption. You couldn’t tell whether it was driven by pleasure, greed, or hatred. Perhaps it was all of them.

Either way, you decided you would rather not know.

Come to think of it, you wondered if he had any other family aside from just him and his ‘daughter’. It wasn’t your place to ask anyway. You had your assumptions here and there, but you preferred to remain unbothered by them. Feeling a bit braver, you spoke up.

“...Are there any family members aside from just your daughter and you?” you asked softly, your head not daring to turn toward him as if he might bite the moment you did.

He only let out a faint chuckle, the kind that made every part of your skin crawl in the most eerie way. “Interested in my lineage, huh?” His grip tightened, squeezing your hips and forcing you to shift.

“To answer that…” he whispered against your ear in a way that felt almost intimate, both electrifying and unsettling. “…I’m quite distant from my parents. Ever since my late wife passed away, I’ve been distant from my in-laws as well.”

What does he mean by that?

Your lingering thoughts were abruptly cut off when he suddenly pushed you against his desk. Your palms instinctively caught yourself on the surface as you felt your body bend forward. You blinked in surprise, feeling him hover over your back. Your hips pressed against him, making you stiffen as a sharp inhale escaped your lips.

“Why? Interested in continuing my bloodline?” he whispered, his hot breath making you feel flushed at how close he was. His hands rested over yours, pinning them there.

His chuckle this time was crueler, as if he were mocking you or simply enjoying the way you reacted.

When you tried to protest and spin around, he held you firmly in place, making you gasp. The position was compromising, normally you would have tried to shove him away, but you couldn’t afford to provoke his temper. For someone with such a sharp tongue, he also had a dangerously quiet patience.

“Stay where you are, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly, his voice turning rough. “If you’re interested in being part of my family, the option is always open.”

A small, helpless whine escaped your lips when you felt him grind sharply against you. Your breath caught in your throat at his words. The implication alone was enough to make heat rush up your neck, your fingers tightening against the polished wood beneath your palms.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, though the protest lacked its usual sharpness.

Another low chuckle escaped him. “Am I?” he murmured, voice brushing against your ear as his chest pressed closer to your back. “You’re the one asking about my family.”

You swallowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

His fingers slowly slid over yours where they rested on the desk, deliberately intertwining them as if he were claiming the space between them. “But you’re curious,” he continued softly. “And curiosity always leads somewhere interesting.”

You tried to twist around to face him again, but his hand settled firmly against your waist, keeping you exactly where you were.

“Did I say you could move?” he asked, the amusement in his tone unmistakable.

A frustrated breath left you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning closer so his lips nearly brushed the shell of your ear, “you keep coming back to me.”

The warmth of him behind you was impossible to ignore now. Every slight movement only made you more aware of how close he was, how easily he could keep you pinned there.

Your heart pounded louder than you liked. “You’re impossible,” you whispered.

“Perhaps.” His grip tightened slightly on your waist, not painful, just enough to remind you of the position you were in. “But you didn’t answer me,” he added quietly. “About joining my family.”

You scoffed under your breath, trying to regain some composure. “You’re the one who dragged me into this mess in the first place.”

“Dragged you?” he hummed. “That’s an interesting way to describe it.”

Before you could reply, he pressed himself against your back, one hand sliding around to your stomach while the other gripped your hip possessively. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck as he spoke with a needy rumble. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re not married.”

Your breath hitched, your mouth falling slightly open when you felt his other hand slide lower, cupping your inner thigh beneath the silk fabric, just close enough to touch you intimately. His other hand slid up from your hip, fingers tracing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your nightwear. Your heart racing beneath his palm, matching the frantic pounding of his own.

He nipped at your earlobe before trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. Cupping your breasts fully, his thumb brushing against the peak of your nipple through the fabric. Letting out an audible sigh, your silk robe slipped slightly off your shoulder, the thin strap of your nightwear sliding easily down your smooth skin.

Jeonghan’s hand slid up, yanking the silk robe the rest of the way off. He pushed the outer layer aside as it pooled on the floor, exposing your skin to the cool air, and to his heated gaze. Now his hand cupped the soft swell of your breast, thumb brushing against the curve as he leaned in to whisper hotly against your ear, “You like this, don’t you?” He made a sharp thrust against your ass, yelping at the roughness. “Keep whimpering like that, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck you so hard until all you know is the feeling of me inside, around you, consuming you completely.”

His words send shivers down to your spine. He let out a low, feral growl as he pulled your nightwear up, the silky fabric, and ripped your panties aside, baring your most intimate area to his gaze. You could feel the heat of your core, the slick arousal that coated your folds and the cold air made you whimper. He wasted no time as his fingers slid through your slickness, teasing your entrance before pushing inside, filling you in one swift, hard thrust.

"Always so ready for me, little bird,” he groaned, “Can feel how much you want this, how much you need me inside you.” He pumped his fingers in and out of you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nubs. His other hand slid up to kneading the soft flesh roughly as he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers. Before you could even process the pleasure of having him finally touch you, he took it away from you.

You could only whine helplessly, feeling the surge of overwhelmedness, he was grinning and you tried to plead him wanting for more. At this point, you can’t help but to surrender to your desire for your desperate release.

Jeonghan didn’t waste no time in fulfilling your desperate plea, with a guttural groan, he hilted himself inside you with one powerful thrust, your body yielding to his as he stretched and filled you completely. A moan escaped from your lips, your walls clenching down around his hard length.

He set a hard, fast pace, pounding into you with a fervor you’d never experienced before. Each thrust pushed you forward, the desk creaking beneath you with the force of his lovemaking. One hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he held you in place. The other slid up to your throat, tilting your head back to expose the column of your neck to his hungry mouth. Licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point before he bit down, marking you as his. All the while, he never ceased his relentless thrusts, his cock driving into you deep and hard. Hitting that secret spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

He punctuated his filthy words with a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass as he filled you completely, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your fluttering walls. You were blabbering nonsense as he fucked you, unable to keep your mind straight.

