The drive to Bok Soo's private residence was long, silent, and tense. The car climbed high into the hills above Seoul, leaving the city's lights behind. My mind was reeling. I was entering his sanctuary, the place of absolute truth and vulnerability.
We pulled up to a massive, modern house—all sleek glass, dark wood, and towering security fences. It was beautiful, cold, and utterly isolated. A fortress built to keep the world out, and now, built to keep me in.
Bok Soo stepped out first. He didn't wait. He walked toward the main door, his posture commanding. I followed, the silk dress from the gala feeling impossibly fragile in the cold night air.
The interior was minimalist and vast, smelling faintly of clean air and expensive leather. It was perfection. And I, the messy, debt-ridden anchor, was the one flaw in his design.
He walked past the sprawling living area and straight to the master suite. He didn't turn on many lights, leaving the immense space in heavy, intimate shadows.
He stopped in the center of the room. He turned, his eyes searching mine. His cold mask was beginning to melt away, the vulnerability of the anxious man returning, layered with a hungry, possessive desire.
"You won't leave this house for twenty-four hours," he commanded, his voice a low, raw sound. "No phone calls. No schedules. Just silence."
He walked to a large closet and pulled out a silk robe, tossing it onto the bed. "Shower. I need to know the entire world is off you."
I understood. He needed to cleanse me of the anxiety of the day, of the public failure, of the presence of Ms. Kim. He needed me to be purely his anchor.
I walked to the bathroom, stripped out of the clothes I had worn through the chaos of New York, and stepped under the burning hot water. When I emerged, wrapped in the thick, silk robe, Bok Soo was standing by the bathroom door.
He wasn't fully undressed, but he had shed his suit jacket and tie. He stood with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching me. His eyes were dark, intense, and dominating.
He walked toward me, slowly closing the distance. The non-verbal tension was staggering.
"Come here," he ordered, his voice barely a breath.
I didn't hesitate. I walked into his space.
He reached out, his hand finding the collar of the robe, and he pulled me against his body until I was flush against his warmth. He didn't rush. He inhaled deeply, burying his face in my hair, pulling in the scent of my freshly washed skin.
"You are my truth," he whispered, the words a raw confession. "And I'm tired of the lie."
He brought his mouth down on mine. The kiss was deep, slow, and devastatingly consuming—a fusion of the gentle man who needed comfort and the dominant man who demanded ownership. His hands cupped my face, holding me steady while his lips commanded total surrender.
He pulled back, his eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive need. He didn't need my consent; he needed my devotion.
He reached down and found the belt of the silk robe, pulling it loose with a slow, deliberate motion. The silk fell open, exposing me completely to his hungry gaze.
Bok Soo let out a low, guttural sound, his eyes burning with desire and triumph. He swept me up into his arms, holding me tightly against his powerful chest.
He carried me to the center of the vast, isolated room. He lowered me onto the enormous bed, his body following mine. The weight of his desire, his focus, and his raw need was the only reality left.
He looked down at me, his eyes dark, intense, and demanding. He lowered his head, not for a kiss, but to trail a scorching line of open-mouthed kisses down my neck, demanding my complete submission and presence.
"This is not a mistake, Peter Bella," he murmured, his voice thick with passion. "This is necessary. You are mine."
I gripped his shoulders, the muscles hard under my hands. The world narrowed down to the sound of our ragged breaths and the intoxicating scent of our merged desire. The years of insecurity vanished under the heat of his intense focus. I was beautiful. I was desired. I was his.
He moved over me, his possessive hands staking his claim, and in the isolated silence of his secret sanctuary, the debt was paid, not in money, but in fire.