#Brief Distributed

[digitalcreationsllc]

Novel zero-day exploits fuel Q3 surge in DDoS attacks

Dive Brief: Distributed denial of service attacks escalated during the third quarter, as a novel zero-day vulnerability led to a series of record-breaking attacks that continued into the month of October, according to a report released Thursday by Cloudflare.  Exploits of the HTTP/2 Rapid Reset vulnerability led to record breaking incidents, as Cloudflare reported 89 attacks that exceeded 100…

[hawthorn-mori]

OMG LOL???

Taking a brief break to record progress

The boop meter seems to progrsss on a scale of

30 > 100 > 300 > 700 > MAX > LOL > OMG

Of gives, the appearance only changes based on gives, but the revived seems to follow the same process

Additionally there are two badges I’ve unlocked so far! Let’s see if there’s more, I doubt so since staff seem to have all the badges pre unlocked

Edit

Yall don’t even know what fucked up shits been going on

Edit 2

Ladies and Gentlemen and Y’all else who may

We got a tumblr

See it in its original splendour down there

The order seems to be

30 > 100 > 300 > 700 > MAX > LOL > OMG > WOW > *-* > WHY > PLZ > AAA > ;_; > 0_0 > T_T > <33 > TUM/BLR

edit 3

I didn’t use an autoclicker because I started at 2am when it dropped, had no idea it was April fools, got an instant adrenaline high that lasted for four straight hours (the blood pressure has not done my legs any good) and just went apeshit

If you do this manually like me, I thoroughly recommend using a gaming controller, or anything with a trigger input on pc, I have a steamdeck so I used that. You’ll also be there for at least 6 hours ngl.

I probably could’ve been more efficient but I didn’t want to over spam people and wanted to fairly distribute clicks, have fun!

[theogonize]

so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*

a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick 😮‍💨 so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!

nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.

nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.

nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.

nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?

nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.

nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (

nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.

choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.

nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?

nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.

nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.

"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."

uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.

"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.

nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.

nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.

nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.

nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.

nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)

nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.

"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."

oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.

you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.

"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.

fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.

he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.

nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Most Antivan Crows do not live long enough to experience a midlife crisis

The Crows supply their ranks generally from orphans, illegitimate or abandoned children, children purchased from slavery, whore houses and other similar sources. Some are born into the Crows already, but those would be a very small minority, for reasons explained below.

Lucanis mentions that Crow training involves a lot of acrobacy. After a brief search, sports with similar physical requirements such as gymnastics, ballet and martial arts have the ideal starting age in the range of 4-10 years, 15 at the latest, when the children's joints are still flexible (and their minds can be easily manipulated). Zevran is canonically stated to have been taken at the age of 7.

Crow training is intense and brutal, involving straight up torture as tests of pain tolerance. From the 18 fledglings of House Arainai taken in the same year as Zevran, only two survived to the end of their training (World of Thedas Vol. 2). Training with real weapons, harsh punishment, possibly the Spartan custom of underfeeding the children and driving them to stealing food for themselves to encourage learning stealth and resourcefulness, and very likely killing any who try to run away, all these are very likely factors for the high death rate among fledglings.

If the average age of newest Crow fledglings is 6, they might be ready for promotion to the rank of Assassin very well as early as the age of 14-15. This is where the second meat grinder starts, these new Crows will already have plenty experience, but the first solo contracts will still likely take many of them, either killed by their targets, by their Masters for failing the contract, or by themselves to avoid the pain and humiliation of returning to their Masters unsuccessful. This period might likely have the highest suicide rates in general, as the new Crows are still relatively emotionaly vulnerable but old enough to comprehend their position in the world and the weight of their actions.

Promotion to the rank of Assassin also certainly brings great benefits that only increase as the Crow's career progresses and their contracts bring them more coin. The comforts and opulence of Antiva are for them to take, and someone who has grown up only knowing hunger and pain will certainly not hold back. Alcohol, drugs, sex, all the addictions and diseases will surely take the lives of many Crows.

An Assassin's career begins early and ends early. To use sports and dance once again, most porfessional gymnasts and ballet dancers retire between the ages of 25 and 35 as their physical capabilities decline. Those who have survived this long will be granted the rank of Master and oversee the distribution of contracts and the training of fledglings, and will participate in actual assassinations much less. This is also where one might strive to become a Grandmaster or even a Talon. At this point, a Crow will have enough prominence within the organization that they might become a target themselves. Only the most skilled, well-connected and ruthless Crows will continue to rise and, most importantly, continue to live.

If a presumed average number of fledglings per House is around 20, 2-3 will make it to Assassin. In one Assassin's 20 years long career, that would make only about 50 new Assassins out of 400 fledglings. Probably only about a half of those will make it to 35. Even fewer will make it to 50. Out of 400 children bought or stolen from the streets.

Caterina Dellamorte is over 70 years old.

[libertineangel]

One of the key tasks of any Communist Party is to prove itself a force capable of seeing to the needs of the people, that it is a group from the people and of the people that recognises the problems faced on the ground and can be relied upon to address them more than any liberal organisation.

Ho Chi Minh distributed rice, the Black Panthers ran breakfast programmes & literacy groups, meanwhile every communist group in this country just spends its time going on marches and (not) selling newspapers when if any of them were worth the red dye of their banners they'd be actually trying to help any of the myriad struggles faced by the proletariat today. This is just a brief thought, not a formulated plan, but frankly I think if a Communist group put up flyers offering a free (or at least at-cost) cleaning service to help people with mold issues they'd do infinitely more good than any number of recruitment flyers & protest placards.

[sayruq]

Three days ago, the Israeli military dropped flyers ordering displaced people and residents of Rafah to leave. In the orders where people were told to move out of Rafah, the military said it was “about to operate with force against the terror organisations in the area”. A UN estimate says there are 1.2 million people sheltering in dire conditions in Rafah, Gaza's southern city. The "full-blown famine" that has taken hold in the north of Gaza has spread to the south, Cindy McCain, the head of the World Food Programme, confirmed over the weekend. There are roughly 200 Palestinians that are being forcibly displaced from Rafah every hour, the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (Unrwa) said on Wednesday. During an online press briefing, medical doctors and humanitarian aid workers reporting from the ground in Gaza spoke about the impossible feat of moving people from Rafah, as people are ridden by famine plus a collapsed transportation and healthcare system. "There are children and elderly that are so starved that they can barely walk. These people cannot just relocate to another area, to so-called 'safe zones'. It is not possible," Alexandra Saieh, head of humanitarian policy from Save the Children, said. Several aid workers have expressed that there is no "safe" area in the Gaza Strip for people to relocate to. "The concept of safe zones is a lie," Helena Marchal, from Medecins du Monde, said. Aid workers also reiterated the difficulty of getting aid both into Gaza and then distributing it. Both the Rafah and the Kerem Shalom crossings, through which most aid reached the besieged Strip, have closed since Sunday evening. Roads across Gaza are largely destroyed or blocked by people sheltering, contributing to the difficulty of movement of both goods and people. Only a very limited number of routes, especially between the north and south, are available for humanitarian use, Jeremy Konyndyk, from Refugees International, explained. Another issue is overcrowding. "In Deir al-Balah and the Mawasi area on the outskirts of the Rafah and Khan Younis governorates, there is barely any space. There are tents everywhere, on the beach, on the sidewalks, the streets, the graveyards, the courtyards of the hospitals, in the courtyards of the schools," Ghada Alhaddad, from Oxfam International, said. Saieh explained that it took her team six weeks and four failed attempts to move a couple of hundred food parcels from Rafah to the north of Gaza. "One litre of fuel cost $40 yesterday," according to Ranchal. Fuel enters through the Rafah crossing. If the fuel is cut off, the aid operation collapses," Konyndyk said.

[sematarygirls]

   EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE x FEM!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ unprotected p in v, breeding kink if you squint, heavyyyy angst, rafe being an asshole (as per usual), brief mentions of guns/police raid and drugs

NOTES .ᐟ guys, i need him so bad, like actually. based on this concept from my silly little brain. dad!rafe stays in my mind 24/7, but this is me we're talking about, so of course, i had to put a lil spin on it. also this turned out way longer than i meant it to, woah

After almost four years, you were finally starting to feel like you were getting your shit together. You were living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where everyone knew everyone—the kind of place where people literally asked their neighbors for cups of sugar. You had a stable job that allowed you to live comfortably and provide for yourself and your daughter, and you had a big St. Bernard, lovingly named Moonshine after you'd watched one too many episodes of Moonshiners, that provided a sense of safety and security when the nights were cold and the paranoia started to creep into your mind.

Being a single mom was not easy, and it definitely hadn't been a part of your life plan, but then, you met Rafe Cameron—the ever charming, sweet talking man that he was. He swept you up and made you feel like the only girl in the world, like nothing else mattered as long as you were by his side, so when you found out you were pregnant, you were over the moon at the idea of starting a family with him.

But Rafe Cameron was a liar. He was selfish and manipulative, and he turned your life right on it's head.

You could still remember the day the police kicked in the door of your apartment, bursting in with guns drawn, pointed directly at you. You were eight months pregnant and having a gun pointed at you—at your baby—made you physically ill.

They had raided the apartment and found copious amounts of drugs. Your heart dropped, and you immediately felt like an idiot. How had you not known? You knew he made more money than he realistically should have, but the thought never even crossed your mind that this could be the reason. You were heartbroken and angry. Angry that he had lied. Angry that he put you in this position. And, angry that he was leaving you.

Rafe was arrested, and eventually charged with possession with intent to distribute due to the amount of drugs they found, which resulted in a five year sentence. You were sad and angry, not only because you were losing the man you always thought was the love of your life, but also because now, you were alone, and your daughter wouldn't know her father for the first five years of her life.

This anger and resentment festered, mixing with longing and a deep, aching sadness. You couldn't bring yourself to answer his calls or letters, let alone visit him. You didn't know who he was anymore. The man that you saw sporting handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit at his trial was not the same man you fell in love with, and you wouldn't pretend like he was.

You had known Rafe's release date was approaching, but you were under the impression that you still had a little over a year to plan on what you were going to do when it finally came. That's why you were so unsuspecting when you went to answer the harsh knock at your door.

It was a Thursday night, and you were cuddled up on the couch with Moonshine, who was practically the size of you. A horror movie was playing on the TV before you, one you'd seen practically a million times, and every few minutes, your gaze would flicker to the baby monitor on the coffee table that displayed the feedback from a camera in your daughter, Rhiannon's, room.

You jumped a little at the harsh sound of a knock on your front door, the horror movie already having you on edge. You could be paranoid sometimes, especially being a single mom, so realistically, you knew you shouldn't have been watching it so late at night, but they were your guilty pleasures that you couldn't indulge in the light of day because of your toddler.

Moonshine immediately jumped up, a low growl escaping his throat as his hair stood on end. Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, pausing the movie and unfurling yourself from your comfortable position. Your steps were soft on the hardwood, your socks cushioning the sound as you padded over to the front door, patting the dog's head comfortingly as you unlocked the door, completely unaware with what would greet you on the other side.

As you opened the door, the cool night air hit you, carrying with it the faint scent of cigarette smoke. You blinked in surprise, expecting to see a neighbor, but instead, you found yourself face to face with Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widened, the air knocked from your lungs as you took him in. He was changed, broader and more imposing, his muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he crossed his arms. His hair was buzzed, his chiseled jawline sporting stubble that made him look older, more mature.

He looked so different, but still, somehow, the same. You were hit by a wave of emotions—longing, love, sadness, but most presently, anger. Who did he think he was showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after all these years, especially looking so unapologetic and devastatingly handsome.

His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, captivating and dangerous like a wave pulling you under when you least expected it. "Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off his tongue. The term of endearment fell from his lips without any semblance of warmth as he stared at you with an intensity that made you want to shrink in on yourself.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your jaw clenching and grip on the door's edge tightening. You shivered a little as the cold air bit at your bare skin, barely registering the low growls of Moonshine behind you due to your tunnel vision on the man standing before you.

He smirked confidently, knowing the effect he had on you—the effect he always had on you. His eyebrow arched as he took in your appearance, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs, courtesy of your pajama shorts. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart? It's been a long time." He took a step forward, his broad frame filling the doorway intimidatingly.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back and let him intimidate you into getting what he wanted. You craned your neck to look up at him, his close proximity looming over you, making him seem even taller and more imposing than he already was. "And whose fault is that?" You managed to say, despite the pit in your stomach—a mix of dread, anxiety, and strangely, desire.

Rafe's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting dangerously. He uncrossed his arms and braced one hand on the doorframe beside your head, leaning in closer. It made your breath catch in your throat, but you held firm. You couldn't let him see that he was getting to you. "Let me in," he clenched his jaw. His anger at you for abandoning him in there had been bubbling up, and your defiance was bringing it to the surface.

A light flickering on in the house across the street caught your eye. Old lady Flanigan had a habit of making everyone else's business, her business, and she was a nasty gossip. Unless you wanted people talking, you either had to let him in or get him to leave, and one of those would be a nearly impossible feat. "Rafe, you can't be here. You can't just barge back into my life after all this time," you told him firmly, your own eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.

"And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His body was practically vibrating with pent-up anger, his muscles taut as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. "Did you ever think about me? Did you ever think about what you did to us?"

"What I did?" You scoffed, anger bubbling up inside you at his accusation, blaming you as if he wasn't the one that went to prison and left you alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The old woman across the street was now shamelessly watching through her window, and you knew you had no choice but to let him in before her nosey ass called the cops on the strange, clearly out of place man lurking in the neighborhood.

He followed your eyes, looking over his shoulder to the nosy neighbor, his expression darkening. Without another word, he pushed past you, entering the house and forcing you to step back.

Your jaw clenched at his blatant disregard or respect for your wishes as you gently closed the door behind you. Moonshine barked, baring his teeth at the intruder, clearly sensing the tension and jumping into action to protect his family. "Moonshine, stop," you told him firmly. You were proud of him, but you didn't want his barking to wake Rhiannon. The last thing you could deal with right now was Rafe and a crying toddler. You could only focus on one temper tantrum at a time.

Rafe's eyes narrowed as he watched you control your dog, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze then swept the interior of your home, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. "Nice place," he commented flatly, turning back to face you. "Where's my kid?"

You took a deep breath, your gaze hard at him calling your daughter his kid, like he had any right. He didn't even know her name or that she was a girl. "She's asleep," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.

His piercing eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Her name." he demanded gruffly.

"Rhiannon," you informed him hesitantly, your gaze darting to the monitor on the coffee table, making sure she was still asleep.

His expression flickered briefly, a flash of something softer, almost vulnerable, in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. He nodded once. "I want to see her." It wasn't a request. His posture remained tense and coiled, ready to react to your response.

You huffed, running a hand through your hair and heading to the kitchen with him hot on your heels. Maybe you wanted to busy yourself. Maybe you wanted an excuse not to have to look at him. Maybe you just wanted to walk away from him, to assert some kind of power. Either way, your next words were spoken with your back to him. "I told you. She's asleep. It's the middle of the fucking night, Rafe, what did you expect?"

He followed you into the kitchen, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "I don't give a fuck what time it is," he growled, his voice low and intense. "I've missed four years of her life already."

You rounded the kitchen island, planting your hands on it as you turned to face him, feeling more comfortable with the counter between you. Not because you were scared of him but because, despite yourself and despite your anger, you longed to touch him and have him touch you. "And whose fucking fault is that, huh?" You asked angrily, echoing your earlier words that he had ignored.

Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying to rein in his anger. "Yours," he bit out. "You left me in there," he accused.

"You left me out here!" Your voice raised slightly before you caught yourself, letting out a hard breath. The only way you could keep yourself from getting sad, from crying over the loss of the only man you'd ever truly loved, was getting angry at him.

"You think I wanted to go to prison?" He hissed, rounding the island and backing you against the counter. "You think I had a fucking choice?"

"You did have a choice," you said sharply, bracing your hands on the counter behind you as you stared up at him. "You chose to deal drugs, and you chose to keep dealing even after you found out I was pregnant. Prison was just the consequence of all your shitty choices."

His hand came up, slamming on the cabinet beside your head, the sound making you jump slightly. "And what about you?" He seethed, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, angry bursts. "What about your choices, huh? You could've waited for me."

"I did what I had to do," you said, glaring at him. You weren't quite sure what else to say. You had to protect yourself, your own feelings, and your child. You couldn't have stayed in touch, sick with worry every night while you soothed a colicky baby all by yourself. You had to forget him; it was better that way, easier.

"What you had to do," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm and the faintest hint of hurt. "You moved on pretty quick, didn't you? Found some new dick to warm your bed, is that it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, the words stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to even look at another man since he went away. You told yourself it was just because of Rhiannon, that you were focusing on raising her and being the best mother you could be, but deep down, you knew it was because your heart would always belong to Rafe.

"Is that it?" he repeated, his face inches from yours. His voice was low, his eyes searching yours for something. "You found some other man to replace me?"

"Maybe I have," you said stubbornly. You knew you were being petty, wanting him to hurt like you hurt, but you also knew you were a shit liar, so there was no way in hell he would actually believe you. "Maybe I have moved on."

His other hand shot out, gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to look at him. "Bullshit," he growled, looking down at you, his blue eyes darkened. "I can see it in your eyes. You haven't moved on to shit."

You stared up at him defiantly, your chest heaving with anger, which only intensified when you felt the wetness between your thighs. Even after all this time, all it took was a look and a simple touch to get you so wet, and as much as you hated it, you couldn't deny that something about his post-prison appearance—how rugged and large he was—made your knees week.

His hand tightened on your chin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was clear he was angry, punishing you for the words you'd spoken, and you knew you should've pushed him away—yelled at him and told him to get the fuck out of your house—but you didn't.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him with an intensity that matched the war going on within you—the jumbled mess of love and hate that he had brought up within you.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your face roughly as he devoured your mouth. He pushed you further back against the counter that was now digging into your lower back, his body pinning you in place. You could feel his anger, his frustration, his desperation, and it only fueled your own emotions.

The kiss was raw and charged with a passionate mix of need, longing, and pure, unbridled anger, both of you trying to show the other that this wasn't a surrender of power or giving into the other and accepting blame. The kiss itself was an argument, a fight all of its own that didn't require words.

He hands went to your hips, lifting you onto the counter and stepping between your parted legs. Tearing his mouth from yours, he began kissing along your jawline and down the column of your throat. His lips were hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your skin as he continued to mark you.

You panted, your chest heaving for an entirely different reason now as you let out soft gasps and breathy sounds of approval, your head falling back against the cabinet behind your head. You had forgotten how good he was with his mouth, always knowing exactly how to drive you wild.

He took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You let out a low moan, your nails raking against his buzzed scalp. As sexy as he looked with a buzzcut, you wished you could run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly everytime he touched you just right.

"Mmm," he hummed against your skin, his voice a low vibration that seemed to go straight to your core. He kissed his way back up to your mouth, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against your core. "Did you forget how good I am, baby?"

You internally rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, like he had won. "God, do you ever shut up?" You asked, sounding less annoyed and effective since you were still breathless from his kisses.

His hips thrust forward again, making an involuntary whine fall from your lips at the feeling. "Not when I'm right." He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smirk was as frustratingly handsome as it had always been, and it made you want to smack him and kiss him all at once. "And I am."

"Don't be a dickhead," you glared at him, his arrogance and your own unyielding need for him only heightening your frustration. You were desperate and aching for him, but you refused to give in and beg him like you wanted to.

"Then quit acting like you're not soaking wet for me." His grip on your thighs tightened, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I bet if I slipped my hand into your shorts, I'd find you drenched and ready for me, wouldn't I?"

His smug tone infuriated you and turned you on all at once. "Shut up, Rafe," you demanded, balling your fist into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, so you could press your lips to his, forcing him to shut up and quit pissing you off.

Your grip on his shirt loosened, hand sliding down his hard, muscular chest to his waistband. You had always seen the trope of guys working out their frustrations in prison movies, but you didn't know that was actually a thing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, sliding it along yours in a way that had you moaning against his lips

He groaned low in his throat as you finally worked the belt buckle open, sliding the leather through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a clank. His hands immediately slid up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs—with the help of you awkwardly shifting to lift your ass enough to do so.

He discarded the garments to the floor with his belt, his palms running along your bare thighs as he parted your legs wider, opening you to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against your center, feeling your slick folds, making you gasp into his mouth. "Told you," he grinned against your lips, finding it in himself to be a complete dick, even when he was about to be inside you.

"Asshole," you mumbled, fingers deftly popping open the button of his jeans and unzipping them. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down as he had done to you.

He kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, stepping between your thighs again. His hard cock was flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He gripped himself at the base, rubbing the head through your slick folds teasingly. "What was that, baby?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Just put your dick inside me before I kill you," you threatened him, though you both knew you wouldn't do anything, not really.

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He teased, his tip nudging against your entrance but not pushing inside. "Beg for it, baby. Let me hear how much you need my cock." He didn't need to be angry when he could punish you like this. He knew begging was the last thing you wanted to do, but he also knew that you'd do it.

"Don't piss me off right now, Rafe," you gritted your teeth, the feeling of him against your entrance making you dizzy with desire.

"Or what, baby? You'll what?" He pressed against you again, the tip of his cock pushing inside just slightly before pulling back out. "Tell me what you'll do if I don't give you what you want." He was pushing your buttons, knowing exactly how to make you snap.

You practically whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out. "Fuck- fine, please, Rafe," you panted, furious with yourself and him that you were giving into him. "Please just fuck me already."

The confident, victorious smirk that instantly appeared on his face had you wanting to slap him. "Now was that so hard?" He condescend. Your annoyed retort died in your throat as he finally pushed into you, making you moan, your head falling back against the cupboard at the feeling of him inside you after so long.

He groaned as your tight heat enveloped him, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he started to move. His body tensed, using every ounce of his self control not to cum on the spot. Four years of fucking himself in his hand was nothing compared to the way you were squeezing him right now.

One hand moved up to your mouth, muffling your growing moans and whines. "Shh," he cooed. You were thankful for it. You knew you had to be quiet, but the way he was pounding into you made it nearly impossible.

"Did you miss me, baby?" He leaned down, breathing hotly against your neck as he nipped at your throat. "Did you lay awake at night thinking about me stretching you like this?" He flexed his hips, driving deep inside you.

You nodded, letting out a muffled "mhm" against his palm as your back arched into him. He felt so good, better than you'd remembered, and you hadn't had sex in four years, so you were so worked up.

"Good," he purred, his teeth scraping against your skin as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Because I missed you too, baby. Missed this tight little cunt wrapped around my dick." The hand on your thigh dipped down between your legs, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You gasped against his palm, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. You were already so pathetically close, feeling that familiar aching deep within you.

He could feel your weepy cunt starting to flutter around him, and he was more than glad that you were so close so quickly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold back. "Gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy, baby. Gonna get you pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna miss a damn thing"

His words turned you on more than they should have, snapping that coil inside you and sending you over the edge. You tensed around his dick, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you cried out his name.

"Shit, baby," he groaned, burying his face into your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin as he pushed himself deep inside you, painting your insides white with his release. His breath was hot against your already heated skin, a thin layer of sweat coating both your bodies as he slowly softened inside you.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, his hand falling from your mouth to brace himself on the counter. You couldn't believe that after all these years of promising yourself you wouldn't let him back into your life, you had so easily opened your legs and even let him cum inside you—because clearly that worked out so well for you last time.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of finally being home where he belonged. He eventually pulled out, his softening dick slipping from your tender cunt.

You had to tell him that he couldn't stay, that it would confuse Rhiannon to wake up to a strange man in the house, but you didn't know how, not after what just happened.

He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the counter. A silence fell over both of you as you got dressed, neither one knowing what happens now. He finished buttoning up his jeans, his eyes flicking up to you as he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "So... what now?" He asked gruffly, breaking the silence.

"You can't- you have to go," you told him, pulling your shorts back up and crossing your arms. It seemed unfair to say such a thing after sharing such an intimate moment, but you needed to think of your daughter. She didn't even know who Rafe was.

"You're kicking me out?" He echoed, as if he couldn't believe it. "After... that?" He gestured vaguely, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, both of you finding yourselves right back where you started. "You cant just... be here. Rhiannon doesn't even know who you are." The words seemed cruel as soon as they left your lips, but they were true. You wished they weren't, but they were.

"I know. Fuck, I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He was frustrated, your words like a slap to the face. "But goddamn it, I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life."

"I'm not saying you can't be, but... she's four, Rafe. She's old enough that you can't just walk in and call yourself her father," you told him firmly. "It's going to take time. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Time?" He asked incredulously. Deep down, he knew you were right, that you were doing what was best, but he was so angry at himself, and instead of facing that anger and acknowledging that this was his own doing, he was taking it out on you. "I've already missed four fucking years. First steps, first words, first everythings."

"I can't keep going in circles with you, Rafe," you ran your hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. "You do this my way, or you don't do this at all." It hurt you to be so cold. You wanted Rhiannon to know her father, but she was just a kid. She wouldn't understand why her dad just showed up out of the blue, and you didn't know how to explain it to her.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, he spoke, his voice low. "Alright. Fine. Your way. But you better not shut me out again. I'm not gonna miss anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, thankful that he was going to stop fighting you on this. "Do you have a-a number or something?" You asked, unsure how long he'd been out, if he got his phone back and was able to pay the bill or if he bought a burner. You didn't even know where he was staying.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's the same as my old one," he said gruffly, clearly annoyed by your previous ultimatum.

"Right, okay," you nodded, your fingers drumming against your upper arm. You two stood in silence for a long moment. Rafe didn't want to leave, and you didn't want to tell him to.

Rafe's gaze fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Can I see her before I go?" He asked softly. "Just... just to see her."

There was a shift in his demeanor, a vulnerability about him that told you he really did care about Rhiannon, even if he'd never met her. "Yeah," you found yourself nodding, turning to lead him to her room. As you entered the living room, you could've sworn Moonshine was giving a disapproving side eye. "Don't judge me," you mumbled.

He followed you down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He paused in the doorway of Rhiannon's room, looking in on her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side in a princess toddler bed, her little arms wrapped around a stuffed cat. Rafe's expression softened as he took her in.

His eyes swept over the room, the nightlight plugged into the wall illuminating the space. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, toys strewn about. A small bookshelf sat tucked in the corner, various children's books inside, some sitting on the floor in front of it.

He stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon's sleeping face as he reached out, his large hand gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "She's so little," he murmured softly, almost reverently.

You leaned on the doorway, a small, sad smile pulling at your lips as you watched the exchange. You found yourself wondering what life would have been like if Rafe never got locked up, your heart aching as you thought about sharing all of Rhiannon's firsts with someone, bickering over whether she would've said mommy or daddy first. The wobbly first steps, the soothing and band-aid applications after she scraped her knees. What would it have been like to share those moments with him?

Rafe's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's beautiful." He turned his head to look at you, and you saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, clearing his throat as he stood, masking his emotions as he always had. "I should go."

You hesitated, for a moment wanting to throw everything you'd said out the window and tell him to stay, but you knew you couldn't. You just nodded, letting him push past you. You didn't move from your spot, even after you heard the front door open and shut. You simply closed your eyes, leaning your head against the doorframe as a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

[fairuzfan]

Another soldier, who served in northern and central Gaza, testified that soldiers “took rugs, blankets, [and] kitchen utensils,” and explained that there was no briefing on the matter from the army either before entering or while in the field. “There was zero talk about it from the commanders,” he said. “Everyone knows that people are taking things. It’s considered funny — people say: ‘Send me to The Hague.’ It doesn’t happen in secret. The commanders saw, everyone knows, and no one seems to care.”

The soldier offered his explanation for why the phenomenon is so widespread: “There is something about this reality in which the house is already [in ruins] that allows you to take a plate or rug. In one of the operations, in a destroyed house, there was a cupboard with antique kitchen utensils, special plates, special mugs. I saw them being looted, unfortunately.”

“[The commanders] didn’t really talk to us about it,” another soldier testified. “They didn’t say you couldn’t take things. And most people felt the need to take a souvenir.” 

The soldier noted that the looting was no secret; indeed, some of their seniors were doing it too. “The company sergeant major distributed Qur’an study books that he found and gave to whomever wanted them,” he said. “Another soldier took a set of coffee mugs, a serving tray, and a pot. Another unit, whom we met after they returned from a tour, brought a motorcycle, like the Nukhba [Hamas special forces] motorcycles. One of the soldiers declared that it was his. They [the soldiers] talked about renovating it.”

Another soldier who served in Gaza told +972 and Local Call that soldiers took “prayer beads, spoons, glasses, coffee pots, jewelry, rings. Whatever is easy and accessible is taken. Not everything, but people felt like the lords of the land.” He noted also that “maps from children’s textbooks were taken to show how they are taught there.”

[carionto]

The terrifying sound of silence

"Where is the Human?"

A question that incites dread across the Galaxy. And no greater when the Human in question is an engineer.

For weeks after her arrival aboard the Coalition joint exploration vessel Ulmanar's Resilience, the Human Jenna had been pestering everyone about the technical specifications, tolerances, build schematics, design philosophy, power outputs, and countless other microscopic details.

At first everything seemed normal, Humans are known to be curios, especially the technically minded ones, and her job would entail managing parts of the vessel's systems, so everyone was as helpful as they could.

Then Jenna started tinkering.

'Optimizing' is how she described it.

Admittedly, most of her modifications resulted in marginal improvements to energy distribution and mechanical motion efficiency. Although the fact the power reactors started to make audible noise was... unusual, but the readings said everything was fine, and the fact a day passed without explosions put everyone at ease - this was partly why a Human engineer was brought along in the first place.

During a short stop at a supply station before our first descent onto an uncharted planet, Jenna was the first to rush off with several cargo drones in the direction of the shipyard district. She was the last to return mere minutes before the scheduled departure, all covered in dust and oil, and the drones straining under the weight of everything she had procured.

"Don't worry, it's gonna be awesome." she declared.

It had been a while since our training and none of us had encountered other Humans in the meantime, so all of us had forgotten to immediately be alarmed by those words and question everything she was doing.

The following weeks of transit to our destination were marked by a severe lack of Jenna interactions or even sightings. The shuttle bay was a mess of disassembled craft, loose parts flung about, and sparks and rattling noises coming from the bowels of whatever was going on.

Unbeknownst to us, for the idea itself was ludicrous, Jenna was only within the vessel half of the time during this period. The other half she was in her spacesuit tinkering with the exterior of the vessel. Laser cutters and cold welding, not to mention the vacuum of space, make for a very silent work environment.

Perhaps it was instinct for most of us to avoid the confusing actions of a predator species descendant, as once we arrived to the designated planet, we learned we only had two surface shuttles left. Out of sixteen.

"This baby can land now!" Jenna happily said.

Confused beyond measure, we asked: "What do you mean 'this baby?"

"The ship, you know, Ulmanar's Resilience. We can land the whole thing now instead of doing this boring shuttling down thing. Plus the terraforming bot wouldn't fit in a shuttle anyway."

"The what?" our confusion continued.

"Yeah, we're gonna terraform this planet, right? That's what I got from the briefing back before joining you guys." she explained with innocence in her eyes.

There must have been some miscommunication, but the work had been done, and as far as our own technicians (who were scolded harshly for not keeping track of such grand changes to the entire vessel) did confirm that, as far as their understanding of mechanics and physics went, Ulmanar's Resilience can now indeed endure descent and commence takeoff from up to a 6G world.

So I guess that's what we're doing now. Preliminary surveys from past unmanned missions had suggested this world was once in the past and potentially now habitable again, and we suppose the Humans had decided to just set that in motion before more detailed analysis had occurred.