Jeonghan groaned deeply as he felt your walls fluttering and clenching around his throbbing cock, your body tensing as your climax approached. He redoubled his efforts, fucking you with wild abandon as he chased your pleasure, determined to make you come undone. “That’s it, darling,” he growled against your nape. "Come for me, I’ll pump your womb full with my seed and put a baby in you.” He could feel his own release building, his balls tightening as your velvet walls squeezed him like a vice. He gritted his teeth, fighting back his own climax, wanting to hold off until he could make you come first.

The thought of yourself pregnant with his child is almost frantic, yet your pussy clenched hard around his shaft, like you’re about to snap him in half. He chuckled darkly when he felt it, “You want that, sweetheart? I’ll make you a mother then, so that you could only depend on me.”

Suddenly, he felt your body stiffen and then convulse beneath him, your back arching as you cried out his name. Your walls flutter as your orgasm crashes over you. He mumbled out a cuss, his voice echoing off the bedroom walls. Jeonghan slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt. He let out a guttural groan, finding his own release as he filled you with his hot seed.

“You are so good to me, sweetheart.” he gasped out, brushing his lips against your nape, hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you. “...so fucking good. You’re mine…all mine, remember that.” he whispered, placing a feverish kiss on your bare shoulder.

Chapter 3: A Confession To Be Told

You have been spacing out a lot lately. Sometimes you would be sleeping soundly beside Jeonghan, and then there would be moments when you felt strangely restless.

Both mentally and physically, you felt disturbed. You weren’t sure if you had lost track of your cycle, and your appetite had become so sensitive that you could barely eat properly. You figured it was simply the result of stress, managing the bakery along with everything else weighing on your mind.

Your thoughts were suddenly snapped away when Seungkwan called your name repeatedly as you stood at the cashier. “Are you alright?” he asked, examining you from head to toe as if trying to make sure.“You’ve been distant a lot lately. I hope you’re not seriously sick.”

You gave him a faint smile and shook your head. “I’m alright… just a little restless, perhaps.”

He didn’t seem convinced. His eyes lingered on the silver diamond necklace around your neck. “That’s beautiful,” he said. “When did you buy it?”

You didn’t answer right away. Absentmindedly, you reached up and gently held the necklace. Your mind drifted as you remembered it was given by Jeonghan. Though to you, it felt less like a gift and more like a collar, something meant to remind you that you belonged to him.

Instead, you gave Seungkwan a small smile. “It’s from a friend…” you said.

Seungkwan hummed thoughtfully as he continued packaging the goods. “Right. This friend of yours definitely knows how to choose the perfect gift for a lady.”

You didn’t reply. It almost sounded as if he was implying you were seeing someone, though the situation was far more complicated than he imagined.

Setting that thought aside, you greeted another customer approaching as usual, offering the warm smile you always wore. A man stood tall before you, his broad shoulders immediately catching your attention. He looked a little intimidating at first. You didn’t think you had ever seen him around before, probably a new face.

After he made his purchase, he gave you a small nod, and you returned it with a polite smile. It was unusual; you found yourself watching his figure until he disappeared from sight.

“Boo, do you know that man just now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face here…” you asked.

Seungkwan lifted his head from his work and thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. He just recently started coming by. I think his name was Seungcheol?” he said. Then he added, “He usually comes around this hour when you’re not here.”

You turned to look at him. “Recently?” you questioned.

Seungkwan hummed in response. “Yeah, he said he’s kind of new here. Got dispatched here because of work reasons,” he shrugged casually.

You didn’t answer immediately. “…Oh. May I ask what his occupation is?”

“I think he mentioned something about investigation-related work,” Seungkwan said with another shrug. “I don’t know much though. Maybe he’s a police officer or something.”

Unexpectedly, Seokmin came in, his usual bright smile directed at you. It made your heart feel lighter for a moment, only a little. Sometimes you had forgotten that you’d been spending less time with him. You had even forgotten that you’d promised him a day out, something he had been looking forward to for a while.

So you went anyway, wanting to get some fresh air from everything. Just to breathe, even for a moment. You hoped he didn’t notice the weariness on your face that you sometimes tried to hide. The thought of him questioning you about it made you feel even more drained. You simply didn’t want to explain anything.

As the two of you strolled past the shops, you suddenly noticed a familiar figure across a boutique.

It was Mrs. Kwon.

Since when had her probation ended? You assumed you simply hadn’t been keeping track, but seeing her spending lavishly again, just like before. It reminded you that she had won favor in her previous case regarding her late husband. Ironically, she didn’t look sorrowful at all. In fact, it was the complete opposite. She looked exactly the same as she did before the case, as if nothing had ever happened.

Your suspicion stirred.

Then you remembered that Judge Yoon had been the one assigned to her case.

Did she bribe him too?

So occupied with your thoughts, you didn’t even hear Seokmin calling your name several times. You blinked and turned to him.

“Yes?”

He studied your face. “You’ve been so distracted lately. Your staff even told me you’ve been acting unusual,” he said with a sigh. “You know, if you’re feeling unwell, you can tell me anything.”

You smiled at him, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, though you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“I’m alright. Just a little restless, I guess.”

Seokmin smiled back, believing you. He continued browsing the jewelry displayed in the shop window.

“I was thinking of getting you something nice,” he said, “but when I saw that necklace you’re wearing, I decided to choose something else.”

Blinking, you glanced down at the necklace Jeonghan had given you.

“T-this?”

He hummed as he examined the different pieces of jewelry. “It got me thinking. The one you’re wearing is actually part of a matching set with a ring. It’s almost like a wedding gift.”

His eyes turned toward you.

Your throat suddenly felt dry. You didn’t know what to say. Did Jeonghan give it to you on purpose? Instead of feeling flattered, you only felt as if you were being trapped in something you had never agreed to.

Seokmin seemed not to notice your pale expression.

