Nighttime Seoul was quieter than the day, but its silence held a life of its own. Puddles on the asphalt reflected the neon signs, as if the city were flipped over and thriving in parallel underground. Bridges, shimmering with light, faded into the darkness. The headlights of rare cars slid across the wet pavement, leaving long, golden streaks behind them.
Do-yun walked along the curb, his head bowed. His boots squelched in the water, and every step sounded louder than he wanted. The note with two words—"You're too late"—lay in his pocket. It burned hotter than the cold. In his chest, the emptiness of the warehouse still lingered: the rust, the dampness, the white paper on the dirty floor.
Headlights snatched him from the gloom. A black sedan pulled smoothly to a stop beside him. The window rolled down.
"Get in."
The voice was calm, without pressure, but it left no room for refusal.
Do-yun hesitated for only a second. Then he opened the door and got in.
The interior smelled of leather, expensive tobacco, and something subtle that always emanated from Seung-ho—the scent of authority and danger. Music played softly, almost inaudibly.
Seung-ho glanced his way. "Do you enjoy late-night walks through warehouses?" he asked, as if making idle conversation.
Do-yun turned toward the window. The streets slowly slid by: wet asphalt, empty sidewalks, neon diluted by the rain.
"Did you know about that address too?"
"I have my sources," Seung-ho replied. He spoke lazily, but there was too much awareness in his eyes. "But what's more interesting is that someone knew about you."
Do-yun clenched his fingers on his knees. "You think I'm being followed?"
Seung-ho smirked slightly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Think? I'm certain. The question is: who and why."
Silence settled between them again. The car glided through the night city, and everything around them seemed slowed down: traffic lights flashed, raindrops ran down the windows, distant bridges sank into the mist.
"If they knew you were coming, it means they know your moves," Seung-ho continued. His voice dropped lower. "That means we have less time than you think."
Do-yun wanted to ask, "We?" But he didn't get the chance.
Seung-ho sharply turned, his hand landing on the back of Do-yun's neck, firm and hot. And before Do-yun could exhale, the alpha's lips covered his.
The kiss was harsh. Not a plea, not a question—a condemnation. It was punishment. For his silence. For his secret. For going alone again.
Do-yun gasped. He wanted to push him away, but his body betrayed him. A hot wave ignited inside, his breathing became ragged. His fingers dug into the edge of the seat, but he found no strength to push back.
The kiss shattered his rhythm, tearing away his mask. Seung-ho's every intake of breath was a demand. His every push was a challenge.
His thoughts tangled. "I hate him. I must stop this." But his body responded differently. He felt his heart traitorously quicken, a tremor running across his skin.
Finally, Seung-ho pulled back. Their breaths mingled. The alpha's gaze was close, too close, without a hint of regret.
"You won't answer questions," he said quietly. "Then I answer for you."
Do-yun clenched his jaw, struggling to regain his cold composure. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. His lips were still burning.
The car started moving again. Outside, the wet city continued its nocturnal life: headlights, neon, raindrops on the glass. But inside, silence reigned, filled with the echo of their kiss.