"Oh yeah," Jenna interjected, "if it turns out this place is, like, super dangerous and a threat to the Galaxy if we accidentally wake something up, I modified one of the scanning dishes to be a deep drill laser. Two hours of firing it at the core of the planet and it'll go boom."

...

"The planet, not the laser dish. That will explode if left on for more than three hours."

...

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, basically no plot just fluff, minor autistic meltdown, they say the words!!!!!

Notes — This is just a little filler chapter to close out the 2020 season. Lots of fluff with some time skips too. The 2021 season will commence in the next chapter!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2020

The three months after Spa passed in a blur of hard work.

Amelia didn’t think she’d ever get used to the rhythm of a Formula One season; the relentless forward momentum of it all. There were no breaks, not really. Just quiet moments between sessions, late nights in hotel rooms with Lando wrapped around her, and long-haul flights where she could finally catch her breath and run strategy models in her head for fun instead of for work.

Max’s car was improving week after week. The upgrades came thick and fast now that Amelia had full focus on him, refinements to aero flow, marginal gains in brake cooling, a few drastic shifts to weight distribution that she'd pressured the Red Bull engineering team to follow through with despite their hesitation.

Adrian had taken to calling her kid when she got too excited about a breakthrough, but it was always muttered with fondness. 

And Max — Max was still Max.

He grumbled when she got picky with her data visualisation, called her irritant klein zusje when she insisted he sit through every single briefing, but followed her instruction anyway. Trusted her, even when she made calls that felt too risky. Especially then. He didn’t say thank you often, but when he did, it was quiet and sincere. She liked that about him.

And Lando.

She met his family in the weeks after Monza. He brought her to Glastonbury in the middle of a quiet break between races, beaming like he couldn’t wait another second to show her off. His mum was warm and lovely, welcoming Amelia with a hug and homemade cake. His siblings were all so unique, each of them brilliant in their own way, and eager to share their niche passions with her — from horse riding to finance to a surprising obsession with niche European cheeses. She adored them immediately.

It was easy to see where Lando got his unapologetic passion for racing from.

His dad, Adam, took longer to come around. He’d been blindsided by the announcement of their relationship, having found out with the rest of the world during the race coverage. Lando hadn’t told him — hadn’t wanted to risk the disapproval again. And Adam, used to being involved in every step of his son’s life, hadn’t taken kindly to being shut out.

But he came around. Slowly. Quietly. One afternoon in the garden, while Lando was inside, Adam turned to her and said, “I didn’t get it. At first. I was worried about what being with you would mean for his career. But he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. So I owe you an apology.”

Amelia, startled, could only nod.

She didn’t say it aloud — not yet, wasn’t ready to admit it even just to herself — but she was already more than halfway in love with Lando Norris. 

— 

Lando DNF’d in Eifel. 

“They said it was a power unit failure,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I could feel it going. Every lap, it got worse.”

Amelia nodded, watching him closely. “You did everything right. Everything Will told you to do.”

“That’s the worst part,” he said, eyes lifting to meet hers, tired and frustrated and still raw. “I didn’t mess up. I didn’t make a mistake. I just… there was nothing I could do.”

Amelia reached into her pocket, pulled out the soft, flexible tangle of her stim toy — one of the ones Lando had started calling squiggly guys — and handed it to him.

He took it without question, curling it absently around his fingers. “Thanks, baby.”

She leaned in a little closer now, shoulder brushing his. “You’re allowed to be upset,” she told him. “They have given you a car that is able to score points, but is dramatically unreliable. I would be upset too.” 

He glanced sideways at her, a small, slightly twisted smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You always say the perfect thing.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You know I don’t. I’m not good at comfort. I just tell you the truth.” 

Lando twisted the stim in one hand, then reached for hers with the other, tangling their fingers together. “Still think I’m impressive, even when I don’t make it to the chequered flag?”

She blinked at him, pure honesty shining in her eyes. “You’re my favourite driver on the grid.”

It was true. Max was a close second. Lewis next. 

She’d have to work on her rankings in 2021, when Fernando rejoined, but until then, she had it solidly figured out. 

Lando let out a soft laugh, eyes closing as he leaned his head against her shoulder. “God, I’d be a fucking mess without you, baby.”

Amelia smiled, heart thudding steadily behind her ribs. “I know.”

— 

In those three months, Quadrant grew.

It grew fast.

What had started as a fun, half-serious side project between Lando snowballed into something far bigger than anyone could have anticipated. It wasn’t just the occasional livestream anymore. It was a full-blown content collective. A brand. A business. Merch lines. Sponsorships. Contracts. Streaming schedules. Production meetings. More cameras, more followers, more of everything.

Lando was the founder of a company. Not just the face of a project, but the brain behind it too; the one calling the shots, making the pitches, signing off on designs. Sometimes he’d ask for Amelia’s opinion on things; colour-ways, logo placements, YouTube video titles. She’d answer, often unsurely, and he’d just beam at her like she’d solved world hunger, not told him to remove an unnecessary apostrophe from a word. 

It made her feel involved. Not responsible for any of it, but close to it; close to him.

That’s how she met Max Fewtrell, too. Not over a screen, like she might’ve assumed, but in person. A warm blur of a memory from a weekend after the Nürburgring. He’d walked up with a grin, greeted Lando like a brother, and then turned to her with an easy, “You must be Amelia, then.” His tone had been teasing, but not unkind. He didn’t make her feel weird for being quiet or for sticking close to Lando’s side at first. Just accepted it, like that was normal. And eventually, it felt like it was.

She appreciated that.

And she appreciated what Quadrant gave Lando; a space to be silly, expressive, fully himself.

He was clever, of course. Wickedly sharp when he wanted to be. But more than that, he had this charm; this ease that pulled people in. They listened when he talked. They laughed when he made a joke. He had a way of making even the most chaotic moment feel like fun.

He was a natural leader. The members of Quadrant, new and bright-eyed, gravitated around him like he was a planet and they were caught in his orbit, a solar system he never asked for but carried with him anyway.

Sometimes, when he dragged her into the frame during a stream, pulled her gently onto his lap, or handed her his headset so she could talk to Max and the others while he went to grab snacks, she let herself wonder what life would be like if she was more like them. Loud. Unapologetic. Effortlessly funny and open and always ready with something to say.

But then Lando would come back, settle behind her like it was the most natural thing in the world, arms looping around her waist as if to anchor her. The chat would light up with heart emojis and sweet messages, calling them perfect. Yin and yang. A balance. A calm and a chaos that just made sense.

And everything felt right. 

— 

By November, Amelia knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Max’s 2021 chassis would be championship-worthy.

Not just competitive. Not just "in the mix."

Capable of winning it all.

It was in the data. It was in the simulations. It was in the late-night sessions with Adrian where they fine-tuned wind profiles until dawn crept over Milton Keynes. It was in the way Max trusted her notes, asked her opinion, built his feedback loops around her suggestions.

It was in the silence after a long run on the dyno, where every number lined up just the way she’d imagined they would.

Every week, a new idea implemented.

Every week, something smarter, sleeker, faster.

Red Bull had built fast cars before; but this one felt different. This one was deliberate.

Dangerous.

She hadn’t just contributed to it. She’d helped shape it. Every inch of it.

Her fingerprints were baked into the car’s DNA, and when Max drove it next year, it would be hers, too. In every corner he took flat, in every overtake, in every tenth shaved off in qualifying.

Mercedes would still be strong. She knew that.

But Max would take them toe to toe.

And Amelia would be right there at his side. Building, watching, calculating.

2021 wasn’t just Max’s shot at greatness.

It was hers too.

— 

The season ended on a high. Abu Dhabi, a stunning victory for Max. A sign of what was to come. 

It was the perfect way to close out her time at Red Bull. One final ‘You’re welcome,’ to rub in Christian Horner’s face. 

They celebrated in Monaco, Lando surrounded by his friends and fellow drivers, with Amelia right there beside him. It was relaxed. Unfussy. And for once, she let herself unwind. She hadn’t expected to have as much fun as she did. She thought she’d just be there as Lando’s plus one, a quiet observer in the midst of his chaos. But with him there, the night had felt easy. He made her laugh. He made her feel at home in a crowd she usually would have kept her distance from. She didn’t even mind the noise or the flashing lights of the club, because he was there, and with him, everything felt just safe.

Lando was everywhere; dancing, laughing, talking to everyone, but he always circled back to her, like she was the centre of his world. Every time he found her across the room, usually huddled beside Max, his face lit up with a smile that made her feel warm all over. He pulled her into the dance floor, whispered things in her ear that made her blush, and made sure she had everything she needed. Even when the music was loud and everyone was buzzing, Lando had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the room.

— 

They were curled together on a sun lounger, tucked under a thin blanket that Lando insisted they didn’t need, even though his nose was a bit pink from the breeze. The Mediterranean shimmered around them in lazy shades of blue, calm and glittering beneath the winter sun.  Amelia could hear the faint clatter of someone, probably Fernando’s kitchen staff, moving around below deck, fixing up some strange version of a Christmas dinner.

For now, though, it was just them. Just warmth, quiet, and the steady beat of Lando’s heart against her ear.

His arm tightened around her waist, his chin resting in the crook of her shoulder. “My rookie year’s over,” he said quietly, the words slipping out like they’d been sitting on his tongue for a while. “Feels weird.” 

Amelia shifted a little, not quite turning to look at him, but enough that he knew she was listening. “Mm.”

“No more Carlos, either,” he added, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Zak said Ricciardo will be good, though. Great for the team.”

She hummed again. “I'm sure he will. Max still talks about him a lot.”

Lando huffed a small laugh, but there was an edge of unease to it. “That’s what people say. I just… I dunno.” Amelia waited. He always got there in the end, just took a bit of a winding road to get to the truth. “It’s stupid,” he admitted, eventually. “I know it is. But what if he’s better than me? What if everyone just… forgets me? He’s Daniel Ricciardo. People love him.”

“Lando,” she said, voice flat, like she couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the thought. “You can’t be forgotten. You’re too loud.”

He let out a weak laugh against her shoulder, his day-old facial hair tickling her skin. “You know what I mean, baby.”

“Yeah. I do,” she agreed. “I still think you’re being ridiculous.”

He was quiet for a second. “So you don’t think he’ll overshadow me?”

Amelia tilted her head up, just enough to meet his gaze. “No. He’s very charming, but he won’t overshadow you. McLaren is your team, Lando.”

That made him smile, just a little. “It might become Daniel’s team too.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. He seems fun. Annoyingly extroverted.”

Lando chuckled, the sound soft and fond. “That’s… yeah, that’s pretty accurate.” He was quiet again, but this time the silence didn’t feel heavy. Just thoughtful. His fingers found hers under the blanket, laced them together without saying anything.

“I’ll still be in the paddock. With Max. No more Red Bull team kit for me, so I’ll be able to wear my dresses and skirts and you’ll be able to pick me out of any crowd.” She mentioned. 

“Thank God,” Lando murmured, tugging her closer and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. 

She let herself rest against him, her head tucked into the curve of his chest, the rhythm of the sea matching the quiet beat of her thoughts.

Eventually, from below deck, Fernando’s voice called out, “Lunch is served!”

“Race to the stairs?” Lando whispered in her ear.

“I will push you over deck.” She said back. 

He grinned. “Dare you.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes, sat up, and tugged the blanket off both of them. “Come on, annoying,” she said. “I’m hungry. And I’ve never eaten Christmas dinner on a yacht before.” 

Lando grinned and followed her, still barefoot, still completely in awe that this was his life now.

They had decided, sometime in early December, to spend their first Christmas together with Fernando in the Med. No need to pick between their families, no guilt over disappointing one side or the other. It had been a relief, honestly, to have an excuse not to navigate the pressure that came with the holidays; especially given how busy they both had been in the lead-up to the festive season.

Fernando’s yacht was the perfect escape. It was quiet in a way that made it feel like the world had been paused just for them. The gentle hum of the waves lapping against the boat, the soft clinking of glasses, and the warmth of the inside filled with Christmas lights and laughter. It was everything Amelia never knew she needed.

It wasn’t a grand Christmas, with piles of presents and extravagant dinners. It wasn’t anything they’d been accustomed to before, but that was exactly what made it so special. It was simple. Calm. The four of them together, enjoying a slow morning with gingerbread cookies, chatting about nothing in particular while Lando made his usual attempts at mastering the piano that Fernando kept telling him to stop touching. And Melissa was her usual gentle self, all smiles and easy to understand jokes. 

They had a small, carefully set table for lunch. Lando kept teasing Fernando about being the most patient host ever, especially when he’d made them take turns decorating the tree, then reorganising it in a much more “tasteful” way after they'd gotten distracted by the snack table.

Later in the evening, after the meal and after a few glasses of wine, they all settled on the deck. The boat was docked now, and the evening sky was a wash of deep blues and purples, the first stars starting to twinkle. There was a low hum of festive music in the background, something quiet, something that felt fitting for a holiday that wasn’t about extravagance, but about peace. 

Amelia leaned against Lando, his arm draped around her shoulder as he fiddled with his phone, texting back every member of his family who’d reached out throughout the day. She was content, happier than she had been in a long while. She kissed him without thinking and flushed a pretty red when Fernando voiced his unhappiness with a grunt that made Melissa laugh. 

Lando grinned at her. She grinned right back. 

It was their first Christmas as them, but it wouldn’t be the last.

— 

It was the middle of January. The weather outside Lando’s flat in Woking was dreary and they’d spent the morning lounging around; Lando on his couch, flipping through old racing documentaries on Youtube, and Amelia at the kitchen counter, working on her iPad. She had a pile of notes scattered around her, data from the off-season simulations she was reviewing for Max’s upcoming season. The iPad was essential; everything she needed was on there, from the technical reports to the strategies she was working out in her head.

Lando glanced over occasionally, catching little glimpses of her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought. He loved watching her work. 

But then, without warning, the screen on her iPad flickered. Just once, and then the screen went black. 

Amelia’s fingers froze mid-scroll, and Lando didn’t even have to look up to see the tension building in her posture.

“Amelia?” he asked, his voice a little more alert now, noticing the change in her.

She didn’t answer at first, just sat there, staring at the frozen screen, then tapping at the screen with increasing urgency. “Come on. Come on,” she muttered under her breath.

Lando watched for a second longer before standing up and making his way over to her. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Her breath hitched, and Lando’s stomach dropped. He knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw them; he’d witnessed them before, knew how things could escalate quickly. She was already starting to breathe faster, her shoulders hunching up like she was bracing for impact.

“It’s… it’s not working!” Amelia’s voice cracked, and she slammed her hands down onto the table, the iPad still refusing to respond. “It’s all on there, Lando. It’s all on there.”

“Hey, hey,” Lando said, trying to keep his voice steady as he crouched beside her, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. “Baby, it’s okay, we can fix this.”

“No!” she snapped, and he flinched. Her eyes were wide now, glassy. “I—I can’t… everything’s on there! The reports, the numbers, everything I need to do and now—” She broke off, her voice shaking with frustration. 

And fuck; Lando was lost. He had no idea what to do. He could hear her breath quickening, her frustration bubbling over, and he felt that same tight knot in his chest. He hated seeing her like this. Hated it even more because he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Amelia, baby, hey,” he said, trying to get her attention. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes locked onto the unresponsive iPad. He took a deep breath, then, in one sudden motion, he’d pulled her off of the stool and into his arms. “Amelia,” he said again, his voice a little more insistent, a little firmer now.

She tensed against him, her whole body stiff and rigid, but he held her tighter, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing with as much strength as he could before he was risking bruising her delicate skin. “We’ll figure it out, alright? We’ll fix it, I promise. You had everything saved to your iCloud, right? It’ll all still be there.”

Amelia let out a shaky breath, but she didn’t pull away. She let herself lean her entire weight on him, her head resting against his chest, still breathing in short, shallow bursts. Lando’s arms were wrapped around her so tight it almost felt like he was afraid she would slip away from him if he didn’t hold on.

“I’m not good at this,” Lando murmured, his voice tight with the weight of his uncertainty. He could feel her shaking in his arms, her body rigid with the aftershocks of the almost-meltdown. “I don’t know what to do when you’re upset. I’m, uh... kind of panicking a bit.”

She let out a little laugh, but it was thin, frail. Still, it was a laugh, and that meant something. The way her shoulders loosened, just a fraction, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t failing her after all.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I just… I need my iPad.” There was a shaky inhale before she added, quieter, “I didn’t realise it would be this bad.”

Lando felt his heart break a little at the vulnerability in her voice. He had seen Amelia lose her composure before, but this—this was different. “I know,” he said gently, brushing a hand over her hair. “It’s important. Don’t be sorry for being upset.”

She nodded, her breath still coming in uneven waves as she took in a deep, steadying breath, pulling away slightly to look up at him. Her eyes were still wide, but the raw panic that had been there just moments ago seemed to be fading, replaced with something softer. Maybe exhaustion, maybe the quiet relief that came from feeling safe.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her words quiet but full of something deep. Gratitude, yes, but also something else. Lando could see it in the way she lingered on him, the way her gaze held his for a fraction longer than usual.

Lando’s chest tightened, a strange sense of relief flooding through him as he reached out, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. The air between them felt thick with things left unspoken, and for the first time, Lando found himself unsure. Was she ready for this?

He didn’t have long to wonder. She pulled back just enough to look up at him properly, a small, tentative laugh escaping her.

“I— I didn’t realise I was so attached to it until now.” She whispered. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Don’t apologise,” Lando said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I was here to take care of you, and, uh, managed to not make it worse.” 

“Lucky me,” she muttered, the words playful but laced with a softness. She settled back into his arms, fisting her hands in his t-shirt.

“We’ll go get you a new one, yeah?” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. His fingers ran through her hair, his touch gentle as he let her relax against him. “A better one. Newest one they have. I’ll even give you some Quadrant stickers to put on your new case. Maybe that’ll make it worth it.”

Amelia let out a small, quiet laugh, her body warm against his. The tension in her shoulders had melted away.

“I think I love you,” she whispered softly, her words barely above a breath.

Lando froze, a lump in his throat as her words settled between them. For a moment, he was speechless. His heart pounded, and he pulled her closer, if that was even possible.

“Holly shit,” he breathed out, his voice shaky with emotion. His hands cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he searched her eyes, looking for the truth in them. “Yeah, I love you too, baby. I’m so glad you said it.”

Amelia’s eyes softened, and she pressed her forehead to his, the warmth of their bodies and the shared closeness almost too much to bear. 

Lando let out a shaky laugh, a soft exhale of relief. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I didn’t want to mess this up. Pressure you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, the words as steady as the way her hands gently cradled his. “You haven’t.”

“I love you.” He said again. 

She leaned up, brushed their noses together and smiled. “I love you too.” 

NEXT CHAPTER

[littlelamy]

rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader ; the one where rafe meets your parents

a/n: inspired by this !reader

“i love you, rafey,” you say, standing on your tippy toes to kiss him. "you look very handsome. my parents are going to love you." that's a total lie, but you're not going to get in an argument before he meets your parents. 

"stop lying, your parents hate me," rafe says, rolling his eyes. he's not lying, after your dad found out that you were in a relationship with the kook prince, who is also known for his drinking, drugs, and his many parties, he was furious to say the least. "your dad better not piss me off because i'm not in the mood," rafe says looking in the mirror checking himself out. “but you do look sexy, baby. we might need to stay here and have a little fun," rafe pulls you in, lowering his hand down your back before grabbing your butt and licking his lips (in a very attractive way).

"baby stop we have to get going," you moan as rafe kisses all over your neck. "my parents are expecting us at 4 and it's already 4:30."

"don't blame me," rafe says with a final kiss and a playful smack on your butt. "you're the one who wanted to shower together." as he finishes adjusting his suit, rafe grabs his keys and takes your hand, gently guiding you toward the door. "come on princess, before i rip your clothes off and spend the night up in that movie room."

giggling, you follow rafe to his car. he gives you a playful pinch on the hip as he opens the door for you, then quickly shuts it before hurrying around to the other side. the drive is brief, considering he’s practically your neighbor.

as you arrive, your housekeeper, maid, and butler are all outside, awaiting your arrival. "hello, miss y/n and mr. cameron. mr and mrs. are waiting for you inside," your butler says, opening your car door and offering his hand, which you graciously take with a quick 'thank you.' despite coming from a wealthy background, rafe had never fully experienced life with so many staff members working within a household.

"come on, rafe," you say, pulling his clammy hands. though he'd never admit it, rafe was definitely nervous. your dad was far more powerful than ward ever was. "my dad will try to intimidate you, but remember, his princess always gets what she wants. and what I want is you."

grateful for your words, rafe kisses the side of your head, murmuring a soft 'thank you, bunny.' as you step into the grand foyer, your pomeranian rushes to greet you, pawing at you excitedly until she spots rafe and starts pressing her paws against him. rafe, not one for animals, picks her up and hands her off to the butler.

not a second later, your parents come around the corner. your mom is smiling, but your dad wears a scowl as he fixes his gaze on rafe.

"yay, my princess is home!" your mom exclaims, rushing toward you as her Givenchy dress glides across the floor. rafe watches in awe as your mom embraces you, realizing where you get your beauty from. she’s every bit the goddess you are, with a shared love for luxury. both of you indulge in the finest clothes, regular pedicures and manicures, spontaneous blowouts, sensual pefumes, and rigorous workout routines. yet, despite your lavish lifestyle, you both have countless acts of charity under your belts—whether it's volunteering at soup kitchens or distributing food around the Cut, you do it together, and enjoy it.

"daddy, i missed you," you say, releasing your mom and running to your dad, who already has his arms open wide. rafe does a double take, thinking you were talking to him, until he realizes you’re addressing your actual dad. "here’s the love of my life, rafe cameron," you say, letting go of your dad after a few seconds and pulling rafe toward your parents.

"it’s so nice to meet you both," rafe says, deepening his voice and firming his grip as he reaches out to shake hands. "y/n speaks so highly of you two, I feel like I already know you." your mom, ever the sweet soul, smiles warmly, slapping his hands aside and pulling him into a hug. "it’s nice to meet you too," she says. rafe had never experienced a mother’s embrace like this. he sighs in relief, savoring the moment before turning to shake hands with your father.

for a moment, your dad looks sternly at rafe, but then he glances at your sweet smile before turning back to rafe. a smile breaks across his face. "welcome to the family, son," your dad chuckles. "i’m not a fan of you or your reputation, but you make my daughter happy, that’s what matters most to me." rafe exhales in relief, shaking your dad’s extended hand.

you glance at rafe's smile and then at your parents, feeling your heart warm at the affection they’re showing each other. in that moment, you know deep down—he is the one.

later in the night, you all sit down for dinner. before the meal, your mom teases you with childhood photos, while your dad gives rafe a lecture about some lacrosse match. after dinner, despite your protests, your parents insisted that rafe stay, which made rafe and you have a very fun sleepover. ;)

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 1/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 1 :

London was bone-cold in the way only January could be. The streets sparkled beneath thin veils of frost, and breath puffed into the air like ghosts. Pastel skies bled into charcoal as evening settled, and the city—like always—buzzed with life beneath layers of scarves and city noise. 

Ariana stood outside the dimly lit entrance of the private members' club, her arms folded tightly against her chest, breath trembling as it left her lips. Her coat—cashmere, camel-colored, and belted neatly at the waist—hugged her frame with disciplined elegance. The streetlights cast a silver sheen over her dark hair, which was pinned in a low chignon, rebellious strands curling against her cheeks. Her heels were impractical for this weather, but they matched her quiet grace: poised, pointed, prepared. 

She hated being late. Even more than that—she hated being out of place. 

"You're late too ?" The voice came from behind her, smug and accented, sharp enough to make her spine stiffen. 

She turned, slowly. 

The man who stood there was all swagger wrapped in a North Face puffer and casual arrogance. Messy brown curls peeked from beneath a black beanie, and his eyes—icy blue-green and unapologetically amused—swept over her with the easy confidence of someone used to being looked at. 

“Excuse me?” Ariana asked, her French accent melting into her voice like warmed sugar, "do we know each other?" 

"Not yet." He extended a gloved hand. "Lando." 

She looked at his hand. Then at him. Then back at the door. 

She did not shake it. 

He laughed, not offended. “Alright. Tough crowd.” 

The door opened behind her, and warm light and louder voices spilled out. 

“Ariana! You made it!” The voice belonged to Maya—her friend, who’d dragged her to this gathering. “Come in, come in, it’s freezing. Oh—Lando, you’re here too.” 

So, he was part of the friend group too. 

Ariana entered the club, she peeled off her coat inside, revealing a slate-blue wrap dress. Not flashy, but impossible to miss. 

Lando followed, slower, watching her like someone flipping pages of a book they didn’t expect to like but couldn’t put down. 

The club was intimate, lit with golden chandeliers and velvet booths. The music wasn’t subtle, bass flirting at the edges of conversation. 

Ariana sat stiffly beside Maya, her back straight, her hands in her lap. She observed quietly as friends passed around cocktails and stories. She smiled politely, nodded at the right moments. But she wasn’t one of them. They were loud, unfiltered. Comfortable in their chaos. 

Across from her, Lando sprawled on a couch like it was his throne. One arm hooked over the back, the other swirling a whiskey glass he hadn’t touched. He kept looking at her, like she was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t solve. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” he finally said, mid-conversation lull, loud enough that others chuckled. 

Ariana looked up slowly. “I talk when I have something worth saying.” 

He raised a brow. “And nothing here’s worth it?” 

“Not yet.” 

There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where something flickered in his eyes. A spark of amusement… or challenge. 

“I think you’re just scared.” 

“And I think you’re not used to people not liking you,” she countered, voice soft but razor-sharp. 

The table quieted. 

Lando tilted his head. Then he smiled. Not the cocky kind. Something else. “Fair enough.” 

Later, the group splintered. Maya dragged Ariana toward the bar, and Lando disappeared with someone toward the back. Ariana let out a slow breath, resting one elbow against the polished wood, eyes scanning the room. 

This wasn’t her scene. She could feel her muscles coiling with the need to return to something structured and quieter. 

“You don’t drink?” 

She turned. Lando was back, empty-handed now. His curls damp from the cold air outside again, like he’d stepped out for a moment to breathe. 

“Rarely,” she replied. 

“You’re hard to read.” 

“You’re easy.” 

He barked a laugh. “Touché.” 

Ariana wasn’t sure why she said it. Or why it felt strangely satisfying to say aloud. 

But something was happening here. Not flirtation. Not exactly. 

A friction. A friction that left her pulse uneasy and her skin warmer than it should’ve been. 

“I don’t get it,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You act like you hate this place, but you came.” 

“I came for Maya. She thinks I should meet new people.” 

“And?” 

She looked at him, then away. “I’ve met someone.” 

He smiled. “Let me guess. Opinionated. Loud. Annoying.” 

A pause. 

Ariana met his eyes fully. “Yes.” 

Their eyes locked—blue to blue, wild storm to still water. The music swelled in the background as time folded inward. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world slowed. Ther were no longer music or people dancing around them. 

Just her breath. His eyes. And the kind of tension that doesn’t snap—it simmers. 

Later that night, Ariana walked back to her flat alone, the city buzzing softly in the background. She replayed the encounter in her head, dissecting every gesture, every line. 

She didn’t like him. That much she was certain of. Yet something inside her when thinking about their encounter.

A few days after while the London’s December sun hung low and pale in the sky, turning the frost on the cobblestones into glitter, Lando adjusted his coat, stuffing his gloved hands deeper into the pockets as he waited outside a boutique, bored while Max tried to choose a gift for his sister inside. 

Pietra stood nearby, sipping on a to-go oat milk latte from a corner café. “You know,” she said between sips, “this would go faster if men actually planned before shopping.” 

Lando smirked, distracted. “You mean like making a list?” 

“Yes, or asking questions. Being observant. Like, oh, my sister mentioned she liked this brand.” She shook her head dramatically. “But no. Let’s just drag the whole squad through Mayfair and hope for divine inspiration.” 

The rest of the group—some of the Quadrant team floated between shops, their bags multiplying by the minute. It was noisy, easy, full of the kind of camaraderie that made winter bearable. 

Then Lando saw her. 

Across the street. Just past the Chanel display window. 

She didn’t walk like everyone else. 

That was the first thing he noticed. 

There was a grace to her steps—measured, light, like she’d learned to move in a world that required silence. She wore a black skirt that floated just above her knees, black heeled boots, and a soft pink sweater. Her hair was down this time—long, glossy, dark—and tied with a velvet ribbon in a soft bow at the back of her head.. 

She looked like something out of a painting. Or a poem. Or a memory that didn’t quite belong to him. 

Ariana 

He hadn’t forgotten her. Not for a second. Not since the night at the club. 

And she looked even more… real now, which somehow made her more impossible to reach. 

She paused near the silk scarves display just inside the glass, tilting her head to examine the arrangement. Her profile turned, and even through the window, he could see the faint shadow of her lashes, the way her lips parted slightly in thought. She reached for a soft ivory scarf, lifting it with both hands like it was something fragile and rare. 

“Lando.” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Lando,” Pietra repeated, stepping into his line of sight. 

“Hm?” 

She turned, following his gaze. 

And saw her. 

“Well,” she whispered, “helloooo again.” 

Max appeared at that moment, bags in hand. “Alright, got it. Can we—why do you two look like you’ve seen a ghost?” 

“Not a ghost,” Pietra said, her voice lilting with amusement. “More like someone haunting a certain someone’s brain.” 

Max squinted through the glass. “Wait—isn’t that the girl from the club?” 

Lando gave a short nod, his eyes not leaving her. “Yeah.” 

“Wow,” Max said. “She’s… not what I expected.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Pietra murmured, watching the girl in the window. “She looks like she belongs in some old French movie.” 

“She’s not really the type who goes clubbing, is she?” Max asked. 

Lando shrugged, looking mildly annoyed. “I don’t know. I don’t know her.” 

“You want to ?” Pietra grinned. 

“I talked to her for five minutes,” he said, a little too fast. “Barely.” 

“Exactly,” Pietra replied, already stepping off the curb. “Time to fix that.” 

“No, Pietra—don’t—!” 

But she was already weaving through traffic with the confidence of someone used to getting her way. 

Lando groaned. “She’s going to scare her off.” 

Inside the store, Ariana had just finished folding the scarf back when she felt the presence beside her. 

“Hi there!” came a bright voice. 

She turned slowly. 

A woman smiled at her like they were old friends. 

“I promise I’m not crazy,” she said quickly. “I saw you the other night. At that club. With Lando.” 

Ariana’s expression froze for half a second. Her hands dropped away from the scarf. 

“I’m Pietra,” the woman continued, offering her hand with a little flourish. “We’re actually just shopping with some friends. Lando’s outside with Max and the rest of the group.” 

Ariana shook her hand politely. “Nice to meet you.” 

“So,” Pietra went on, eyes flicking over Ariana’s outfit approvingly, “we were thinking of grabbing some drinks afterward. It’s just down the street—warm, chill vibe. You should come with.” 

Ariana’s eyes flicked toward the window, where she could now see Lando—standing awkwardly near the entrance, half-hidden behind a pillar, pretending he wasn’t watching them. 

Something in her expression shifted. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, gently but firmly. “I’m not one of Lando’s friends.” 

“Oh, come on—” 

“I barely know him,” she added, voice still quiet but now edged with finality. “And I don’t go for drinks with strangers.” 

There it was. The clean, cold line of refusal. Not cruel, but distant. Like a door closed with careful hands. 

Pietra blinked. “Okay, wow. You’re serious.” 

Ariana offered a soft smile. “Yes.” 

Then she nodded once, turned, and walked away—her heels clicking softly against the marble floor, ribbon swaying behind her like the tail end of a breath. 