“It’s a shame,” he continued softly. “I was planning to choose that for you. I know you told me before that you don’t want to settle down yet, but I just wanted to make a promise with you.”

You felt a little lightheaded. Seokmin’s words never truly reached you. Your mind was flooded with too many things, and love simply had no space left within it.

“Are you alright, ____?” Seokmin gently held your hand, his voice soft with concern.

You steadied your breathing and nodded.

He could tell you were overwhelmed. Your lack of response made him flustered. “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward,” he said quickly. “I told you I would respect your decision—your space.” He inhaled slowly before continuing. “The truth is, I really want to be with you, ____. Lately, my family’s business has been facing a lot of problems. We’re dealing with some charges for reasons I don’t even fully understand yet.”

He hesitated before adding quietly, “I even got your father’s blessing for us.”

Your heart clenched.

“I just… I want to promise you the life I hope to build with you,” he said earnestly. “Maybe someday, when you’re ready, when you finally decide to find happiness with me.” You heard him clearly, his devotion, his sincerity. But you couldn’t accept it. Not when you were trapped in the circumstances you had created. Your life was no longer normal.

Sensing your silence, Seokmin rested his hand gently over yours and gave you a small smile. “Think about it, okay?” he said softly. “You know I’ve always loved you.” And yet the weight of the necklace around your throat felt heavier than ever. Even at this moment, when he wasn’t physically present, it felt as if Jeonghan was still there.

Then your eyes drifted past the glass of the shop window, and you saw the last person you expected to meet right now.

Jeonghan.

He was staring straight into your soul. Sitting inside the café across the street with one leg crossed over the other, he calmly sipped his drink. Had he been watching you the entire time while you were with Seokmin? The implication alone made your breath hitch.

Slowly, you withdrew your hand from Seokmin’s. Your pale expression was impossible to hide now. “I think… I need to go somewhere else first, Min,” you said suddenly. “We can… talk about this another time. After everything settles down, alright?”

You looked at him hopefully, wishing he would let it go. To your relief, he did, though you could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes when you indirectly avoided the conversation from earlier.

“Alright,” he said with a gentle smile. “Take care. I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

You nodded, offering him an apologetic smile before leaving the shop quickly. For some reason, your feet carried you straight into the café where Jeonghan was sitting.

He didn’t look surprised by your presence at all. Instead, he casually gestured toward the empty chair across from him. “Surprised, are we?” he said calmly. “Come. Won’t you accompany me on this lovely evening?”

You didn’t respond. You simply sat down across from him.

Whatever he was planning behind that calm expression, you refused to lower your guard. He had clearly seen you with Seokmin, yet it was impossible to tell what exactly was going through his mind.

He looked up at you now, his gaze steady and unreadable. He seemed… pleasant. That somehow made you even more uncomfortable.

“Is there any reason why you’re here?” you asked immediately, perhaps a little too sharply, as if you were trying to stop him from speaking first.

Jeonghan only grinned and placed his cup down with a soft clink. “Why? I’m simply enjoying my evening. I do have a life outside the courtroom, you know.” He hummed in amusement as he glanced out the window, toward the very place where you had been standing with Seokmin earlier. “I must say… that ‘friend’ of yours was rather touchy for someone getting close to a woman who doesn’t belong to him.”

The way he emphasized those words made you frown.

“He’s not just a friend,” you replied defensively. “He’s family. Perhaps even closer than that.”

Jeonghan hummed again, his eyes returning to yours.

“Is that so?” he said slowly. “Do family members usually propose to you and take you out to buy rings?”

You didn’t answer. Your palms tightened against the fabric of your coat.

He smirked at your silence. “And let’s be clear here,” he continued smoothly. “Does he even know you’re with me?”

You were about to reply, but he cut you off immediately.

“Don’t compare this to some cheap affair,” he said coldly. “Does it look like I treat you as a mere kept woman?” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest with quiet arrogance. “The moment you made an agreement with me was the moment your life began to belong to me. Remember that.”

You stared at him in disbelief, momentarily at a loss for words.

“It’s unfortunate,” he continued casually, “that your friend happens to be the sole heir of his family business.”

Your ears sharpened immediately.

“I heard they’re currently facing charges involving money laundering. The opposing side has even approached me, asking if I would be willing to… assist them.”

Your brows furrowed. The implication became painfully clear in your mind. “Are you going to accept it?” you asked sharply. “Are you threatening me by putting my friend’s life at risk?”

Jeonghan chuckled softly. “Come now, little bird. You know it’s not my style to choose sides so easily. If something is too risky, why would I involve myself?”

He spoke casually, almost lazily. “Of course… it always depends on the case I’m handling.” He tilted his head slightly. “Though it’s usually quite obvious which side ends up being favored.”

Your heart began pounding violently. If the Lee family lost the case, they could go bankrupt–even if they were innocent. And judging from the way Jeonghan spoke so lightly about bribery and influence, it was clear he was playing with you.

Forcing you to choose. Just so he could remind you how much control he truly had.

“So?” he said with a soft tut. “The choice is yours, sweetheart. Say the word, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You could hear the amusement in his voice, see the faint smile tugging at his lips.

The Lee family has helped you and your father many times. Of course you felt indebted to them. The thought of them suffering while you knew the truth… you weren’t sure you could live with that guilt.

You had already given yourself to Jeonghan. What more could he possibly want?

Exhaling slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. “What exactly do you gain from all of this?”

For a brief moment, he said nothing. He simply stared at you.

“You,” he answered at last.

You didn’t believe him. “Stop messing around,” you said, though your throat had gone dry.

Especially when the look in his eyes suggested something far more possessive. “Does it look like I am?” he asked quietly. He stood up and walked over to you, his steps slow and deliberate until he loomed beside your chair. “In return…” he murmured, leaning slightly closer. “You give yourself to me completely.”

Somehow, the necklace around your throat suddenly felt impossibly tight. Almost suffocating you, so that you can't even breathe.

