The next morning, Han Nari opened her eyes and stayed lying in the empty bed, the wrinkled sheets still carrying the warm scent of her boyfriend, but that scent no longer touched her, it slid over her like water over plastic, and there was only one word pounding in her head, pulsing in her temples, beating between her thighs like a second heart.
Jeon Sion.
Jeon Sion.
Jeon Sion.
She repeated it without sound, lips slightly parted, breath short, and each syllable brought up a deep, heavy, shameful heat rising from the bottom of her stomach to the tips of her breasts, to the tips of her fingers that were already trembling.
She had never felt this.
Not like this.
Not this violently.
The apartment was silent.
Her boyfriend had left for work, as always, early, too early.
A coffee left on the table, a kind note, predictable, warm.
She slid a hand under the sheet, slowly, almost guilty, brushed her already soaked underwear, and the first contact made her jolt, a muffled moan escaping her throat before she could hold it back.
It wasn't a shameful gesture, nor an innocent one.
It was a need.
Brutal.
Urgent.
Born from the violence of that night.
She closed her eyes.
And he was there.
His golden eyes.
His deep voice.
His imaginary hands, huge, brutal, spreading her thighs without asking, pinning her to the mattress, filling her until she screamed.
A moan escaped her, uncontrollable.
— Sion…
She didn't want to say his name.
She didn't even understand why it came out of her mouth.
But it was stronger than her.
Her hand slid deeper, faster, with a hunger that scared her.
Her thighs trembled, her hips lifted to meet her own touch.
She imagined his fingers, long, powerful, grabbing her without asking, holding her open under him, filling her until she lost her breath.
She moaned again.
Louder.
A rough, torn sound.
The pleasure rose all at once, violent, almost painful.
She pressed a hand over her mouth to smother the cry that escaped her, her legs contracting so hard a shiver ran up to her shoulder blades.
Then she collapsed against the mattress.
Panting.
Shaking.
Still hit by spasms.
When she caught her breath, she felt a tear slide down her cheek.
Not sadness.
Not shame.
Shock.
— You're sick, Nari… she muttered, voice broken.
But the worst part was that she didn't believe it.
Deep down…
she wanted to do it again.
She stayed still for a long moment, chest still hot, fingers still trembling.
Then she got up suddenly, as if the air was suffocating her.
She almost ran to the bathroom, turned on the water, let the icy water bite her skin.
She clenched her teeth, placed her hands flat against the cold tiles.
But even the cold didn't wash his name away.
Sion.
It came back like an obsession.
A pulse.
An order.
When she stepped out of the shower, her heart was still beating too fast.
She dressed without thinking, black jeans, white shirt, leather jacket, black makeup around her eyes, like an armor she already knew was useless.
But nothing stopped that feeling in her chest:
she had to see him again.
Not to thank him.
Not to understand.
But because something inside her had burned last night, an ember that wanted only one thing: to return to its arsonist.
She left.
She walked.
She didn't know where she was going, but her feet did.
The rain had stopped, the air was cold, clean, almost cruel.
People walked fast, rushed, indifferent, and she moved among them like a sleepwalker, heart beating too hard, throat dry, hands in her pockets clenching and unclenching.
And then she saw him.
A huge billboard on the front of a glass skyscraper.
Until the world stopped.
A giant poster plastered on a building shining like a modern temple.
A face.
His face.
Golden eyes, tight jaw, icy, unbreakable aura.
JEON SION
Heir of Jeon Industries
The world around her blurred.
The noise of horns, footsteps, voices, everything shut off.
— What…?
Her voice cracked in the air.
People turned their heads.
She didn't care.
She almost ran toward the billboard, like she was magnetized.
She grabbed a man by the arm.
— Please… this man, do you know him? Do you know where I can find him?
The man laughed.
A laugh that said you have no idea what you're walking into.
— Him? Everybody knows Jeon Sion.
If you've got any instinct, you stay away from that guy.
Unless you like dying young.
But the more they told her to be scared, the more she moved forward.
As if her body knew something she refused to admit.
The others she questioned said the same, some with fear, some with admiration, all with the same warning: stay away.
Her legs carried her in front of an enormous glass tower, cold, arrogant.
Jeon Industries.
A building that didn't look like a workplace.
It was a fortress.
She entered.
The air was icy, silent, filled with people in suits, stiff like soldiers.
She approached the reception desk.
— Hello… I would like to see Jeon Sion.
The receptionist, without looking up:
— Interview?
Sixth floor. Left door.
He will receive you personally.
The world stopped.
He will receive you personally.
She felt her fingers tremble.
She went up.
Each step echoed in her head like a hammer blow.
Her breath quickened.
A dizziness rose to her skull.
In front of the glass door, she stood still.
One minute.
Then two.
Then five.
She stepped back.
She wanted to run.
She touched the handle.
Let go.
And suddenly — a voice behind her.
Deep.
Cold.
Inevitable.
— You?
She turned around.
He was there.
Very close.
The entire hallway seemed to change temperature when their eyes met.
As if the air froze around his silhouette, as if the world held its breath so it wouldn't disturb the wave vibrating between them.
He stopped one meter from her.
No more.
No less.
That calculated, dangerous distance.
The distance of a predator letting the prey come on its own.
His golden eyes slid slowly from her face to her throat, then to her trembling hands.
He observed every detail.
Every breath.
Every weakness.
Then he lifted his head.
— You… he repeated, slower this time, his low voice scraping the air like a blade.
Nari felt her legs give out under her.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
But something just as violent.
An internal jolt, a dizziness, an emptiness in her belly begging to be filled.
She opened her mouth — no sound.
He stepped forward.
One step.
But it was enough for her to feel his warmth, his scent: a mixture of cold rain, blond tobacco, and something metallic, almost animal.
He tilted his head slightly, observing her as if she were a riddle that annoyed and intrigued him at the same time.
— What did you want? he repeated, slower, each word a punch in the sternum.
To thank me again?
Or did you want me to finish what those two assholes started?
Silence.
Long.
Too long.
Nari felt her throat tighten.
— No… I… it's not… she began, her voice trembling.
He stepped closer again.
Their breaths touched.
— Speak louder.
It wasn't a request.
It was an order.
She inhaled, her chest rising in a broken breath.
He finally stepped back half a step — enough for her to breathe.
Not enough to break his invisible cage.
— You came for the interview? he asked suddenly, as if the conversation had shifted into another universe.
Nari blinked.
— T… the interview…?
He placed his finger against her lower lip.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to silence her.
— Go upstairs. Back door.
I'll see you.
His tone was icy.
Cold.
Authoritative.
But under his words, there was something else.
A burning, hungry tension.
As if he were holding back a dangerous impulse.
He turned away.
Without waiting.
Without checking if she would follow.
Because he knew she would.
Nari stayed alone in the hallway, heart on fire, unable to move for a few seconds.
Her legs were shaking.
Her fingers were cold.
Her belly was still burning from her own gesture that morning.
She took a deep breath.
Then she moved.
Toward the back door.
Toward him.
Toward the beginning of a fall she would never return from.