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Days have passed since I last saw Leon, and still, I can't silence the question that gnaws at me—what do I truly want with him?
Tonight is Prince Smith's birthday.
A week ago, I received a paper bag from him filled with clothes and accessories, and until now, I hadn't dared to open it.
Only tonight. Only for this.
I stood before the mirror, and for a heartbeat, I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me.
The dress is a vision of quiet seduction—sleek, inky black, molding itself against me with a certainty that feels almost sinful. The plunging neckline frames the curve of my chest like an invitation whispered in the dark, soft skin against the sharp, midnight silhouette. Thin straps slip over my shoulders, baring my collarbones and the delicate slope of my décolletage—elegant, yet daring, as though I've finally allowed the world a glimpse of my hidden self.
The high slit, kissed with a golden chain, parts with every subtle shift of my leg—suggesting movement, freedom, and the fire I've always kept caged.
On me, the dress doesn't simply fit—it claims me, becoming part of my essence. Mysterious. Magnetic. Dangerous.
I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and that's when I saw them.
Its been a week, but i can still see them.
Marks.
Faded, yet stubborn. Traces of Leon's mouth—along the curve of my neck, below my ear. They linger like a secret brand, intimate and shameless, proof of the night at the waiting shed. My breath caught, heat curling low in my stomach.
"Why would he…" I whispered, my fingers brushing over one faint bruise,
"…why would he leave me like this?"
I bent down, opening the drawer beneath the mirror, and pulled out a ribbon—deep red, crowned with a single silk flower. I tied it carefully around my neck like a choker, sliding the bloom slightly to the side.
A perfect disguise, hiding the evidence of his hunger.
When I looked at myself again, a smile tugged at my lips. For the first time in years, I looked like a woman who could breathe fire.
A woman who could wear such a dress without apology.
I reached for the matching red pouch, then paused as my gaze fell on the stilettos waiting at the foot of the bed.
Black, with striking crimson soles.
"I knew it…" I murmured. My smile softened with awe.
"This is one of the rarest pairs in the city… expensive, coveted. A dream for women like me."
But the smile dimmed. A shadow crept over it. None of this is mine.
"Well," I whispered, steadying myself as I slipped them on, their fit so perfect it almost hurt,
"I should return all of this to Prince after the party."
The butler was already waiting when I stepped out of the apartment, his gloved hand offering me the way into the sleek car.
I slid inside, the leather cool beneath me, my fingers tightening around the red pouch. My reflection in the window blurred as the car began to move.
Tonight, I told myself firmly, I will enjoy. I will forget him.
But my chest ached with the truth I couldn't admit. Leon's ghost lingered still—in the marks on my skin, in the fire he had left smoldering inside me.
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End of POV
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Kang Minho's POV
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"Young master, where should I take this?" My voice was measured, soft, careful as I stepped inside his office, the weight of the paper bag pulling down at my hand.
Leon did not answer right away.
He stood before the tall pane of glass, his back to me, his silhouette framed by the sprawl of the city's midnight lights. His presence was unshakable—still, but heavy, like a storm pressing against the walls. His cold gaze was trained downward, toward the apartment where Ms. Sze lived.
That was his ritual. Watching her from this high tower, silent and unseen, as though her every breath was tethered to him.
But tonight was not like other nights.
My master is not in his usual casual disarray.
Leon was dressed in a black suit, tailored with ruthless precision. The sharp cut of the jacket emphasized his shoulders, the dark silk of his tie accentuating the paleness of his skin. The suit did not soften him; it carved his aura into something even more dangerous, a quiet declaration of power. His hands were buried in his pockets, posture deceptively relaxed, but I have served him long enough to know—he was coiled, restrained, every muscle a blade waiting for release.
Finally, he turned his head slightly, enough for me to glimpse the severe lines of his face, his eyes unreadable.
"Burn it."
Two words. Nothing more. But in that moment, I understood perfectly.
I looked down at the bag I held.
A few days ago, Master had walked into this very room with this bag. He had placed it into my hands and ordered me to replicate it down to the smallest detail—the same ribbon, the same fold, the same fragrance of the boutique.
He demanded perfection, because Master does not allow mistakes.
But the contents… were not the same.
This bag held the original: the dress, the jewelry, the pair of heels—pieces carefully chosen by another man. Prince Smith.
Those gifts would never touch her hands.
And the duplicate?
That one, Master filled with his own choices. Clothes he selected, accessories he approved, shoes he ensured would carry her steps.
Those were the ones delivered to Ms. Sze's apartment secretly.
A subtle switch. A calculated move. A quiet sabotage. An unspoken claim.
I understood then: Leon would never allow her to be wrapped in another man's intentions.