Outside, Pietra returned with a smirk and a story. 

“She said no,” she announced. 

Max’s jaw dropped. “What?” 

“She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not one of Lando’s friends. I barely know him. And I don’t go for drinks with strangers.’” Pietra mimicked Ariana’s soft, deliberate tone with exaggerated drama. “It was cold.” 

The group howled. 

Lando exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched as he watched Ariana walk further down the street, blending into the crowd like she’d never been there at all. 

Max laughed. “Mate. Brutal.” 

Pietra nudged him. “You’ve officially been humbled.” 

“She doesn’t even know who I am,” Lando muttered. 

“Maybe that’s why she said no.” 

All evening, the teasing followed him like confetti stuck in his collar. 

But none of them noticed the way Lando went quiet near the end. Not sulking—just thoughtful. Like something had shaken loose in him. Like something important had been said, and not just to his ego. 

He couldn’t stop replaying it. 

I barely know him. I don’t go for drinks with strangers. 

Ariana wasn’t cruel. 

She was careful. 

And somehow, that made her more impossible to forget. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[haikyu-mp4]

Damning evidence – Daichi x reader wc 846 – f!reader requested by @cottonlemonade for A blast from the past, parenting edition<3

Your lips were pursed when your husband got home from work in the late afternoon, and you gestured for him not to take his uniform off. He had been working overtime to earn a bit extra for your son’s upcoming school trip, but he would have to do a little work at home, too. “Our neighbour was just here.”

“The one with all the cats or the one with the annoying tree,” Daichi asked, leaning in to peck your forehead in greeting before toeing off his shoes.

“The one with the cats,” you confirmed, nodding slowly.

Daichi squinted at you. “And?”

“One of those cats was missing when she came home from work. She had reasons to believe it was a catnapping.” Doing your best not to chuckle, you gave Daichi the information you had gotten from the lady before pointing over your shoulder and lowering your voice. “I think our son stole the cat.”

Daichi’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“There was a very clear meow from his room when I knocked on the door asking if he wanted dinner before or after you got home. He said that he needed to do some homework. In other words, he asked me not to come in.”

You finally cracked, letting out a little snort of laughter at the same time as Daichi did, and you both spent a minute leaning on each other and snickering at your son’s ridiculous crime. Daichi was quite hungry, so you also stopped by the kitchen for an apple and had a briefing on his day before you made your way to the stairs. “Good cop, bad cop?” you asked.

“I’m thinking cop,” Daichi pointed to himself, then to you. “Mother.”

You snorted, waving him off. “You’re an idiot.”

Daichi scoffed in insult, gesturing to his well-worn uniform and looking somewhat cocky in his next words. “I’m literally a cop.”

You knocked on your son’s door, opening it despite his urgency in telling you to keep out. “We have a warrant!”

Walking inside calmly, you just managed to see your son using his foot to push something under his bed before he turned to you like the young gentleman he was. “Dad! ‘Sup, how was work?”

“You can address me as Officer Sawamura.” You did a double-take and looked at your husband with surprise, before following his lead.

“The police came, they’re investigating a catnapping. A kidnapping. Of a cat.”

“Oh, that’s a shame for real,” your son empathised. You nodded in agreement.

“A meow was reportedly heard from this room about an hour ago,” Daichi told him, pretending to read from the little notebook he had pulled from his uniform pocket. “We have reason to believe you were involved in the kidnapping.”

Your son scratched the back of his head and used the tip of his slipper to draw patterns on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe the cat distribution system found a new home for it.”

“Evidence number two.” By now, you were watching Daichi just as curiously as your son was watching nervously. “The wrapper from a cat food packet. Found in the trash can downstairs.”

Your son chuckled awkwardly and looked at you. “Damn, mom. Didn’t know you ate those.”

Holding a hand over your mouth, you pretended to be coughing to hide any hint of a snicker. “I don’t.”

“Son, please be honest with us,” Daichi requested, finally done with the script he had made up while going up the stairs.

“That’s pretty damning evidence, honey,” you added, walking over to your son and patting him on the back. “Is there a cat under your bed?”

Just as you said that, a grey cat made its way out from under the bed, licking its lips before meowing again. The boy sighed. “There was.”

Daichi picked up the cat, scratching it around the neck. “Why did you steal it?”

“I wanted to show this girl in my class. Her cat died, and she’s been so sad about it,” he muttered.

You looked at Daichi with a pout, and he seemed equally moved by the purpose. “That’s valiant of you, but you could have just asked to go pet the cats.”

Groaning, he rubbed his face with both hands. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Return the cat before dinner. Tell her about the girl, she’ll forgive you right away,” Daichi instructed, a caring smile on his face. “And you’re grounded for the rest of the week, no computer except for doing homework.”

“Fine.” He took the cat from his dad, huffing in annoyance before stomping down the stairs.

Daichi looked at you and wiggled his eyebrows. “Want me to make that two weeks?” he yelled.

Shaking your head affectionately, you gave your husband a big smooch on the lips before following your son down the stairs to get dinner started. Meanwhile, you wondered if Daichi remembered that time he cut his neighbour’s flowers with scissors to bring you a nice bouquet for your first date, back when you were teenagers. Like father, like son.

masterlist

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ you can be the boss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ boss!cho sang-woo x employee!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you had started working at joy investments a few months ago, a job you knew from the beginning you weren’t particularly suited for. numbers, spreadsheets, and statistical analysis felt foreign to you, but the evening hours worked well enough while you attended university. the pay was sufficient, and the promise of experience at such a reputable firm was worth the initial discomfort.

˚ ༘♡ getting hired had been a grueling process. three separate visits. a preliminary interview, where they assessed your general competence, followed by a secondary round that tested your ability to handle pressure. the final round had been the most nerve-wracking, a panel interview that felt as though they were peeling back layers of your personality, searching for weaknesses. when you were finally offered the position of secretary in the business investment sector, you accepted without hesitation. the role was simple, answer phones, manage the endless cascade of paperwork, coordinate schedules, and ensure the office ran like a well-oiled machine. simple, but draining.

˚ ༘♡ your department was overseen by cho sang-woo, an investment banker with a reputation that preceded him. you met him on your first day. he was tall, with sharp features softened only by the polished glasses perched on his nose. his ironed grey suit fit him perfectly, a testament to his meticulous nature. he was polite but distant, his words clipped as he showed you to your workspace. his focus shifted elsewhere as quickly as he arrived, consumed by the weight of responsibilities you could only guess at. despite his calm demeanor, there was something captivating about him, his quiet authority, the precision in how he carried himself, the faint traces of fatigue that made him seem more human.

˚ ༘♡ the first few weeks were suffocatingly mundane. you answered endless phone calls, most from irate clients demanding updates on investments you barely understood. your inbox overflowed with documents needing filing, scanning, or distributing. appointments had to be coordinated, schedules revised, and egos soothed. it was work that tested your patience, and yet, you did it without complaint. mr. cho rarely spoke to you beyond pleasantries, his days swallowed by meetings, late-night calculations, and hushed phone calls.

˚ ༘♡ on the rare occasions you stayed late, you noticed he often did too, seated at his desk with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, poring over spreadsheets or fielding yet another call. it became an unspoken routine for you to bring him coffee when you saw the office lights still on. he would glance up from his work, his glasses reflecting the faint glow of his computer screen, and offer a quiet, “thank you.” it wasn’t much, but something about those brief exchanges stayed with you during the long walks back to your desolate apartment.

˚ ༘♡ perhaps it was the contrast, how someone so stoic and seemingly untouchable could look so worn under the harsh fluorescent lights. or maybe it was the way he always acknowledged you, even in his busiest moments. either way, his presence made the monotony of the job feel a little less stifling.

˚ ༘♡ one evening, long after most employees had gone home, the office was quiet, the buzz of the city outside muffled by thick glass walls. the sky outside was smeared with hues of deep blue and violet, a harbinger of nightfall. after hours spent rearranging meetings, your eyes burned, and the air inside felt stale. you decided to step out for a moment, seeking the cool relief of the evening breeze.

˚ ༘♡ you pushed open the back door of the building and paused. mr. cho was there, leaning casually against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. wisps of smoke coiled lazily around him, catching the last rays of light. he looked… wretched. the angular lines of his face made obscure by an expression you couldn’t quite place. the glassy sheen in his dark eyes hinted at something far away, something melancholic.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry,” you murmured, startled. “i didn’t mean to interrupt. i’ll leave you to it.”

˚ ༘♡ he turned his head slowly, shaking it. “no need. stay. i don’t mind.”

˚ ༘♡ his voice was steady, unhurried, like the rest of him. you hesitated, then let the door fall shut behind you. descending the short staircase, you stood a few paces from him. the city sounds, car horns, the hum of distant chatter, filled the silence between you.

˚ ༘♡ without a word, he took out a cigarette and held it toward you. surprised, you accepted, pressing it between your lips. he struck the lighter with a practiced flick, the small flame reflecting briefly in his eyes. leaning in, you felt the scathing heat as the cigarette caught.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment, exhaling smoke that curled and dissipated into the night air.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, drawing in your first hesitant puff. “yes, sir. i have been working at joy investments for about four months now.”

˚ ༘♡ “hmm.” he studied you, his gaze intent but not unkind. “interesting. some of the secretaries here have been around for years, yet you do a better job than most of them.”

˚ ༘♡ his words struck you, unexpected and disarming. “thank you, mr. cho. i try to do my best,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the city’s backdrop.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there together, the silence stretching long but never uncomfortable. you flicked the ash from your cigarette, watching the tiny embers fall and scatter on the ground. eventually, you put it out against the metal railing and tossed it into a nearby storm drain. mr. cho didn’t move, still leaning against the wall, staring into the distance as you murmured a polite goodnight and slipped back inside.

˚ ༘♡ later, when your shift ended, you gathered your coat and scarf, bracing yourself for the cold walk home. you were buttoning your coat when you spotted mr. cho by the lobby doors, speaking with another member of his team. his presence was magnetic, even in passing.

˚ ༘♡ what surprised you was how he excused himself mid-conversation, turning to approach you.

˚ ༘♡ “are you walking home?” he asked, his tone more direct now. “it’s late, not exactly safe out.”

˚ ༘♡ you mulled over the proposition, your fingers tightening on your scarf. “i don’t mind the walk. it’s peaceful at night. i live in eunpyeong-gu, not too far from here.”

˚ ༘♡ he frowned slightly. “eunpyeong-gu?” he repeated, as though thinking over the distance. “i’m heading to ssangmun-dong. it’s on the way. let me drive you.”

˚ ༘♡ his words were more command than offer, but there was a warmth beneath them. he retrieved his keys from his blazer pocket, the metallic jingle cutting through the stillness.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, accepting his generous offer graciously. “thank you, sir. i’d appreciate that.”

˚ ༘♡ his car was sleek and black, understated but undeniably expensive. he opened the passenger door for you without a word, the leather seats felt comfortable against your skin, and the faint scent of cologne and tobacco drifting in the air.

˚ ༘♡ the drive was quiet. the city lights of seoul blurred into long streaks through the tinted windows, and for that passage of time, the world outside felt far away. mr. cho said little, his hands steady on the wheel, his dark eyes fixed on the asphalt road ahead.

˚ ༘♡ when he pulled up to your building, he shifted the car into park but kept the engine idling. his eyes flicked to you, dark and unreadable, his usual composure fraying at the edges. “get home safely,” he said, his voice quieter than it had been all evening.

˚ ༘♡ you paused, your hand on the door handle, the chill of the outside air seeping in through the crack you’d opened. the thought of leaving the car, of letting the night end like this, made your heart ache. before you could think twice, the words slipped out. “would you like to come inside for tea? i was planning to brew some.”

˚ ༘♡ his brow lifted slightly, the slightest sliver of surprise crossing his features. he considered your offer for a while, he said nothing, merely staring ahead at the dashboard as if he was working through some internal debate. finally, he exhaled. “tea would be nice,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

˚ ༘♡ you led him up the narrow staircase to your apartment, the silence between you thick but not awkward. the soft hum of the building’s fluorescent lights filled the lounge area, and you could feel the subtle feeling of his presence behind you. when you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the herbal scent of lavender from an old diffuser greeted you. the space was modest, organized but lived-in, with books stacked haphazardly on a coffee table and a blanket draped over the couch.

˚ ༘♡ “make yourself comfortable,” you said, slipping off your coat and setting it over a chair. he stood just inside the doorway, his tall frame almost too large for the small entryway, his hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

˚ ༘♡ “you have a nice place,” he said after a beat, his voice tender but strained.

˚ ༘♡ you offered a small smile, glancing over your shoulder as you moved toward the kitchen. but you didn’t make it there.

˚ ༘♡ when you turned back, he was closer, standing in the dim light of your apartment like he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d followed you in. his eyes caught yours, and the short space between you felt like it dissolved in an instant. neither of you spoke, but the air was charged, something unsaid yet painfully understood passing between you.

˚ ༘♡ his hand reached out first, tentative, brushing against your arm as if testing the waters. when you didn’t move away, his grip tightened, and suddenly his mouth was on yours, fierce and urgent, like he’d been holding back for far too long. the scent of him, tobacco, something woodsy, filled your senses, and your hands moved instinctively, fingers digging into the fabric of his wool blazer.

˚ ༘♡ your back hit the wall softly, and then his hands were at your waist, his body pressed against yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. it wasn’t careful, and it wasn’t slow, it was messy, a tangle of mouths and hands, you were two people trying to lose themselves in each other for just a little while.

˚ ༘♡ you barely registered how you ended up in your bedroom, your coat and his blazer discarded somewhere along the way. the dim light from the streetlamp outside spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. the bed was warm, and so was he, but there was an ache beneath it all, an edge of something desperate and passionate.

˚ ༘♡ when you woke the next morning, the light was harsh, spilling through the cracks in the curtains and illuminating the reality of the night before. you stirred first, the weight of him beside you a reminder of everything that had happened in that heated entanglement.

˚ ༘♡ he was awake, lying on his back with an arm draped over his face. his dress shirt was wrinkled, and his tie hung loose around his neck, half-forgotten. there was a tension in his posture, his hands clenched into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line.

˚ ༘♡ “i should go,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, hardly above a whisper. he didn’t look at you as he lifted himself over the edge of the bed, sitting there for a minute, trying to mentally gather the strength to move.

˚ ༘♡ you watched him, your heart sinking deeper with every passing second. “you don’t have to go,” you said delicately, your voice barely above a whisper. you reached out, your fingers brushing against his shoulder, hoping to mend this disaster in a pathetic gesture of affection.

˚ ༘♡ he tensed under your touch but didn’t pull away. “this shouldn’t have happened,” sang-woo muttered, his voice thick with self-reproach. “i’m your superior. i’m over twice your age…” his words trembled as he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his black hair. the carefully calm demeanor he usually wore at the office was ebbing away, slipping through the gaps. “fuck, where are my glasses?”

˚ ༘♡ his frustration wasn’t directed at you, but it stung all the same. his gaze swept the room until he found them, the frames haphazardly thrown to the floor. he bent down to retrieve them, clutching them tightly in his hand.

˚ ༘♡ standing upright, he looked at you for the first time since he spoke, his expression torn with anguish. “i’m sorry,” he said, and for once, the words that left his lips sounded unpracticed, raw and genuine. “i shouldn’t have done this. i shouldn’t have taken advantage of my position over you.”

˚ ༘♡ you stayed where you were, the blankets tangled around you, half-dressed and vulnerable. his words landed like small cuts, brutal and wounding. “if this is your way of saying it’s the first and last time, just say that,” you said, despite the hurt bled through. “don’t hide behind excuses.”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes glistened with something, regret, guilt, or maybe even longing. “no,” he said, stepping closer, hesitant but determined. his hands reached for your face, his touch warm and grounding. “of course i would love to see you again, but how can we? i’m your boss. you work for me. it’s an abuse of power, and if anyone found out, we’d both be ruined. management at joy investments wouldn’t hesitate to fire us for violating corporate policy.”

˚ ༘♡ “then we keep it a secret,” you replied, your voice laced with desire, your gaze locked with his.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “you think i wouldn’t want that? you think i wouldn’t want to steal moments with you, even if no one could ever know?” his voice dipped lower, almost a plea. “but pretending not to care about you when we’re in public, keeping my distance, watching you from across the room as if you don’t mean more to me than anyone else…” he broke off, rubbing his temple. “it would drive me insane.”

˚ ༘♡ “weren’t you already doing that?” you said, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

˚ ༘♡ he blinked, then chuckled lightly despite himself. “i was maintaining professional boundaries,” he admitted, though the words sounded hollow now. he slipped off his glasses, polishing the lenses absently with the edge of his sleeve. “boundaries i’ve crossed in every possible way last night.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused, his gaze returning to yours, weaker now. “so maybe you’re right,” he added, his lips curving into a wry, self-deprecating smile. “what’s left now for us to ruin?”

˚ ༘♡ the affair continued in shadows, a secret tether binding the two of you as the world moved obliviously around it. at work, everything appeared as it always had, professional, restrained, unassuming. he never lingered too long at your desk, never glanced your way for more than a few fleeting seconds. if anyone noticed anything amiss, they never said a word. yet, behind closed doors, the charade unraveled.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo would text late at night, asking to see you, his messages never too explicit but unmistakable in their intent. you would find yourself in his car again or at a hotel just out of town, places chosen carefully to avoid recognition. in those moments, he was different, a vulnerable man. his hands would hold you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his lips pressing against yours with a hunger that belied the restraint he showed the rest of the world.

˚ ༘♡ but even as his touch ignited you, doubts began to creep in. at first, they were small, quiet things, easily dismissed when he whispered your name like it was the only word he cared to know. yet over time, the flaws became unfathomable to ignore.

˚ ༘♡ you started to notice how he never stayed too long after. he always had somewhere to be, an early meeting, an obligation with colleagues, an excuse that left you alone in bed, staring at the ceiling. at work, he was cordial but cold, his focus fixed on maintaining appearances.

˚ ༘♡ “we have to be cautious,” he’d say, his tone firm but not unkind. “you know how people talk. one rumor and it’s over for both of us.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded each time, swallowing your sorrow, pretending it didn’t sting. but it did. the secrecy, the pretending, the constant tug-of-war between what you wanted and what you could have, it wore on you.

˚ ༘♡ weeks turned into months, and though the moments you shared with him were still intense, they began to feel hollow. you weren’t just hiding from the world; you were hiding from yourself.

˚ ༘♡ you started to wonder what you were to him. not a girlfriend, he never called you that. not a partner, because partners didn’t live in secrecy. what was the point of loving someone who couldn’t even say your name without glancing over his shoulder first?

˚ ༘♡ you confronted him one evening, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “what are we doing? what am i to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he froze, the usual calm, calculated expression gone. “you’re everything to me,” he said finally, but the words felt too rehearsed, too easy.

˚ ༘♡ “then why does it feel like i’m nothing?” you asked, your voice cracking.

˚ ༘♡ he rubbed the back of his neck, pacing the room like a man trapped. “it’s not that simple. my position, my reputation, it’s all i have, sweetheart. if people knew about us, it would ruin everything i’ve worked for.”

˚ ༘♡ “and what about me?” you shot back, the heat rising in your chest. “do you think this doesn’t ruin me? hiding, pretending, giving everything to you and getting scraps in return?”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders slumped, and for a second, you saw something raw in his eyes. “i love you,” he said, and you believed him. but love wasn’t enough, not like this.

˚ ༘♡ “then prove it,” you said bitterly, your voice shaking.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, and the lack of answer spoke louder than any explanation could. he was a man desperate for respect, for the image he’d spent years crafting and perfecting. and you were an unfortunate deficiency in the foundation, a risk he wasn’t brave enough to take.

˚ ༘♡ as you stood there, the existence of your situation all settled on your shoulders. you realized you were giving pieces of yourself away to someone who could never give you the same in return. and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could keep doing it.

˚ ༘♡ he reached for you, his touch hesitant, but you stepped back. “sang-woo, i can’t continue being your secret,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “i deserve more than that.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t stop you when you left, and that, more than anything, told you everything you needed to know.

˚ ༘♡ he spent the next few weeks trying, in every way he knew how, to reach you. his texts came first, short, imploring messages that grew more desperate with each passing day.

˚ ༘♡ you never responded, deleting them as soon as they appeared. then came the emails, written in his typically formal tone but laced with an underlying urgency that bordered on uncharacteristic. he didn’t beg, but the underlying message was clear, he was losing his sanity over you.

˚ ༘♡ at work, sang-woo started appearing in places he never had reason to be, near your desk, by the break room, even in hallways he had no meetings to attend. every time, his eyes would search for yours, pleading silently for something, acknowledgment, forgiveness, anything to mend the chasm that had opened between you. but you refused to meet his gaze, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached.

˚ ༘♡ eventually, he stopped. no more texts, no more emails, no more waiting outside your office. it was as if he’d resigned himself to your silence, as though he understood you had no intention of reopening the door he’d closed with his hesitation.

˚ ༘♡ but not at heart.

˚ ༘♡ you saw it in the way he carried himself now, his body tensed, his stride slower, his face devoid of the quiet confidence he used to exude. in meetings, he seemed distracted, his eyes landing on you only to dart away when he thought someone might notice.

˚ ༘♡ when you passed each other in the corridors, the pain in his expression was unmistakable. he didn’t try to speak to you anymore, but the way he looked at you, like you were something he’d lost and could never reclaim, was worse than any words he could have said. it was agony, for both of you, and you felt it every time.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself this was for the best, that you couldn’t live your life tied to someone who wouldn’t fully claim you. you told yourself that his claims of love wasn’t enough when it was buried beneath secrecy and shame. but those rationalizations didn’t stop the hollow ache in your chest every time you caught his reflection in the glass of the office windows or saw his hands fidgeting during a presentation.

˚ ༘♡ he wasn’t just grieving the loss of you, he was punishing himself for it. you saw it in the way he avoided the employee lounge now, where you might be, the way he no longer stayed late after work, perhaps because the silence reminded him of what had once been. he was a man unraveling in slow motion, and though it hurt to watch, you knew you couldn’t be the one to put him back together.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself you couldn’t think of him forever. and yet, in the quiet hours of the night, when you lay awake in your empty apartment, you found yourself wondering if he was awake too, staring at the ceiling, trying to forget you the way you were trying to forget him.

˚ ༘♡ when he suddenly stopped showing up one day, you told yourself it didn’t matter. you’d spent weeks distancing yourself from him, building walls to protect the fragile peace you were trying to restore in your life. his absence should have been a relief. you should’ve been grateful for the quiet. but instead, it gnawed at you.

˚ ༘♡ you reasoned he might have taken a business trip or been sent to a conference. yet, as the days stretched into weeks, the silence surrounding his disappearance became impossible to ignore. whispers began to circulate in the office, snippets of overheard conversations that sounded too wild to believe.

˚ ༘♡ “forgery,” someone murmured near the coffee machine. “embezzlement,” said another, their tone tinged with disbelief. “siphoning client funds, can you imagine? what an idiot.”

˚ ༘♡ you dismissed it at first, refusing to entertain the thought. rumors spread like wildfire in the corporate world, often fueled by jealousy or boredom. but the uneasy feeling in your chest wouldn’t leave.

˚ ༘♡ unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, you sought out the manager of all investing departments, a stern man known for his no-nonsense approach. he seemed surprised when you asked about cho sang-woo but didn’t wait to provide an answer.

˚ ༘♡ “it’s true,” he said bluntly. “he siphoned money from client accounts to fund personal investments, stocks, futures, the works. lost every cent. he’s disappeared now. hasn’t answered calls or emails. if he shows up again, he’ll be fired on the spot and handed over to the authorities unless he reimburses the clients in full. but, between you and me, i doubt he has the means.”

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, numb, the significance of all that occurred with you ignorant to it all pressing down on your chest. sang-woo, austere, professional, and fiercely intelligent, had done this? the man you thought you knew, who always carried himself with precision and dignity, had thrown everything away on a gamble?

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to be angry, furious that he could have made such reckless choices. but instead, all you felt was an overwhelming wave of worry. where was he now? what was he doing? was he even safe?

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop yourself. you called his number, your fingers quivering as you pressed the digits. it rang and rang, only to cut off. no voicemail. you texted him, pleading for an answer, any sign that he was okay. nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the lack of response was unbearable, so you did the only thing you could think of, you went to his neighborhood. it was an impulsive decision, driven by a pitiful dismay you couldn’t suppress.

˚ ༘♡ you arrived late in the evening, the streets quiet under the dim glow of streetlights. his building loomed ahead, its windows dark and uninviting. you buzzed his unit at the entrance, your heart pounding in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ no response.

˚ ༘♡ you buzzed again, and again, your desperation mounting with each unanswered call. finally, an older tenant passing by offered to let you in, probably mistaking your apprehension for something more passive. you murmured your thanks and slipped inside, the air in the stairwell gloomy and stale.

˚ ༘♡ you reached his door and knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness. “sang-woo?” you called out, your voice exhausted. “are you in there?”

˚ ༘♡ nothing.

˚ ༘♡ pressing your ear to the door, you strained to hear any sign of life, a shuffle, a breath, anything. but the apartment was silent, as if no one had been there for days.

˚ ༘♡ a burdened pang pierced at your chest, and you leaned against the doorframe, fighting the rising surge of fear. what had happened to him? where could he have gone?

˚ ༘♡ you tried to tell yourself he’d resurface eventually, that this wasn’t your responsibility, but it was a hollow comfort. the man you’d loved, the man you may still love, was out there somewhere and you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.

˚ ༘♡ you stayed at the door longer than you should have, staring at the splintered wood as though it might suddenly yield. but it didn’t, and you left with a growing sense of unease. it wasn’t until you stepped onto the street, cold air biting your cheeks, that you caught sight of him.

˚ ༘♡ he was farther down the block, walking briskly, his head low, his shoulders hunched against the evening chill. his clothes were rumpled, his actions were quick and uneasy, like he was trying to outrun something. you stood still, watching him for a few minutes before instinct kicked in.

˚ ༘♡ you followed him at a distance, your heart pounding harder with every step. he didn’t notice you as he turned a corner, heading toward a dingy motel that sat on the edge of the neighborhood. the neon sign buzzed faintly, flickering erratically, casting a sickly green glow on the pavement.

˚ ༘♡ he disappeared inside, and you hesitated for a moment before pushing through the door. the motel’s lobby smelled of stale cigarettes and mildew, its yellowed walls decorated with faded prints of generic landscapes. you saw him again, down the narrow hallway, his motions slower now as he unlocked a door and slipped inside.

˚ ༘♡ you followed, your pulse a chaotic drumbeat in your ears. when you reached the door, you knocked, first lightly, then harder. no response.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called, your voice low but steady. “it’s me. open the door.”

˚ ༘♡ nothing.

˚ ༘♡ your hand hovered over the handle, and when you pressed down, it gave way. the door creaked open, revealing the dim, suffocating space beyond.

˚ ༘♡ the room was barely lit, a single bulb flashing weakly overhead. clothes were draped haphazardly over the back of a chair, and an empty bottle sat tipped over on the nightstand. the air was thick, the scent of alcohol and something that reeked of chemicals clinging to every surface.

˚ ༘♡ then you saw him.

˚ ༘♡ he was in the bathroom, the door half-open, slumped in the narrow, grimy tub. the water was filled to the brim, cloudy and tinged with a faint, sickly hue. an empty soju bottle dangled from his hand, his head tilted back against the tiles. his shirt was half unbuttoned, clinging damply to his skin, his face pale and weary.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t move. your breath caught in your throat as you took in what was haopening, the torment of the painful scene before you hitting you all at once.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you said, stepping into the bathroom, your voice horrified. “what the hell are you doing?”

˚ ༘♡ his head turned slightly, his gaze unfocused but intense enough to bore into you. his lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “what does it look like?” he muttered, his voice slurred and thick.

˚ ༘♡ you crouched beside the tub, grabbing the glass bottle from his hand and setting it aside. “you’re out of your mind,” you said, your tone hard but trembling beneath the surface. “is this your plan? to drown yourself in this… this mess?”

˚ ༘♡ he chuckled, the sound brittle and malicious. “it’s not a plan,” he said. “it’s… it’s only easier. don’t you understand? everything’s gone. the money, the clients, the respect. i lost it all. so what’s the point?”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to shake him, to drag him out of the water and back into the real world. instead, you stayed where you were, staring at the man who seemed so far removed from the one you thought you knew.

˚ ༘♡ “you think this fixes anything?” you murmured. “you think disappearing into this terrible motel will make it all go away?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, just let his eyes drift to the chipped ceiling.

˚ ༘♡ you stood, your hands quivering as you turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel, tossing it at him. “get out of the tub,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. “dry off. sober up. and then figure out what the hell you’re going to do. because this?” you gestured around the room, your frustration emerging. “this isn’t an answer. it’s pathetic.”

˚ ༘♡ he flinched at the word, but he slowly began to sit up, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub. droplets clung to his skin, and his movements were sluggish, like he was dragging himself through quicksand. you didn’t offer to help, stepping back instead, arms crossed as the sound of water dripping onto the marble tiled floor.

˚ ༘♡ “oh my gosh, get yourself together,” you muttered, yet you sounded as if you were on the verge of tears.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, just sat there for a moment, his shoulders slumped, his hair plastered to his forehead. eventually, he grabbed the towel, wrapping it loosely around himself as he climbed out of the tub.

˚ ༘♡ the atmosphere was suffocating, dense with unspoken words and unacknowledged fear. he walked past you without meeting your eyes, water pooling on the floor with every step.

˚ ༘♡ then came the knock.

˚ ༘♡ it wasn’t loud or insistent, only a single, deliberate tap against the door. your eyes snapping toward the sound. for an agonizing instance, neither of you dared to act, the atmosphere shifting into something more solemn, something grave.

˚ ༘♡ “who is that?” you asked, your voice unstable.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, but his brow lowered, his unease evident. he took an unstable step toward the door, but before he could reach it, a card slid through the slit beneath.

˚ ༘♡ the stark white rectangle lay on the worn carpet, the edges crisp, as though it had been placed with care. you moved first, bending to pick it up, your fingers skimming the surface.

˚ ༘♡ when you flipped it over, you saw on one side there was a simplistic, unsettling design, a circle, a triangle, and a square, printed in bold black ink. the shapes were clean, symmetrical, and yet somehow they carried a dreadful presence.

˚ ༘♡ you turned the card over, the other side detailed a date, stating the twenty-third of june, and a location, which only stated it being as the same one was before, leaving you bewildered beyond comprehension.

˚ ༘♡ “what is it?” he asked, his voice rough, ridden with something between interest and dread.

˚ ༘♡ you held the thin piece of paper out to him, letting him take it from your hands. his expression darkened as he studied it, his fingers constricting around the card.

˚ ༘♡ neither of you spoke. the silence was unbearable, the air electric with implicit perplexity and the creeping realization that whatever this card was, it wasn’t random.

a/n: a little longer than my other works, please let me know your thoughts and if you would like me to turn this into a series. part three of the professor cho-sang woo series is also coming soon!! 🤍

[thewritingrowlet]

The Second Chance, ft. Red Velvet Wendy

tags: creampie, first time

length: almost 13k

author's note: well, I guess I lied about releasing this by weekend

-

“Miss Son, may I talk to you for a bit?” Wendy’s gaze moves to look at you. “Sure—do you want to talk here, or?” You nod. “Yes, please.”

