The villa looked untouched.
Andrea slowed her steps as she came down the staircase, fingertips brushing the railing. Just last night, blood had stained these walls, glass shattered across the floor, and the air was thick with gunpowder. Now... not a single crack. The living room sparkled as though nothing had happened. A new pane of glass gleamed in the window, the furniture polished back into order. The scent of lemon oil hung faintly in the air.
It felt wrong.
She frowned, whispering under her breath, "Like it was all a dream..."
Her bare feet padded toward the kitchen. Inside, Layla was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, flipping eggs in a pan. The smell of toasted bread and coffee filled the space, warm and painfully normal.
"Morning," Andrea said cautiously.
Layla glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging her lips. "Oh, morning. You're up early."
Andrea's eyes swept the immaculate kitchen before landing back on her. "Everything looks like nothing happened."
Layla chuckled, turning back to the pan. "That's because our boss is obsessed with perfection. Not a single thing out of place, according to him."
Andrea tilted her head, trying to process that, but before she could speak again, footsteps echoed. Minjoon strode in, neat as ever, tablet tucked under his arm.
"Boss isn't here," he said matter-of-factly. "He went out for some work. So let it be, just continue your day."
Andrea raised an eyebrow. "And what about last night? Those people who broke in—who exactly were they?"
Minjoon looked at her evenly, his tone clipped, professional. "They were here to learn about you. And Sir. Sooner or later, they'll find out you two are engaged."
Andrea had just taken a sip of her mango juice. The words hit her harder than any bullet. She choked, spraying the drink back into the glass before coughing violently.
Layla nearly dropped the spatula, rushing over. "Andrea! Are you okay?!"
Her eyes watered as she tried to breathe, pounding her chest with one fist. "What did you just say?!"
Minjoon blinked once, unfazed. "Did I say it too early?"
"Too early?!" Andrea rasped, still coughing.
Layla smacked the counter, glaring at him. "You always do this, Mister Minjoon. Dropping bombs like its weather news!"
Minjoon only shrugged, adjusting his sleeve. "It's the truth. Better she knows than stays in the dark."
Andrea's heart hammered as she wiped her lips, still tasting mango and shock. Her mind spun wildly, Eunwoo's smirk from last night flashing back, his words about the ring, his silence when she questioned him.
Engaged.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh, scream, or both.
.⋆｡⋆｡⋆｡⋆｡♡｡⋆｡⋆｡⋆｡⋆.
The engine purred as the black sedan cut through the streets of Seoul. City lights flickered across the windshield, neon signs bleeding into the glass like fractured colors. Eunwoo's hand rested on the steering wheel, steady as ever, but his other hand held the earpiece closer to his mouth.
"Don't let her step outside the villa, Minjoon," his voice was cold, sharp, carrying authority that allowed no space for argument. "If she leaves, you're fired."
On the other end, Minjoon's voice came low, obedient. "Yes, Boss. Understood."
The call ended. The car slipped into silence, save for the steady rhythm of rain returning against the windshield.
Eunwoo didn't glance at the world outside. His mind was already ahead—calculating, anticipating, readying for whatever this "meeting" truly meant. His uncle never called him without hidden motives.
By the time he reached the restaurant, the city had fully awakened—Seoul's heart beating loud, alive, and merciless. He parked, exited with his usual elegance, and entered the high-rise dining hall reserved only for the richest men who believed themselves untouchable.
At the far end of the private room, a familiar figure awaited.
Juntae, his uncle.
He sat with the arrogance of a king, hand resting on the armrest of his chair, a glass of expensive whiskey balanced between two fingers. Beside him, his secretary—a young woman in a sleek suit—stood quietly, eyes down, like furniture.
"Oh, my nephew," Juntae drawled, lips curving into something that might pass as a smile to the untrained eye. "You are never late. That's one thing I admire about you."
Eunwoo didn't bother with pleasantries. He stepped inside, shoulders squared, voice clipped. "You didn't call me here for compliments. You have work for me. What is it?"
Juntae chuckled, slow, savoring the moment. "Impatient, as always. Sit."
Eunwoo stayed standing, his eyes sharp, but his uncle lifted a hand. "Wait. She's here."