…

You were never particularly religious, but sometimes you would stop by the church to offer your baked goods whenever they held Sunday prayers.

There were also days when you generously donated food to the orphanage, the lovely children who always welcomed you with bright smiles.

Lately, however, you had no reason to visit anymore.

And yet here you were now, early in the morning, sitting quietly in the church. You were the only one there as you clasped your hands together, your head bowed in prayer.

Everything had become so heavy. So difficult. With everything happening around you, you found yourself here, seeking solace and guidance, anything that might ease the turmoil in your heart. It felt as though you were walking straight toward the pit of hell, step by step, and there was no turning back.

You had never felt this lost before. Everything had become so complicated.  When you finally finished your prayer, you let out a slow breath. Somehow, it made you feel a little lighter. Just a little.

The air inside the church felt cool and quiet. You should have been alone. Yet you could feel someone’s presence behind you. You didn’t turn around. “Speak,” you said calmly. “I know you’re there.”

A brief silence followed.

Then a voice spoke. “I apologize for disturbing you, madam,” the deep voice said. “My name is Choi Seungcheol. “Do you know a man named Yoon Jeonghan?”

You froze. Slowly, you turned to face the man. You tried not to show your surprise, but the mere mention of that name betrayed you.

“…No,” you said slowly. “…not personally. Why?”

The man named Seungcheol sighed as he stood up from the pew and approached you. You frowned immediately, your body going slightly rigid with caution.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me,” he said calmly. “I saw you with him yesterday. At the cafe.”

You let out a defeated sigh and stood up. “In that case, I have nothing to say about this.”

You began to walk past him, intending to leave, when suddenly he grabbed your wrist. Your brows furrowed as you immediately yanked your hand away. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t pull people around like that,” you said sharply, glaring at him. “Do you always grab someone’s hand whenever you feel like it?”

You hadn’t meant for your words to come out so harshly, but lately you had been far more sensitive than usual. At this point, you couldn’t even bother trying to be polite anymore.

Why did a man always have to bother you every time?

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, unfazed by your sharp tone. “There have been reports of judges accepting favors, altering verdicts,” he said. He paused slightly before adding, “His name tends to appear around those rumors.”

Something about his words made your heart pound violently, so hard that you couldn’t answer him right away. You didn’t know whether you were walking on thin ice, or if your prayers had been answered a little too quickly.

Thanks to Jeonghan, your paranoia has probably worsened.

Seungkwan did mention what kind of person Seungcheol was, and you figured this must be what he meant.

“Rumors,” you echoed, looking away as if clinging to a false sense of hope. But what was the point? You had long since let that kind of hope fade. “A judge receiving personal profits is something anyone would say after losing a case,” you continued. “If it’s only a rumor and not an actual allegation, then I can’t answer that, sir.”

With that, you turned and began walking out of the church.

Seungcheol hurried after you until you stopped and turned around again. You were already exhausted from everything surrounding this situation—until he suddenly held out an envelope.

“Hear me out,” he said, slightly out of breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been investigating this man. Four years now.” His expression hardened. “He’s not the kind of man you think he is.”

You stared at him, then at the envelope in his hand. Deep down, you already knew that. But whatever truth lurked inside that envelope… you weren’t sure if you could handle it.

Still, you took it.

Later, the two of you sat together, discussing everything in private.

A cup of warm tea sat between you on the table, untouched. You hadn’t even noticed it growing cold as you listened to Seungcheol recount everything he had discovered during his investigation. Case after case. Rumors of corruption. Suspicious verdicts. Influence that reached far beyond the courtroom. All you could do was sit there, almost hollow, as if your soul had already drifted somewhere far away. None of this truly surprised you.

Somehow, though, you still felt… lost.

Then Seungcheol mentioned something about Jeonghan’s past. Something that made you falter.

“What?”

Seungcheol spoke carefully. “I need your help,” he said. “If you can bring me anything from his mansion—documents, records, anything that could serve as evidence.”

“I can’t do that,” you replied immediately. “What if I find nothing?”

“You have to try,” he insisted. “It’s the only way we can prove it in court.”

You looked down again at the newspaper article inside the envelope. An old tragedy. An arson incident involving the Yoon residence. It reported the devastating loss of Jeonghan’s family.

Then something caught your attention.

His daughter.

Your heart began pounding again, this time in a far more unsettling way.

The article stated that both his wife and daughter had died in the fire. Their injuries had been too severe for them to survive.

“Seungcheol…” you said quietly. “Tell me more about this case.”

He leaned back in his chair, recalling what he remembered.

“It happened about eight years ago, if I’m not mistaken. From what I gathered, it was likely retaliation from people who were dissatisfied with the outcome of a trial.”

He continued, “Judge Yoon was assigned to the case. I’m not sure exactly how things escalated, but the losing side apparently didn’t take the result well. They wanted revenge.”

Your throat went dry.

“So they targeted his family.” He sighed. “It was tragic, really. I never thought people could go that far just because they doubted someone’s work.” He paused before adding, “Maybe that incident changed him. But whatever the reason, it still doesn’t justify what he’s doing now.”

His tone hardened. “He’s practically letting criminals walk free.”

You were already aware of that. But your thoughts drifted to something else.

To a specific memory. To the girl inside that mansion.

The one living there with you and Jeonghan.

“D-does that mean… he’s the only survivor?” you asked hesitantly.

Seungcheol shook his head. “He wasn’t even home at the time,” he replied. “He returned from work just as the mansion was already burning.”

Your stomach twisted.

“They said he was screaming when he saw the fire.”

God.

You suddenly felt like you were going to throw up. Then who was that girl in the house? The one you had been serving. The one you brought tea to every day. The one who never touched the cake you carefully prepared. You pressed a hand to your forehead as dizziness washed over you. Lately, you have been feeling like this more and more often. 

Maybe even longer than you realized.

“Are you alright, ____?” Seungcheol asked.