Wendy invites you to sit on the armchair next to the sofa she’s sitting on. “Can I help you?” “No, not really; I just want to say that today will be my last day with you.” She furrows her eyebrows. “Where are you going?” You grin a little. “Erm, Jiho and I are moving to Japan.” The frown on her face is quickly replaced with excitement. “Oh my God, congratulations!” Wendy hugs you from the side, kind as ever. “Thank you, Miss Son,” your cheeks are getting red, “I, erm, I’m looking forward to having a new life with her.”

Wendy pulls you onto her feet. “Let’s go buy stuff—y’know, parting gifts.” “Oh, that won’t be necessary, Miss Son,” you decline politely, “as far as I know, you’re busy today.” She puts her fists on her waist. “Are you sure you don’t want presents?” You smile. “It’s not that I don’t want them, Miss Son; it’s just that you’ve shown us so much kindness already.” She pouts for a split second before smiling again. “You’re glazing, oppa.” You burst out laughing. “And you spend too much time on social media, Miss Son.”

After the laughs die down, you walk with her towards the lobby where a chauffeur is waiting for the two of you. “Can you brief me on my schedules today?” You unlock the tablet in your hand to look at your notes. “We’ll be going to the food bank first like I said, and here it says you’ll be attending a meeting at Han Group.” “Oh, Han Group—they’re such a good bunch,” you can hear the excitement in her voice, as if impatient to go to that meeting.

-

The car stops in front of the food bank after a 30-minute drive. “We’re here, Miss Son,” the chauffeur says. Wendy stirs awake from her nap. “Oh, we are?” She pulls out a small folding mirror from her purse to look at herself. She tidies her hair to make herself look presentable. “I think I look okay.”

Wendy gets out of the car, and that’s your sign to do the same. Your heart jumps when she wraps an arm around yours—she has never done this before. “Let’s go,” she says, clueless to the fact that your cheeks are blazing hot. “Y-yes, miss.”

You open the door for her, and heads are promptly turned towards you and her. Wendy, used to attention, starts waving and smiling. “Ah, Miss Son, welcome to our house,” someone approaches the two of you—her little name tag says that her name is Han Haru. Wendy lets go of your arm to shake Haru’s hand. “I’m excited to be here, Miss Han.”

Haru asks that you and Wendy follow her to her office that’s located on the second floor, and like the proper assistant that you are, you take position behind the two women.

“Have a seat, please, Miss Son,” Haru says. Wendy sits on the chair on the other side of the desk and asks you to sit next to her. “I take it you’re here to volunteer?” Wendy nods enthusiastically. “Yes, and I’ll also be donating to your cause.”

Haru smiles. “I don’t mean to offend you at all, Miss Son, but why are you doing this—why aren’t you sitting on the top floor of some skyscraper counting your piles of bills?” Wendy smiles twice as softly. “What good is a pile of money if not used for the correct purposes, Miss Han?” Haru nods, satisfied with the answer. “Are we ready to start, then?” Wendy gets on her feet right away. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Haru gives Wendy a vest with the food bank’s logo on the back. “So, what do we do now?” “We’ll make a stop at the kitchen; the crew are working hard to prepare a ton of food, and we’ll help them box it for distribution.” “Sounds great—let’s go, then,” Wendy’s always-positive mind is admirable.

The three of you arrive at the kitchen after a short walk. Wendy’s eyes look at each person present, highly impressed and touched by their kind hearts for being willing to do such work that doesn’t pay much.

“Oppa,” she whispers to you, “can you arrange some bread for them?” You nod. “Of course, Miss Son.” You pull out your phone to text her treasurer, and after a short back-and-forth, the treasurer says that she’ll get it ready within the next hour. “She’s working on it, Miss Son,” you inform her, getting a nod as a response.

Haru points at a table that’s full of folded food containers and says that Wendy will be working on it first, and then after the food is ready, Haru and her will pack each one to the brim. “Are you also taking a part in this?” “Yes, I am―Miss Son here wouldn’t last a day without me,” you say, earning an elbow to the ribs from Wendy. “Alright, you can work with her, then—I’ll be helping somewhere else.”

You grab one folded container from the table and immediately start working on it, and since you’ve handled this sort of thing before, you know how to shape them into a ready-to-use form. Wendy, on the other hand, isn’t having as much success as you. “Oppa, slow down; let me see how you do it.” “You’ve never done this before?” “No, I—oh my God, slow down!” She airs her frustration when she sees you work on another box swiftly. “Alright, alright—here.”

You grab one more from the pile and place it on the table. “See these lines, Miss Son?” Wendy’s eyes follow your finger that’s running along the lines on the paper. “The factory put these lines here as a guide for you to fold.” “Okay, so?” You fold the paper following the lines, and after such simple steps, the box starts to take shape. You wait for Wendy to do the same things you have. You can see the fascination on her face now that she’s making progress. “Okay, okay—now what?” “Lift these little tabs and fit them into the slits, just like this.” Once again, she does the same things, and after finishing it, Wendy begins clapping in excitement—she’s clapping and jumping so much that her vest that’s just a bit too big is bouncing around. “Oh my God—oh my God, that was so cool!” “Dozens to go, Miss Son.”

You and Wendy finish shaping these boxes at a steady pace, but before the two of you manage to finish the pile, Haru announces that the food is ready to be packed. “I’ll take care of this, Miss Son; you can go help Miss Han,” you say. Without saying a word, Wendy quickly jogs towards the assembly line. You steal some glances every now and then, and in a particular instance, you see her expressions that scream “I’m overwhelmed”: her eyes are moving rapidly, her mouth is open, and her hands are shaking.

“You can stop, mister; I think we have enough boxes, and we need your help here,” Haru says from the distance. You rush towards Wendy and Haru so that you can help them. “Help us with those bags, please.” You shake paper bags upside down to fill them with air. The expanded bags can then hold the food container.

-

In her out-of-breath state, Wendy crashes onto a nearby bench. “How are we feeling, Miss Son?” She puts on a thumbs-up for you. “Amazing—I-I feel like a saint right now.” You laugh. “I mean, you kind of are at this point.” You pull out a small bottle of water from your back pocket. “Would you like some water, Miss Son?” She nods, so you crack it open and hand it over to her. “Thanks, oppa.”

You guess that she doesn’t have the energy to walk to her car, so you ask the chauffeur to come to your location. “The car is on the way, Miss Son.” Once again, she nods, still unable to stop panting.

Before long, the car pulls into the side of the road close to you. “Can you walk, Miss Son?” “Yeah, yeah—just one second, please.” While Wendy stumbles towards the car, you take the initiative to open the door for her. “Oh, that’s so nice of you, oppa—are you sure you don’t want to stay, because I can’t imagine a day without you.” You smile. “Apologies, miss, but the decision has been made.”

Once she’s inside, Wendy asks you to grab another bottle of water, so you do just that. Now that she’s in the privacy of her car, she doesn’t bother drinking neatly, letting water drip off her chin and onto her clothes. “Excuse me, Miss Son,” you wipe her chin with tissue to clean the mess. “You’re treating me like a kid,” she comments. You apologize once more. “Just trying to make sure you look okay for the meeting.” Wendy sinks into her seat. “Meeting? Really?”

Soon, the car stops in front of the Han Group building. “I’m going to fucking cry,” she says. Wendy rarely curses, only saying them when she’s in the most frustrating or annoying moments. “Remind me what I’m here for?” “Erm,” you quickly open your notes, “you’re here for a friendly visit.” Wendy looks out the window. “I’ll need you to keep your ears open, oppa—if you hear me say cake, pull me out of the meeting.” You nod. “Certainly, Miss Son.”

You get out of the car first and head towards the receptionist table. “Hello, I’m with the Son Industries,” you show the lady your employee ID card, “I’m here with Miss Son for a meeting.” “Sure, but where is she?” You point at her car that’s stopped at the lobby. “She’s still catching her breath—oh, there she is,” you see Wendy walking through the door with a smile. The receptionist reaches for the landline on her desk, and before long, she’s ready to take you to the meeting room.

The lady stops in front of a small office space on the first floor. “The boss will join you in a moment,” she says. The lady then leaves after you thank her (with a smile on your face, of course), leaving you alone with Wendy. You open the door for her. “After you, Miss Son.”

You take a seat on the empty chair next to her. Wendy lets out a hum, and when you look at her, she’s trying to roll her chair towards you. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “Sorry?” She doesn’t answer you, opting to show you instead by resting her head on your shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do to sway you from leaving me, let me know.” “Miss Son—” “Yeah, yeah, the decision has been made or whatever you said.”

You wrap an arm around her shoulder. “If the plan fails, I’ll come back running to you, Miss Son—well, if you’d let me, that is.” Wendy chuckles. “You’re always welcome at Son Industries, oppa.”

Through the glass pane, you see that the boss of the Han Group is approaching, so you tap Wendy’s arm to get her to straighten her posture. “Did you know that my father tried arranging a marriage for me and that guy?” You furrow your eyebrows—you never heard about such arrangement. “Mr. Han Harvey? Really?” Wendy sighs. “Well, he’s married to someone else now, so it doesn’t matter anymore—I like older guys anyway.”

“Miss Son,” Harvey greets her with a smile, “thank you for coming.” Wendy puts on her businesswoman smile. “Of course, Mr. Han; thank you for inviting me.” Harvey takes a seat on the other side of the desk. “We’ll be talking about business a little if that’s okay with you, Miss Son.” Wendy chuckles. “I was afraid you’d say that, but sure.”

-

“Thank you, Mr. Lee—I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Wendy enters her house and beelines towards the kitchen to find something to put in the microwave. She sees some leftover kimbap from yesterday when she opens the fridge. “Yeah, sure.”

Once the reheated food is in her hands, she grabs the letter you’ve written for her as a “parting gift.” “Why am I nervous about this, it’s just a letter,” Wendy questions herself. She tries clearing her mind by taking a few deep breaths first. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

“Miss Son,

I was the first person in my entire extended family to have gotten a bachelor's degree, and with only that degree in my back pocket, I mustered up the courage to apply to your father’s big-city company. Heh, I still remember how my heart raced when I received an interview invitation 10 days after I had applied.

I spent the night wondering what I should wear, since I had been told that first impressions are the most important thing when looking for a job, but at the time, I only had a few shirts of different colors and some grey and black trousers. Eventually, I decided to put on a red shirt and grey trousers since I thought that I would look good in them.

I remember walking through the big doors of the ground floor, and it might have been just me, but I thought people were looking at me weird, and believe me when I say that it killed my confidence that was nearly nonexistent to begin with.

The receptionist at the time was Miss Kim Yerim. I remember the kind smile on her face when she first greeted me. She immediately asked me if I was going to an interview, and before long, I found myself sitting in an empty room nervously, waiting for someone to enter and actually start asking me questions.

I remember calling my parents immediately after I had been told that I was accepted at your father’s company. I understand that it might sound corny or stupid to you considering what kind of job it was, but for a man with simple dreams like me, it meant the world to me, Miss Son.

Since I don’t have much space left on this page, I’ll skip some details and tell you how I felt when I was told that I’d become your personal assistant. Truthfully, Miss Son, I couldn’t sleep; I was so busy worrying about working directly under you.

It didn’t help that you weren’t in the best mood when I first met you that morning. I recall the way your sharp gaze was directly aimed at me. Honestly, it felt like there was a hole between my eyes because of it. Little did I know that behind all your charades, you’re actually a very kind person. 

Ultimately, I’d like to thank you, Miss Son. You’ve given this guy from the countryside plenty of chances to grow, both as an employee and a person, and I promise that I will never stop growing and learning wherever I am.

Miss Son, I’d like to think that this isn’t a perpetual goodbye, but rather a brief divergence. As much as I’m about to live a new life with my wife in a new land, I believe that one day I’ll find my way back to Son Industries, and whenever that may be, I hope that you keep yourself safe and well until then.

With respect and admiration,

Jin Changmin”

Tears that have been flowing freely out of Wendy’s eyes land on the letter. “Goodness me, oppa, why are you doing this to me—I-I thought we had something special.” She tries reading the letter from the top again, but her mind can’t focus. “God damn it, why, oppa?” Her weak hand lets go of the letter, thus letting it drop onto the carpet. “I-I love you, Jin Changmin—by God, I love you so, so much.” No matter how loud or how many times she says it, she doesn’t hear any answer, and it wrings her heart beyond help.

In a dangerous mix of anger and anguish, Wendy tosses the mug in front of her at the wall, shattering it into hundreds of pieces—a manifestation of her broken heart. “I-I hate you, oppa; I-I hate that you’ve left me like this.”

Wendy contemplates if she wants to burn the letter, but at the last minute, she decides against it. “Come back to me soon, oppa; I’ll be waiting for you.”

-

“Love, we’re here—we’re actually here,” Jiho tugs your hand that she’s holding, seemingly in disbelief that the two of you have reached Japan. “You’re excited, aren’t you, love?” Jiho nods. “I’m both excited and nervous, but I have you with me, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

You lift your hand to hail a cab for you and your wife, and the first thing you do is shove your luggage into the trunk. After getting in, you speak into the translator app, which, well, translates your words, and not long after that, the cab starts rolling. “No turning back now,” you think.

You pull Jiho closer to you. “Get some nap, love; I’ll keep an eye out for us.” She promptly yawns. “I love you,” she says softly. “I love you too,” you end your reply by giving a peck on her head.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your destination, which is a regular 5-story apartment building not too far from the center of the city. “Love, we’re here,” you tap your wife’s arm to wake her up. She looks around with half open eyes. “Oh, okay.” While she gathers herself after her nap, you get off the cab first to take your luggage out the trunk.

Once Jiho is ready, you take her hand in yours and walk with her towards your new unit.

“Oh, this is pretty cool,” Jiho comments. “Do we have a bidet?” She jogs to the bathroom to check. “Oh, yes, we do—wow, it’s already so much better here.” Her excitement is infectious, and you can’t help but feel the same.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, and without being asked, Jiho takes her favorite spot on your lap. “Thank you for everything, love,” she says. You peck her on the lips. “You are all I have, love.” She smiles. “And you are all I have, especially in this foreign land.”

Jiho suddenly comes in for a kiss, her hands placed neatly on your nape. “What do you say we break this place in?” “Only if you promise you won’t be too loud.” She laughs. “I can’t help it; my husband is almost too big for me.”

You fall backwards onto the bed, letting your wife take a different position. “Love, I don’t have the energy to ride you,” she says, so you let her lie on her back first before getting on top of her. “Ah, this is more like it.”

Jiho reaches for the topmost button on your shirt but stops before your last button. “Something feels odd,” she comments, “do you not want to do this?” You’ve been caught. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something else—I’ll focus on us now.” Jiho furrows her eyebrows. “You weren’t thinking about Miss Son, were you?” You weren’t, but now that she mentions it, you wonder what Miss Son is up to. “No, I wasn’t,” you deflect.

Jiho asks you to prove to her if you’re truly focused on her and only her, her words laced with jealousy. “You got it, love,” you reply.

You can feel that Jiho is quite unhappy with you, but the way she lets out a small gasp when your lips first latch on the side of her neck assures you that the situation can be salvaged as long as you perform well.

Jiho guides your hand towards her breasts, and that’s a sign to you that she’s feeling better. “T-touch me here, please.” You palm and play with her breast like she wants you to, thus earning soft moans from her. “Yes, just like that, love—just don’t think about anything else.”

You stop the stimulation on her neck when you see that there’s a decently sized pink spot on it. “You’ll need to put on a scarf when we go out tonight, love.” Jiho chuckles. “Nah, I’ll proudly show off your mark.”

You straighten your posture to undress properly, and while you do that, Jiho takes the chance to do the same. You think that she’s ready now that she’s down to her underwear, but based on her expressions, she’s not in the right mind just yet.

“Oppa,” she calls to you, “I’m feeling something, but I can’t put it into words.” You keep your eyes on her. “Is it bad?” Jiho bites her bottom lip nervously. “I-I don’t know.” You start petting her head gently. “Can you describe a little?” “I just feel… uneasy—I feel like something is looming ahead, but I don’t know what.” You put on a smile that you hope is assuring. “I understand if you’re nervous, but as long as we stick together, we will be fine, love.”

Jiho holds your hand with her soft hands. “I hope you won’t blame me when things don’t work out—I’m being serious right now.” “It wouldn’t be fair for me, love; we’re in this together, are we not?” Your respond doesn’t quite satisfy Jiho. “What would you do if things don’t work out, oppa?” “I’d take you back to Korea,” you say the first answer in your head. Jiho takes a few deep breaths. “Sounds good.”

This doesn’t feel like a good transition to sex, so you ask if she wants to continue like this. “Just… hold me for now, please,” she requests. “Of course, love.”

-

“I’m home,” you say as you enter through the door, but there’s no sign of her. Usually, she’ll rush to you as soon as she hears the door swing open, but not today. “Love, where are you?” You put down the bouquet on the living room table and start walking around the interior. Your heart rate spikes when you hear moans coming out of the bedroom. “What is she doing,” you think as your hand turns the handle.

Your heart comes to an immediate stop—she’s having sex with someone else, bouncing her butt on his lap. “What the fuck?” Jiho turns her head to look at you. “Oh, hey, there,” she waves at you casually. “What the fuck are you doing right now?” She laughs. “Why, I’m having sex—y’know, because you wouldn’t touch me.” You tilt your head so that you can look at the guy. “Who the fuck is that, even?” She shrugs. “I don’t know; I just met him last night.”

Jiho gets off the guy’s dick and makes her way towards you—you manage to catch a glimpse of his size, and he’s not even half as big as you are. “You’re mad, aren’t you?” You look at her in the eyes, trying your hardest to stay calm amidst the crazy turn of events. “I have some adjectives to describe my feelings right now.” She laughs, seemingly mocking you. “Well, should’ve not skipped touching your wife, then.”

Before you address this further, you gesture to the guy to leave because you don’t think he speaks the same language as you do. He says something when he passes you; not sure what, but the smirk on his face indicates that he probably said something dirty about you or Jiho. “Fuck you, asshole.” You punch him in the stomach, and when he bends because of the impact, you kick his butt like it was a soccer ball, officially kicking him out of your apartment.

With that guy out of the apartment, you turn your attention to your wife. “You look calm, but I can see smoke coming out of your ears.” You shove Jiho by her shoulders, thus making her fall backwards onto the bed. “Since when you turned into such a slut?” “Recently—you know, when you ignored me.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Ignored you? You said you were on period,” you argue. She laughs. “And you just believed me? You couldn’t be bothered to check with your own eyes?” You can’t believe your ears. “What was I supposed to do, pull your pants down? What if you had actually been on your period?”

Jiho makes another argument, but in your disinterested state of mind, you ignore her, opting to undress instead. “Wha-what are you doing?” “You said you wanted to be touched, didn’t you?” She gulps. “W-well, yes,” she’s starting to crack under the pressure. “W-wait, love, please listen to me.” You stop in your tracks. “What?” You can tell that her heart is racing. “Love, I-I’m sorry; I-I realized I’ve just made a fatal mistake.” You scoff. “You only said it because I caught you in action—did you enjoy it, by the way, because he was quite small,” you add a little taunt. She shakes her head, visibly scared of this side of you that she has never seen before. “I-I couldn’t even feel him, I swear!”

You quickly get on top of Jiho, her nervous, rapid breaths hitting your face endlessly. “What the fuck were you moaning for then, hm?” “Uh, uh, d-dramatic effects?” Your mind clouded by blind rage, you slap her on the cheek, thus leaving a big red mark on it. “Dramatic effects? What are you, a fucking porn star?” Jiho starts sobbing because of the sting—she’s debating whether it’s her face or her heart that’s in worse pain. “P-please, I-I didn’t enjoy it—I swear to God,” the sobs make her words sound less intelligible.

You stop for a moment. Deep inside, you’re trying so hard to regain control of your raging heart and mind. “You’re going to regret this, you know.” She nods. “I-I’m already regretting it, l-love.” You exhale deeply. “Don’t call me that.” Jiho hesitantly reaches for your face that’s hovering closely above hers. “B-but I love you; I-I really do.” You grab her wrists and slowly guide her hands off your face. “Why did you do that, then—why did you hurt me like that?” “I-I don’t know.”

You grab her ankles and fold her in half. “Do you know where this is going?” She nods. “C-claim me, my love.” You flinch a little when you hear the name. “Don’t fucking call me that, slut.” Jiho’s eyes widen in shock. “P-please don’t call me that.” “You don’t deserve love or honey, so I’m calling you a slut, and you’re going to fucking like it.”

Jiho lets out a moan when your cock suddenly enters her pussy. “M-make me yours again,” she says. She lets out another moan when the tip of your cock reaches her deepest spot. “Yes, just like that.”

You turn up the pace to the maximum that you’re able to do, using the feral flame of jealousy and anger in your heart as fuel. “Fucking slut,” you insult her, “I tried being respectful, and this is how you pay me back?” “L-love—nghk!” Her speech is interrupted due to your palm that’s choking her. “Shut the fuck up,” you growl.

You don’t know how long you’ve been fucking her like this, but one thing that’s sure is that orgasm is almost at the door. “C-cum inside a-and claim me back,” she urges. “You still dare making demands?” Jiho shakes her head. “I-I was just… s-saying—oh, fuck.”

You quickly pull out of her pussy and flip her onto her stomach. With your cock in hand, you guide it until the tip touches her rear entrance. “I should fuck you here, make it loose for anyone who comes after.” Jiho trembles. “I-I haven’t—w-we haven’t put anything in there.” You chuckle. “Is that so, because I could’ve sworn I saw that guy put his middle finger in your ass.” “Y-you saw—fuck!” You interrupt her with a smack to the butt. “I saw what?” Jiho fights through the pain. “Y-you saw wrong.”

“Close your eyes,” you command, and Jiho adheres right away; not only does she close her eyes, but she also presses her face into the bed. You hear a muffled gasp from her when your spit-coated thumb traces the shape of her forbidden hole. “You really had to wait until we’re in a foreign land to stab me in the back, huh?” “I’m sorry,” you hear a faint response from her. “I don’t know if an apology is sufficient, to be completely honest,” you say, your tone laden with sadness and disappointment. “Anyway, here I go.”

Jiho clenches her fist as she prepares to give up her virginity. “I guess this is how I die,” she thinks. Tears begin swarming out of her eyes again as the second wave of guilt crashes over her heart. “I’m so sorry, my love; I don’t know why I hurt you—you’ve been the best husband I could ever ask for.” Her body goes limp when the tip of your cock begins pushing into her. “Take me, my love; make me yours again.”

Jiho lets out a long moan when she feels you in her pussy instead of her ass. “L-love?” You pet her butt gently. “I might be angry, but I’m no degenerate.” A small smile is drawn on her face; you never do anything in bed without her consent, and even though your head is full of anger (that’s justified), the fact that you’re still firmly holding on to your principle is touching, if not admirable. “Y-yes, of course—y-you’re a great husband for me.” Jiho’s heart flutters when she sees a smile on your face, oblivious to what kind of thoughts are running rampant inside your head. “Oh, you’re so clueless, sweetheart,” you say internally.

You maintain a pace that’s rather relaxed, basking in the intimate moment of what might be the last you’ll have with her. “D-do you remember our first night?” “Before or after the wedding?” “Oh, God, b-before.” You take a quick trip to memory lane; you had sex multiple times on your first night with her, doing it in different positions, including the one you’re currently in right now. “I did,” you answer, “you also took me from behind.” She nods. “E-exactly.”

You don’t know Jiho is mentioning the past, so you ask. “I-I just wish I could go back to that night—I swear w-we were so in love.” You chuckle a bit. “And we’re no longer in love? Is that why you cheated on me?” A stray tear flows onto her cheek. “P-please, I-I know it was so wrong of me.” You close your eyes, your hips fully stopped. “Hindsight is always perfect, isn’t it?” Jiho nods again. “I-I wish—” You silence her with a soft shush. “The past is the past, and there’s nothing else that can be done right now.”

A few more thrusts and you’re ready to bust. “I’m close,” you say, your tone flat thanks to the realization that this is the end of your story. “Feel free to finish anywhere.” You lodge your cock deep inside her when you explode, sending your load right into her womb. Usually, you’d praise her as you cum, but this time, your tongue feels heavy, thus making you unable to say anything.

You pull out when you’re done spurting everything out, and some excess semen drips out of her. “Some things just don’t change,” you think.

You grab your clothes that are making a mess on the floor, putting them on one by one, and the sight makes Jiho start crying again. “W-where are you going?” “Home,” you give her a short answer. “B-but isn’t this our home?” You sigh. “Not anymore, no.”

Jiho completely breaks down. It is clear to her now that everything is doomed; she has messed up the marriage, and now, you’re leaving the relationship that has been nurtured for years. “At least clue me how I can fix this, please,” she begs. You wipe some tears off her cheeks with your thumbs, comforting her as much as you can. “You can’t, sweetheart.” Jiho flinches; you used to call her by that name when the two of you were dating. “Sometimes, sweetheart, sometimes good things fall apart, and you just can’t fix them.”

Jiho pecks the back of your hand. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she says tearily, fully in regret. You peck her on the forehead the same way you did on your first date. “Promise me that you’ll be safe and happy wherever you are.” She nods. “Y-you too, oppa.”

The way she’s sobbing as you walk away from you wrests your heart terribly, but what else is there to be done?

“The world is so damn cruel sometimes, isn’t it?”

-

“Excuse me, sir, but unless you’re waiting for a flight, you need to leave.” You rub your eyes to get yourself together. “Oh, no, I’m not waiting for a flight—I’ll leave after this,” you say. The guard gives you a little nod before walking away.

You walk out of the airport while thinking about the next course of action. You still have money that should be enough to live off for about a month. “If I can get a basement apartment, the money will last longer,” you think. Still in the theme of making sure the money lasts as long as it can, you decide to just walk towards the city instead of getting a cab.

You reach the edge of urban civilization after around a few thousand steps. There is an apartment building not too far ahead, and you hope that it has a cheap vacant unit in the basement that you can occupy.

“Good evening,” you greet the lady at the front desk, “is there a basement unit here?” Much to your delight and relief, there is. “You’re in luck; there’s only one left,” she says. “I’ll take that right now, please,” you say, not bothering to think twice. “Please have a seat while I take care of some stuff.”

It is when your butt lands on the steel bench that you start thinking about Jiho again.

“I’m letting you go, sweetheart—make sure you’re safe and happy, okay?”

The relationship started with you “stealing” her from her abusive ex-boyfriend, but even then, she had never fooled around with anyone else behind his back, so in your mind, you don’t think that she had any reason to hurt you. “I guess this is how it was meant for us,” you conclude.

The front desk lady calls your name, so you quickly approach her. “This is your contract, and if you accept, please sign down here.” You take the paper from her and start reading, carefully taking mental notes about the important points in the contract as you go. One of them says that management doesn’t cover anything if the unit happens to get drowned during a flood. “That’s quite the risk,” you think, but it’s not like you have too many options.

You read the whole contract once again to make sure you’re not missing anything, and now you’re confident enough to sign it. “It’s time to pay now, isn’t it?” The lady nods with a smile and pulls out an EDC machine, so you hand your card to her. Shortly after that, you’re told that you can enter your unit with the key in her hand. “Thank you so much.”

A small wave of sadness washes over your heart when you see the interior that only has one twin-sized mattress lying on the floor and a small wardrobe—your previous unit was fully furnished. “Round two of rags to riches, I guess.”

The first thing you do is lie down, of course. It’s been a very long day with work and Jiho, and you just want to catch your breath. “I’m just going to chill.”

-

You’ve arrived at Son Industries to look for a chance to be hired again, feeling much better now that you have clean clothes on your body. The decorations haven’t changed too much in the past year—the big sofa in the lobby has changed, though; it used to be beige, but now it’s a brown one. “Has to be Miss Son’s doing,” you think.

In terms of personnel, the person attending the front desk is no longer Mr. Bang that you were close with, and you don’t recognize this new person. Nonetheless, you muster up the courage to approach the woman. “Hello, good morning,” you greet her, “is the company open to walk-in interviews?” She blinks rapidly, a mix of confusion and startlement drawn on her face. “Erm, let me check first.”

The way the woman is scratching her temple isn’t a good sign for you; it doesn’t look like they’re currently open for people to walk in and ask to be interviewed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can accommodate you today.” You try your best to hide the sourness in your heart. “Ah, no worries; I shouldn’t have come without prior notice.” The woman asks for your contact information for future references, saying that the company will reach out to you should there be a job vacancy. Without wasting time, you write down your name, phone number, and email address on a piece of paper and hand it to her. “I can’t promise anything, though.” You nod. “No, no, it’s totally okay—thank you for the help!” You quickly part ways with her, smiling on your way out.

Your smile disappears when you reach the street again as nervousness begins filling your mind. The money you have won’t last too long at this point—you probably have around a week before you completely run out, and should that happen, you’ll be forced to live under a bridge or at a park somewhere.

You contemplate if you want to call Wendy right away but considering how long you’ve been away from her and who she is, she might have changed her number long ago. “This is a big city; surely there’s a chance for me somewhere,” you try to stay optimistic.

You take a lap around the central business district, and you happen to see a guy who’s busy sticking job vacancy pamphlets on light poles. You quickly cross the street to get to the pole and check out the pamphlet. You see that it’s from a record label startup companythat’s currently looking for both a chauffeur and a personal assistant for their newly appointed director. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You pull out your phone to check where the company is located, and you’re glad that it’s not too far away. You decide that you’re going to take the bus this time since you’ve had enough fun getting around the city on foot. Before that, though: “Mister, mister,” you chase him half running, “can I have one of that, please?” The guy nods and hands you one of the pamphlets. “Alright, thank you.”

Soon, you find yourself standing in front of an office building that’s smaller than the one Son Industries calls headquarters. Like before, you quickly enter and approach the front desk. “Excuse me, miss—I’m here for this,” you hold the pamphlet in the air for her to see. “Ah, of course,” she says, “chauffeur or assistant?” You’ve never been a chauffeur before, and as interesting as it sounds to change jobs, you’d rather play safe and become an assistant once more as you’re comfortable and confident in your experience and skills. “Assistant, please.”

The lady leaves her seat and asks you to follow her, and after a brief walk, you reach an empty room. “An interviewer will join you soon; please wait inside.” You thank her for the help and quickly settle in the room that only has some chairs and a desk. You’re experienced in being an assistant, so it’s odd that you’re nervous right now. “Man, what’s wrong with me,” you ask yourself.

Thankfully, salvation comes quickly in the form of two interviewers. “You must be our candidate,” the woman says, and you respond to her with a smile on your face. “I must say, mister, I’m quite giddy to see a candidate so soon.” You laugh a bit. “I am also quite giddy to get a job, miss.”

The two sit across the table from you. “My name is Shin Jimin, and this is Shin Sooin—can you introduce yourself a bit?” You nod. “My name is Jin Changmin, and I have decent experience under my belt after having worked for Son Industries for around 5 years.” Jimin beams. “Did you say Son Industries?” You nod again. “You know,” she starts, “I tried applying multiple times and could never make it past the interviews.” You chuckle. “Their HR could sometimes be… irritating.” The women laugh. “Sure, they are, mister.”

The interview doesn’t last too long. Because you’ve mentioned your experience working at Son Industries, which is well known in the eyes of the public, it convinces Jimin and Sooin that you’re the right hire. Also, at one point during the interview, it’s decided that the two women will start addressing you as oppa and you will address them casually from this point onwards.

“Oppa,” Sooin says, “are you free today, by any chance?” “You’re not inviting me to a date, are you,” you crack a little joke and are successful in making her laugh. “No, no, no; I’m just thinking that since you’re here, maybe you can start working for half a day—we’ll pay you accordingly, of course.” You nod. “I’m as free as it gets for an unemployed guy.”