Eunwoo frowned, caught off guard. "She?"
The door at the side of the room opened, and a voice, too familiar, reached his ears.
"Yes, Eunwoo. I'm here."
His eyes narrowed. Seorii.
She stepped into view with practiced grace, dressed in a pale silk dress that whispered of old money and calculated beauty. Her smile was warm, too warm, directed only at him.
Eunwoo's gaze hardened. "Uncle... what is this?"
Juntae leaned back in his seat, sipping his drink like a man who held the world between his fingers. "A proposal. One that benefits you, her, and our company."
"Beneficial?" Eunwoo's voice flattened, his patience thinning. "Just come to the point, sir."
Juntae smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I want you two to get married."
The words cracked the air like a whip.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Seorii's eyes lit up, relief flooding her face. She turned instantly to Eunwoo, waiting for his reaction like a child desperate for approval.
But Eunwoo only leaned back slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips, and chuckled.
"Ohhh... so this is it," he said, voice low and laced with irony. "You want me to marry—for business. For your benefit. For the wish of an old man who believes he still controls my life."
Seorii's smile faltered, the glow fading. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. "Eunwoo... our families have been friends for three generations. This isn't just business, it's tradition. It's our duty."
He turned his gaze on her then, sharp as a blade. "I'm sorry, Seorii. But I will not marry you. Not for business. Not for anyone's sake."
His words cut clean.
Seorii's face fell completely, the polished smile dissolving into something wounded, something bitter. She reached for words, but he was already rising to his feet.
Eunwoo slid his hands into his pockets, calm but unyielding. "If this is all, then I'll take my leave."
He turned toward the door.
"EUNWOO!" Juntae's voice boomed, rattling the room. His glass slammed against the table, amber liquid spilling across polished wood. "You cannot walk away from this. This is not a conversation to abandon halfway. This is family, this is alliance—this is everything!"
Eunwoo stopped mid-stride, his back still to them. For a moment, he was silent. Then he turned, his face unreadable but his eyes burning.
"Oh... so you call this a conversation?" His laugh was dry, humorless. "This isn't a talk, Uncle. This is you trying to chain me. And I'm not interested in your chains—or your marriage proposals."
Juntae's jaw tightened, his face darkening. "And who," he spat, "are you planning to marry then? Who dares to take that place?"
Eunwoo's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. His words came slow, deliberate, every syllable like a stone being etched into history.
"For your kind information, Uncle... I'm getting married to someone I love."
The declaration cut through the room, solid and irreversible.
Seorii froze, staring at him as if the floor had given way beneath her. Her fingers clawed into the tablecloth, so tight the silverware rattled. The smile she had forced minutes ago was gone, replaced by something raw—anger, disbelief, betrayal.
Juntae sat there, stunned for the first time in years, his grip on the whiskey glass trembling just slightly.
Eunwoo's gaze swept over both of them once more, final and merciless. "And you'll be invited to the wedding, Uncle. Don't worry."
Then, like a devil leaving behind chaos, he let out a low laugh—dark, amused, unshaken. He pushed the door open, his footsteps echoing against marble, and left without looking back.
Behind him, Seorii's breath broke into a hiss, her eyes burning with humiliation. Juntae's secretary shifted uneasily, as if afraid the room itself might collapse from the tension.
Juntae himself sat frozen, rage pulsing beneath his skin, veins throbbing in his temple. "Love?" he muttered, his voice sharp with disbelief. "We'll see who dares love my nephew."
The room trembled with the weight of a new war beginning.
And Eunwoo, already outside, slipped his phone into his pocket, the city lights painting his profile sharp. He knew what he had just unleashed. But his decision was clear, carved into stone.
For once, it wasn't about power. It wasn't about control.
It was about her.
𓆩♡𓆪··············𓆩♡𓆪 ·············𓆩♡𓆪·············𓆩♡𓆪·············𓆩♡𓆪
The morning air in the villa's lawn was crisp, carrying the smell of wet grass from the night's rain. Andrea stood barefoot on the mat she had rolled out, her posture sharp, movements precise. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes were focused as she explained to Layla the finer points of leverage and balance.
