The morning met him with the cold light from the narrow window. The apartment remained just as empty: a teapot, a stack of blockers, a couple of clean shirts. But inside—anxiety.
He saw the silhouette by the warehouse again. Even from a distance, that gaze was too palpable, and the memory wouldn't let him go.
Do-yun washed his face with cold water, put on a white shirt and vest, and smoothed his hair. The same waiter looked back at him from the mirror. But inside, he felt a noose tightening. Today, he would have to be more careful.
The evening at the club began as usual. The crowd buzzed, the lights flashed, and the air was thick. But everything changed when a security guard approached him and said curtly:
"The VIP room. For you."
Do-yun wasn't surprised. He already knew who was waiting.
The VIP room was drowned in a golden twilight. Beyond the thick door, glasses clinked and music blared, but here, silence reigned—viscous as the smoke of expensive cigars. Wine glistened on the low table, amber glinting in the crystal.
Do-yun set the tray down, nodded, and was already taking a step toward the exit.
"Sit."
The voice wasn't loud. But it sounded in a way that his legs stopped on their own.
He turned around. Yoon Seung-ho was sitting, leaning back on the couch. His gaze was sharp and predatory, like a beast that had already chosen its target.
Do-yun slowly returned and sat on the edge of the couch. His back was straight, his face calm.
"It's amazing," Seung-ho said, pouring wine. "The whole room is bustling, people are trying to be as flashy as possible. But you sit as if you don't need any of it."
"Maybe I don't," Do-yun replied.
The alpha took a sip, set the glass down, and leaned slightly forward. "I like that. Coldness always makes more of an impression than smiles."
"I'm not trying to."
"That's exactly why it's so captivating," Seung-ho smiled slightly. "It makes me want to see what's under the ice."
The alpha's fingers touched his wrist. Lightly, but with a sense of ownership. Do-yun didn't flinch; he just pressed his lips together more tightly.
"Do you know what you're risking?" he asked.
"Getting carried away," Seung-ho said calmly. "But it's a good risk."
He leaned closer. Shoulder to shoulder. The heat of his breath touched his temple.
"Are you always this cold?" the whisper barely touched his ear. "Or just with me?"
Do-yun turned his head. Their gazes met.
"And are you always this persistent?"
"Only when I see what I want."
And the alpha's lips covered his in a kiss.
The kiss was long, dominant, and languid. Do-yun tried to pull away, but Seung-ho's fingers slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The taste of wine mixed with the heat of his breath, and Do-yun's heart skipped a beat.
He wanted to remain indifferent, but he betrayed himself: he returned the kiss. At first—cautiously, then more firmly. Their breaths mingled, their shoulders touched.
Seung-ho intensified the pressure. His fingers slid down his neck, and kisses marked his collarbone.
"You're trembling," he whispered, almost touching his skin. "I like that."
Do-yun clenched his fists. "You're taking too many liberties."
The alpha raised his head. His eyes gleamed with excitement. "And you've been pretending for too long that this doesn't affect you."
He kissed his lips again, deeper, more eagerly. Do-yun's palms pressed against his chest, but his fingers betrayed him—they weren't pushing, they were clutching the fabric of the jacket.
When Seung-ho pulled away, his voice was low and hoarse: "Tell me you won't come here again. And I'll still make sure you end up by my side."
Do-yun ran a hand over his lips. His breathing still hadn't returned to normal.
"You're playing a game," he said.
"Of course," Seung-ho smirked, pouring himself more wine. "But don't forget: in this game, the hunter always wins."
The silence was stretched tight like a string. Beyond the door, music blared, but here, only smoke and tension swirled.
And Do-yun realized: one more step—and he would never break free.