Jimin excuses herself and has Sooin brief you on your tasks on your first (partial) day. “The director has a handful of things on his schedule today, so you’ll be following him around.” She hands you a tablet. “I didn’t see you carrying one, so use this, oppa.” You notice that it’s a newer model from the same brand you used to use when working under Wendy. “Alright, I’ll take you to the boss right now.”

Sooin takes you upstairs and knocks on the door for you. “Boss, he’s here.” “Yes, let him in, please,” you hear a woman’s voice from the other side, and the door swings open for you.

“Good—” Your speech is interrupted when you see who the boss is, your eyes wide open because of the shock. “I-is that—” “Leave us, Sooin-ah.” Sooin closes the door behind you, and you can hear her steps fading away. “I-I, erm,” you find it hard to speak right now.

The boss leaves her seat and approaches you, the sound of her heels deafening. “Hi, good morning—is it afternoon yet, actually?” You stay silent, trying your hardest to stay composed and professional. “Took you so long to get here; did you get lost in the way?” You respond by nodding. “Well, at least, you’re here now.”

The boss wraps her arms around your body, sharing her warmth with you. “Welcome back, oppa.” You garner your courage to hug her back. “M-Miss Son,” you say almost in a whisper. You hear a chuckle from her. “You still remember my name, huh?” You nod. “How can I ever forget about you?”

Wendy pulls away from the embrace, and that’s when you see her glassy eyes. “How long have you been away from me, oppa?” “A little over a year,” you answer. “That’s too long, don’t you think?” You nod slightly. “I-I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “Well, at least you’re here now.”

Wendy invites you to sit on the sofa in her office. “I feel like you have so much to tell me, but I have a lot of work today.” You take a deep breath to clear your mind. “I’m here for you, Miss Son.” She chuckles. “Yeah, and I’m not letting you go ever again, just so we’re clear.”

Wendy returns to her big director chair. “Come here, please; let’s talk about your tasks.” You quickly stand up and sit in front of her for your briefing. “Yes, Miss Son.” Wendy is getting goosebumps; she hasn’t had anyone who is as ready as you are when it comes to work, and she’s struggling to keep a straight face. “Oh my God, I’ve missed this,” she thinks.

-

“Do you mind driving?” You take the key from her and notice that it’s different. “New car, Miss Son?” She sighs. “I totaled the Genesis.” Your eyebrows furrow involuntarily. “You did what?” “Look, I was sleepy, alright—I wasn’t under any influence.” You don’t continue the subject, opting to get in the car and turn it on instead so you can take her to her destination.

You open the back seat door for her, but she declines; she says she’ll sit next to you. “I want to… y’know, be close to you.” You pretend like you don’t notice the subtle blush on her cheeks and simply help her get in the car. “Are we ready, Miss Son?” She nods, her face decorated with a smile. “Yes, we are.”

It is when you’re stopped at a red light that Wendy initiates a conversation. “Oppa, can you share a bit of your story?” You sigh heavily. “I suppose,” you start, “Jiho cheated on me, Miss Son, so I left her.” Wendy falls silent, not expecting such an answer from you. “I caught her having sex with some stranger she claimed she had met the previous night,” you pile on, and you can see on the edge of your vision that Wendy’s face has turned sour. “I’ve moved on now, so don’t worry about my performance at work.”

“She never deserved you.”

You turn your head to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“She never deserved you; I’ve always had a feeling that you were too good for her, oppa.”

You don’t know if you’re offended or not; at one point in your life, Jiho was the best partner you could’ve ever asked for, and a part of you is still hanging on to that, hoping that she’s still the same person you fell in love with, even though you’ve parted ways with her.

“Miss Son, please don’t talk about her like that.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

You exhale deeply. “Miss Son, please.”

“Ugh, fine—forget I said anything.”

“What about you, Miss Son,” you try changing the subject, “did you leave Son Industries?” “Yes and no,” she says, “I’m trying to establish a record label as a subsidiary, but I’ve left my post at Son Industries.” You nod. “I assume you’ve left your old assistant to work under the new director of Son Industries?” Wendy shakes her head. “I never hired another assistant after you left, so whoever is replacing me must bring their own right-hand.”

You see an opportunity to make a joke and lighten the mood a bit. “You learned how to be independent, didn’t you?” Wendy smacks you on the shoulder. “Just so you know, it was so damn rough; I realized I had been relying on you too much.”

-

“Miss Son, we’re here,” you tap her forearm to wake her up, and after a moment of grunting and yawning, she’s awake. “Can I ask what we’re doing here, Miss Son?” “This is—” A yawn interrupts her. “This is a dance studio, and we’re here to look at some trainees.”

You help her get out of the car, and Wendy promptly wraps an arm around yours. “Let’s go find some recruits,” she says, her voice laden with excitement.

There are a man and a woman walking out of the building to greet the two of you. “Miss Son, this way, please; the trainees are waiting for you,” the man says. “They’re skipping school, Mr. Jo?” He chuckles nervously. “Erm, sort of—they said they want to maximize their chances to be recruited, so some skipped school and some others called in sick.”

You and co. enter a practice room that’s filled with a bunch of teenage girls. They greet you repeatedly, and you make sure to reply to each one properly. Based on their sweat-drenched forehead and clothes, you can tell that they’ve been practicing a lot prior to your arrival.

“Girls, this is your future boss, Miss Wendy Son from Son Media Group.” Wendy waves at them, showing kindness so that they don’t get more nervous or scared than they already are. “Miss Son, they’ve prepared a performance for you—please kindly watch them perform.”

You take a seat in front of the girls with Wendy next to you. You notice that each trainee is wearing a name tag, so you quickly write them down on your tablet since she will likely want you to make notes based on her assessments.

Wendy starts getting excited when the song starts playing over the speakers. “She must know this song,” you guess. As time goes by, she keeps making these expressions that you don’t know the meaning of—you can tell that she’s enjoying the moment, though.

Your attention is stolen when Wendy taps your arm repeatedly. “Pay attention,” she whispers to you, so you lock in to the performance.

You push and pull me like gravity

I fall for you, every part of me

You push and pull me like gravity

Insanity

I’m losing my mind

Wendy squeezes your arm, her face bright and beaming, visibly impressed by the performance she’s watching. You look at her from the side, admiring her passion and ever-positive attitude for everything that’s in front of her. “By God, I’ve missed this, Miss Son.”

The cover soon ends, leaving Wendy in awe. You, on the other hand, are not too well-versed in music, but you still clap along with her. “I have good feelings about these girls,” she whispers to you. “I believe your judgment, Miss Son.” She pinches your arm lightly. “You’re such an enabler, aren’t you?” You chuckle. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve dragged us down a pit, is it?”

The guy running the studio asks for Wendy’s attention, but she dismisses him (gently and politely), opting to speak to the girls right away instead. “So, girls,” she begins, “how bad do you want this?” The question has the girls looking at each other in confusion, and it takes a while until one of them dares lift her hand. “I, erm, I want it so bad, miss, b-but I don’t know if I’m good enough.” Wendy smiles, kindness exuding from her face. “If I remember correctly, you did the low register during the chorus, didn’t you?” The girl nods to Wendy’s question. “I personally think you did very well, so don’t sell yourself short like that, especially if you want to debut as an idol.”

The girl looks down to hide her shy grin, and that’s when Wendy shifts her attention to the rest of the trainees. She asks each girl a simple question, nodding to their answers no matter how good or bad they are. “You all need PR training,” she makes a little joke and is met with nervous laughter. “Anyway,” Wendy leaves her seat, “I’ll get going now; I have some other places I need to visit, and I’ll be in touch very soon.”

It's starting to rain quite heavily when you step outside the studio. “C’mon, quick,” Wendy rushes towards the car, so you quickly follow her. “Where do we go now, Miss Son?” “I wanted to grab something to eat, but I guess not—let’s head back to the office for now.”

The rain gets even heavier as you drive through the city, water hitting the roof of your car like punches from the grey skies. “Rain sounds scary sometimes, doesn’t it?” You sigh nervously. “It doesn’t help that I live in an underground apartment.” Wendy furrows her eyebrows. “You do? Why?” “Because I wanted to save money,” you answer plainly. “Yeah, well, you’re going to leave that apartment after this.”

The radio stops its usual broadcast to make room for an emergency announcement. It says that residents should watch out for flash floods considering the suddenness and volume of the rain. You inhale and exhale deeply as you try to stay focused. “I can hear that, you know.” You don’t respond, too busy trying to keep calm and collected. “Oppa, did you hear me?” “Oh, yeah, yeah,” you blurt, “just a bit, erm, nervous.”

Wendy looks at you from the side. “What valuables do you keep at your apartment?” You list the items for her: your passport, cash, important documents, and lastly but definitely as important, clothes. You’d have nothing to wear if they were damaged by a flood, and that would be bad on its own. “Let’s go save your stuff.” “You don’t mind taking a detour?” You ask to make sure, and your assurance comes in the form of her insisting. “Yeah, okay.”

Instead of going straight at the intersection, you make a right turn to head to your apartment. “Don’t kill us,” Wendy warns, getting nervous just by the way you’re zipping through traffic. “Don’t worry, Miss Son,” you assure her. Wendy tightens her grip on the grab handle, not convinced with your words.

You stop on the side of the road and jump out of the car right after it’s stopped. “Oppa, wait!” You hear her, but you ignore her; your mind is focused on saving your valuables from your underground apartment that’s about to drown.

You get nervous when you reach the underground floor that is filled with water as high as your calves. “Oh, hell, no.” You step through the water and stop in front of your unit. After fishing the key out of your back pocket, you push the door open, fighting the force of nature.

The wardrobe is your first destination. You keep your clothes on the top shelves, so they’re not wet in the slightest. “Just grab what you can!” You’re surprised to see that Wendy is also down here with you. “This first!” You pass a small laptop bag that’s full of personal documents over to her before grabbing your clothes and pants. “Let’s get out,” she urges, so you follow her back upstairs to street level.

You shove your belongings into the second row of the car, not worrying about whether the clothes are wrinkled or not; the fact that they’re not drowned is good enough for you. “Goodness me,” Wendy says breathily, “say, how long have you been living there?” “A-about a year,” you reply just as breathily. “You’re not going to live in such a place ever again.” You nod. “I hope so.”

You stay in the car with Wendy until the pants stop. “Drive,” she says. “Where to?” “Just fucking drive, will you?” She doesn’t use profanities very often, and truthfully, you’re surprised and concerned, but that doesn’t stop you from following her orders. “Of course.”

Wendy pulls out her phone and gets on a call with someone. “It’s time—prepare the haven,” she says. The person on the other side of the call must know what to do as the call takes but a few seconds. Oddly enough, you hear the person congratulate Wendy right before she hangs up. “The haven, Miss Son?” She lets out a deep exhale. “You heard me,” she says, “now follow this route.” You see that the car’s head unit has been updated; you’re currently 21 minutes away from your destination. “Yes, Miss Son.”

-

The GPS says that your destination is on your left, and when you look out the window, it’s a typical high-rise apartment building. “We’re here, Miss Son” you notify her. “Yeah, I can see that,” she replies uncharacteristically. “Let’s get out.” She grabs an umbrella from the glovebox and hands it to you, so like a proper chauffeur, you step out of the car and hold the black umbrella for her outside of her door. “

You walk with her into the building, only putting down the umbrella when you’re covered by the big canopy. “Miss Son,” a woman at the front desk greets her, “the haven is ready for use.” Wendy simply puts up a thumb and walks fast towards the elevator, and you make sure that you’re following closely behind her.

Instead of pressing a button to head to a certain level, Wendy places her thumb on the little scanner. “Miss Son, would you kindly elaborate?” She glares at you. “Just shut the fuck up, please.” You gulp to swallow the unease that’s stuck in your throat. “Y-yes, madam.” You keep an eye on the level indicator above the elevator doors as it takes you upstairs beyond the listed floors.

The doors soon slide open, and you find yourself standing in front of a brown door. You want to ask what all of this means, but before you can open your mouth, you’re reminded that she has told you to “shut the fuck up” a minute ago. “Follow me,” she says, so you do just that. Once again, she places her thumb on the scanner below the door handle, and you hear the door unlock. “Follow me,” she says once more as she pushes the door open.

You involuntarily let out a wow; in front of your eyes is a big, fancy penthouse that has everything anyone could possibly need. A full-size kitchen, check; a living room with big sofas and a wallpaper TV, check; a chandelier that costs more than your net worth, check.

“Erm, Miss Son, if I may?” Wendy shakes her head. “Take a seat first,” she says, so you sit down on one of the big armchairs. Once the two of you are ready to talk, you initiate a conversation again. “Miss Son, what is this place, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She smiles a little.

“This is our home.”

You want to shove your fist into your ears and expand them just so you can be sure that you didn’t hear her wrong.

“Pardon me?”

“This is our home, oppa; this is the haven I spoke about.”

You blink, and blink, and blink, and blink—you’re highly unsure if you’re understanding this correctly.

“W-what do you mean this is our home?”

Wendy leaves her seat, opting to make herself comfortable on your lap instead. “From this hour, this minute, and this second, you belong to me, and I belong to you.” “M-Miss Son—” “You’re not tied to that Jiho bitch anymore, but we are tied together.” “M-Miss Son, I—”

A hard slap lands square on your cheek, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the penthouse. “I-I hate—” Wendy starts breaking down. “I-I hate that you left this country f-for that good-for-nothing bitch; I-I hate that you fucking left me, oppa.” You instinctively run your hand along her back softly the same way you used to do it with Jiho whenever she was feeling terrible. “Y-you could’ve stayed here, oppa—fuck, you could’ve married me instead.”

You take a few deep breaths to clear your mind and get a grip on the situation. “Wendy,” you say in a very, very soft tone, “what are you talking about right now?” Still unable to stop crying, Wendy presses her face onto your chest, possibly soaking your only white shirt with her tears. “I-I love you, oppa—I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you, b-but… but you loved her.”

You pull her into a tight hug while tears continue to flow out her eyes, and it’s getting really hard to stay solid. You keep rubbing her back mindlessly because your mind is busy imagining what things could’ve been like had you understood her feelings—you could’ve saved yourself from the heartbreak that was catching Jiho cheating.

Wendy lets out a gasp when you lift her by her thighs. “W-what are you doing?” “We’re going to talk, but we’ll get comfortable first.” She hides her face in your chest again after getting an answer. “Okay.”

You let out a chuckle when you see the insides of the bedroom. “I forget how rich you are sometimes.” You hear a small chuckle from the woman in your arms. “I wanted a proper space for us.” “Oh, it’s proper, alright.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, and you swear Wendy just let out a purr. “Are you comfortable, love?” She shifts around to make sure she’s as close as she can be to you; her hands are on your nape, and her legs that are locked around your body complete the embrace. “Yes, I am.” “Great,” you reply, “well, here I go.”

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you

Confusion is drawn clearly on Wendy’s face, not expecting in the slightest that you’ll sing for her. “What the hell,” she mouths inaudibly.

Shall I stay

Would it be a sin

If I can’t help

Falling in love with you

“Continue,” she mouths once again.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

You pause for a moment; to prepare for the next part of the song, you take her hands in yours to capture the emotions.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can’t help

Falling in love with you

“Goodness me,” Wendy wipes her tears with a smile on her face, “I-I didn’t know you could sing this well.” You chuckle a little. “That’s the only song I can sing.” She laughs. “I fear the man who has practiced one kick ten thousand times, or so they say,” she replies.

Wendy looks at you with a beautiful smile drawn on her face. “Yes, love?” She points at something over her shoulder. “You see that?” You look at what her thumb is pointed at—it’s a mug with random gold seams all over it. “What about it?” “I destroyed that mug after reading your letter, so I sent it to a kintsugi artist and had it repaired.”

You sigh. “Did I hurt you with that letter?” She nods. “It hurt so bad, you know.” You apologize, but she declines. “You promised you’d return, and now you’re here, so it’s all good.” Your gaze lands on the mug with gold stripes again, a manifestation of her mended heart. “I’m here to stay, love, and I hope you are too.” Wendy gives you a peck on the side of your neck. “This is what I’ve been hoping for; I’m not letting this go easily.”

The two of you keep your gazes locked on each other’s. “Help,” she says, “I need a segue.” You chuckle. “Segue to what, love?” “To you taking my flower.” Your eyebrows rise. “Your… flower?” She pinches your cheek. “Don’t play dumb; you know what I’m talking about.” You gently guide her hand off your face. “I just didn’t know you’ve never done it before.” Wendy shrugs. “You never asked, so I never said anything.” You take your turn to pinch her cheek. “You’re my boss—how could I ever ask about such a thing, hm?” A fleeting kiss lands on your lips. “I’m no longer your boss, oppa; from today, you’re my, erm, boyfriend.” You notice the way her cheeks are turning red. “I don’t mean to rush, but I have a feeling that we’ll be more than that.” A sheepish smile appears on her face. “I-I’ll hold you to that.”

You help Wendy lie down in the middle of this huge bed. “Oppa,” she calls to you, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” You answer her by pecking her on the lips. “But I want to hear you say it.” You smile. “My heart belongs to you, but legally, I’m still married to Jiho.” Her face turns sour. “I don’t want to hear that name.” You slap yourself internally for being careless with your words. “Sorry, love,” you clear your throat, “yes, I’m yours.”

Her face is adorned with a beautiful smile.

“Then take me.”

You reach for the first button on her shirt, and that’s when you notice her fast breaths. “You’re nervous, aren’t you, love?” She nods wordlessly. “I promise I’ll be nice and gentle,” you assure her. Wendy holds your wrists as a gesture of calling a timeout. “Y-you’ll be my first and my last, so please take care of me.” You assure her once more that you’ll prioritize her over yourself before continuing to undo her buttons.

The sight of Wendy’s partially naked being has you breathing rapidly. “You look very good, love” you praise her. She looks away to hide her shyness. “I-I try to stay in good shape—y’know, just in case.” You see an opportunity to mess with her a bit. “Just in case what, sweetheart? Just in case you want to do it with some rich executive?” Wendy lets out a gasp, seemingly offended. “I’m not cheap,” she says. “I know, sweetheart; I was just messing with you.”

The last button of her one-piece dress is finally undone. “Help me take it off, oppa,” she says, so you hold the end of the dress and lift upwards until she’s free. Wendy instinctively covers her breasts and crotch, not used to being exposed in front of a man. “You’ve really never done this before, have you?” She shakes her head, her cheeks painted bright red. “T-this is embarrassing.” You gently pull her arms away and set them on the bed. “You have nothing to be embarrassed for, love.” Wendy still avoids eye contact. “I-i-it’s your turn to u-undress.”

You swiftly take off your shirt, opting to just pull it over your head instead of spending too much time undoing the buttons.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Her gaze slowly shifts to meet yours. “Y-yes?” “Do you want to take off my pants?” Wendy looks at you nervously. “Erm, I don’t know—should I?” You say that she should only do it if she wants to. Wendy says she wants to try, so you guide her hands towards your belt. “Don’t worry, I’ll cooperate,” you say.

Wendy undoes your belt and follows it up by sliding your zipper downwards. It so happens that the back of her hand touches the underside of your hard-but-constrained cock. “Oh, that’s… erm, hard.” Her candid comment forces a laugh out of you. “And it’s all yours, love.”

You take off your pants so that Wendy has access to your boxers, and without thinking too much, she pulls them down. “Oh my God,” she exclaims, “t-that looks like it’s going to hurt.” You nod. “It will, but we’ll get through it together, love.”

You ask if you can take off Wendy’s panties, and only when you’re given permission that you slide them off. “I-I’ll shave for you next time.” “Oh, don’t worry about it; you’re pretty like this.” “What are you—oh, God, fuck!” Wendy grips the sheets in shock when your finger lands on her nub. “Next time, tell me what you’re about to do, okay?” You chuckle. “Sorry, I forgot you’re inexperienced.”

You make sure you’re right on top of Wendy, shifting here and there to get comfortable. “Love,” you call to her, “are you—” “Yes, I’m ready.” The way she answers before you finish asking tells you that not only is she ready, but she is also eager. “Alright, let’s do it, then.”

Wendy inhales sharply when the tip of your cock touches her sealed entrance. “Wait, wait, wait,” she panics, “c-can I be on top?” From experience, you know that it’s better for a woman to be on top first since she’ll be able to go at it at her own pace. “Of course, love.”

You swap positions with her, lying down on the bed to give her the chance to ride you, and Wendy immediately moves to sit on your lap. “Be careful, love.” She simply nods to your advice as her eyes are locked on your cock that’s pointed straight at the ceiling. “That’s definitely not intimidating at all—that’s a source of pleasure,” she consoles herself.

Wendy plants her hands on your stomach as she aims your cock at her entrance. Her hips slowly descend until the tip pokes her innocence. “T-that’s good, right?” You nod. “You’re alright, baby; take your time.”

Wendy grits her teeth as her pussy is getting stretched by a penis for the very first time. You place your hands on her hips, ready to guide her should she need it. “You’re alright, love,” you repeat. Fueled by your encouragement, she continues making her way down.

“Fuck!”

A curse flies out of her lips, and when you look down, there’s blood dripping down your shaft—dear God, she’s so, so tight, too. Up top, tears are dropping down her plump cheeks, visibly in pain and discomfort. “It hurts, it hurts,” she repeats with shaky voice. “My love, my love,” you call to her, “let me hold you, please.” Wendy lies down on your body, and the sobs become clearer for you to hear. “You’re okay, love; you’re doing so, so well right now.” She nods, her cheek rubbing against yours. “Y-you’re my first, oppa.” You peck her on the cheek. “And you’re my last, my love.”

You’ve been letting Wendy stay in your arms for the past few minutes. “Does it still hurt?” You hear a sniffle from her. “N-not really,” she says, “I-I think it’s starting to feel better.” You try moving your hips upwards, and it relieves you when she lets out a moan. “Was that good?” “Yes,” she replies. You thrust upwards once again, and Wendy lets out another moan. “I-I’m so full, oppa.” It’s a simple comment made in the heat of the moment, but nonetheless, it bloats your ego as proven by your little smirk. “I’m glad I can satisfy you, love.”

You maintain this relaxed pace, your ears filled with her soft moans. “That’s good, isn’t it, love?” “I-it is,” she says. “Do you think you can move by yourself?” “M-maybe.” You help Wendy straighten her posture, and the first thing she looks at is the way you and her are connected. “S-so much blood,” she comments. Your hand reaches towards her face, stroking her cheek softly. “I’m honored to be your first, love.” Wendy smiles amidst the discomfort that’s gradually becoming tolerable. “And I’m happy that you’re my first, because I love you so much.”

With her palms planted on your stomach, Wendy lifts her butt before dropping down again. “Oh, fuck, so big,” she blurts. It is when she picks up the pace that you let go of the controls, letting your head sink into the big pillow. “You’re so tight, love,” you say with your eyes closed, your eyelids too heavy to open. “M-must be the kegel,” she replies. You chuckle. “Perhaps.”

It appears that Wendy has gotten used to having a cock in her judging by how assertive she is now. One thing, though: she looks to be tired and out of breath. You ask if she wants to change position, and she immediately says yes. “Lie down, sweetheart; let me take over.”

With her lying down, you’re now able to look at her freshly deflowered pussy; there’s blood everywhere—some of it even splattered on the insides of her thighs. “I wasn’t even Jiho’s first,” you think. You quickly throw that thought away; this is the least appropriate time to think about anyone else but Wendy.

 You take position between her legs, your face hovering closely over hers. “Hi, oppa,” she greets you with a smile. “Hi to you too, my love—having a good time?” She laughs. “I am, now that it doesn’t hurt too much.” You give her a peck on the lips. “Shall we keep going?” She nods, and you waste little time to enter her pussy again. “Oh, yes, just like that.”

Now that you’re on top, you’re able to kiss her as your cock moves in and out of her tightness. “I love you, Wendy.” She shakes her head. “W-Wendy is for work—to you, I’m Seungwan-ie.” As far as you know, there are only a handful of people who have the right to call her by that name, and you’re honored to be one of them. “Of course, love.”

You’ve been maintaining this tempo for a solid period of time, and you can sense that your orgasm is approaching fast. “Love, I won’t last long,” you announce. Wendy responds by nodding. “Make me yours, oppa.” You ask if you can turn up the speed on this final stretch, and Wendy gives you permission to do so.

With every thrust she’s taking, Wendy lets out moans that are like music to your ears. “I love you so much,” you say. “I-I love you too,” she replies. You can feel yourself throbbing in her pussy, so you announce once more that you’re about to finish. “Y-yes, g-give it to me,” she urges.

Right before you start spurting semen into her, you come in for a kiss, aiming to maximize the feelings aspect on her first time. You let out a small grunt into the kiss as semen begins flowing out of your cock and into her pussy. On the other hand, Wendy lets out a long moan. “S-so warm,” she comments. Once every last drop of your cum leaves your cock, you gently pull out of her.

-

You fell asleep at one point during the cuddle, only waking up because Wendy kept tapping your arm. “Was it that good that you fell asleep?” You chuckle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that.” Wendy giggles. “You really enjoyed taking my flower, huh?” You give her a peck on the cheek. “Of course.”

You ask if Wendy wants to get cleaned up, and since she says yes, you take her in your arms so that you can help her clean up in the bathroom.

“Where’s the bathroom, by the way?” She points at a closed door next to the bed. “Oh, I thought that was a walk-in closet or something like that.” She slaps you on the chest. “What closet have you seen has a mat in front of it?” You shrug. “I mean, I wouldn’t know, would I?”

You help her take a seat on the toilet since she says she wants to pee. Wendy’s face contorts as she pees, visibly in discomfort. “That hurts, doesn’t it, baby?” She sighs. “It feels weird—it’s like there’s a big hole between my legs.” You offer her some assurance, adding touches for good measure. “Thank you, oppa, seriously.” You put on a gentle smile. “Thank you to you as well, love.”

You guide her towards the shower to continue the process. You take some water in your hand and rub her pussy softly, thus getting some blood on your hand. “That will stop soon, right?” You can hear the concern in her voice. “Yes, it will—don’t worry, though; I’m with you every step of the way.”

You continue to the next step, which is to help her take a bath. “Turn around and place your hands on the wall, please.” Wendy does as you ask, and when you’re busy getting liquid soap on your hands, she teases you by hitting your cock with her butt. “I want to take you like this next time, oppa,” she already has plans for the next session. You laugh. “We’ll see what we can do, love.”

-

You’re lying on your back in this comfortable bed with Wendy in your arms, hugging you from the side. “What is in that head of yours, oppa?” You quickly assemble an answer for her. “To say that I’m happy is a huge understatement, but I am indeed happy.” Wendy gives you a peck on the side of your neck. “If only I could string together words to express my feelings,” she replies. You peck her on the top of her head. “You don’t have to, love; I can feel your love just like this.”

Wendy asks if you can describe what her love feels like. “I don’t care if this sounds cheesy, but it feels like warm sunlight in the morning; it’s so comforting, and it tells you that everything is going to be okay.” She giggles. “Everything is indeed going to be okay, oppa; we’re going to conquer the world together.”

You spoon her when she turns around. “Look at the moon, oppa” she points out the window. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it—imagine sitting in the riverside under this moon.” She sighs deeply. “I haven’t had time to enjoy life, and now that you’re here with me, I think this is a good time to start.” You rub her belly softly. “We’re going to have a good life together, love, so God help me.”

Wendy turns her head to look at you. “Hey, uh, can we do another round?” You burst out laughing. “Yes, but let’s rest for now; you just had your first time.” She pouts. “But I want to do it again.”

You make use of the fact that the two of you are completely naked and plunge into her from behind, thus earning a moan from her. “Oh, yeah, just like that, oppa.” You thrust into her once and get another moan. “Keep going, please,” she urges. “Round two, then?” She nods enthusiastically. “After this, we’re going to do another round.” You chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, baby.”

[cocobeanncteez]

Ateez Choi San — Safe Habor

Genre: SMUT (mdni / 18+), angst, fluff, strangers to lovers au

Pairing: Attorney! San x CEO! Reader (fem)

Word Count: 22.5k

Warnings/content: divorce topics, reader is framed for drug possession and distribution, domestic violence by reader's ex (very brief scene), mentions of a failing marriage, lack of support from parents, please note that the reader's ex husband in this story is a random name I made up and so are other names in his story other than ateez, court battles, restraining order, reader gets arrested, driving under strong emotion, making out, breast play, dry humping, hand job, oral sec (f receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, clit play, vaginal penetration, protected sex (pill), multiple orgasms, praising, pet names (sweetheart, baby), sorry if I missed anything else!

You stand in front of the large windows of your penthouse, gazing out at the city skyline. The lights from the buildings in the distance flicker like stars, but tonight they bring you no comfort like they usually did.

The weight on your shoulders has been growing heavier with each passing day, pressing down on you until it's nearly suffocating.

The argument you had with your husband, Baek Jaeyoon, echoed in your mind— his awful words were sharp, cutting, and so very dismissive. He’d once made you believe in the possibility of a partnership, a marriage of equals, but now you see it was an illusion, one carefully crafted by him and your family.

You never wanted to marry so early in the relationship, especially not for convenience, for business. But your family’s expectations were clear: Jaeyoon was the right choice, the only choice, a perfect match simply because his family was as wealthy as yours.

Sure, you liked him. You even dated him for a couple of months before your family said it’s time to get married. Yet, the more time passed, the more you realized you were just another asset in a long line of acquisitions for him. The love you once tried to cultivate has wilted away, leaving behind a barren landscape of resentment and pain.

Tonight, you finally admit it to yourself—after a year of being his wife, this marriage is over.

Your heart clenches with the thought, but there’s a quiet strength within you. The decision is terrifying, yes, but also liberating. You’re not just doing this for yourself; you’re doing it to reclaim the life you’ve lost in the process.

You’re Y/N— the CEO of one of the biggest furniture companies in the nation, Saturn & Co. — a woman who has built her career and reputation on her own terms. You’ve faced hostile takeovers and boardroom battle. Surely, you can handle this.

But you know you’ll need help, someone who can guide you through the legal labyrinth that awaits. You first think of Hongjoong, your longtime friend, a friend you've known all your life.

Hongjoong comes from a lawyer family that has been in this field for generations. His father was a very reputed attorney, now retired, who helped many wealthy clients win their legal battles. His father became friends with your father during their college days and are still very close to this day, so it's no surprise that you and Hongjoong became great friends too. He’s always been there when you needed him, and now, more than ever, you need his expertise.

With a deep breath, you turn away from the window and reach for your phone, dialing his number.

After three rings, he answers your call. "It's almost eleven. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Well, hello to you too, Joong," you chuckle, "Why are you still up?"

"Ah, I'm just going over some documents for a high profile case," he explains, "What's up? All okay? You never call this late."

You take a deep breath. "I... this might sound crazy or stupid, but I want to get a divorce."

There was silence on the other end for a brief moment before he said, "It's not crazy or stupid. Have you thought this through completely?"

"I have," you answer with a sigh, "You know how my parents are. They will throw a huge tantrum and threaten to disown me as usual." Hongjoong hums at that. "But Joong, I just can't live with Jaeyoon anymore. He's not the same person. We're always fighting, and he's always saying the most hurtful, disrespectful things to me."

Truthfully, Hongjoong never liked your husband. He always thought Jaeyoon seemed too short-tempered and controlling. However, you seemed to be happy initially, or at least that's what you showed the outside world, so Hongjoong never commented on it, especially since it wasn't his place to do so. But he did hint at it once or twice. Once your parents got involved, he knew what the outcome would be, and he only hoped you would fight back and make the right decision.

"Have you considered couple's therapy?" Hongjoong asked.