Not even in fabric. Not even in borrowed elegance. If she was to wear beauty, it would be beauty chosen by him. If she was to shine, it would be under his possession.
My master's obsession… it runs deeper than even she could imagine.
I tightened my hold on the paper bag, its weight strangely heavier now. These objects were nothing but silk and leather—but to Leon, they were an insult.
A rival's whisper. An intrusion.
And so, they would burn.
I bowed, swallowing a sigh as I turned to leave the room. This was not the first time I had seen the depths of my master's obsession, and yet it unsettled me still.
He was a man with power that could bend the city, but when it came to her, he behaved as if even the smallest things—the color of her ribbon, the shoes she wore—could not be left to chance.
Tonight, we will go to the Smiths' grand celebration. The birthday of Prince Smith—an event dripping in wealth, status, and vanity. Leon never attends such gatherings. He despises the idle pretense of them.
But she will be there.
That is reason enough.
As I close the door behind me, a single thought lingers, curling like smoke in my chest:
And I can't help but wonder…
When Ms. Sze lays her eyes on him tonight—in his black suit, with that unshakable presence—
will she tremble? Or will she finally understand the danger of being wanted by a man like Leon?
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End of POV
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Sherina's POV
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The moment I stepped into the grand hall, my breath caught.
Everything shimmered with an almost blinding elegance—crystal chandeliers glittered overhead like constellations caught in gold, their light spilling onto the gleaming marble floors. The orchestra's strings swelled softly, a melody that seemed to lift the very air, while men and women moved in fluid grace, their gowns and tailored suits glinting like gems beneath the glow.
It was a world that did not belong to me, yet tonight, I had no choice but to step into it.
"Sherina!"
My name rang above the music, warm and familiar.
I turned—and there he was.
Prince Smith.
He strode toward me with that boyish ease of his, his brown suit pressed to perfection, his hair styled just enough to look effortless, and a faint touch of powder softening the sharpness of his cheekbones. The faint gleam on his lips and skin gave him a polished glow, as though he too was part of the spectacle tonight.
"You look…" He slowed to a halt before me, his gaze trailing down, then up again. His lips parted slightly, as though words betrayed him.
Then, his brow furrowed. "That's not the dress I gave you."
His voice was low, nearly swallowed by the music, but I caught it.
A faint confusion rose in me, though I covered it with a small smile.
"Hm? What was that?"
Prince blinked, as though snapping from his thoughts. He shook his head quickly, color rushing to his cheeks.
"It doesn't matter. That dress is… way better. It's so perfect, you are so beautiful. I think any kind of clothes would suit you."
The compliment was so earnest, so flustered, it pulled a shy blush to my own cheeks.
"Oh… thank you."
His grin widened, sheepish and charming. "Good thing you arrived early."
I tilted my head, teasing. "And why is that?"
His fingers went to the back of his neck, scratching lightly—a nervous habit.
"Well… the CEO of HAWK Finance Company is coming tonight. It's… very rare. People are shocked he accepted our invitation. Honestly, no one expected it." His voice lowered slightly, reverent, like he was talking about someone untouchable.
Then he laughed, almost to cover his own nerves, and blurted,
"I'd like to introduce you to him. As my partner tonight, of course!"
Partner.
The word made me blink. I hadn't expected that. I had come empty-handed, a guest with nothing to offer but my presence, and yet here he was—earnest, almost eager, asking me to stand at his side.
Could I refuse? I didn't think so.
"Alright," I said softly, with a smile I hoped was steady.
Something flickered in his gaze—his eyes briefly, almost unwillingly, darted downward to my chest before he caught himself. He laughed, closing his eyes as if to dismiss the thought.
"Come on. We've prepared a seat for you. Everyone's waiting."
He extended his hand, polite, the gesture practiced yet touched with boyish sincerity. Slowly, I placed my hand in his, allowing him to guide me. His palm was warm, almost too warm against mine.
He led me through the hall, past tables glittering with cut crystal and silverware, past eyes that flickered in our direction with curiosity, with interest, with envy.
And then I saw them—my classmates.
Dressed in luxuries I could barely dream of, draped in jewels and fabrics that spoke of old money and new ambitions. Their faces lit up when they saw me, smiles wide, voices eager.
I took my seat beside Prince, the silk of my dress whispering against the chair, and tried to breathe through the sudden weight of their attention.
They were too friendly. Far too friendly.
And that, somehow, made me feel a little bit uncomfortable.
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The chandeliers had dimmed into silence, the room swallowed by half-shadows. Only the giant crystal ball spun above the dance floor, scattering fractured fragments of silver across the marble like broken stars. The air felt thick, heavy with perfume, laughter, and the clinking of crystal glasses.