"Gunfights won't save you if someone is already this close," Andrea said, stepping forward, demonstrating with an invisible opponent. "You use their size against them. Grip here, twist the wrist, and pull—then pivot your hips to throw them over."
Layla nodded, her ponytail bouncing, but her movements were clumsy when she tried. She glanced at Minjoon, towering as usual, standing with his arms crossed and looking unimpressed.
"Come on," Andrea urged. "You'll learn faster with a real example. Minjoon, you're taller. Perfect for this drill."
Minjoon raised an eyebrow but stepped forward. "Fine. But don't blame me if she ends up on the ground."
Andrea smirked. "That depends on who listens better."
Layla planted her feet, gripping Minjoon's arm the way Andrea had shown her. She tried to pivot, tried to use his weight, but it was like trying to flip a wall. Minjoon didn't even budge.
"This isn't working!" Layla groaned, glaring at Minjoon.
"You're pulling with your arms," Andrea corrected, moving closer to adjust her stance. "It's not about strength. It's about timing and momentum. Watch—"
She took Minjoon's arm, moving fluidly, ready to demonstrate again. But before she could, another presence slipped quietly into the yard.
Eunwoo.
He had returned earlier than expected, silent as a shadow, leaning against the archway with arms folded. His eyes tracked Andrea's movements with an intensity he didn't bother to hide.
Andrea, too focused on teaching, didn't notice him. Not until she sensed him—the faint shift of the air, the awareness prickling her skin. She turned slightly, enough to catch him sneaking closer.
He was right behind her.
She reacted without hesitation.
Her hand shot out, catching his wrist. A swift pivot, weight shift, and in one motion—
Eunwoo's body left the ground.
With a clean, flawless flip, she sent him crashing onto the soft grass.
Layla gasped. Minjoon's eyes widened, rare surprise flickering across his face.
Andrea blinked, realization slamming into her only when she saw who it was sprawled on the ground.
"Eunwoo!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees beside him. "Oh my god—Boss—I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you!"
Eunwoo groaned, clutching his side, his face twisting with pain and disbelief. "Aishhh... Cat!"
Layla burst out laughing, covering her mouth. Minjoon simply muttered, "Impressive..."
Andrea's hands hovered over him, panic in her eyes. "Does it hurt? I swear I didn't mean—"
"Yes, it does!" Eunwoo snapped, wincing as Minjoon reached down to pull him up. His glare shifted from Andrea to the others. "This lady—Miss Yeldiz—you're going to get punished for this."
Layla tried to defend her, still giggling. "Boss, she was just teaching me self-defense. Don't be so dramatic."
"Teaching you what?" Eunwoo shot back, anger and bruised pride simmering in his tone.
Andrea raised her chin, refusing to back down. "Close combat. And self-defense. Exactly what I should be teaching her." Then her voice softened, her eyes flicking back to him. "But right now, I'll take care of you."
Minjoon steadied him as he muttered, "Careful, Boss. Don't fall again."
Andrea reached out, steadying Eunwoo herself, her hand gentle on his arm. "Come. I'll treat your injury."
Eunwoo's gaze lingered on her, questions hidden in the sharp line of his mouth. Are you going to reveal your power here? the thought pressed at the back of his mind.
But Andrea said nothing. Her voice was steady, professional. "I can handle this with the skills I learned in camp. Nothing more."
Relief crossed his face, though he masked it quickly, letting Minjoon half-guide him toward the villa.
"I'll make soup," Layla piped up, already heading toward the kitchen. "Something light. He'll need it."
She caught Minjoon by the sleeve, tugging him with her. He scowled but followed.
Once inside, Layla leaned close to him, whispering with a mischievous grin, "Let's stay in the kitchen a while. Give them space. They need to talk."
Minjoon rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
Back on the lawn, Andrea tightened her grip on Eunwoo's arm, her eyes full of guilt and worry.
"Boss... I'll fix this," she murmured, guiding him carefully inside.
Eunwoo didn't answer right away. He only watched her, the corners of his mouth twitching—not quite anger, not quite amusement.
But one thought lingered like fire in his chest:
She caught me off guard. No one has ever done that before.