"I did, and I brought it up to him. He got extremely upset, said there's nothing wrong with him, that I'm the problem and I need therapy, and I should be grateful that he even chose to marry me."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "That stuck up asshole. He thinks quite highly of himself."

The rest of the conversation with Hongjoong is brief but comforting. He listens to your concerns without any judgment, his voice steady and reassuring while he gives his legal input.

“Divorce isn't my area of specialty, you know that. But my friend, a fellow attorney in my firm, Choi San, is one of the greatest attorneys I've ever seen. He’s worked on many cases similar to yours and has a great record,” Hongjoong says, “He’ll make sure you’re taken care of, Y/N. You have nothing to worry about.”

But worry is exactly what you feel. Not about the process, but about what comes after. The unknown stretches before you, vast and intimidating. Still, you’ve made your choice. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re the one in control.

The next day, you find yourself walking into Hongjoong’s law firm, a sleek, modern building with glass walls and minimalist decor. The receptionist greets you with a warm smile, and soon you’re being escorted to a private conference room. You wished Hongjoong was here, but he was in an important meeting with one of his clients.

As you wait, blankly staring at a painting in the room, your mind races with questions. What will San be like? Will he understand the complexity of your situation, the nuances that come with being in a marriage like yours? What if he's an old man who thinks people should push through a dead marriage like your parents? It was so common for society to frown upon a divorced woman.

The door opens, and your thoughts scatter as a man steps inside. Is this an attorney or a model?

He’s quite tall, broad shoulders, siren eyes, dressed sharply in a black tailored suit, with an air of confidence that is immediately reassuring.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re struck by the calm intensity in them. There’s a softness there, too, something that puts you at ease despite the circumstances.

But God, is he the most stunning man you've ever seen.

“Mrs. Baek,” he says, extending a hand. His voice is smooth, professional, but there’s a warmth in his tone that surprises you. “I’m Attorney Choi San, but please call me San. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You shake his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, San. Please, call me Y/N, I'm trying to get rid of the 'Mrs. Baek' title," you joke, though it was true.

San chuckles and nods. “Of course, Y/N. Hongjoong spoke very highly of you.” He gestures to the chair across from you, and you both sit down.

"I understand you’re looking to proceed with a divorce," he says, taking a laptop out of his bag and setting in on the table before opening it. "Don't mind me, I just need to take notes of what you say so I can better understand how I can help you."

You nod, the words feeling heavy in your throat. “Yes. I… I want to make sure everything is handled properly. There’s a lot at stake, and I can’t afford any mistakes.”

San gives you a reassuring smile, and you notice he has dimples. You couldn't help but think that he was extremely charming. "Don't worry, Y/N. You're in safe hands," he says, "Now, how about you start by telling me about your marriage and what prompted you to seek divorce?"

You take a deep breath and look at him directly. “I never wanted to get married so early in the relationship. It wasn’t about love—it was about business, aligning our families. And I… I tried, but Jaeyoon… he’s not the man I thought he was. We dated for a couple of months, and he was genuinely really nice. But soon after we got married, he suddenly doesn’t respect me, and lately, it feels like he’s more interested in controlling me than being my partner.” San listens intently as you explained your situation. The more you talk, the more you notice the way he focuses on you, his attention unwavering even while he's typing on his laptop.

San nods when you finish speaking, his expression serious but understanding. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying this weight for a long time.”

“I have,” you admit, your voice softer. “I’ve always put my family and my company first, but I can’t keep doing that at the expense of my own happiness and mental peace. I want out, but I don’t want this to become a spectacle. My family… they’ll try to push back, and Jaeyoon’s family will make things difficult too.”

You continue to tell him more about your life, and he asks the right questions, probing gently but thoroughly, and it becomes clear that he understands the complexities of your life—the family expectations, the business implications, the emotional toll.

San leans forward slightly, his gaze steady on yours. “The first step is to file a petition for divorce. Since both of you are public figures, we can request that the details remain confidential to avoid any unnecessary media attention. We’ll also need to consider how any joint assets will be divided, as well as any potential claims from Jaeyoon regarding spousal support.”

As the meeting progresses, you feel a sense of relief washing over you. San’s approach is meticulous, but there’s also a kindness to him that you hadn’t expected. He’s not just treating this as another case; he’s treating you like a person, like someone who deserves to be heard and supported.

“What kind of timeline are we looking at?” you ask, a hint of anxiety creeping into your voice.

“It depends on a few factors,” San replies, his tone calm and reassuring. “If Jaeyoon agrees to the divorce and we can reach a settlement outside of court, it could be finalized in as little as six months. However, if he contests it, especially regarding asset division or other terms, it could take longer—potentially a year or more.” You frown, the thought of this dragging on for so long unsettling.

“And if it does go to court?”

“If it goes to court, we’ll be prepared,” San assures you with confidence. “I’ll work to ensure that your interests are protected. That means gathering all the necessary financial documents, assessing the value of shared assets, and if needed, preparing for depositions and hearings. I’ll handle the legal strategy, but I’ll also make sure you’re fully informed every step of the way.”

“What about my company? Saturn & Co. is my life’s work. I can’t afford for it to be affected by this.”

San’s expression softens slightly as he considers your concern. “We’ll make protecting your company a priority. Given that Saturn & Co. was established long before your marriage, we’ll argue that it should remain entirely under your control. But we’ll need to be thorough in documenting that your company assets and finances are distinct from any shared marital property.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you, San. This is all so overwhelming.”

He gives you a small, encouraging smile. “That’s what I’m here for, Y/N. I’ll guide you through this process, and we’ll take it one step at a time. You’re not alone in this.”

By the time you leave the law firm, you’re still apprehensive about the future, but for the first time, you feel like you’re not facing it alone. And as you think back to the way San’s eyes softened when you spoke, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this won’t be as lonely as you feared.

2 months later

The familiar scent of Jaeyoon’s cologne hits you as soon as you step into the penthouse and hang your coat in the closet after a long day at work. The air is thick with tension, and you can feel the weight of the divorce papers in your bag like a lead anchor.

You mentally thanked San for being so quick to give you the documents. Since you had no kids with Jaeyoon, and your pre-nup was very straightforward about how any joint assets should be divided, San said your case wasn't very complicated.

In the 2 months of working with San, you have grown to take a liking towards him. He was kind and gentle towards you, and he always gave you his full attention when you spoke. When you went to Hongjoong's birthday party a month ago, you were delighted to see San there as well; that's when you got to know him in a non-professional way, and you genuinely thought he was the sweetest, most understanding man you had ever met.

Now, standing in your penthouse with the divorce papers in hand, you felt extremely anxious. You had rehearsed this moment countless times in your mind, but now that you’re here, every word you planned feels inadequate.

Jaeyoon is seated in the living room, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter. There’s an expectant look on his face, like he knows something’s coming. He's certainly no stranger to the way you’ve been acting these past two months, and he was often very angry when you refused to be intimate with him.

You steel yourself, trying to gather the courage you need. “Jaeyoon... We need to talk,” you say, your voice steady, though your heart is racing.

His brow furrows as he puts down his phone. “What’s this about, honey?” he asks, and you mentally cringe at the pet name.

You reach into your Dior tote bag and pull out the divorce papers, holding them out to him. For a moment, Jaeyoon just stares at them, as if he doesn’t understand. But then, slowly, he takes them from your hand.

He skims through the content of the top page. “What the hell is this?” His voice is low, almost calm, but you can hear the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“It’s what I should have done a long time ago,” you reply, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I want a divorce, Jaeyoon. This marriage… it isn’t working.”

He flips through the papers, his expression darkening with each passing second. “You can’t be serious,” he finally says, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea what this will do? To us? To our families? To the business?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you say, standing your ground. “This is the only way forward for me. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Jaeyoon’s face twists with rage. “You ungrateful fucking—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he slams the papers onto the coffee table, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

“You didn’t do anything for me, Jaeyoon,” you say, your voice breaking. “You did it for yourself. For control. I’m not your possession. I tried to fix this marriage for months, but you refused to make any attempts to realize how horribly you’ve been treating me.”

Before you can react, he’s on his feet, his hand striking you across the face with a force that sends you reeling. The sting is sharp, but the shock is even sharper. You stumble back, your hand instinctively reaching for your cheek.

“Jaeyoon!” you cry out, but he’s already moving.

"I'll fucking kill you!" His eyes are wild, fury taking over as he grabs a nearby vase and hurls it at you. You barely have time to duck, and the vase smashes into the wall behind you, hitting your shoulder in the process before shattering into pieces on the floor. A sharp pain shoots through your shoulder, but you force yourself to stay on your feet.

Your breath comes in short, panicked gasps as you stare at the broken remains of the vase, the reality of what just happened crashing down on you. This is no longer just about a failed marriage—this is about your safety, your life.

Without another word, you turn and run out of the penthouse, the door slamming behind you. You don’t stop until you’re in the elevator hastily pressing the button for the parking garage, your body shaking uncontrollably. You were glad your bag was still with you and had all the stuff you needed— your phone, wallet, and keys.

As soon as you reach the parking garage, you make your way to your car. You unlock it with your keys and quickly lock yourself in. You realized you ran out in your house slippers when it's freezing outside, but that was the least of your concerns right now.

You needed to get out of here.

You switched your car engine on and put your seat belt on, ignoring the pain in your shoulder. Tears blur your vision as you fumble for your phone, and before you know it, you’ve dialed San’s number. While his phone rang, you moved the gear selector in your car to drive, and you wasted no time in pressing on the accelerator, leaving the garage and the gates of the apartment building.

Your phone was connected to your car, and San's soft voice was heard. "Hello?"

"San…" Your voice is barely a whisper, choked with sobs. "Sannie, I..."

“Y/N? What happened?” His voice is immediately alert, concerned. The sound of your car's indicator alerted him further. “Where are you? Are you in a car?”

“I… I’m driving. I can’t… I don’t know what to do…” Your words tumble out in a rush, your mind spinning.

"Y/N, tell me where you are. It's not safe for you to drive under strong emotion. Please pull over, I'll come get you."

"He... he hit me," you cried, ignoring San's words. "I left... I'm driving and I don't... I don't know where I'm going, but—"

"Sweetheart, please," San begs, and the sudden nickname makes your heart burst, and you find yourself calming down a bit. "Please pull over. It's not safe. Please."

And you finally listen to him. "Okay," you murmur, taking a deep breath. You make a turn into what seems to be the parking lot of a hospital. You parked in the first slot you could find. "I... I stopped."

"Okay, what do you see around you?" San asks, and you can hear some muffling in his background.

"A hospital," you say, glancing around from your car for the name of it. "Geumgang Asan hospital."

San lets out a breath in relief. "You're actually right by my apartment," he says, and you hear a door close in his background.

"Which apartment?" You ask, voice still shaky.

"Raemian Caelitus," he answers, "Stay right there. I’m coming to get you. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Which car are you in?"

You don't respond to San. Instead, you put your car in drive and head for his apartment complex, doing the complete opposite of what he told you to do.

"Y/N?"

"I'm almost there," you say to him.

San groans. "Y/N... It's—"

"I know, I know," you chuckle, "but it takes less than two minutes by car. Besides, I'm already here." You pull up to the apartment gates, rolling your window down to speak to the security. He took down your name and number before opening the gates for you.

You drove to the guest parking lot and parked there, waiting for San to get to you. You slump against the car seat, your tears falling freely now. The numbness starts to set in, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold the pieces of yourself together.

It feels like an eternity, but in reality, it’s only a minute or two before there's a knock on your car window. You grab your bag and keys, getting out of your car. The cold night air feels chilly against your tear-streaked face. You’re still trembling; the shock of what happened earlier was refusing to release its grip on you.

San doesn’t say a word—he just pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from everything that just happened.

You break down completely, sobbing into his chest, and he just holds you, his hand gently stroking your hair. “It’s okay,” he murmurs softly. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

When you started shivering, San noticed that you weren't wearing a coat, and your feet were only covered with your house slippers. He immediately takes his coat off and wraps it around you before picking you up bridal-style, wasting no time in making his way back to his apartment.

Once you reach the warmth of San's apartment, he sets you down on his couch. His actions made you sob more as you were touched by the way he treated you. He continued to hold you in his arms, trying to control the anger he felt at seeing the faint handprint mark on your cheek.

After a while, when your sobs start to quiet, San gently tilts your chin up to look at him. His eyes are filled with worry, but there’s also a fierce determination there. “We’re going to make sure he never hurts you again,” he says firmly.

You nod, unable to find the words, but the way San looks at you—so protective, so caring—gives you some strength. You feel like you’re moving toward something better, something that’s just for you.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. You tried to gather your thoughts, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Eventually, he speaks, his voice gentle but serious. "Y/N... do you want to talk about it?"

You take a deep breath. "I gave him the divorce papers... he didn't take it well. Everything happened so fast. He slapped me, and then he threw a vase at me."

He cupped your face with one hand, gently stroking your cheek, a look of worry in his eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

You knew your shoulder was definitely bruised, and you could still feel the dull ache. But you didn't want to tell San that.

"No... I'm okay," you lied. "Jaeyoon said he would kill me when he threw the vase. I left right after that." You noticed the way San's jaw clenched.

“Y/N, what that dickhead did tonight is beyond unacceptable. We need to take steps to make sure you’re safe. I think we should file for a restraining order against him.”

You glance at him, fear creeping back into your mind. “But… there’s no proof. It’s just my word against his.”

San nods, understanding the concern. “I know it feels like an uphill battle, but your testimony is important. The court can issue a restraining order if it believes there’s a credible threat, even without physical evidence. Your account of what happened, combined with the details of your marriage and the pattern of controlling behavior, can be enough to convince the judge.”

You hesitate, the thought of facing Jaeyoon in court, of reliving the nightmare, filling you with dread. “What if they don’t believe me? What if… what if this makes everything worse?”

San reaches over, gently squeezing your hand. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, Y/N. Not just as your lawyer, but as someone you can trust, someone you can count on," he says, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. "We’ll present your case as clearly and thoroughly as possible. We can also gather any supporting evidence like records of past arguments, any messages or emails that show his controlling behavior. Even if we don’t have a video or physical proof, your word carries weight, Y/N.”

His reassurance steadies you somewhat, and you nod slowly, deep in thought while blankly staring at the numerous law books on his bookshelf.

And then it hit you.

Video proof.

You turn to San with a hopeful look in your eyes. "I just realized, we have cameras in the living room. And this whole thing happened there, too. The footage should be on the app on my phone."

San's eyes widened, and a huge smile spread across his face. "This is perfect, Y/N! This would be more than enough to get the restraining order, as well as settle the divorce without having to go to court. Once we show him that we have evidence of his violence, there's no way he would fight back cause the court will most likely rule in your favor!"

You reach for your phone and unlock it, immediately opening the app. The footage gets saved in 30-minute intervals, and you were glad to see that it was still there and Jaeyoon had not deleted it yet. You downloaded the footage to have a copy of it on your phone. San requested that you send the footage to him as well so he could adjust the documents he wrote accordingly.

"Thank you, San," you say with a smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He only smiled and stroked the back of your head. "Did you have dinner?" he asks, and you nod.

"Mhmm, I ate at work."

His face grew slightly serious when he noticed it was one hour to midnight. "Y/N, do you... want to stay the night here? I have a guest room. But if you're uncomfortable and you prefer a hotel or somewhere else, I can drive you. Whatever's most comfortable for you."

"I want to be here with you," you say in a soft tone, your words sending San's heart into a frenzy.

He nods and gets up. "Make yourself at home. Let me prepare the guest room a little bit first, okay? If you want to drink or eat something, the kitchen is all yours."

"Thanks, Sannie."

While San was busy setting up the guest room, you looked around the living room of his apartment. The decor was so simple and beautiful, and you noticed many pieces of furniture were actually made by your company. You loved how clean his apartment was, not even a pillow out of place. You noticed he had a giant boba tea plushie in the corner of the room, and you couldn't help but think San was so adorable.

"It's ready," he says, and you enter the guest room. You noticed there was a hoodie and a t-shirt neatly folded on the bed. San noticed you glancing at it. "I realized you don't have any clothes to sleep in. I didn't know if you preferred warm clothes or something more airy, so I got both. In the bathroom, there's a pack of spare toothbrushes in the cabinet. If you want to take a shower, I kept a smaller bathrobe for you and a towel."

You hug him tightly. "Seriously, thank you, Sannie."

"You don't have to thank me, Y/N," he murmurs, "Get some rest, hmm? I'll be in my room if you need me."

He turns to leave, but you grab his arm. "Wait..." you hesitate, "I... um..."

"Hmm?"

"Can you... can you perhaps... stay here with me, please?" You ask in a quiet tone, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Oh, um, I can if you want me to," he answers, his own cheeks turning pink. "Let me get ready for bed first, and then I'll join you, okay?"

You nod and he leaves the room to give you some privacy. You head into the bathroom to change out of your clothes and take a quick shower. You brushed your teeth and put some lip balm on. You chose to wear his t-shirt, which served as an oversized t-shirt for you. Taking a whiff of the t-shirt, you lightly hummed in delight, his scent of him making you feel some type of way.

When you exited the bathroom, San was already under the covers of the bed. He shyly pats the space beside him, and you slid under the covers with him.

San kept a bit of distance from you to not make you feel uncomfortable. You really appreciated that, but you wanted him to be closer.

Knowing the gentleman San is, you knew you had to speak up first.

"Can you... come closer?" You squeak out, slightly embarrassed. San chuckles and does as you say.

"Anything else?" he teases. You turn on your side so you're facing him, and the faint light from the nightlamp makes his skin glow somehow. San was so beautiful inside out. You were utterly mesmerized by him.

"Closer," you whisper. San moved closer to you, his head now on your pillow. You could feel his breath on your face and the warmth radiating from his body.

"Closer," you say again, looking between his eyes and his plump lips that were slightly parted. You reached for his arm and put it over your waist.

San understood what you wanted, but he restrained himself from giving in. "Y/N... what are you doing?" he murmurs, his hand placed softly on your back. His eyes were staring intensely into yours as if to see if you felt the same way as him in this moment.

"I want you to kiss me," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

San gulps, unsure of what to do. He wanted to kiss you, but he wasn't sure if you were really in the best mental state for that after what happened just a few hours ago.

You look at him, an expectant look on your face. You wouldn't have asked him to kiss you if you weren't confident that he felt something for you. You were not ignorant to the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, the way his eyes subtly roamed your body when you were in his office, the way he took a sharp inhale of your scent in a crowded elevator... but then you started to overthink.

What if he didn't want to kiss you?

What if all those signs weren't as deep as you think they are?

"I'm sorry," you say to him, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. "I didn't realize I was being too straightforward with this, and I understand if you don't want to kiss me. I should have—"

San placed his lips on you, shutting you up instantly. "There's nothing I want more than to kiss you," he mumbles against your lips, pulling you closer to him. "I just... don't want to put any pressure on you when you're in a vulnerable state."

You smiled against his lips, feeling touched by how considerate San was towards you.

And then you kissed him. His lips were so soft and warm while it molded with yours, and you couldn't help but feel relaxed while he kissed you back in such a soft manner, as if you were extremely delicate. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer, a small whimper leaving his lips when he feels your body flush against his.

You pull away first to catch your breath. You watch as San's eyes slowly open to look at you. There was a kind look in his eyes, one that screamed of adoration.

San lets out a little giggle when it hits him that the two of you really just kissed. He kisses your forehead and holds you in his arms while he tells you all the little things you did that made his heart flutter.

Eventually, sleep finds its way to both of you, the night ending in a warm embrace.

Two days later, you and San head to the courthouse, where he helps you file for the restraining order. The process is grueling, forcing you to recount the events of the night two days before, but San is there with you, guiding you through every step. His presence is a lifeline, his calm professionalism giving you the strength to face what lies ahead.

When the judge finally reviews your petition, you feel a knot in your stomach. But as San presents your case, emphasizing the danger you’re in and the need for protection, you see the judge’s expression soften.

After what feels like an eternity, the judge grants the temporary restraining order. It’s not permanent yet—there will need to be a hearing for that—but it’s a critical first step. For now, Jaeyoon is legally required to stay away from you, and any violation of that order could lead to serious consequences for him.

When you leave the courthouse, you feel a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety. But you also feel a small spark of hope—hope that, with San’s help, you might finally be able to take control of your life again.

You and San part ways to head to your respective workplaces, but he promises to see you after.

When you reach your office building, you're surprised to find your secretary waiting outside the doors of your office.

"Ms. Y/N," she starts, "Your parents are here, inside your office. I told them to wait outside, but they refused. They seemed to have found out about..."

You nod at her. "That's okay, Yena. Thanks for the heads up."

"You have a meeting in about ten minutes with the design team for the summer patio collection. I can postpone the meeting for you if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," you say, "I'll be done in five minutes, hopefully. My parents... I know what to expect from them." Yena nods and wishes you luck.

You enter your office, shutting the doors behind you. You aren't surprised to see the rage on your parents face.

"Filing for divorce behind my back and getting a restraining order against your husband? What are you thinking?" Your mother says, a look of disappointment clear on her face.

You sigh. "Tell me, mom and dad, had I told you about it beforehand, would you have let me?" You say in a calm tone. "And that man is not my husband anymore."

"Y/N, you can not get a divorce. I forbid it," your father says in a strong tone. "You will bring utter shame to our family. I will not hesitate to take your name off my will."

You chuckle. "I don't care about your money, dad. I have my own company that I built on my own," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. "I will not live with a man that treats me like I'm inferior to him, a man that hits me and throws stuff at me."

"Jaeyoon was angry," your mother defends. "You betrayed him. He had every right to—"

"Every right to abuse me? Do you hear yourself right now?" you gave her an incredulous look. "Is your daughter's happiness and safety not more important to you than your image and connections?" You turn to look at your father. "You said I'll bring utter shame to our family, but tell me how? I'm not the one who abused him and treated him like shit for months!"

"Enough, Y/N!" your father raises his voice. "You will do as I say. You better withdraw your case. I will talk to your lawyer. I don't want to hear you talk of divorce again. I better see you in the penthouse tonight."

"My apologies, father, but I'm done listening to you," you firmly stand your ground.

"Don't make me disown you, Y/N. You married into a very good family, someone who matches your background and status in society."

"By all means, please do," you say with a scoff. "I'm not making sacrifices for your sake anymore. I have a meeting to attend, so please leave."

You turn away from your parents and walk to your desk. You sit down on your chair, and face away from your parents.

"You're an ungrateful brat," your mother spits before walking out of your office, your father grumpily following behind.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding as you slump down in your chair.

You loved your parents deeply, but you wished for once they would not care about money, power, and status, and start caring about the well-being of their child.

San sits at his desk, meticulously reviewing a file when the door to his office opens. He looks up to see your father standing in the doorway, his eyes hard and calculating. There’s no polite knock, no greeting—just an imposing presence.

San got up from his seat and bowed politely. “Mr. L/N, I wasn’t expecting you. What can I help you with today?”

Your father steps into the office, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. He doesn’t sit down, instead choosing to stand, towering over San’s desk.

"I came to discuss my daughter's case. This whole divorce nonsense. It’s a mistake, and it needs to be stopped," your father explains. His voice is firm, commanding.

San doesn’t flinch, meeting his gaze calmly while he took his seat. “With all due respect, Mr. L/N, that’s not something I can do. I represent your daughter’s best interests, and she’s made it clear she wants to proceed with the divorce.”

Your father narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Mr. Choi. I said the divorce needs to be stopped. I’m here to make sure it doesn’t go any further.”

San remains seated, unbothered by the thinly veiled threat in the older man’s voice. He folds his hands on the desk, his expression composed. “Your daughter has the right to make her own choices, Mr. L/N. I’m here to ensure that her voice is heard and her rights are protected. I’m afraid I won’t be withdrawing from the case.”

The older man’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back and places a briefcase on San’s desk. With a casual flick of his wrist, he opens it, revealing stacks of neatly arranged cash.

“125 million won. More than enough to make it worth your while to reconsider.”

San’s eyes briefly flicker to the briefcase before returning to the man in front of him. His expression doesn’t change. He slowly rises from his chair, closing the briefcase with a firm click.

“I’m not interested in your money, Mr. L/N. My commitment is to my client, your daughter, not to the highest bidder,” San says in a steady tone.

Your father’s eyes darken. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “You might want to reconsider, Mr. Choi. You know who I am. I have powerful connections, and it wouldn’t take much to have you fired. You’re nothing more than an associate at this firm. Hongjoong and I go way back. One call from me, and you’ll be out of a job.”

San’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his cool. He steps around the desk, standing toe to toe with your father. “You’re free to make that call, Mr. L/N. But I’ll tell you right now that it won’t change anything. My integrity and my client’s well-being come first. I won’t be bullied into backing down.”

For a moment, the two men stand in silence, the tension thick between them. Then your father lets out a low chuckle, though it’s devoid of warmth. “You’re a fool, Mr. Choi. But I’ll leave you with this warning. Cross me, and you’ll regret it. You’ll wish you’d taken the money.”

The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud. San stands in the now-silent office, his eyes lingering on the closed door for a moment. He exhales slowly, tension easing from his shoulders as he returns to his desk.

San’s thoughts drift briefly to you and the storm that might be heading your way. But he steels himself, ready for whatever comes next. His loyalty to you and his belief in doing what’s right will not be shaken. Besides, he had enough trust in Hongjoong to know his friend would never listen to your father either.

Hongjoong sits at his desk, engrossed in reviewing a case, when the door to his office swings open with a heavy push. He looks up to see your father striding in without so much as a knock. His face is a mask of anger, but there’s something more—disappointment, perhaps, or even hurt.

Hongjoong straightens up immediately, his surprise giving way to a faint smile of recognition. “Uncle, I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

Your father's jaw tightens at the familiar greeting, and he waves off the formality with a sharp motion. He stands in the middle of the room, eyes piercing as he regards Hongjoong with a mixture of affection and frustration.

Your father starts, “Hongjoong, what is this mess with Y/N?”

Hongjoong sighs inwardly but keeps his composure. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Please, sit down. Let’s talk.”

Your father shakes his head. “I’m not here to chat. I’m here because of this nonsense with your associate, Choi San. You’re letting him destroy my family. You’ve known Y/N since she was born, Joong. How can you allow this to happen?”

The use of his childhood name stirs something in Hongjoong—a reminder that this man was more than just a powerful businessman. He had watched Hongjoong grow up, had been at family dinners, birthdays, celebrations. But Hongjoong keeps his professional mask on, aware that this conversation would require careful navigation.

Hongjoong softly says, “Uncle, you know I care about Y/N. I’ve always looked out for her, and I’m doing that now.”

“By letting her divorce her husband? By letting her throw away everything we’ve built? This will ruin her—and us!” your father says, his voice rising.

Hongjoong’s face hardens slightly. He motions again to the chair. “Please, Uncle. Let’s sit down and talk about this.”

Reluctantly, your father takes the offered seat, but not without a huff of frustration. He looks at Hongjoong, his gaze heavy with expectation. “You need to fire that attorney of yours. He’s putting ideas in Y/N’s head—encouraging her to throw away a good marriage. You can’t let this happen.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, knowing this was coming. His voice remains calm, though his loyalty to both San and you runs deep. “I won’t do that, Uncle. San is a brilliant attorney and one of my closest friends. More than that, he’s doing exactly what Y/N needs. He’s protecting her.”

Your father leans forward, his tone sharp, “Protecting her? From what? Jaeyoon’s a good man. He’s just been under stress! Y/N’s exaggerating the situation.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly, a rare flash of anger crossing his usually composed face. “This isn’t an exaggeration, Uncle. Jaeyoon’s hurt her—physically, emotionally. I’ve seen the bruises myself from when he threw a vase at her. And he’s threatened her life too.”

Your father’s expression falters for just a moment, but he quickly covers it with a shake of his head. “Y/N’s always been dramatic. She’s too sensitive. Jaeyoon would never do that.”

“This isn’t drama, Uncle. This is abuse. You’ve known me my entire life, so you know I wouldn’t say this lightly. If you don’t believe me, ask Y/N yourself. Or better yet, spend one minute in a room with her and see the fear in her eyes.”

There’s a long pause as your father processes Hongjoong’s words. He looks down, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. For the first time, doubt flickers across his face, but his pride keeps him from showing it openly. “She’s my daughter, Hongjoong. I’m doing what’s best for her.”

Hongjoong softens slightly, his tone more compassionate, “I know you love her, Uncle. But what’s best for her isn’t keeping her in a marriage that’s tearing her apart. You want to protect her? Then let her go. Let her break free from Jaeyoon and start fresh. She deserves that much.”

The room falls silent again. Your father looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken. He’s used to being in control, used to getting his way, and now he’s faced with a situation that no amount of power or money can fix.

“I don’t like this, Hongjoong. Not one bit,” your father says in a quiet tone.

Hongjoong nods. “I understand. But forcing her to stay will only make things worse.”

Your father finally looks up, his voice filled with resignation, “I’ll think about what you’ve said. But don’t think I’ll just sit by and let this happen.”

Hongjoong watches as the older man slowly rises from the chair, his movements less confident than when he first entered the room. As he walks to the door, he hesitates, turning back to look at Hongjoong with a mixture of frustration and something almost like vulnerability. “You’ve grown up well, Hongjoong. I’ve always been proud of you. But I hope you’re not making a mistake.”

“Thank you, Uncle. But I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in protecting Y/N.”

With a final nod, your father turns and leaves the office, the door closing quietly behind him. Hongjoong sits back down at his desk, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. He exhales slowly, his thoughts turning to you, hoping that your father will see reason before it’s too late.

3 weeks later

You sit at the head of the long glass table, eyes focused as one of your top designers presents the new luxury patio collection. The conference room buzzes with the energy of innovation—your team is passionate, and it shows in the careful detailing of the furniture designs displayed on the digital screens along the walls. Teak wood, sleek metal accents, and eco-friendly materials come together in sophisticated harmony.

“We’ve incorporated the latest trends in sustainable materials, aiming to appeal to clients who prioritize both style and environmental responsibility. The durability will be a key selling point for the summer collection,” the chief designer explains.

You nod, your fingers drumming lightly on the surface of your notebook. Despite being from a wealthy family, you’ve built Saturn & Co. from the ground up, and you’ve learned to balance creativity with practicality. Your mind is already analyzing the numbers—thinking about production costs, price points, and the narrative you want to craft around this collection.

“I like the direction, but we need to ensure the pricing reflects the exclusivity. This is a luxury line, and our clientele expects something unique. Let’s look at limited editions to build that exclusivity,” you voice your opinion.

Your team exchanges glances, taking notes as you speak. You look at the marketing head next. “We need to start the marketing campaign as soon as possible. I want a narrative that ties back to our brand’s legacy, something that shows we’re not just following trends but leading them.”

As you discuss the campaign, the atmosphere in the room is abruptly shattered by the sound of raised voices outside the glass doors. Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance toward the commotion. Before you can react, the doors swing open, and several uniformed officers from the Korean National Police barge into the conference room.

The room goes still, everyone frozen in place.

The officer in charge looks directly at you. “Ms. L/N, you are under arrest for illegal possession and distribution of narcotics. Please stand and come with us.”

You feel the words hit you like a physical blow. The room spins for a moment, and your breath catches in your throat. You blink, trying to comprehend what’s happening. Your colleagues stare at you in shocked silence, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern.

“There must be a mistake,” you say, absolutely stunned at the accusation. Your voice feels distant, barely your own. The officer takes a step closer, his expression hard and unyielding. Two other officers flank you, moving into position as if expecting resistance.

“We have a warrant for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent.”

