The car glided through the darkness like a whisper with purpose. Its engine murmured low beneath a hush of leather and breath, while inside, Ji-Hyun sat frozen—an unwilling bride wrapped in white, drifting toward a man she feared to meet.
She leaned forward. The window eased open with a soft groan, and the night kissed her face, sharp and sweet. Damp earth lingered in the air, heavy with the hush of an incoming storm. Her fingers clutched the frame, knuckles pale. Her hair, long and black as spilled ink, streamed in the wind, lashing her cheeks like ribbons of regret.
Her eyes flicked to the man beside her.
He hadn't moved.
Broad-shouldered, straight-backed, he sat like a statue of cold intent. His face was carved in shadow—stone-jawed, silent. The air around him thrummed with stillness too controlled to be calm. His hands rested in his lap, elegant and clenched tight, as though they longed to crush something fragile.
Or someone.
A chill snaked down Ji-Hyun's spine.
She looked away, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
The car turned. Up ahead, wrought-iron gates yawned open, silent and slow. Trees flanked the long driveway like mourners, their shadows reaching. The estate emerged—a glass-and-stone monolith rising from manicured earth. It glimmered beneath the moonlight, too pristine to be real.
The car stopped.
A servant opened her door with eerie precision. "Welcome, Mrs. Min Soo," he said softly. "It is an honor to finally meet you."
Ji-Hyun flinched.
Mrs. Min Soo. The words landed like a lock clicking shut.
She stepped out, her gown catching the light—lace and silk cascading around her like a spell spun to trap rather than enchant. She caught her reflection in the polished window.
The woman looking back at her was beautiful.
And hollow.
Inside, the mansion glowed with golden light and icy silence. The chandeliers shimmered. The marble gleamed. But every surface felt cold, as if polished to conceal blood. Her heels clicked across the floor like gunshots.
She turned to speak—to ask where he was—but a voice drifted from above.
"Welcome home, Ji-Hyun."
She froze.
At the top of the grand staircase, he stood.
A silk robe hung loose around him, deep blue and fluid. Bare skin gleamed beneath—tattoos scrawled over his chest in bold, sacred lines. His gaze met hers. Calm. Cutting. Consuming.
Her breath hitched. Her feet moved.
One step. Then another.
She climbed slowly, hand trailing the railing, her grip trembling. His eyes never left her. By the time she reached him, her pulse was thunder.
He stepped closer.
"Welcome to my world," he murmured.
Then—he took her hand.
His touch was ice. It burned. Without a word, he led her through a hallway too quiet, into a room too perfect.
The bedroom was a snare.
Gold, glass, dark wood. The scent of sandalwood curled in the air, but beneath it—something darker, like hunger. He turned to her, his mouth curling into a smile that wasn't kind.
"This is my favorite place," he said, voice low. "You should know that about me."
Then he stepped behind her. His breath grazed her skin.
"Take off your clothes."
Her blood ran cold.
"What?" she whispered, barely able to breathe.
He said nothing.
He sat in a velvet armchair, legs parted, eyes fixed on her like a command.
"Will you just stand there and gawk?" he said. "Isn't this your duty as my wife?"
She stepped back, shaking her head.
He stood.
Too fast.
Too close.
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her. His fingers threaded into her hair, pulling it aside. His touch slid down her arm like a threat disguised as affection. She caught his hand—gripping it with trembling desperation.
"I... I can't," she gasped. "Please. I'm not ready."
His jaw tightened.
"You are my wife," he said, coldly.
Her grip only tightened. "I need time," she begged.
Silence.
Then he grabbed her hand, peeled it off his like a dead leaf.
"Really?" he muttered, disgust curling in his mouth.
She nodded, eyes wide.
He exhaled sharply. "Get lost."
With a flick, he shoved her back.
Ji-Hyun stumbled, then ran—toward the door, toward freedom—but the handle didn't move. Her breath came in ragged bursts. She twisted the knob, pushed, yanked—
Nothing.
Behind her, he stepped forward. The door opened with a low groan, but not from her hand.
His palm pressed beside hers on the wood.
His mouth dipped to her ear.
"Next time," he whispered, "it won't be so easy."
She bolted. Down the hall. Away from him. From the bedroom. From the hunger in his eyes.
She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
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