You nodded weakly. “I’m fine,” you said, attempting to reassure him. But the effort barely held.

Chapter 4: The Beginning and The End

He was known as a ruthless and impartial judge, a figure many defendants hoped to avoid once they learned he would be presiding over their case.

Everything in Jeonghan’s life had always been dull and gray.

The reason he pursued his profession was simple: he was following in his grandfather’s footsteps, the former director of the courthouse of the Union State of Sebong. For generations, the same career had passed down within his family.

From his university days to where he stood now, he had done nothing but live under those expectations. Even his marriage had been arranged by his mother. He paid little attention to it at the time; it was obvious they expected him to marry someone of equal status–the daughter of the chief judge.

Although their marriage was strained, they eventually had a child.

It was a girl. Her name was Jiae.

For the first time in his life, Jeonghan experienced something close to genuine joy when he first held that small bundle of life in his arms. He adored his daughter dearly, doting on her every chance he could. She grew up to be a kind and intelligent child. But that joy lasted only a few short years.

One evening, while he was on his way back home, he saw something that made his entire world collapse. His mansion was burning. Flames raged violently through the building, lighting up the night sky. His expression faltered as he rushed forward, attempting to run inside, but someone stopped him before he could reach the entrance. People were already trying to contain the fire, shouting over one another as the flames consumed everything.

Everything happened all at once. The suffocating heat. The deafening chaos. Jeonghan screamed until his throat burned raw, calling his daughter’s name as if she could somehow hear him through the inferno.

As if calling for her would bring her back.

Eventually he collapsed onto his knees, watching helplessly as the fire devoured the building.

A week later, during the funeral, he could only stare blankly at the gravestone of his daughter. His wife’s grave stood beside it. All he could think about was how painful it must have been for her inside that fire. How scared she must have been. The thought alone felt like knives tearing through his chest.

Time passed, but his grief never faded.

Then one day, he discovered something that changed everything. Behind the arson attack was the truth about his father-in-law. The man had been arrested for accepting personal profits for years. One of the cases he had presided over involved war crimes. He had deliberately allowed the perpetrators to walk free.

The verdict enraged the victims, causing the entire village to rise in anger. That anger eventually turned into violence. The violence that reached Jeonghan’s home.

His daughter. His family.

Jeonghan gripped the newspaper tightly in his hands as the truth finally connected in his mind. Everything made sense now, but one question remained. Why did he and his daughter—have to suffer the consequences of someone else’s sins?

Strangely, he found that he felt little grief for his late wife. Their marriage had always been nothing more than a loveless arrangement. They argued constantly. The only thing that had ever kept him together… was Jiae. She was the only good thing this world had given him, and the world had taken her away. Years passed, yet he still couldn’t move on. He lived trapped in the bitterness of the past, isolating himself from everything around him. Work became the only thing that occupied his mind.

Until one day, something strange happened. He passed by a small shop.

Something about it seemed to call to him. Inside, the store was filled with dolls, rows and rows of them, staring silently from shelves and glass cases. It was one of the most eccentric places he had ever seen.

Custom-made dolls, he assumed. He wandered through the shop slowly, examining them one by one.

Then a man suddenly appeared beside him. He wore an apron and carried a wide, almost mischievous smile. A Cheshire grin. The man introduced himself as Jun, the owner of the shop. Jeonghan hadn’t even realized how their conversation had begun. But when Jun suddenly spoke about believing in magic, Jeonghan nearly scoffed. Jun claimed he could make anything come true. Naturally, Jeonghan found the idea ridiculous and was about to leave.

Until he saw it.

A doll.

No… not just a doll.

It looked almost exactly like his daughter.

Jeonghan immediately asked if it was for sale.

Jun refused.

“No matter the price?” Jeonghan asked. Jun shook his head. “It’s not for sale.”

Jeonghan attempted to negotiate anyway, offering more money than most people could imagine.

But Jun remained firm. Instead, he offered something else.

A deal.

Jun explained that if Jeonghan truly wanted the doll, he would have to pay with something far more valuable.

Jeonghan frowned at that. If the man wanted money, he would simply say so. In spite of that, Jun kept insisting that what he wanted was something only humans could offer. Something more valuable than gold. When Jun mentioned something close to a soul, Jeonghan furrowed his brow.

And yet… he still accepted. So he made a deal with the devil.

From that day forward, Jeonghan began collecting greedy humans. Those who came to him with bribes, believed money could buy justice. He was selective with his clients. Even if they escaped punishment in court, their freedom never lasted long.

Soon after, they would disappear. Gone without a trace. Jeonghan never believed in witchcraft or supernatural nonsense, but watching them celebrate their purchased victories with dirty money only convinced him of one thing.

Hell was the only place waiting for them.

No one had the right to judge his sins except himself. He would never allow people like them to escape with the fortunes they used to corrupt the world.

And every soul he collected brought him one step closer.

Back in his mansion, the doll stood silently in its place. It looked almost alive. Life-sized, the same height as his daughter had once been. Its porcelain skin glowed softly beneath the light, dressed in a beautiful gown. Jeonghan treated it as if it were alive. He always returned home quickly, afraid she might feel lonely during his absence.

Sometimes he even spoke to her, as if she could hear him. He had convinced himself of one thing. If he collected enough greedy souls… 

He might be able to bring her back to life.

…

The mansion felt unusually quiet.

It had always been quiet, but something about the air now felt even more eerie than before. After discovering everything from Seungcheol—who claimed to be part of the officers, you couldn’t see this place the same way anymore.

You knew Jeonghan had never been a good man. Whatever the reason behind it, you somehow found yourself capable of feeling a little sympathy for the tragedy that had happened to him. Still, none of his actions could ever be justified. It simply didn’t make sense.

Losing a child was something no parent could easily overcome. You could empathize with him for what he had been through, but grief was something a person had to face on their own. Yet the conflicting emotions only made your head ache the more you thought about it.

