Title: The Morning Mask
I woke to the sudden, agonizing sensation of being utterly alone.
The opulent king-sized bed was cold beside me. I blinked, disoriented, the memory of Bok Soo's heavy arm draped over my waist and his deep, possessive murmurings dissolving like mist. He was gone.
I sat up, clutching the duvet to my chest. The sun hadn't fully risen, casting a stark, cold light into the room.
Bok Soo was already dressed. He stood by the window in a perfectly tailored dark suit, tie knotted flawlessly, his hair impeccable. He was on his phone, speaking in rapid, hushed Korean about market shares and scheduled appearances. He looked utterly untouchable—the flawless idol, the powerful businessman.
The anxious, vulnerable man who confessed his fears and held me like a lifeline was gone.
He hung up, turned, and his eyes swept over me. There was no warmth, no recognition of the tenderness we had shared. Just the cold, commanding ice of his professional mask.
"You have five minutes to be presentable, Peter Bella," he stated, his voice sharp and utterly devoid of intimacy. "Ms. Kim will be here with the updated schedule, and you have a new task: inventorying the gifts from last night's gala. It requires precision."
It was a cruel, necessary dismissal. He had compartmentalized our relationship with brutal speed.
I scrambled out of bed, grabbing the silk pajamas I was still wearing. "Yes, Mr. Kang," I replied, deliberately using his public title to signal my immediate compliance.
He didn't acknowledge the shift. He simply walked to the connecting door and opened it just as Ms. Kim's sharp rap sounded on the other side.
"Bok Soo! I have the updated New York schedule. We need to cut out the museum visit." Ms. Kim swept in, her eyes immediately scanning the room for signs of imperfection.
I was trapped. I quickly ducked into the master bath, slamming the door shut. I splashed cold water on my face, looking at my reflection: my lips were still slightly swollen, my eyes wide with confusion and lingering passion.
The contract is the air we breathe. The passion is the secret we bury. I repeated the new mantra fiercely.
I emerged from the bathroom two minutes later, dressed in a simple, pressed blazer and slacks—my professional uniform. I walked into the living area, briefcase in hand, ready for the assault of the day.
Bok Soo and Ms. Kim were deep in conversation.
"And Peter Bella," Ms. Kim said, turning to me, "you need to ensure all of Mr. Kang's press statements are organized by region. His collar is slightly crooked, by the way."
Bok Soo didn't even glance down. He turned his head slightly toward me, offering the correction without breaking his concentration on the schedule Ms. Kim was holding.
I stepped forward to adjust his collar, my heart pounding. This was the first professional touch after the long night of intimate contact. My fingers trembled as they neared the flawless white silk of his shirt.
As I reached up, Bok Soo's gaze, which had been fixed on the schedule, suddenly darted to mine. His eyes, still cold to the world, held a flash of intense, private heat.
Before I could touch the fabric, his hand shot up. Not to push me away, but to gently, quickly, adjust the collar himself.
But as his fingers moved away, his thumb didn't retreat. It brushed briefly, possessively, against the side of my neck, just beneath my earlobe—the precise spot he had nuzzled during the night.
It was an infinitesimal touch, invisible to Ms. Kim, yet it sent a searing shockwave through my entire body. It was a secret kiss, a non-verbal affirmation of the private, tender, dominant ownership he claimed in the dark.
"Thank you, Peter Bella," he said, using my full name with an icy, professional finality that only underscored the thrilling secrecy of his previous touch.
Ms. Kim, oblivious, nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, the gift inventory. Start with the jewels."
I stood straighter, the simple, demanding touch having refueled my confidence and my dangerous desire. He was cruel, but he was mine. And he was not letting me forget it. My life had become a high-stakes, passionate lie.