Leon's Flashback
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"Hey, it's Fire again."
The hushed voice of the woman beside me broke through the low hum of music, her tone laced with both intrigue and envy. She leaned close to her friend, her lips almost brushing the rim of her glass as she whispered, though her eyes were fixed ahead.
"Mr. Gang is chasing her once again," she added, her voice trembling with disdain as though she couldn't decide whether to mock or pity.
My hand trembled faintly as I swirled the glass of wine in my grip, the ice clinking softly against the crystal.
Against my will, my eyes followed the direction of their gaze.
And there she was.
A woman who stood out effortlessly in a room already glittering with beauty. Tall, slim, her figure carved with a natural grace that silenced the air around her. Her long, dark waves cascaded down her back, catching the faint glimmer of the chandeliers above.
I don't usually bother admiring women—it's never been a habit—but with her, I couldn't help myself. Every line of her was... flawless.
But it wasn't her body that caught me.
It was her eyes.
For someone nicknamed Fire, her gaze carried no flame. No warmth. Only darkness—cold, empty hollows that seemed to swallow whatever light dared meet them.
The man beside her, eager and desperate, reached for her hand. She recoiled instantly, folding her arms tight across her chest, her body language a wall sharper than any spoken word.
Men's eyes followed her, some filled with lust, others with irritation, but none could touch her.
She carried herself like a queen who had long grown tired of her subjects, granting no glance, no smile, no permission.
The man trailed after her, pathetic in his pursuit, calling her name like a dog begging for scraps. His desperation made me want to laugh, but I didn't.
Instead, I watched as she disappeared through the back door, The man stumbling after her like a shadow too stubborn to vanish.
"I heard she's the top woman in this club," one of the women whispered, awe threading through her voice.
"But she's rude—cold to every man who touches her. How can that kind of woman be the top?" the other snapped back, bitterness sharp in her tone.
I dipped my head and lifted the glass to my lips, draining it in one swallow, feigning disinterest. Pretending I wasn't listening, when in truth, every word hooked me deeper.
"Maybe she's good in bed," the first woman chuckled low, though the sound carried a poisonous edge. "That's why every man here becomes obsessed with her."
"Didn't you hear?" the second interrupted, silencing her friend with a sharp look.
"She hasn't slept with anyone."
That made my hand pause midway as I poured myself another drink. My head turned, just slightly, betraying the pull of curiosity before I forced myself still again, leaning back against the sofa as if nothing mattered.
A woman working under Lea, untouched? What a ridiculous claim.
Foolish gossip.
And yet... the way it was whispered made my lips curl into an amused grin.
"How do you even know that?" the first woman pressed.
"Well, we do have regular check-ups, right?" one of the women whispered, lowering her voice as if the walls themselves might listen. "We overheard the doctor and Boss Lea talking about Fire's record being kept private. She's the only pure in the club... and it seems like Boss Lea is keeping it that way."
The first woman blinked, her face twisting with confusion. "Then how the hell is she the top, without ever lying in a man's bed?"
"That's what everyone's asking," the reply came, hushed, heavy, like the weight of an unsolved riddle.
I tipped back my glass, hiding the smirk tugging at my mouth.
"She had so many issues in this place, yet she's still the top. I heard she had a fight with Violet the other day," one of the women whispered, her voice dripping with both envy and awe.
"Oh my! You didn't see it? It was a good fight! Violet was bullying the new girl, so Fire messed her up," the other replied, her chuckle low, smug—almost proud of the chaos.
Cat fights,
So that's all it takes to hold their attention? Maybe she isn't as unique as they say.
"The new girl? That ugly one with the big chest? What's her name again?"
"Pearl."
"Yeah, right," the woman scoffed, laughter spilling out. "She doesn't look like a Pearl at all."
"Shhh... You can't mess with Pearl anymore, or else you'll be fighting Fire. And no one dares to mess with her."
The women's voices faded into the noise of the club, but their words clung to me like smoke. Untouched. Untamable.
No one dares to mess with her.
Now, that even among women, her name was enough to silence laughter.
A woman who made men chase her.
A woman who made women fear her.
I couldn't help but smirk into my glass.
So what are you really, Fire? A flame, or just smoke and shadows?
What kind of woman was she, to be the top of this place without offering the one thing all the others did? What sort of strength—what sort of curse—kept her at the center of their obsession?
My wine tasted bitter when I swallowed it again.
No, it wasn't bitterness.
It was the slow burn of curiosity threading through my veins, heating something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Fire.
The name was ironic. There was no flame in her gaze, no warmth in her touch. Yet wasn't that why men burned for her? Because they longed to ignite something inside her—something hidden, locked away, untouchable.
A faint grin tugged at my lips.
If the rumors were true, if Lea was really guarding her purity like a secret treasure, then that woman was more than just a worker here.
She is Lea's jewel, a riddle.
And riddles... are meant to be solved.
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The night was still young, the air thick with perfume, alcohol, and sin. Music pulsed through the walls like a wild heartbeat, and the lounge glittered with women who moved like temptations sculpted into flesh. One by one they slithered toward men with hungry smiles, selling illusions with every glance, every brush of their fingers.
"Mr. Liu! Haven't you picked any girl already?" a man staggered toward me, his arm wrapped tightly around a woman with painted lips and hollow eyes. A glass of wine dangled from his free hand, sloshing carelessly as he smirked.
"Most of Lea's angels are already here. You should enjoy! This is your first time in Edenia City, right? Women here are... very alluring. Very interesting."
His grin was wide, careless. Mine was sharp, brief—a smirk, nothing more.
Not really.
I tipped my glass back, finishing the last of the wine, and rose to my feet.
"Where are you going?" he slurred after me.
"To get some air." My tone was flat, final.