Everything feels surreal, as though you’ve been dropped into someone else’s life. This can’t be happening. You’ve never been involved with drugs—this is absurd. You shake your head, your voice stronger now. “I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The officers ignore your protests as they take you by the arms, pulling you to your feet. You glance around the table, your team frozen in disbelief. Your head of security moves toward you but is stopped by the officers, who block his path.

As you’re led out of the conference room, your heart pounds in your chest. Fear mixes with disbelief, but you force yourself to stay calm. You don’t know how this happened, but you’re determined to fight it.

The walk through the Saturn & Co. building feels endless. Employees stop in their tracks, staring as you pass by, whispers rising in your wake. Your cheeks burn with the humiliation of it all, but you lift your chin and keep your expression calm, refusing to show any weakness.

Outside the building, a crowd has already gathered, cameras flashing in your face. You can barely hear the shouting reporters over the thrum of your own thoughts. As you’re escorted into the waiting police car, you can’t help but wonder—who could have done this? And why?

Your first thought was your ex-husband. Well, you still weren't legally divorced yet. But you had a gut feeling that it was him.

The door slams shut behind you, and as the car pulls away from the building, the reality of the situation begins to sink in. Your life is about to be turned upside down, and you know exactly who you need to call: San. He’ll help you. He has to. Right?

Its been a while since you saw San as he was busy handling back-to-back cases and traveling to meet clients and witnesses. You also bought a new apartment and were busy moving and unpacking your stuff, so you didn't have much time to meet up with him either.

Once you reached the station, you were thrown into an interrogation room. The cold, sterile room is a stark contrast to the familiar warmth of your office. The walls are bare, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh, clinical glow. You sit at a metal table, your hands resting in front of you. Despite the fear bubbling up inside you, you keep your back straight, refusing to show the panic you feel beneath the surface.

You’ve been here for hours now. The officers had taken your personal belongings, leaving you feeling exposed and disconnected from the outside world. The initial booking process was a blur of fingerprinting, photographs, and paperwork. Now, it’s just you and the suffocating silence of the interrogation room.

The door creaks open, and two officers step inside. One of them, a senior detective, takes the seat across from you while the other leans against the wall, arms crossed. You can feel their eyes on you, studying your every move, waiting for any sign of weakness.

“Mrs. Baek... or should I say, Ms. L/N? The public may not know everything, but we certainly do. Now, do you know why you’re here?”

You look at him, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m innocent. I don’t know why I’ve been brought here. This has to be a mistake.”

The detective leans back in his chair, pulling out a manila folder and flipping it open. He slides a few photographs across the table toward you. You glance down at them—images of plastic bags filled with pills and powder, some stashed in a high-end handbag that looks disturbingly similar to one you own. “These drugs were found in your possession. We have evidence linking you to a drug-selling operation. Do you care to explain?”

Your stomach drops, and your hands instinctively clench into fists in your lap. You shake your head, staring at the images as though they might change if you blink hard enough.

“That’s not mine. I don’t know how those drugs got there. I’ve never been involved in anything like this. I swear,” you say.

The detective raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your denial. He taps one of the photos with his finger. “This was found in your car, Ms. L/N. Are you telling me someone planted these drugs without your knowledge?”

Your mind races. You remember parking your car that morning—everything was normal. But nothing makes sense now. You feel trapped, caught in a nightmare where you don’t know the rules.

“I don’t know how it got there. I’ve never seen those drugs before in my life, neither do I do drugs. I can do a drug test to prove that.”

The detective exchanges a glance with the other officer, who remains silent but watches you carefully. He leans forward, as if to intimidate you. “Ms. L/N, the evidence is stacked against you. Your fingerprints were found on the packaging of the bag. We were secretly searching for those involved in drug distribution of this very drug, a drug that can only fall in the hands of someone with a lot of money and influence.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your fingerprints? You struggle to breathe evenly, trying to understand how this could be happening. “That’s impossible. I’m not involved in any of this. Someone has set me up.”

The detective doesn’t blink. He looks at you as though you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. “This is your chance to come clean, Ms. L/N. The sooner you cooperate, the better this will go for you. Tell us who you’ve been working with, and maybe we can work something out.”

You shake your head, frustration and fear mixing into a potent cocktail in your chest. Your voice rises slightly, despite your efforts to stay calm. “I’m not involved in any drug operation. I don’t know who’s behind this, but it’s not me.”

The detective leans back, his expression hardening. He closes the folder and taps it lightly against the table before standing up. “I’ve heard it all before. You’re looking at serious charges here, Ms. L/N. You might want to think about your next steps carefully.”

As he leaves the room, the door shuts with a heavy click, leaving you alone once again. You drop your head into your hands, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest.

How did this happen? Who could possibly want to destroy you like this? The questions whirl through your mind, but there are no answers. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of what you know to be true. You’ve done nothing wrong. You just need to hold on, stay strong, and prove your innocence.

A knock sounds at the door, and it opens again. This time, it’s a different officer—one who escorts you back to a holding cell. They’ve told you a lawyer is on the way, and that thought alone keeps you from unraveling completely.

You pray that it’s San. He’ll know what to do. He’ll fight for you. But even as you cling to that hope, the uncertainty gnaws at you. You’ve never felt so powerless in your life.

San steps out of the courtroom, the echo of his client’s relieved voice still ringing in his ears. He had just secured another victory—an ironclad defense that left the opposition scrambling. His confidence is high as he buttons his suit jacket, his mind already shifting to the next case on his docket.

Just as he’s about to push through the heavy glass doors of the courthouse, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Glancing down, he sees Hongjoong’s name flashing on the screen. He frowns slightly, knowing Hongjoong was out of the city at the moment, but he swipes to answer.

"Hongjoong hyung," San answers in a cheerful tone, "You’re catching me right after a big win. What’s up?"

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and when Hongjoong speaks, his voice is tight, serious. “San, we’ve got a really fucked up situation. It’s about Y/N.”

San’s heart skips a beat at the mention of your name. His hand tightens around his phone, and the world around him seems to blur for a moment.

“What happened? Is she okay?” San asks, concern evident in his voice.

"No. She’s not. She was arrested earlier today," Hongjoong says grimly. "I just spoke to her father. Her parents aren't going to see her until this mess is sorted out. She has basically no one to support her now other than us."

San stops dead in his tracks, his stomach plummeting. People brush past him in the courthouse lobby, but he’s completely still, his mind racing. “Arrested? For what?”

“Drug possession and distribution. The police found drugs in her car, but it’s clear she’s been framed. It’s all over the news now—photos, headlines, everything. I’m in Gwangju meeting with some clients now as you know, and I can’t get back to Seoul until tomorrow morning. I need you to handle this for me. I thought of representing her myself, but she needs an attorney as soon as possible. Please represent her.”

San’s chest tightens with a mix of disbelief and anger. He can already see how this might play out—the media will have a field day, and your reputation will be dragged through the mud. “Of course, I’ll handle it. I’ll go to the station right away.”

There’s another pause, this time longer. San can almost hear Hongjoong’s hesitation through the phone. “I trust you with this, San. I know you’ll fight for her like I would… maybe more.”

San’s breath catches. He stares at the floor for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “What are you getting at, hyung?”

Hongjoong’s tone shifts, a little lighter despite the gravity of the situation. “I know how you feel about her, she's like a sister to me. I’ve known for a while now, Sannie. You care about her, and not just as her attorney.”

San’s mind reels. He’s always kept his feelings for you carefully hidden, even from Hongjoong. But it’s clear now that his friend has seen through him “It’s not something I planned, hyung.”

"I didn’t say you did," he says gently, "but maybe this is a chance to show her how much you care. Not as an attorney, but as someone who’s willing to stand by her through the worst of it."

San runs a hand through his hair, conflicted. His stronger feelings for you have always lingered just beneath the surface, a quiet undercurrent to the professional relationship you’ve shared during your divorce proceedings. But now, as you’re facing this crisis, he knows those feelings are about to come to the forefront, whether he’s ready or not.

It's not like you don't know of his feelings after sharing a steamy kiss on his bed. You just didn't know that his feelings for you were stronger than what he showed.

“Right now, I’m her attorney. That’s what matters. I’ll get her out of this mess first,” San says in a firm tone.

Hongjoong chuckles softly, “You’re a good man, San. I’m glad she has you in her corner. I’ll be back tomorrow to help however I can, but for now, please take care of her. And be careful—the media’s already circling like vultures.”

San nods, even though Hongjoong can’t see him. His mind is already spinning with what needs to be done: pulling strings, calling in favors, and working to get you released as soon as possible. But beneath all that, a deeper urgency thrums inside him—an overwhelming need to protect you, to be there for you, not just as an attorney but as someone who deeply cares about you.

“Don’t worry, Hongjoong hyung. I won’t let her down.”

Hongjoong hums. “I know you won’t. Keep me updated, and I’ll be there first thing tomorrow.”

The call ends, and San slips his phone back into his pocket. He stands there for a moment, staring blankly at the glass doors in front of him. His pulse quickens, and he shakes off the lingering shock. You need him now more than ever, and there’s no time to waste.

He steps outside into the late afternoon sun, his mind already focused on his next move. As much as this case will test him professionally, San knows it will also test him personally. And for you, he’s willing to face whatever comes next.

With determination in his step, San gets into his car, heading straight for the police station. There’s no way he’ll let you go through this alone.

You sit on a hard bench in the holding area, your hands clasped tightly together, the events of the last few hours playing over and over in your mind like a bad dream. You still can’t wrap your head around it. Arrested. Framed. And now, sitting here, waiting for something—anything—that will prove your innocence.

The door to the holding area swings open, and you look up instinctively, hope sparking in your chest.

And then you see him— Choi San.

His maroon suit jacket is slightly wrinkled from his hurried movements, his face a mix of worry and determination as he strides toward you.

For a moment, you can’t move, your breath catching in your throat. Relief floods through you as he approaches, his eyes softening as they meet yours.

San frowns, yet his expression was gentle. “Y/N…”

He kneels down in front of you, his presence grounding you in this moment, even though your world feels like it’s spinning out of control. His voice is low, calm, and it soothes the chaotic mess of your thoughts.

"San… I didn’t do this. I swear," you say in a trembling voice. "I don’t know how—"

He holds up a hand, his expression steady and resolute. “I know. I believe you, sweetheart.”

The simple statement, spoken with such certainty, nearly undoes you. You’ve been holding yourself together, refusing to cry, refusing to break—but the sheer relief of having someone believe you shakes you to your core. You take a deep breath, blinking back the tears that have been threatening to spill over.

“I don’t understand how this happened. Who would do this to me?” you mumble.

San glances around the room, ensuring no one else is too close, before leaning in slightly, his voice quieter but still firm. “That’s what we’re going to find out. But first, I’m getting you out of here. I’ve already spoken with the officers. There’s not enough evidence to support holding you overnight. You’ll be out soon, and we’ll start working on clearing your name.”

His confidence eases the tight knot of fear that has been sitting in your chest since the moment you were arrested. You nod slowly, feeling a flicker of hope. San has always been calm under pressure, and now, in the face of this disaster, his calm feels like a lifeline.

“Thank you, San. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

San smiles a little, his eyes never leaving yours. For a moment, something unreadable flickers in his gaze—something deeper than just professional obligation. He stands, offering you his hand to help you up. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you up from the bench. For a moment, you just stand there, the weight of the day pressing down on you, but San’s hand in yours keeps you steady.

Just as he promised, within the next hour, he navigates the process with the officers, and the paperwork is completed. You’re released, but the gravity of the situation still hangs over you like a storm cloud.

As you step out into the cold evening air, San walks beside you, his hand hovering near your back, a silent but steady presence. The flashing lights of a few reporters’ cameras catch your eye, and your stomach churns with dread. The story is already out there, and now it’s not just the legal system you have to worry about—it’s the court of public opinion.

San leans in to whisper in your ear, “Ignore them. They don’t matter right now.”

You nod, swallowing the rising anxiety as you step toward San’s car, slipping into the passenger seat. Once you’re both inside, the weight of the day crashes down on you all at once.

San glances over at you as he starts the car, his voice gentle. “We’ll figure this out, Y/N. I promise.”

His words are meant to comfort, but you can hear the determination behind them. You trust him—more than anyone right now—and that trust is the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

"Can we... go to your place, please?" you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course we can," San answers with a smile, his dimples showing.

The car pulls away from the station, the city lights blurring by outside the window. You don’t know what comes next, but with San by your side, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you’ll be able to get through this.

The exhaustion catches up to you and you fall asleep in San's car.

Once San parks in his designated spot, he's quick to put a face mask on you to ensure no one recognizes you while he takes you to his place. You were still deep asleep with a frown on your face, so San resorted to carrying you bridal-style to his apartment.

He tried to be very slow while placing you down on the bed in the guestroom, but the movement stirred you awake. When you open your eyes, San's face is just inches away from yours.

You sit up straight and hug him, the teers falling freely now. He warmly embraces you, telling you words of encouragement and how he'll be with you through it all.

While your sobs quieted down, San pulls away to look at you. "I'll make us some dinner, hmm? I'll take about half an hour. Is that okay?" he asks sweetly, his thumbs reaching to brush your tears away.

"Can I... be in the kitchen with you? I don't want to be alone," you murmur.

San leans in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Of course, sweetheart. You don't even have to ask." You smile lightly, your heart racing in a good way this time.

"Let's go now, hmm? I plan to make your favorite side-dishes!"

The courthouse is bustling with activity as people file in and out of courtrooms, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors. You sit beside San on a wooden bench outside the courtroom, waiting for your case to be called. You’re dressed professionally, trying to project the calm confidence that comes naturally to you in the boardroom, though inside you’re anything but calm.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you feel the weight of every glance thrown your way by people passing by. The gravity of the situation is suffocating, but San’s steady presence beside you keeps you grounded. He hasn’t left your side since this nightmare began, and for that, you’re grateful.

San leans closer, his voice low and reassuring, “Remember, this is just the arraignment. They’ll present the charges, and I’ll enter a plea on your behalf. After that, we’ll have time to prepare for the real battle. Stay calm, and let me do the talking.”

You nod, drawing a deep breath and trying to steady your nerves. San gives you a small, encouraging smile before standing as your case is called.

“The People versus Y/N L/N.” The bailiff calls out.

The words send a jolt through you, but you rise to your feet, following San into the courtroom. As you walk down the aisle, you catch sight of a few reporters lurking in the back rows, their cameras trained on you. It takes everything in you to keep your head high and your expression neutral as you approach the defense table.

The judge, a stern older woman with sharp eyes, sits at the bench, looking down over the courtroom. The prosecutor stands across from you, a tall man with a stack of folders in front of him, looking all too confident.

The judge glances at the paperwork in front of her. “This is the arraignment for Y/N L/N. Let’s proceed.”

The prosecutor steps forward first, clearing his throat. “Your Honor, the defendant has been charged with illegal possession of narcotics and distribution of a controlled substance. Given the amount found and the nature of the charges, the prosecution believes there is sufficient evidence to proceed with the case.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence, but you stay quiet, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You glance at San, who remains calm and collected, his focus razor-sharp. He rises to address the court, his voice steady.

"Your Honor," San starts, voice firm, "my client pleads not guilty to all charges."

The judge nods, making notes as San continues, his tone professional but determined. "We would also like to request that Ms. L/N remain free on bail while we prepare our defense. My client has fully cooperated with the investigation thus far and has strong ties to the community. She is not a flight risk, nor is she a danger to the public."

The prosecutor steps forward again, shaking his head. “Your Honor, given the severity of the charges, we believe that bail should be revoked. The defendant was found in possession of a substantial quantity of illegal narcotics. In fact, the police were in search of individuals tied to the distribution of this very drug. We consider her a significant flight risk, particularly given her financial resources.”

You swallow hard, anxiety tightening in your chest as the prosecutor speaks. You’ve never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. San’s hand brushes yours under the table, a small but comforting gesture, and you glance at him. His expression is calm, though his eyes flash with determination.

San stands up again. “Your Honor, my client is a respected CEO, one that is dearly loved by her employees, and has no prior criminal record. She has been falsely accused and fully intends to clear her name. She has no intention of fleeing and will cooperate with any conditions the court deems appropriate.”

The judge taps her pen against her desk thoughtfully before looking up. “Given the circumstances and the defendant’s lack of prior offenses, I will allow Ms. L/N to remain free on bail, provided she adheres to strict conditions. She will surrender her passport and be subject to regular check-ins with law enforcement. Any violation of these conditions will result in immediate incarceration.”

Relief washes over you, though it’s tempered by the reality that this is just the beginning. San nods respectfully to the judge, and you follow suit, standing as the judge dismisses the court.

As you turn to leave, you feel the weight of the reporters’ eyes on you once again. The camera flashes, the whispers—it all threatens to swallow you whole. But San places a reassuring hand on the small of your back as you walk out of the courtroom together, his presence steady and unwavering.

Outside, the fresh air hits you like a lifeline, and you take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave your body.

“You did great in there,” San says.

You give him a weak smile, though the anxiety still churns inside you. The legal battle is just beginning, and the road ahead looks long and treacherous.

“Thank you, San. For everything.”

He glances down at you, something soft and unspoken in his eyes, before giving you a nod.

“We’ll get through this. I promise,” he assures you.

With those words, you both walk toward his car, the future uncertain but no longer quite as overwhelming. You trust him, and for now, that’s enough.

2 days later

The rich, dark wood of Hongjoong’s office and the soft leather chairs normally evoke a sense of calm professionalism, but today the air is thick with tension.

You sit at the large table in the corner of his office, San beside you, his expression serious and focused. Across from you is Hongjoong, his brow furrowed in concentration, and to his right is Yeosang, a lawyer specialized in criminal law whom Hongjoong had brought in to help navigate this tangled mess.

Yeosang leans forward, flipping through the files spread out on the table, his sharp eyes scanning the details of your case with practiced ease. He seemed to be in deep thought. “We’re dealing with someone who knows what they’re doing. The drugs were placed in a high-traffic area—your car—and, more importantly, they had your fingerprints on them. It was deliberate for sure.”

You lean back in your chair, frustration and disbelief bubbling beneath your surface composure. “But how? How did they even get my fingerprints on the bags? I’ve never touched drugs in my life.”

Yeosang looks up at you, his expression calm and reassuring, though his mind is clearly racing through possibilities. “It’s not impossible to get your fingerprints on something without your knowledge. It could’ve been as simple as someone using an item of yours—a glass, a piece of paper, even a surface you touched—and transferring the prints to the bags. It’s not common, but it’s doable with the right resources.”

San’s hand tightens slightly on the table beside you, his jaw clenched. His eyes are sharp, focused on the bigger picture. “This wasn’t some random setup. Someone orchestrated this carefully. They knew exactly what they were doing. The question is—who benefits from framing Y/N?”

A heavy silence settles over the room as everyone exchanges glances. The answer hovers in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

“It has to be Jaeyoon,” Hongjoong voices out grimly.

You nod, the name sitting like a stone in your gut. The thought had crossed your mind more than once since this all started—your soon-to-be legally ex-husband, vindictive and controlling, would have the motive and the resources to pull something like this off. But even knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

“He’s been desperate to stop the divorce, but I refused to back down. He knows he’s losing his grip on me, and his family’s connections… they’d give him access to people who could do this.”

Hongjoong nods, his expression hardening with a protective edge. He’s known you and Jaeyoon long enough to have seen the warning signs, even if it took time for you to accept them yourself. “If Jaeyoon’s behind this, he’s playing a dangerous game. But we need proof. Right now, it’s all speculation.”

Yeosang taps his fingers lightly against the folder in front of him, deep in thought. “We’ll need to dig into Jaeyoon’s connections, his finances, and any third-party contacts he may have used. If we can find a trail—payments to people who could’ve planted the drugs, any suspicious transactions—we can start to build a case. Of course, we can't do that without a court order, so we would somehow have to bring him up to the court to be able to access his finances.”

San sits up straighter, his focus laser-sharp. “Speaking of finances, we went over Y/N’s financial records. They’re clean—no suspicious activity, no unexplained deposits or withdrawals. Whoever’s doing this wants to make it look like she’s running the operation without leaving any financial trail.”

Yeosang nods, impressed but not surprised. “That’s important. It gives us a baseline to work from—if there were any dirty money moving through your accounts, it would be much harder to prove your innocence.”

You feel a small sense of relief at that. At least that part of your life is still intact. But then the anxiety returns as the enormity of the situation sinks in. “So… what now? How do we prove that it wasn’t me?”

Yeosang leans forward again, his tone reassuring. “We focus on the weak points in their setup. The planted drugs, the lack of a financial trail, and the circumstantial nature of the evidence. We need to show the court that there’s reasonable doubt—and if we can link it back to Jaeyoon, we’ll turn this whole thing around.”

Hongjoong looks at you, his eyes softening slightly. “We’ll figure this out, Y/N. We just need to be smart about it. We’ll start looking into Jaeyoon’s connections and anything we can do legally without a court order. There has to be something—someone who can tie this back to him.”

San speaks up, his voice resolute. “I’ll coordinate with investigators and see what we can find. But we also need to be prepared for whatever Jaeyoon throws our way. He’s not going to back down easily if we were to bring him to court.”

You nod, your mind spinning with everything that’s been said. The pieces are slowly starting to come together, but there’s still so much uncertainty—so much at stake. You’ve always prided yourself on being strong, on keeping control of your life and your business, but now you feel like you’re navigating a minefield where every step could lead to disaster.

San looks at you, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You won’t be fighting alone. We’ve got your back.” You nod at him, a smile playing on your lips.

The room falls silent again, but this time there’s a sense of unity—of resolve. You’re facing an uphill battle, but you know you’re not facing it alone.

The door opened, and Jongho— an intern under San— stepped in, followed by your secretary, Yena. Their expressions were serious, and you immediately sensed that they had uncovered something important. Your pulse quickened as you turned to face them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jongho began, his voice careful and respectful, "but we found something that might be really important."

Yena stood next to him, her eyes flicking to yours. “We were reviewing the security footage from the office building, particularly your office since I'm the only one that has access besides you. We were checking to see if there was anything unusual that could explain how this whole situation began. And… well, something stood out.”

Jongho pulled out a tablet from the folder he was carrying and moved toward the table. Everyone in the room leaned in, curiosity and hope sparking through the air. San's focus sharpened as Jongho tapped the screen, pulling up the relevant footage.

“We found this clip,” Jongho explained, “It was taken the day before the police discovered the drugs. It shows an employee bringing two cream-colored bags to your office—bags with wood samples inside.”

You leaned closer to the screen, watching the semi-grainy security footage play out. There you were, sitting at your desk, while one of the employees approached, two nondescript bags in hand. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You accepted the bag, placed it on the desk, and resumed your work.

But then your eyes caught something unusual.

“He’s wearing gloves,” you muttered, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut.

"Exactly," Jongho replied, his voice low but confident. "That’s what caught our attention. Wearing sterile gloves to deliver wood samples? That’s not standard."

Yeosang leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he focused on the details of the footage. "It’s certainly not typical. Most people don’t wear gloves unless they’re handling something delicate, hazardous, or… they don’t want their fingerprints on it."

San clenched his jaw beside you, his hand resting on the table as he processed the implications. "Who is this employee?" he asked Jongho and Yena, though his gaze stayed fixed on the screen.

Yena stepped forward. "I’ve seen him before—he works in logistics, occasionally helping with deliveries. I believe his name is Jang Yohan. But I’ve never seen him wear gloves like that. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now… it feels off."

"It wasn’t just wood samples in that bag, was it?" you asked quietly, almost to yourself. The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. "That’s how they did it. Whoever set me up had him plant the drugs in that bag—wearing gloves to avoid leaving his prints. My fingerprints are the only ones that would be found on it."

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, his mind clearly running through the possibilities. "It makes sense. They were careful—calculated. The gloves are the giveaway. It’s likely whoever hired him instructed him to use them for this exact reason."

San handed the tablet back to Jongho, a grim determination settling over his face. "This is exactly what we need to create doubt in the prosecution’s case," he said, his voice strong. "It doesn’t clear Y/N yet, but it raises serious questions about how the drugs ended up in her possession."

Hongjoong, who had been pacing while the video played, finally stopped to look at you. His eyes were intense but filled with that familiar protective instinct. "We need to trace this back to whoever orchestrated it," he said firmly. "If it’s Jaeyoon, we need proof. We need to dig into his finances, find out if he paid anyone off, and see who this employee is connected to. It’s the only way we’ll be able to prove that Y/N was framed."

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. A glimmer of hope began to break through the fog of anxiety. "Thank you," you said quietly to Jongho and Yena. "This could be the key we’ve been looking for."

Jongho offered a small, reassuring smile. "We’ll keep digging. There has to be more."

As they exited the room, the weight of the situation seemed a little lighter. You glanced at San, who was already gathering his thoughts for the next steps.

"This changes everything," he said softly, though there was an edge of fire in his voice. "We’re going to prove your innocence, Y/N. Whoever’s behind this isn’t going to get away with it."

For the first time in days, you felt a small measure of hope. It was far from over, but now you had something to fight with—a direction to move in.

The video footage had given you something solid—something that could cast doubt on the charges against you. Yet, the deeper question still gnawed at you: who was behind it all? Jaeyoon?

Hongjoong was already pacing again, his mind clearly racing, when he stopped abruptly and turned to you, San, and Yeosang.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his voice sharper with a sudden realization. “That employee—the one who handed you the bag with the wood samples. What exactly did he say when he gave it to you?”

You frowned, trying to recall the details of that day. "He said he would come back later to collect the bag after I’d reviewed the samples. I didn’t think much of it at the time—just normal procedure."

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And did he ever come back to get it?”

You nod your head. “Yes, I had it sitting on my desk to review it later as there was ample time before the deadline to approve it. He took it while I wasn't there. If I remember correctly, he told Yena that he mixed up the samples.”

San’s gaze snapped toward Hongjoong, who looked deep in thought. Slowly, Hongjoong walked back to his desk, picking up a photo that had been part of the evidence submitted by the prosecution. It was a picture of the drugs found in your car—specifically, the bags they had been placed in.

He stared at the picture for a long moment before grabbing a pen from his desk. Without a word, he drew a line across the image, right above a very noticeable purple mark on the bag. Then, he turned back to you.

“When you received the bag of wood samples,” Hongjoong began slowly, “did you notice anything unusual about it?”

Your mind raced back to that moment. It had been a normal day, and you were preoccupied with your work. But now, with the intensity of everything, you tried to remember.

“There was… a mark on one of the bags,” you said, furrowing your brow as the memory came into focus. “A black or purple ink mark.”

Hongjoong nodded, lifting the photograph up to eye level. "Look closely at this picture—the one of the drugs found in your car."

You leaned in, your eyes scanning the photo until they settled on the same purple mark that you’d just remembered. Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces began to fall into place.

“It’s the same bag,” San said, his voice tight with realization. “The exact same bag we see in the footage.”

Hongjoong nodded, his expression grim. “That employee came back for the bag because he wanted to switch out the wood samples for the drugs. The purple mark connects the bag found in your car with the one you were given in the office.”

Yeosang leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the table as his sharp mind began piecing it together. “This means whoever set this up planned it meticulously. They planted the drugs in the same bag that you’d innocently handled with the wood samples, ensuring your fingerprints were on it. When the police found it, there’d be no question—it would appear like you’d been in possession of it the entire time.”

You sank back in your chair, a mix of anger and disbelief coursing through you. “This was all calculated,” you murmured. “They knew exactly what they were doing.”

San’s face hardened, a new determination sparking in his eyes. "We have a direct link now. This bag connects the planted drugs to the employee who handed it to you. It’s evidence that can start to unravel their case against you."

Hongjoong crossed his arms, the gears of his mind turning. “If we can find out who this employee is connected to, we’ll have the leverage we need. I’m willing to bet everything that Jaeyoon is involved. We just need to follow the trail.”

Yeosang nodded in agreement. “The bag, the gloves, the purple mark... it’s all pointing toward a deliberate setup. We just need to dig deeper into the employee’s background, see who’s pulling the strings.”

San turned to you, his expression softer now but no less serious. "We’re getting closer, Y/N. This is the break we needed."

You met his gaze, feeling a flicker of hope return. It wasn’t over yet—not by a long shot—but with this new piece of evidence, you were finally beginning to see a way through the darkness.

-×-×-×-

2 weeks later

The courtroom was quieter this time, but the tension was even more palpable than before. You sat beside San at the defense table, your fingers gripping the edge of the chair. Across the aisle, the prosecutor shuffled through his papers, confident as ever. The employee—the one who had handed you the bags. Jang Yohan—was sitting at the witness stand, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

San was focused, calm, but you could feel the intensity radiating from him as he prepared to question the witness. Hongjoong sat a few rows behind you, his presence reassuring as always, while Yeosang was absent, working on other elements of the case. This was a critical moment, and everyone knew it.

The judge entered, and the room stood in unison. After the usual formalities, the hearing began. The prosecutor wasted no time presenting the case, confidently restating that the evidence was clear: you had been found in possession of illegal narcotics, your fingerprints were on the bags, and the prosecution would show that you were guilty of the charges.

Then it was time for San to present your defense. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he approached the judge.

"Your Honor," San began, his voice steady and commanding, "new evidence has come to light since our last hearing, which I believe will cast significant doubt on the charges against my client. We have footage that shows my client receiving the bags containing the drugs, but there’s more to it than that."

You couldn't help but find San extremely attractive. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks... focus, Y/N.

The judge’s eyes sharpened with interest. "Proceed, Mr. Choi."

San gestured toward the screen where the footage would be displayed. As the security video played, the room grew silent. You could see yourself sitting at your desk, accepting the bag from the employee. Everyone watched intently as the employee, conspicuously wearing sterile gloves, handed the bags over with care.

After the footage ended, San spoke again. "As you can see, the employee, Mr. Jang here, who delivered the bag at that time was wearing gloves. We found this suspicious, and upon further investigation, we discovered that the bag in question—both the one delivered in my client’s office and the one found in her car—has a unique identifying mark."

San held up a printed image of the bag, with the purple ink mark circled clearly in the photograph. "This very evident purple mark is present on both the bag from the footage and the one seized by the police. My client’s fingerprints were found on the bag because she handled it while inspecting wood samples," San explained. "We believe that Mr. Jang, under instruction, delivered the bag intentionally so that Ms. L/N's fingerprints would easily be all over it. We also have the footage of Mr. Jang coming back to Ms. L/N's office to get the bags hours later, wearing sterile gloves yet again. Additionally, a large chunk of footage was deleted from multiple viewpoints around the office building the same day Ms. L/N received the wood samples. The footage from Ms. L/N's office can only be accessed by Ms. L/N herself and her secretary."

The judge leaned forward, her eyes on the witness stand where the employee sat, clearly uncomfortable. "So you’re suggesting this employee, Mr. Jang, was complicit in planting the drugs, Mr. Choi?"

San nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. And we intend to prove it."

The judge turned her attention to the prosecutor, who frowned but nodded for the employee to be questioned.

San approached the witness stand, his gaze locking onto Mr. Jang, who was already shifting nervously in his seat. He started with a calm but pointed question. "Can you explain why you were wearing gloves when delivering the bag?"

Mr. Jang hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the prosecutor for support before returning to San. "I—I don’t really remember," he stammered. "It was a normal delivery."

San didn’t let up. "Is it normal for you to wear hospital-grade sterile gloves when handling wood samples that are already placed in a bag?"

Mr. Jang’s face flushed. "Not usually, no."

"Yet, on this particular occasion, you chose to wear gloves?" San pressed.

Jang Yohan fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I guess I—uh, I wasn’t thinking."

San’s expression remained cool as he continued. "Or were you instructed to wear them? Were you told to ensure your fingerprints weren’t left on the bag?"

