She opened the door slowly, the polished brass handle warm beneath her palm, sun-heated and smooth. Midday light poured through the hallway's towering windows, pooling across the marble floor in clean, golden sheets. It caught on the veining in the stone, casting sharp, pale reflections that shimmered like broken glass underfoot.
She stepped inside.
The door shut behind her with a soft click, muffled by the thickness of silence.
The room was drenched in light. Not soft, not warm—relentless. Harsh sunlight bled across the floor, over the furniture, gilding every surface with brutal clarity. Shadows were minimal. There was nowhere to hide.
Ji-hyun dragged her legs forward, the hem of her dress brushing against her ankles with each slow step. Her feet scuffed against the floor—barely lifting. Her shoulders hung low, spine curved inward, as if the weight pressing down on her was physical.
A small breath pushed from her lips, puffing her cheeks slightly before deflating. Her mouth tilted into a childish pout, trembling at the corners. Then, without ceremony, she dropped.
She collapsed forward onto the bed, face-first, arms sprawled wide like wings folding under pressure. Her body bounced once, gently, on the layers of imported silk and tightly stretched linen. A soft, broken whimper escaped her throat, muffled by the pillow she buried her face into.
"I miss you, Dad…" she whispered, the words spilling into the cotton, ragged and aching. "I wish you were here to see the woman I've become…"
She rolled onto her side, curling her legs slightly, and pulled the nearest pillow into her chest, crushing it there like a child clutching a stuffed toy. The faint scent of detergent and sterile linen filled her nose—no comfort in it, just absence.
"I only agreed to this marriage to patch things up with Mum. She blamed me for what happened to you... and I get it. I do. Maybe if I hadn't gone back for that stupid teddy bear—maybe—"
Her throat cinched tight. She pressed her face harder into the pillow, as if pressure might stop the sting behind her eyes. Her fingers curled into the fabric, nails biting through cotton as though she could squeeze her guilt into the threads.
Then—
A creak.
Barely audible, but it sliced through the quiet like a blade.
Her body jerked.
The latch turned, slow and quiet. A pause. A sliver of movement. Then a figure slipped into the room. His silhouette stretched across the floor—tall, lean, sharp-edged. The shape of him sliced through the light, casting a jagged shadow that reached for the foot of the bed.
Ji-hyun froze.
Her fingers unclenched. The pillow dropped. She pushed herself upright too quickly, spine snapping straight. The silk of her dress whispered as it shifted over her thighs, the rustle loud in the silence. She didn't dare look at him, but she could feel it—the heat of his gaze dragging up her back, slow and deliberate, like cold water sliding over bare skin.
Footsteps followed.
Measured. Controlled. He walked like someone who never needed to rush—each step soft, almost soundless on the marble, but heavy with intention. Ji-hyun's head bowed slightly, her shoulders bracing. Her lips parted around a breath she couldn't quite catch.
Then came his breath.
Warm. Damp. Right behind her.
He exhaled slowly—like he was savoring her unease.
"You really are unbelievable," Min-soo said, voice low and smooth, but serrated with amusement. It wasn't a compliment. His laugh that followed was dry, thin, metallic. Like the sound a knife makes when it scrapes bone.
Ji-hyun shut her eyes tight.
Not now. Not again.
She didn't move, didn't speak. Just sat rigid, listening to the sound of his breath, the way it thickened the air around her.
Then came the touch.
Two fingers—light as a whisper—hooked beneath her chin, lifting it gently. Not forcefully, but unshakably. Her face tilted up, slow and unwilling. Her lashes lifted last.
Blue eyes met crimson.
The midday sun softened nothing. His irises glowed faintly—like coals under clear water. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was something deeper. Something wrong.
Min-soo leaned down, closing the distance with unbearable patience. His breath brushed over her cheek, warm, rhythmic, impossibly calm. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I don't bite," he said, mouth hovering so close she could feel the shape of his words.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes darted down, then back up—lips parting in silent protest, though no sound emerged. Her chest rose and fell in shallow waves. Still, she didn't move. She couldn't.
His hand shifted, fingertips gliding from the corner of her jaw to her cheek. A tender motion, deliberately slow—like silk pulled across skin, like memory. She flinched just slightly, but held still.
Then—he tilted his head.
His gaze dropped to her lips—rosy, parted, flushed from heat and something more vulnerable. His thumb moved, brushed across them lightly. Possessively. The gesture sent a sharp chill down her spine, as if her mouth didn't belong to her anymore.
His pupils dilated. Not from lust.
From power.
Then he kissed her.
No warning. No invitation.
His mouth descended onto hers—slow, sure, absolute. It was not soft. It was not cruel. It was something else entirely. Calculated. Precise. Like claiming a signature.
His lips moved against hers with practiced control, warm and firm, drawing no reaction but her shallow breath and the twitch of her fingers as they curled instinctively into the silk pooling around her lap.
She didn't kiss him back. She didn't push him away.
She just… endured.
Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs, each beat screaming against the quiet. Her lungs pulled air in short bursts. Her mind stuttered, tried to understand—but there was no understanding in Min-soo.
When he finally pulled away, it was slow, reluctant.