You have been emotionally sensitive lately, restless and easily overwhelmed. You really needed to take better care of yourself, especially when you were walking a line as fragile as a tightrope.

Before coming here, you made sure to tell Seungkwan and Chan to take care of the bakery in case there were days you wouldn’t return. They had looked confused, but you brushed it off. You even wrote a letter to Joshua. You couldn’t help it. In a situation like this, where you couldn’t tell anyone, not even your father, he was the only person you could trust. Perhaps it was because he was an attorney, someone you might eventually need to rely on.

It felt almost like you were foreshadowing something terrible the moment you stepped into Yoon’s mansion.

What if he suddenly decided never to let you leave? You needed to stop thinking like that.

Your hands trembled as you tried to steady the tray, the slice of cake and the teacup rattling slightly against the porcelain. Eventually, you gave up and placed it back down.

“You seem rather unwell these days,” Jeonghan’s voice came from behind you. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and slowly approached. “Exhausted, perhaps?”

You sighed softly, remaining where you stood, your arms folded loosely around your silk robe. “Maybe.”

He hummed quietly, studying the way you absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll take care of it,” he said calmly. “Go and rest.”

Yet somehow you still found yourself following him as he carried the tray toward his daughter’s room.

You stopped at the doorway. You didn’t dare step inside. From where you stood, you watched him carefully place the plate and teacup on the small table beside the chair facing the window. The figure sitting there had its back turned, only visible from your angle.

The soft melody of a music box filled the room as he opened it.

Jeonghan began speaking to her. His voice was quiet, almost gentle.

You couldn’t bear to listen. Letting out a slow breath, you stepped back and leaned against the wall outside the room.

The lullaby from the music box should have sounded comforting. Instead, it made your skin crawl. Something about it was too eerie, too wrong. You felt frozen in place, as if your body didn’t know whether to run or stay. There was no way he could be keeping a living corpse in there. If that were true, you would have noticed something before—the smell, the decay, the unmistakable signs of death.

But the last time you stepped inside the room, it smelled faintly of flowers.

And the glimpse you caught… the smooth skin, almost porcelain-like. Far too perfect to belong to anything human.

In the end, you quickly returned to the bedroom—his room, or rather, the one you both shared now. You wouldn’t even be surprised anymore if he suddenly showed up one day with a ring, just to seal the deal.

After a while, you saw him enter the room carrying another tray with two teacups. “Drink up,” he said simply. You sat up from the bed and took the cup, glancing down at the liquid before looking back at him.

He chuckled lightly, taking the cup from your hand and sipping from it before returning it to you. “What?” he teased. “Do you think so little of me that I’d poison you?” You didn’t protest, sipping from the same spot his lips had touched. An indirect kiss. The aroma of the tea filled your senses—ginger and peppermint, you thought. It soothed the nausea that had been bothering you lately.

The gesture itself was strangely sweet, and yet you still found yourself drawn back to him. It wasn’t like he had ever been violent with you. He had never once raised a hand to harm you.

Only rough in bed.

Ironically.

You placed the cup aside. He was sitting at the edge of the bed beside you. The moment felt almost too calm. For someone like him, he was the perfect image of an angel in disguise, acting like a gentleman even though you knew deep down he was crueler than the criminals he judged. You wondered what he had been like with his late wife. He had mentioned it was a loveless marriage. Still, imagining him with a lover was the last thing you would have expected.

Then again… he was a father. Humans were complicated like that. Even they could never fully understand their own hearts.

“You’re acting strange today,” you said, glancing toward him.

He only grinned and leaned closer across the bed. You had already grown used to the closeness. “Am I?” he murmured with a soft chuckle, his nose nearly touching yours. “It’s a little sad that you didn’t come in earlier. My daughter has grown rather fond of your presence.”

You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his.

Still, you forced yourself to remain calm. “…Is that so?” you replied slowly. “I didn’t realize my presence mattered that much.” He hummed, his hand gently cradling your face before leaning in to kiss you.

You kissed him back.

“It does,” he whispered softly. “And what if I told you she wants you here forever?”

You pulled back slightly, studying his face. “Don’t joke about something like that.”

“I wasn’t joking.” His eyes remained fixed on yours, completely serious.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The distance between you was barely a breath. You sighed quietly and pulled him back into another kiss. He groaned softly against your mouth. “You’re rather needy today, little bird.”

You exhaled softly against his lips. “I’m emotionally sensitive these days,” you murmured before pressing your lips to his again. You needed warmth, something comforting. And the only person you had was him. Jeonghan didn’t deny you. He gave you exactly what you wanted as your kiss deepened. For a moment, you tried to forget the uneasiness creeping through your mind, the fear that lingered in the corners of this house.

And the only place you could hide from it…

Was in him.

…

You had never felt so anxious, so mentally exhausted and drained. Now, standing in front of his daughter’s room felt deeply ominous.

Slowly, you pushed the door open.

Your trembling hands steadied the tray as you placed it carefully on the table, trying your best not to look at the figure sitting beside it. As much as you wanted to know, you had never felt this afraid before. Not wanting to know the truth felt safer. Because sometimes the nightmares were already bad enough when you woke up beside Jeonghan. Your thoughts drifted back to Seungcheol’s words. So far, you haven't found anything. You had searched his study room before, hoping to find documents or evidence that could help, but there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

And you had never dared to check inside this room. Until now. Because you had simply been too scared.

Slowly, you forced yourself to look.

Your eyes moved toward the so-called person sitting by the window. You froze. Your feet carried you forward without thinking, moving slowly to the side so you could finally see it clearly.

Its eyes were closed. The lashes looked almost real. Everything about it seemed delicate… beautiful even.

And yet, it wasn’t alive.

You stepped back abruptly, your heart racing at the realization. When you looked closer, there was no doubt.

It was a doll. A life-sized one, crafted with terrifying precision.

For a moment, you couldn’t even tell if it had once been a real body that had been turned into this thing. The thought alone made your stomach twist violently.