His eyes widened, and you could see the panic starting to set in. "No, I wasn’t instructed—"

"Then how do you explain the purple mark on the bag?" San cut him off smoothly, pulling out another image of the bag found in your car, the mark clearly visible in both photos. "This is the same bag you delivered to my client, isn’t it?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at the prosecutor again, but this time the prosecutor remained silent. His hesitation only deepened the growing suspicion in the room. "I don’t know," he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

San stepped closer, his tone still measured but carrying a steely edge. "You don’t know? Or you don’t want to say? Who instructed you to plant those drugs in Ms. L/N’s possession?"

The room was dead silent as everyone waited for his answer. The employee’s hands fidgeted in his lap, beads of sweat forming on his brow. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "No one… no one told me to plant anything." You inwardly sigh in utter frustration.

San took a step back, giving the employee a moment to breathe, but his eyes never left the man’s face. "You realize perjury is a serious crime, don’t you?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. "Yes… yes, I know."

San nodded once, satisfied for now. He turned back to the judge. "Your Honor, this man’s refusal to provide a clear explanation, combined with the evidence of the identical bags and the suspicious nature of his actions, strongly suggests that someone instructed him to plant the drugs in Ms. L/N’s possession. We will continue to investigate this matter, but we believe this evidence raises significant doubt about my client’s involvement."

The judge glanced from San to the employee, her expression unreadable. "Mr. Choi, I agree that the evidence raises questions. We will continue to allow further investigation into this matter, but for now, we will adjourn until the next scheduled hearing. The court is dismissed."

You felt a small wave of relief wash over you as you heard the sound of the gavel. The case wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but you could see that San had managed to shift the momentum in your favor. As the courtroom slowly emptied, you turned to San, gratitude and hope mixing in your chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, knowing full well that without him, the situation would have looked far bleaker.

San gave you a small, reassuring smile. "We’re getting there, Y/N. Step by step."

-×-×-×-

2 days later

The café was quiet, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups providing a subtle background noise. San and his bestfriend Wooyoung, a corporate lawyer, sat at a corner table, their eyes scanning the room as they waited.

Wooyoung adjusted his jacket casually, the tiny recording device hidden within the fabric. He leaned back in his chair, his expression calm and collected, while San checked the time on his phone.

A few minutes later, the café door swung open, and the employee, Mr. Jang Yohan—nervous, disheveled, and clearly rattled from the last court hearing—stepped inside. His eyes darted around anxiously before they landed on San and Wooyoung. With a deep breath, he approached the table, his steps hesitant.

"Mr. Choi," he greeted San with a shaky voice, "you wanted to speak with me?"

San nodded, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Yes, have a seat."

Jang Yohan glanced around once more before sitting down, his hands fidgeting on the table. Wooyoung remained silent, observing the man carefully, his expression unreadable.

San wasted no time. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "We know you’re involved in framing Y/N, but what we need now is the full story. Who ordered you to plant the drugs in her car?"

The employee swallowed hard, clearly nervous. His gaze shifted to Wooyoung, who gave him a polite but unreadable smile. The pressure was mounting, and it was clear that the employee was caught between fear and guilt.

"I—I've told you, no one ordered me to do anything," he stammered, his voice trembling.

Wooyoung, sensing the employee’s hesitation, leaned forward, his tone friendly but sharp. "Look, we’re not here to ruin your life. But if you don’t come clean, this is going to end badly for you. You don’t want to be the fall guy in this mess, do you?"

Jang Yohan blinked, his hands shaking slightly as he looked down at the table. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the situation.

"I… I was just following orders," he whispered finally, his voice barely audible.

San exchanged a quick glance with Wooyoung, sensing that they were finally breaking through.

"Whose orders?" San asked, his tone measured, giving the man space to speak without pressure.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. He glanced around again, clearly afraid of being overheard. Wooyoung remained calm, his hand resting casually on the table, the recording device capturing every word.

"It was… Ms. L/N's mother-in-law," the employee said, his voice shaking. "She… she approached me. She told me to place the drugs in Y/N’s car. She said it was the only way to stop the divorce and protect their family. She said she would have my kids expelled from their schools if I didn't listen. She also paid me off, and I—I didn’t know what else to do... I worked very hard to put my two children in a decent school, and one of them in guitar lessons."

The air around the table seemed to freeze as the words hung there. San’s expression didn’t change, but inside, a surge of anger and determination flared. This was the confirmation they needed.

"Jaeyoon’s mother, Mrs. Baek," San repeated, his voice carefully controlled. "She orchestrated all of this?"

Jang Yohan nodded quickly, looking down at his lap as if ashamed of his role. "Yes. She said her son told her there were no security camera's in Ms. L/N's office so there was no way I would get caught. They told me to delete the other footage of me moving about the building. I never wanted to do this."

Wooyoung leaned back slightly, giving the employee a sympathetic look. "And now, here you are, being dragged into a legal mess that could ruin your life."

He nodded, his face pale. "I didn’t know it would go this far. I just… I just did what she asked. I was scared of my kids' lives getting ruined."

San leaned back as well, keeping his expression neutral. "Well, you’ve just confessed to a crime. But here’s the thing—we’re willing to help you. If you cooperate with us, we can protect you and get you out of this. Your kids will not be affected in any way. But you’ll need to testify in court. You’ll need to tell the truth."

Jang Yohan looked up, his eyes wide with fear but also relief. "You’ll… you’ll help me?"

Wooyoung nodded, offering a small smile. "We’ll make sure you’re protected. But you have to stick to the truth, no matter what happens."

He nodded quickly, looking like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "I’ll do it. I’ll tell the truth. I don’t want any more trouble. I just want a good life for my kids."

San and Wooyoung stood up, the deal made. As they left the café, Wooyoung adjusted his jacket again, the recording safely stored. The confession was all there, captured and ready to be used in court.

As they walked toward the car, San turned to Wooyoung, his expression relieved but still serious. "That was risky, but it worked."

Wooyoung grinned, patting his jacket lightly. "Sometimes a little pressure does wonders."

San nodded, his mind already moving to the next steps. This was the turning point they needed. The truth was finally coming to light, and now, with the employee’s confession and the evidence in hand, they could start dismantling the case against you.

-×-×-×-

1 week later

The courtroom buzzed with anticipation as people filled the seats, journalists whispering to one another and spectators craning their necks to get a better view of the proceedings.

You sat beside San, your pulse racing as you watched the judge take her seat. This was it—the moment where everything could finally come to light. San had been relentless, and now the confession that could clear your name was about to be delivered.

The employee who had played such a pivotal role in your framing sat nervously at the witness stand, fidgeting as the prosecutor paced in front of him. Across the room, you could see the prosecutor’s frustration—this wasn’t going to go the way they had hoped. San, calm and composed as ever, sat back in his chair, waiting for his moment.

After the preliminary questions from the prosecution, it was San’s turn. He stood up, buttoning his jacket before walking toward the witness stand, his presence commanding the room. Jang Yohan avoided eye contact, clearly uneasy but ready to confess what he had done.

San didn’t waste any time. He stopped directly in front of the witness stand and addressed the employee with a calm, measured voice. "You’ve already testified that you were the one who delivered the bag to Ms. L/N. Now, I want you to tell this court exactly what you told me. Who ordered you to place the drugs in her car?"

The courtroom fell silent, every eye on the employee. He glanced nervously toward the prosecutor before finally speaking.

"It was Mrs. Baek, Ms. L/N's mother-in-law," the employee admitted, his voice trembling. "She told me to do it. She… she said it was to stop the divorce, that if I didn’t help, her family would be ruined. She threatened to have my kids expelled from their school, and she paid me a lot of money, too."

Gasps rippled through the courtroom, and the judge raised a brow in interest. San continued, his expression neutral but firm.

"So, Ms. L/N's soon-to-be ex-husband's mother orchestrated the entire plan to frame Ms. L/N for drug possession and distribution?" San asked, his voice steady.

The employee nodded, his face pale. "Yes. She paid me to plant the drugs in Ms. L/N's car. I didn’t want to, but she… she said I had no choice. She promised I wouldn’t get in trouble if I helped her."

San turned to the judge, his tone shifting to one of firm conviction. "Your Honor, this confession clearly establishes that my client has been framed by her ex-in-law's family. This entire case against Ms. L/N has been a deliberate attempt to discredit her and force her into submission."

The judge’s gaze moved from San to the prosecutor, who looked visibly shaken by the turn of events. The entire courtroom felt the weight of what had just been revealed.

"I request," San continued, his voice growing stronger, "that the court issue a subpoena for the financial records of Mr. Baek Jaeyoon’s family. If this court examines their transactions, I am confident we will find evidence of payments made to individuals—perhaps even this very employee—proving that this was a calculated scheme to frame my client."

The judge looked thoughtful, leaning back in her chair. She glanced at the prosecutor, who was still recovering from the bombshell of the confession.

The prosecutor rose, clearly scrambling for control. "Your Honor, while the testimony is damning, we must be cautious about making broad accusations without hard evidence. There is no direct proof connecting the Baek family finances to any payments made in relation to this case."

San didn’t miss a beat. "That is precisely why I’m requesting access to their financial records. We have the employee’s confession, and now we need to follow the money trail. If Baek Jaeyoon’s mother orchestrated this, the payments will be there. This court needs to see the full picture before passing any judgment on my client."

The judge tapped her fingers lightly on the bench, her eyes shifting between the prosecutor and San. After a long moment, she spoke.

"Mr. Choi’s argument is compelling. Given the testimony we’ve just heard, I am inclined to allow the request for a financial investigation into the Baek family. The court will issue a subpoena for the necessary records, and a thorough examination will be conducted."

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in the room eased slightly, but the stakes remained high. The judge nodded toward San, signaling that he had the floor.

"I also request, Your Honor," San added, "that the charges against Ms. L/N be dropped while pending the results of this investigation. With this new testimony, there is significant doubt about her involvement, and keeping her under suspicion serves no purpose."

The judge paused again, thinking it over, then turned back to the prosecutor. "Does the prosecution wish to oppose this request?"

The prosecutor, still reeling from the confession, reluctantly shook his head. "No, Your Honor. We will await the results of the investigation."

With a sharp rap of the gavel, the judge made her decision. "The court grants the request for a financial investigation into the Baek family and suspends the charges against Ms. L/N pending the outcome. This hearing is adjourned."

The courtroom buzzed with murmurs of excitement and shock as the judge exited. You let out a long breath, feeling lighter for the first time in what felt like forever. San turned to you, his expression softening as he met your eyes.

"We’re not done yet," he said quietly, "but we’re closer than we’ve ever been."

You nodded, relief and gratitude flooding through you. The truth was finally starting to emerge, and now, with the financial investigation underway, it was only a matter of time before the entire web of lies unraveled.

-×-×-×-

1 week later

The atmosphere in the courtroom was electric with anticipation. Journalists lined the back rows, cameras flashing as they caught glimpses of the key figures entering.

Jaeyoon and his family sat on one side of the room, their expressions tense and cold. Across from them, you sat with San, your heart pounding as the final pieces of the puzzle came together. This was the moment you had been waiting for—the culmination of everything you’d fought so hard for.

Your family, finally here to support you, sat behind you, their presence a welcome comfort in this fraught situation. They had never believed you before and hadn't supported you at all, but you couldn’t help but not care today. You felt good today.

The judge took her seat at the bench, her sharp eyes scanning the room as she called the court to order. The tension was palpable as the final hearing began. This time, Jaeyoon and his family were the ones on trial, and you could feel the shift in the room—the power dynamic was no longer against you.

San stood up, his movements calm and measured as he approached the bench. He held a folder in his hand, the evidence that would finally expose Jaeyoon and his family for their crimes.

"Your Honor," San began, his voice steady and commanding, "the financial records that were subpoenaed have revealed a deeply concerning pattern of illegal transactions made by Mr. Baek Jaeyoon and his family. Over the past several months, large sums of money have been wired from Mr. Baek Jaeyoon’s personal account to an influential politician, Yoon Daechul. These funds were used to facilitate the procurement of illegal narcotics, which were then planted in Ms. L/N’s possession as part of a scheme orchestrated by Mr. Baek’s mother."

A murmur rippled through the courtroom as San presented the financial records, each one showing the repeated wire transfers. The judge’s expression remained neutral, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes as she leaned forward to examine the documents.

San continued, his voice unwavering. "The money trail is clear—each payment corresponds with a significant political favor or action, all of which led to the acquisition and placement of the drugs. This politician acted as a middleman, using his connections to secure the narcotics that were used to frame my client. The Baek family attempted to cover their tracks, but the records don’t lie."

The judge turned her attention to the prosecutor, who looked visibly rattled by the developments. "Does the prosecution have anything to say regarding these findings?"

The prosecutor stood, his expression stiff as he shook his head. "No, Your Honor. The evidence speaks for itself."

The judge nodded, then turned her gaze to Jaeyoon and his family. "Mr. Baek, your financial records clearly show that you and your family engaged in illegal transactions with a known politician in exchange for narcotics. This court will not tolerate such blatant disregard for the law, nor will it allow innocent individuals to be wrongfully accused as a result of your actions."

Jaeyoon’s mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her once imperious demeanor now replaced by visible anxiety. Jaeyoon himself remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the tension in his clenched jaw and stiff shoulders.

San took a breath before continuing. "Your Honor, I also want to address the broader context of this case. Ms. L/N and Mr. Baek Jaeyoon were once married, but their relationship took a dark turn. Ms. L/N sought a divorce after enduring emotional and physical harm at the hands of Mr. Baek. The situation escalated to such a degree that Ms. L/N was forced to file for a restraining order to protect herself."

He held up the restraining order for the court to see, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "This was not a simple marital dispute. Mr. Baek inflicted harm on Ms. L/N, both physically and emotionally. She had no choice but to separate from him and take legal measures to ensure her own safety."

San’s eyes flicked toward you for a moment, offering a reassuring glance before he turned back to the judge. "This conspiracy is an extension of Mr. Baek’s attempts to control and manipulate Ms. L/N. His actions have gone beyond personal harm and escalated into a criminal scheme designed to ruin her reputation and destroy her life."

Jaeyoon’s face reddened with anger. He shot up from his seat, glaring at San. "That’s a lie!" he shouted, his voice shaking with fury. "I never laid a hand on her—she’s exaggerating everything to make herself look like the victim!"

The judge raised an eyebrow, her gaze hardening. "Mr. Baek, you will refrain from speaking unless addressed directly by the court."

Jaeyoon’s mother, unable to remain silent any longer, stood as well, her voice sharp and indignant. "Your Honor, this is nothing more than a slanderous attack on my family! That woman—" she pointed accusingly at you—"has been trying to ruin my son from the beginning! She never belonged in our family, and she couldn’t handle the pressure of being part of something bigger than herself. This restraining order is just her way of making herself look innocent!"

The judge’s gaze was ice-cold as she replied. "Mrs. Baek, the restraining order was granted based on documented evidence of harm and harassment. This court will not dismiss it as a fabrication."

Jaeyoon, sensing the growing tension between himself and his mother, suddenly snapped. "You know what? Fine! Yes, the money was wired. Yes, the drugs were planted, but it wasn’t my idea!" He turned to his mother, his expression hardening. "This whole thing started because of her. She couldn’t stand the idea of losing control, and she dragged me into this mess."

His mother gasped audibly. "Jaeyoon! How dare you—"

"It’s the truth, Mother!" Jaeyoon snapped, his voice filled with anger and bitterness. "You said we had to get rid of Y/N no matter what if she went through with the divorce, that she was a threat to our reputation. You were the one who wanted to frame her! I went along with it, yes, but you were the mastermind!"

The courtroom buzzed with whispers and murmurs as Jaeyoon threw his mother under the bus. His mother, for the first time, looked truly rattled, her confident demeanor cracking. She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

The judge raised her hand, silencing the courtroom. "Regardless of who initiated the scheme, it is clear that both of you participated in an illegal conspiracy to harm Ms. L/N. The court is not interested in your blame-shifting; we are here to ensure justice is served. You will both be held accountable."

The judge turned back to you. "Ms. L/N, given the overwhelming evidence presented in this case, I hereby dismiss all charges against you. The court recognizes that you were the victim of an elaborate and malicious scheme. You are free to go."

Relief washed over you, your heart soaring as the weight of the past few months lifted from your shoulders. San’s hand brushed against yours beneath the table, a quiet gesture of support and reassurance. Behind you, your family let out sighs of relief, your mother placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

But the judge wasn’t finished. Her gaze returned to Jaeyoon and his mother, her voice now firm. "Baek Jaeyoon, your mother, and any individuals involved in this conspiracy will now face charges of fraud, bribery, and conspiracy to commit a crime. This court will see to it that justice is served. You are hereby ordered to remain in custody pending further investigation."

The gavel struck the bench, and the courtroom erupted into a flurry of activity. Reporters scrambled to document the fallout as Jaeyoon and his family were escorted from the courtroom in disgrace, their faces pale and drawn.

You stood slowly, still processing the magnitude of what had just happened. San was beside you in an instant, his hand resting gently on your back. "It’s over," he said quietly, his voice filled with quiet triumph. "You’re free."

You turned to face him, tears welling in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief and gratitude. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

San smiled softly, his eyes warm. "You didn’t have to. We were always in this together."

As you left the courtroom, surrounded by your family and the people who had fought beside you, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

Justice had been served, and for the first time in months, you could breathe freely, knowing that the truth had finally prevailed.

-×-×-×-

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the city as you drove toward Saturn & Co., your heart lighter than it had been in months. The events of the trial were still fresh in your mind—the relief of being exonerated, the weight of the accusations finally lifting off your shoulders.

Today, you were returning to the company you had built, ready to step back into your role as CEO with renewed purpose after weeks of suffering.

As your car approached the building, you noticed something different. A large crowd of employees stood gathered outside the front entrance, their faces lit with excitement. You slowed the car, your curiosity piqued, and as you pulled into your parking spot, the realization hit you—they were all waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out of the car, the sound of cheering erupted from the crowd. It caught you off guard, the sheer volume of their support overwhelming. Your heart swelled with emotion as you took in the scene in front of you.

"Welcome back, Ms. L/N!" someone shouted from the crowd, and soon, the voices of your employees echoed the sentiment, their cheers blending together in a wave of affection and celebration.

Your eyes landed on a large banner strung up across the front of the building. In bold, colorful letters, it read:

"Welcome Back to Our Beloved CEO! We’re So Proud of You!"

Tears pricked at your eyes as you stood there, momentarily stunned by the outpouring of love. These were the people who had stood by you throughout everything—who had never lost faith in you even when the world seemed determined to tear you down. They had believed in your innocence, and now, they were here to celebrate your return.

A soft hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned to see Yena standing beside you, her face glowing with pride. "We wanted to do something special for you," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ve been through so much, and we’re just so happy to have you back where you belong."

You smiled at her, your heart full of gratitude. "Thank you, Yena," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "This means more than I can put into words."

You took a deep breath and began walking toward the entrance, the crowd parting to let you through. Your employees clapped and cheered as you made your way up the steps, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace and belonging.

As you reached the front door, you paused for a moment, turning back to the crowd. "Thank you," you said, your voice carrying over the noise. "I’m so grateful for all of you. Saturn & Co. isn’t just a company—it’s a family. And I’m proud to be your CEO."

The applause grew louder, and you smiled, feeling the warmth of their support wrap around you like a protective shield. With renewed energy, you stepped into the building, ready to lead once more.

Inside, the familiar sights and sounds of the office greeted you—people bustling about, the hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee. It felt like home, and after everything you had been through, you realized just how much this place—and these people—meant to you.

As you walked toward your office, you passed by employees who smiled at you, offering words of encouragement and congratulations. By the time you reached your desk, you felt lighter, more hopeful than you had in months.

Sitting down, you looked out over the city through the large windows, a smile playing on your lips. The battle had been long and hard, but you had emerged on the other side stronger than ever.

A knock was heard at your door before Yena stepped in, a bright smile on her face that caused one to form on yours too. "Ms. L/N... the surprises aren't done yet!"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really?"

"Mhmm, you have a dinner reservation with Attorney Choi San at the Signiel Hotel tonight," she says with a smirk, well aware of the feelings you had for San. "I also booked a suite for the two of you at the hotel."

You blushed, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "Yena... you're too much."

"I know!" she beamed. "I know you get off only at six thirty today, so I already packed a little bag for you. I also chose your outfit for tonight as well and I'll do your hair and makeup too!"

-×-×-×-

When you arrived at the restaurant in the hotel, your heart raced when you noticed San seated at a booth in the corner, looking at the Seoul skyline, the sun setting in the distance. He was wearing beige pants and a navy blue shirt with a couple of buttons undone. You were also wearing navy blue, and knowing Yena, you knew she purposely got you this dress to match with San.

As you moved closer to San, the sound of your heels caught his attention, and he turned to look at you.

He stands up, taking your hand in his. He brought your hand up to his lips, placing a delicate kiss at the back of it. "Y/N..." he greets, "you look gorgeous tonight."

You blush. "Thank you, so do you, Sannie."

San giggles. "Shall we?"

You take a seat across San, and he pours a glass of wine for you. "How was work? Yena told me your employees surprised you today." You nod your head, taking a sip of the sweet wine while you made conversation about the events of your day. San listened to you so attentively, his eyes full of adoration.

The waitress brought the food and you noticed it had some of your favorite dishes; ones that you told San you loved weeks ago. You felt really touched that he remembered your likes and dislikes.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, occasionally talking about the food or an old memory while you both watched the sun set and the light from the buildings around became more bright.

After dinner, the two of you went to your suite at the hotel, putting on a romcom movie and sipping on some more wine. Throughout the movie, you were cuddled up to San's side, your arms wrapped around his muscular arm. You felt very at peace. You felt so safe with San.

Once the movie ended, you stretched your arms, getting up on your feet. You walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, placing a hand on the glass while you looked at the beautiful night view of Seoul.

San made his way towards you, pausing right behind you. "It's so pretty," you say in awe, turning around to look at him. The strap of your dress was nearly falling off your shoulder, catching San's attention.

San thought you were glowing. You looked so beautiful.

He took two slow steps towards you, towering over your smaller form. His eyes roamed all over your face. It seemed like he wanted to say something but was hesitant to.

"What's wrong, Sannie?" you ask, hand reaching up to cup his face. He placed a hand over yours while leaning into your touch. He was looking intensely in your eyes like as if he was looking for some signs.

"Can I kiss you?" San asks in the softest tone he could muster.

You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. "I'd like that."

San brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, making you lean into his touch.

He leans down closer to you, brushing his lips against yours before gently kissing you. It felt just like how he kissed you at his place — soft, warm, and pure.

Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer to you. You caught his bottom lip in between your teeth, giving it a light bite. San let out a faint moan at your actions, pressing his body against yours.

When San pulled away to breathe, you took the opportunity to kiss his neck, gently sucking and licking at his skin, making sure to leave a mark on him Your other hand traced the expanse of his shoulder before moving down his chest until you reached the button of his shirt that wasn't undone. You place your hand flat on his chest, and you could feel his heart beating fast.

You pulled away to look at him. "Can I?" you ask, eyes moving between his and the buttons of his shirt.

"Yes, please," he responds, and you slowly move your fingers to unbutton his shirt, his muscular chest and abs coming into view.

San swiftly swept you off your feet, carrying you bridal-style to the loveseat in the very corner of the living room. As soon as he sat down with you in his arms, you moved to straddle his lap. You gently push the navy blue shirt off his body, exposing his bare upper body to you.

Oh. My. Goodness. Holy. Fuck.

Now, this was a view you could never get enough of: San, half naked, looking up at you with hooded eyes, with the Seoul skyline in the background.

San smirked, extending his muscular arms along the top of the backrest of the loveseat. "Impressed?" He asks, titling his head slightly, a smug look on his face while he watched your eyes take in the sight of his body that he worked very hard on despite his hectic attorney schedule.

You leaned in to place a lingering kiss on his lips before you let yourself sit down completely on his lap, feeling his hard dick beneath you, the only barrier being the material of your panties and his pants.

You mimicked his smirk, straightening your body, reaching for the hem of your dress, taking it off right in front of his eyes, letting it pool on the ground, leaving you in just your lacey panties.

San's jaw dropped.

He shamelessly checked you out, eyes noticing the muscles on your thighs, his mind imagining his face getting squeezed by them.

If you thought San was hard enough beneath you before, he was even harder now.

"Impressed?" You ask, repeating his words, your hands running through his soft black hair before resting on his shoulders. You leaned in to kiss him again, grinding down on his hard clothed dick.

San was about to lose his mind. "Very," he practically growls.

You noticed he hadn't touched you in any way yet. You reach for his hands, bringing them up to your chest so he could grab your tits. When he looked at you, you nodded at him, giving him consent to touch you.

San brought your lips back to his in a hungry kiss while you continued to grind on his clothed dick. His hands played with your boobs, giving them a light massage, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers. You let out a moan in his mouth, and you could feel your panties sticking to your wet folds.

You slightly pulled away, resting your forehead against his. "San..." You say his name breathlessly. Your head spinning from the intensity of the kiss. Your clit was throbbing, begging to be touched in any way. "San, please."

"Please what, baby?" San murmurs, his hands moving up and down your thighs. The pet name from his lips caused a chill to run down your spine.

"I want you right now," you say, pressing your core down harder on his clothed dick.

"Want me how?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to tease you.

You lean down to kiss his neck, dragging kisses up to his earlobe, placing a soft kiss beneath his ear. "Attorney Choi... Choi San..." you whisper in his ear in a low tone. "I want you to fuck me right now."

San's hands moved up your thigh to your heated core. He touched you over the fabric of your panties, smirking at the wet patch he could feel. "So needy for me, hmm?"

He looked you straight in the eye when his hands moved to one side of your hip, ripping that side of your panties, repeating the same thing on the other side. You gasped at his actions, and he tossed the scraps onto your dress on the floor.

"I really liked those panties," you say with a light chuckle, moving your body up to make yourself more comfortable, but San stopped you midway; your tits were right in front of his face.

"I'll get you a whole pack of them later," he murmurs in a low tone. "But could you stay like this for me, hmm?"

He took your nipple in his mouth while his finger swiped your slit to collect the wetness there. He rubbed your slick onto your clit, using it as lube to better rub your clit.

"San, fuckkk," you moaned when his finger moved faster on your clit. Without any warning, he pushed two fingers inside your wet pussy, wasting no time in pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb rubbed your clit in circular motions.

San pulled his fingers out, and you whimpered at the loss of contact. He sucked his fingers clean before picking you up and taking you to the bedroom of the suite. He dropped you onto the bottom of the bed so that your legs were dangling off the edge.

San unbuckled his belt, tossing it aside, his pants and briefs off following shortly after. You marveled at the sight of him nude in front of you, your hips bucked up involuntarily at the mere sight of him. He dropped to his knees, his hands moving your legs to rest over his shoulder. He wasted no time in licking your slit, moaning at your sweet taste. He attached his mouth to your clit, licking and sucking the nub while he slowly introduced two fingers in again.

Your thighs were squeezing his head, just like he imagined, and your loud moans prompted him to pump his fingers even faster. You were so lost in your pleasure until your orgasm came crashing, and you came all over San's fingers.

You took a minute to compose yourself before you sat up straight, wrapping your hand around his hard cock. You pumped his length, your thumb rubbing circles on his slit. San moaned you name out before taking your lips in his, his tongue brushing across your lower lip. You opened your mouth slightly to give him more access, but he pulled away and stopped your hand from jerking him off further. "You're making me feel too good, sweetheart... I might just bust right now."

"Let me ride you then," you say to him.

San nods, moving to lie down in the middle of the bed. You hovered over his cock, leaning down to kiss him. "I'm on the pill," you let him know before sinking down onto his length.

You started moving down on his dick at a slow pace, wanting to take the time to familiarize yourself with the way his cock felt in you. You sunk down even more until you bottomed out. You gave yourself some time to adjust to his size before you increased the pace, bouncing on his dick.

His hands moved to cup your ass, helping you slam harder on him. "God, Y/N, I-I swear... you're so fucking hot taking my dick like that," he growls.

The room was filled with your combined moans and the sound of skin clapping, and you watched San's eyebrows furrow while his tongue darted out to wet his laps, his upper teeth sinking into his bottom lip while he moaned.

San loved the way your tits bounced and the way you threw your head back, but he wanted to take control now. Placing his hands on your hips, he stopped you from moving and quickly flipped you onto your back.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" He slammed his cock in and out of you in a rapid pace, his hands interlocking with yours while he fucked you. He was repeatedly hitting your spot, and you felt the coil of pleasure tighten in your stomach. You tried to move your hands to touch him, but his hands held yours down with a little force, the gesture causing your clit to throb yet again.

"San... I... It's... I'm gonna..." you struggle to say. Your body felt like it was on fire.

"Let it go, baby, cum for me," San encourages, hand reaching down to rub your sensitive clit. Few more thrusts and an intense orgasm washes over your body, causing your body to shake while you chanted out his name.

"Hold on, baby, I'm almost there," San lets you know. He quickened his pace even more before coming to a stop, his dick pulsating in you when he reached his climax.

San slowly pulled out before collapsing next to you. He reached for your sticky, sweaty body, pulling you to his chest while you both tried to calm your breathing.

He kisses your forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Mhmm," you mumble, "It was so good." San chuckles, holding you close to him. "Hey, San?"

"Hmm?"

"You know I have feelings for you, right?" you confess.

"Oh really? I didn't know that!" he teases, and you lightly smack his chest. "Of course, I think everyone knows that now. But Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I have feelings for you too, right?" he admits, and the butterflies in your stomach flutter around wildly.

"I... I wasn't too sure," you murmur honestly, "I felt like there was so much going on and... I don't know, I thought that you might like me, but I've been... too much lately, these past few months."

San strokes the back of your head. "And? If anything, these past few months where you were so vulnerable and yet so brave, so strong, has made me admire you even more. My feelings for you have only kept growing since the first time you stepped into my office. I want to be with you, Y/N. I want to show you the life you deserve."

"You do?" you ask in a soft tone, your heart racing at his confession.

"Yes, sweetheart," he chuckles lightly. "But I don't want to rush into anything. I know these past few months have been hard for you. I want you to take as much time you want or need before you decide that I'm the one you want."

You hum, thinking about his words, appreciating how considerate he's always been. "I only want you, San," you turn to look at him, "I'll always only want you. I want to take things slow," you mentally laugh, because you literally just had sex with him, "but I want to do it all with you."

San's smile widens, his dimples deepening as warmth fills his eyes. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering like a promise. "You have no idea how much that means to me," he whispers, voice hushed with emotion. "I never thought I'd find someone who sees me like you do."

Your heart swells, and you pull him into a sweet kiss, one where you both can't stop smiling. The way his lips move against yours feels like a silent vow, like this moment is the beginning of something more—something real.

When you break apart, you giggle softly, your foreheads resting together. "Let's take a shower together and then cuddle to sleep, hmm?"

San chuckles, his breath brushing your skin. "You sure you're not trying to tempt me again?" His eyes twinkle with playful mischief.

You pretend to think about it, biting your lip. "Maybe… or maybe I just want to hold you close and feel safe in your arms."

San’s grin softens into something more intimate, his gaze steady on yours. "Then let me take care of you, the way you deserve. Always."

As you both make your way to the shower, hand in hand, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain anymore. For the first time in a long while, you're no longer weighed down by the past or the fear of what might happen next. All that matters is this—San, you, and the love that's beginning to blossom between you.

And as the warm water cascades over you both, washing away all the worries of the day, you know deep down, you're exactly where you belong.