Title: The Demand for Truth
We were back in the private suite after the gala, the energy of the crowd still buzzing in my ears. I quickly changed out of the beautiful silk gown and into my simple silk pajamas—the uniform of our private arrangement.
Bok Soo was in the living area, pacing. He wasn't having a panic attack, but the post-event anxiety was evident. He was wired, unable to relax, his every movement sharp and impatient.
I walked to the minibar and poured him a glass of water, placing it on the table near him.
"You need to slow your heart rate, Bok Soo," I said, using his name easily now, the intimacy feeling like a cloak I could wear for protection. "The event is over."
He stopped pacing and turned, his eyes burning with a familiar mix of gratitude and icy arrogance. "The show is never over, Peter Bella. Not for me. And not for you."
He walked toward me, closing the distance quickly, trapping me against the counter. He reached out and cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. The desire was instant, searing, and demanding.
"You were perfect tonight," he murmured, his voice rough. "You looked beautiful. You stabilized me. You are mine."
He started to lean in, ready to claim another kiss, a selfish transaction to discharge the pressure, just like on the jet.
But this time, I didn't surrender. I was done being the silent prop. My growing confidence, fueled by the strength I found in saving my mother and the power I held over his secret, gave me the courage to fight back.
I gripped his wrists, hard, and pushed him gently but firmly back a step.
His eyes widened, shocked by my physical rejection. No one challenged him like this.
"Stop," I commanded, my voice firm and clear, not shaking at all. "I'm done with the back-of-the-limo kisses and the private jet demands."
He glared at me, his handsome face contorted with fury. "You have no right to set boundaries. You owe me."
"I owe you loyalty and silence," I countered, looking him straight in the eye. "I owe you my life. But I do not owe you a moment of false passion. I am not a discharge of pressure, Bok Soo. I am a person."
I took a shaky breath, letting my vulnerability show, but coupling it with unshakeable resolve. "You used me tonight. You used my beauty to make Min-Joo jealous, and you used my fear of losing my mother to keep me silent. That is cruel, and I will not allow you to be cruel to me anymore."
The tension in the room was electric, vibrating with the force of my challenge.
He stared at me, his dark eyes searching my face, looking for the lie, but finding only honest fury and pain. The cruelty on his face slowly dissolved, replaced by a look of devastating understanding. He saw that my confession of pain was his only anchor.
He lowered his hands, dropping the mask entirely. "What do you want, Peter Bella?" he asked, his voice low, ravaged, and honest. "You want me to fire you? I can't. You know too much."
"I want the truth," I said, stepping closer to him, closing the distance on my own terms. "I want to know if that terrifying look in your eyes, when you kiss me, is just because I'm convenient, or if it's because you want me—the broke student who sees your flaws—more than you want the perfect lie."
His breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a moment, wrestling with his fame, his fear, and his desire.
When he opened them, the non-verbal flirting was gone. What remained was raw, painful honesty.
"I want you," he admitted, the words torn from his throat. "I want you because you saw me break, and you didn't leave. I want you because you make me feel safe when the world is screaming."
He reached out and gently took my hands, holding them tightly. "So, we have a choice, Peter Bella. We stop this now, and I find a way to pay your debt and send you home. Or we continue."
He looked into my eyes, forcing the decision onto me.
"But if we continue," he whispered, his eyes dark with a new, dangerous promise, "you stop being my assistant in private. You become my secret, non-negotiable reality. No more games. No more pretending it's just pressure. We face this."
I didn't hesitate. I thought of my mother, safe because of him. I thought of my own desperate need for his validation. I thought of the fire that consumed me every time he touched me.
"We continue," I breathed, surrendering not to his power, but to the overwhelming connection.
He let out a deep sigh, a look of immense, profound relief washing over his face. He pulled me close, resting his forehead against mine, but he didn't kiss me. Not this time.
"Then the rules change," he murmured. "We are going to be in this suite for another twelve hours. I am tired of the sofa. You are my anchor. And tonight, you sleep in my bed."
It was a statement of fact, not a question. A demand for ultimate, intimate trust, sealing our commitment to a dangerous, secret relationship.