You nearly collapsed right there.

Then suddenly—

A soft lullaby began to play. You jolted in shock, turning around quickly.

The music box.

You must have brushed against it accidentally. The tiny ballerina inside spun slowly as the melody filled the room. The atmosphere instantly became unbearable.

Too quiet. Too eerie. Too wrong.

You needed to get out.

Now.

But before you could turn away, Jeonghan was already standing in the doorway.

You flinched. 

“I thought the nanny told you before,” his voice said calmly. He didn’t sound angry. But the look in his eyes told you everything. You had discovered something you were never meant to see. Your words stumbled over themselves as you slowly stepped backward, your heart pounding violently. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

Why was he here?

“I—I was…” Your voice faltered as you tripped slightly against the bed when he continued walking toward you. “…I thought you would be home late.”

“I was,” he replied calmly. Now he stood over you, trapping you against the bed, his hands resting on either side. “…but I figured if I came home early,” he continued softly, “I could see my girls sooner.” His gaze slowly dropped to your stomach. “…and my little one.”

Your breath caught sharply.

The implication hit you instantly. You had already suspected it, the nausea, the dizziness, the strange exhaustion. You never imagined that he would notice, or that he would accept it so easily.

Then suddenly, both of you turned your heads when you heard a loud commotion outside.

Jeonghan moved quickly to the window. From above, angry voices echoed through the night. People were shouting—furious, chaotic.

He muttered a curse under his breath.

You watched him in confusion as he began pacing across the room. Then you saw him pull something out from the drawer.

A revolver.

Your eyes widened in alarm. “What does this mean?” you demanded, almost frantic. “Tell me right now, Jeonghan.”

You needed answers.

And whatever was happening outside didn’t look good at all. He didn’t answer, instead, he grabbed your hand firmly. “Be quiet,” he said sharply. “Just follow me if you want to stay alive.”

He began pulling you toward the doorway—

But suddenly someone barged into the room.

Both of you stopped abruptly.

Jeonghan immediately stepped in front of you, shielding you behind him. Your heart pounded violently as you tried to understand what was happening.

The man standing before you was someone you recognized all too well.

The same bastard who had framed your father.

And judging by the fury in his eyes, he had come here with only one purpose.

“I told you, Judge Yoon,” the man sneered. “I thought we had an arrangement. Yet you decided to betray it so easily when I needed your help.”

His gaze shifted toward you. “So this is what it’s about?” he scoffed. “You chose that wench instead? When I offered you a fortune in gold to help me?”

Jeonghan let out a cold, mocking laugh. “It aches my heart a little,” he said dryly, “but I let my gavel fall cleanly—for money.”

The man’s expression hardened instantly. He raised his gun, pointing it directly at both of you. Your breath hitched as fear surged through your body. Your grip tightened around Jeonghan’s hand.

“Say that again,” the man hissed, “and I’ll make sure you finally get what you deserve.”

Jeonghan remained completely unfazed. “I would never hand over my fortune to the likes of you,” he replied calmly. “Especially not someone who pretends to be a kind businessman in public while secretly stealing from orphanages.”

The gunshot rang out suddenly.

You flinched, but the bullet didn’t hit either of you. Your trembling hands clutched Jeonghan tighter as you looked up at him.

That was when you noticed—

He had already raised his revolver. Pointed straight at the man. A broken sound escaped your throat as panic flooded your chest. Then you smelled something.

Smoke.

Your head snapped upward to see the ceiling above was beginning to burn. Flames crept along the corner near the window. Your entire body froze in terror.

“Déjà vu, isn’t it?” the man chuckled bitterly. “I thought you should be reminded why all this is happening. By now you should know that dreaming of something mo—”

A gunshot cut him off.

Jeonghan fired first. The bullet tore through the man’s arm, forcing a painful grunt from him.

But the man fired back immediately.

The second shot struck Jeonghan in the side. He grunted in pain.

Before the man could react again, Jeonghan fired the final shot. The bullet pierced straight through the man’s head.

He collapsed instantly. Dead.

You screamed. Horrified, you rushed forward just as Jeonghan’s body began to give out. He collapsed into your arms as you fell to your knees with him, carefully lowering his back against you as blood began pooling from the wound at his side.

A broken breath escaped your lips as your hands pressed desperately against the injury. “No—no, no… why did you do that?” you cried, panic overwhelming you as his eyes half-closed in pain.

“Fuck…” he hissed weakly. His gaze lifted toward your face. For a moment, something strange flickered across his expression. A moment of realisation hits him, he hated seeing that look on your face. That terrified, devastated expression.

Perhaps this would be the first time… and the last.

It was a shame that this face of yours might be the final thing he would remember. Then again… there would be no afterlife waiting for him.

Only hell.

The smoke thickened around the room, the flames slowly climbing across the walls. You struggled to keep Jeonghan upright, your hands trembling as you pressed against the wound on his side.

“Get up,” you pleaded desperately. “We have to go, the house is burning!”

He barely moved. His breathing was uneven, but his eyes were strangely calm.

Then, a sudden voice barged in, calling your name. A voice shouted through the smoke.

You turned your head sharply to see Seungcheol burst through the doorway, coughing as he stepped inside. His eyes immediately scanned the scene, the dead man on the floor, the flames spreading along the ceiling, and you kneeling beside Jeonghan.

“Are you insane?” he barked. “The whole place is about to collapse!”

He rushed toward you and grabbed your arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“No!” you cried, pulling away. “He’s hurt—he can’t walk!”

Seungcheol glanced down at Jeonghan briefly. Their eyes met for a moment. Something silent passed between them. “He made his choice,” Seungcheol said firmly.

“I didn’t!” you snapped back. “I’m not leaving him here!” You tried to pull Jeonghan up again, but he stopped you. His hand gently caught your wrist.

“…Little bird.” His voice was softer than you had ever heard it before.