I left him and his hollow laughter behind, pushing through the club's haze until I slipped out the back door.
The night air greeted me, cool and sharp against the heat of the club. I slid a cigarette between my lips and was just about to light it when a voice caught my ear.
Faint, trembling—desperation dripping from every syllable.
"Fire, please! I won't do it again! I'm sorry!"
I froze mid-motion, lowering the lighter.
A man's voice. Weak. Shaking,
Not sure if from the fear of losing her... or the fear of her.
Then I heard her.
"I told you, didn't I?" Her voice was sharp, cold as steel pulled from ice. "I don't want to be touched. You broke the only rule I gave you. Leave me alone."
That name again. Fire.
Spoken like a prayer. Whispered like a curse.
"Please—I'll give you money, my properties. As much as you want. I'll donate to the club, I'll buy you a house, a car, you won't even have to work here. Just... don't end this. Don't throw me away."
His desperation filled the air like smoke. And for a moment, I almost pitied him.
What a good offer. Any woman would kill for it.
I leaned back against the wall, struck my lighter, and inhaled deeply, letting the cigarette burn slow between my fingers.
She'll say yes. That kind of power—wealth, comfort, freedom—was enough to make anyone kneel.
But then—
Laughter.
Sharp, sarcastic, laced with venom.
"Ha! Is that how low you think of me?" she sneered, her laughter echoing in the alley like a cruel melody. "I've heard those words a hundred times before."
My hand paused mid-drag. Interesting.
"Do you know why I never accept those offers?"
The man's voice wavered, "Fire..." but she cut him off before he could finish.
"It's because of wealthy men like you. You act so high, but you're nothing but low creatures. Always using money to buy what you can't earn. Always thinking every woman has a price."
Her words struck like knives—calm, precise, merciless.
"I can earn money with work. I don't need to crawl at some rich man's feet to be rich. I would rather starve, rather break my body with labor, than sell myself for scraps of your luxury."
She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was colder, quieter. Deadly.
"You'll never understand that, because you're the same as every other man here."
"Don't get me wrong," she said, her voice low, steady—cutting sharper than the music pounding inside the club.
"I work in this place because I know too well how to play the game of life. You need a beautiful woman to soothe your eyes, to stroke your ego, and I need a salary high enough to keep me standing without breaking my back or selling my soul. It's simple. I trade nothing but presence—and I play well with foolish men like you."
A chuckle. Dismissive.
"Leave me. Go offer that house and car to one of the women inside. I'm sure plenty of them would beg to kiss your feet for the chance."
And with that, I heard the sharp click of her heels against the ground as she walked away.
She appeared in my line of sight, emerging from the shadows like smoke itself. Tall, graceful, with hair cascading in dark waves down her back.
She passed me, her cold, fireless eyes locking onto mine for a brief second—long enough to scorch, long enough to freeze.
Then she slipped back inside, her presence lingering even after she was gone.
I exhaled my last drag, smoke curling toward the night sky. My lips curved into something between amusement and disdain.
"She's stupid," I muttered under my breath.
Stupid—or dangerous.
I ground the cigarette under my heel and stepped back inside. The club swallowed me whole again, music pounding, lights flashing, perfume thick in the air.
I sank lazily onto the couch, one arm sprawled over the backrest, and lifted my hand ever so slightly. Kang Minho appeared behind me instantly, attentive, waiting.
He leaned closer so I wouldn't have to raise my voice over the chaos.
"Get me the woman they call Fire," I said coolly.
His eyes flickered, but he nodded without question. "Right away, young master."
As Minho disappeared into the crowd, I poured myself another glass of wine, swirling the liquid before letting it slide down my throat.
My lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.
"Let's see how you burn men with those cold eyes."
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End of Flashback
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Leon's POV
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I woke to the bite of sunlight breaking through the curtains, spilling into the room in long golden streaks. My lashes fluttered against the glow, and for a moment, I lay still, listening to the quiet.
Too quiet.
I turned my head to the other side of the bed. Empty. The sheets were already cold, smooth, as though no one had lain there at all.
A dry laugh escaped me, low and humorless.
"That woman..." My lips pulled into a slow smirk.
"Why are you always so damn good at leaving silently?"
I ran a hand through my hair, ruffling it carelessly, then swung my legs off the bed. The scent of her lingered faintly in the air—warm and soft, like her. It clung to the pillows, the blanket, to me.
When I stepped out of the bedroom, there it was again—her mark.
A breakfast laid out on the dining table, still warm, steam curling faintly against the morning air. And next to it, her handwriting, small and delicate on a folded note.
'I'm at school. Do your best at work. Please lock the door.'
My grin deepened as I traced the ink with my thumb. "Sherina..." I murmured, my voice low. "You really haven't changed at all. Even before—you were always like this."
Always slipping out before the world could catch her.
Always leaving warmth behind in her wake.
I ate everything in silence, as though her presence lingered in every bite she had prepared.
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When I was done, I didn't return to bed. I went straight to the penthouse near her apartment where Minho was already waiting, as he always was.
Inside my office, I let the city stretch beneath me from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
I set Sherina's note carefully on my desk—a fragile thing among steel and glass—and leaned back into the chair.
The sound of the door opening came a moment later. Minho entered, as precise as ever, a coffee in hand. He placed it down without a word.
"Prince Smith," I said coldly, my back still to him, eyes fixed on the glass. "Do you know him?"
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of the city. Then his voice came, calm and factual.
"Yes. Heir to Smith Hotels in Edenia. Their company obtained a loan from Liu Finance, with half of their assets secured under our collateral rights."
I exhaled through my nose, lips curving into a sharp, bitter smile. "Of course."
The smirk came naturally, but beneath it, heat coiled in my chest. Ugly, unwelcome.
"She really has bad taste in men," I muttered.