I sat still at the table, cradling an empty glass between my fingers, watching classmates whirl carefree beneath the glittering light. Their laughter floated upward, distant and unreal.
My chest loosened with a sigh.
How long has it been since I felt at ease? Since I felt… normal?
The thought soothed me—until a touch snapped me back.
Prince's fingers brushed mine lightly, yet deliberately, drawing my attention. He leaned forward, face close enough for me to catch the faint musk of his cologne. His smile was practiced, but his eyes glimmered with something sharper.
"Another one?" he murmured, lowering his voice until it grazed my skin like silk.
I hesitated before passing him the glass. "Thank you…" My voice sounded smaller than I intended, touched with a blush I hated showing.
He chuckled, boyish on the surface, and rose with his usual easy grace.
"Wait here."
I nodded, turning back to the dancers. Music and laughter wrapped around me like a lullaby, and for once I allowed myself to be careless.
I don't get drunk easily. I'll be fine. I'll get home safely.
When he returned, he carried two glasses of wine—deep red, almost black in the dim light. He handed one to me, his fingers brushing mine too long, before raising his own.
The glasses clinked. A sweet, harmless sound.
The first swallow hit my tongue—
and froze me.
Something's wrong.
The taste was wrong.
The bitterness coiled sharp, metallic, biting through my throat like liquid thorns. No warmth bloomed in my chest.
Instead, something invasive spread—hot, heavy, wrong.
My pulse quickened, slamming in my ears. My grip on the stem tightened until the glass trembled. A bead of sweat slid cold down my spine.
No. No, this isn't right. Something's in it.
My body burned.
My skin prickled as though invisible hands stroked down my arms, over my thighs. My heart hammered in panic, not pleasure.
"I'll… go to the bathroom," I muttered, forcing my legs to rise, clutching my purse like a lifeline.
Prince's hand landed on my shoulder before I could step away. Gentle at first, but firm enough that my body stiffened in warning.
"Hey… what's wrong?" His smile stayed, but there was something in it that chilled me,
His eyes… his eyes were enjoying my unease.
I forced a smile, tugged away, and turned. My legs wavered beneath me.
The room swayed. The chandeliers stretched, warped, doubled. My body trembled—not with weakness alone, but with the unnatural heat spreading through me like fire under my skin.
He caught me as I faltered, pressing close, his lips brushing dangerously near my ear.
"You're not feeling well," he whispered, and the softness in his tone made my stomach twist.
It was false. Planned.
I looked past him. My classmates were no longer engaged in chatter or laughter. Their eyes were fixed on me. Their smiles curved wrong—wide, mocking, sharp.
That's when I knew. They know.
I know this feeling. I know this heat.
I've been drugged.
Panic erupted inside me, shoving my body forward. My breath came in sharp, jagged bursts. I tore away from him with every ounce of strength I had, stumbling into the hall. My heels echoed sharp against the marble, though each step felt leaden, too slow.
The corridor stretched dark and endless, each step slower than the last. My body felt heavy, as though drowning in heat. My breath rasped, shallow and fast. My vision tunneled. My body burned hotter, thighs trembling under the aphrodisiac's cruel grip.
I didn't get far.
A hand like iron seized my shoulder, spinning me back with violent ease.
Prince forced me against the wall, his palm gripping my cheeks, tilting my head as he bent close. His eyes glinted in the dimness, cold with hunger, his grin edged with cruelty.
"Don't worry," he whispered, voice low and intimate, dripping with malice.
"It won't kill you. Just an aphrodisiac. That way… I don't have to force you."
A tremor rattled through my body. My knees buckled. His grip was relentless.
And then the laughter came.
Male voices in the dark, echoing down the hall. Familiar. Jeering.
"You said we'd take turns."
"Let him go first—it's his birthday."
"Just don't ruin her face. She's too pretty."
Their laughter cut sharp into me, cruel and eager, a pack of predators circling, waiting for the first bite.
Prince's grin deepened, feral now. His forehead nearly pressed mine as he murmured,
"I can't promise that. I've dreamed too long of making this pretty face cry."
Their laughter erupted louder, harsh and triumphant.
I fought. My nails scraped his wrist. My body twisted, weak and trembling. Every move felt useless, feeble against his strength.
With a sharp motion, he bent, gripping my waist. In one brutal lift, he slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. The sudden inversion made my head spin violently, blood rushing down. My vision blurred, my stomach churned, the marble floor swaying far beneath.
His arm clamped across the back of my thighs, his hand digging into my calf, his other arm locked across my waist. My fists pounded his back weakly, nothing but fluttering resistance.
Their laughter trailed behind us, vile and hungry.
Through the haze, through the heat tearing me apart from the inside, only one thought screamed in my mind:
I need to escape. I need someone… anyone…