You froze. The fire crackled loudly around you.

“You should go.”

Your head shook immediately. “No.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re bleeding!” your voice broke. “You can still make it, we just have to—”

His gaze shifted past you. Toward the room, the room where his daughter sat waiting. “…She’s still there,” he murmured quietly.

Your breath caught. “Jeonghan…” you whispered, horrified.

“You should leave before the roof collapses,” he continued calmly. “You shouldn’t stay in a place like this.”

You grabbed his shirt desperately. “I’m not leaving you!”

For the first time, something in his expression softened. His hand slowly moved to your stomach. “…Take care of them.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious.” His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric. “…You’ll be a good mother.”

The words made your vision blur with tears. Seungcheol stepped forward again, grabbing your shoulders.

“We don’t have time for this!” he snapped. “The fire is spreading!”

You struggled against him. “No! Let go!”

Jeonghan watched silently. Then he spoke again.

“Take her outside.”

Your eyes widened. “You don’t get to decide that!” you cried. But Seungcheol had already pulled you away. Your nails dug into the floor as you tried to hold on.

“Jeonghan!”

For a moment, he simply watched you. The flames reflected faintly in his eyes. “…It was nice,” he said quietly.

You stopped struggling. “What?”

“For a while.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

Then he turned his gaze away. Toward the hallway, to the room where the doll waited.

“Go.”

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate this time. He dragged you toward the exit as the fire roared louder behind you. “Jeonghan!” you screamed, your voice breaking as the smoke swallowed the room except that he never turned back.

Everything blurred together. Seungcheol had finally dragged you out of the mansion, and now all you could do was watch as the fire swallowed it whole. Flames roared violently, devouring the entire building while people around you shouted, rushing back and forth trying to control the chaos. It was too much. Your shaking gaze drifted upward toward the floor where he had been. From outside, you could only see the fire consuming everything. A broken, devastated wail escaped your lips. You tried to rush forward again, desperate to go back inside, but Seungcheol was faster, grabbing you before you could do something reckless.

“No—!” you cried, struggling against him. But his grip tightened as he pulled you back.

All you could do was cry as he held you in place.

Your body slowly grew weak, your knees finally giving out beneath you. Seungcheol followed you down as you collapsed, kneeling beside you while trying to steady your trembling shoulders.

“It’s over,” he murmured firmly, though his voice softened slightly. “You can’t go back in there.”

It felt strange that you were capable of feeling something like this for Jeonghan. The man who had brought so much misery into your life.

And yet…

You had never truly known what lay behind the mask he wore. You knew it wasn’t love, not even close. Somehow, the warmth you had felt from him, however small, had not been completely fake. Maybe some small part of it had been real. And somehow… that realization hurt. Or maybe it was just the hormones.

Everything around you slowly became distant. The noise, the fire, the shouting. Your vision dimmed as exhaustion and shock finally overtook you. And before you realized it, everything went black.

In the burnt remains of the mansion, they would later find what looked like the charred bodies of a parent and a child.

At least, that was how Jeonghan might have seen it. In truth, all they found was the body of a solitary man… and a scorched porcelain doll.

Eight years had passed.

You placed the flowers gently on the gravestone. The name Yoon Jeonghan was engraved across the stone.

It had been a long time since your last visit. Your eyes lingered on the name for a moment, something distant stirring in the back of your mind.

“Mama, who is this?” Your daughter looked up at you with curious eyes, her small hand swinging as she held yours.

You smiled softly and patted her head. “Someone I knew in the past…” You turned when someone called your name. Your husband stood a short distance away, waiting patiently.

Joshua.

“Why don’t you go to Papa first, sweetie?” you said gently. You knelt down to her level, and she nodded before running toward her father. Joshua laughed softly as he easily lifted her into his arms. You slowly stood up again, giving the gravestone one last glance before finally turning away.

After a while, you returned home. Not long after entering, you noticed a package waiting at the door. It was a medium-sized box, carefully wrapped with a ribbon. You frowned slightly as you picked it up.

Your daughter bounced excitedly beside you. “Jiae, don’t jump around,” you scolded lightly. “You’ll hurt yourself.” She pouted but watched eagerly as you untied the ribbon and opened the box.

Inside was a porcelain doll. Beautiful and delicate.

You said nothing at first, a strange sense of déjà vu crawling over your skin. Jiae giggled happily and immediately picked up the doll, holding it carefully in her arms. You noticed a small card attached to it. It must have been from the sender. You frowned. You couldn’t remember Joshua mentioning anything about a gift. And you hadn’t kept in contact with many people since your marriage, aside from your father.

You turned the card over and read it.

He told me to give this to you. His final wish. — Jun W.

Your brows furrowed. You assumed it was a shop owner. A workshop, maybe. But that only raised another question. Who would send this to your address? You were certain you had never given it to anyone… except your father. Another card rested inside the box. Your hand hesitated before picking it up.

Slowly, you read the message.

I hope you love this gift. I made sure she resembles our little one. — Y. J.

You froze. Your gaze slowly lifted toward your daughter, who was already playing happily with the doll across the room. Your steps felt heavy as you walked toward her. When you looked closer at the doll in her arms, your breath faltered slightly.

It looked… strangely familiar, not exactly the same, but close enough. Uncomfortably close.

Jiae looked up at you with a bright smile. “Look, Mama! She’s pretty!” You forced a small smile in return. Jiae hugged the doll tightly, “Mama, can I keep her?” You watched the porcelain face for a long moment.

Somehow… it felt like the past had found its way back to you. Even after all these years, some things never truly disappeared. And perhaps, some legacies refused to be buried.

FIN(?)

a/n: ah, we've come to the end! dang, that was tragic but pls don't romanticize these lol. i honestly sleep with an eye open after re-reading back to this story cuz idk how i came up with that plot tbh (i had a vocaloid phase, so ig i would say it was based from that lore series lol). reblogs n comments are appreciated. thanks again, dear apples!

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