They moved upstairs. The corridor ran along the walls, and the club noise below seemed like a distant echo. A different life reigned here—strict, cold. Glass partitions divided the office into sections; reflections multiplied every movement, as if dozens of invisible eyes were watching them.
Do-yun's gaze slid over the desks. Folders, reports, receipt printouts. He noted a couple of documents left on the edge:
"Liquor supply contracts... the dates match the nights omegas disappeared."
His heart pounded faster. His gaze settled on a signature: Director Jeong Young-soo. The same family name had flickered in the materials of an old case that was closed too quickly.
He paused by one partition, allowing himself to look at his reflection: his own face looked foreign, tense.
"Inquisitive." The voice sounded too close.
He flinched and turned around. Seung-ho stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. His reflections multiplied in the glass, as if surrounding him from all sides.
"These papers are no accident," Do-yun said quietly. "There's a name here. Director Jeong. I saw him before, in a case that vanished as quickly as the people from the clubs."
Seung-ho stepped closer; his gaze sharpened. "I suspect him too. But if I'm wrong—it will cost me the company."
"And if you're right—it will cost lives," Do-yun shot back fiercely.
A shadow of a smirk crossed Seung-ho's face. "You certainly know how to pick the sharpest angles. But you seem to forget: we're already linked. If one falls—so does the other."
Do-yun clenched the folder in his hands. "I never asked you to link us."
Seung-ho moved in close, his palm resting on the glass near Do-yun's face. "Partners don't choose each other. A common cause makes them so."
"Or a common trap," Do-yun articulated slowly.
Seung-ho leaned closer; his breath brushed against Do-yun's skin. "Then let it be a trap you won't want to leave."
His hand slid down abruptly, gripping his thigh, then lingering higher. Do-yun tensed, but his body betrayed him. His cock hardened; the erection became obvious.
"Damn it…" slipped from his lips.
Seung-ho entered his mouth with a kiss—sharp, demanding. His fingers slid under his shirt, leaving trails of heat on his skin. Do-yun grabbed his shoulders, as if to push him away, but only pressed him closer.
"Do you hate that I hold you like this?" Seung-ho whispered, gripping his groin.
"I hate… that I like it," Do-yun whispered back hotly.
Seung-ho smirked; his movements became more insistent. His fingers gripped his cock through the fabric; the rhythm accelerated. Do-yun arched his back, his breathing becoming hoarse.
Seung-ho's lips trailed down his neck, leaving a hot mark. His other hand held Do-yun's wrist, preventing him from pulling away.
His breathing broke into a groan. His body shook with mounting arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, but couldn't hold back. In an instant, his orgasm erupted—he moaned, spilling hot semen that soaked the fabric.
Seung-ho held him until the end, then slowly released him, his fingers stroking his lips.
"That's what trust looks like," he said quietly.
A door slammed at the end of the corridor. Footsteps approached.
Seung-ho instantly pulled away, but his gaze remained burning.
"Think about it, Do-yun. Am I the enemy? Or is the enemy the one whose signature is on those papers?"
Do-yun remained pressed against the glass, his breathing ragged. In the reflection, he saw himself—flushed, trembling, with the folder still in his hands.