POV: Yoon Sae-ri
The sheets were still warm from what they had done.
Sae-ri lay on her side, legs tangled in the silk, hair clinging to the back of her neck with sweat. Ji-won lay behind her, chest pressed to her back, one hand curled possessively over her stomach. His thumb brushed soft, lazy circles over the skin just above her hipbone.
They didn't speak.
The lamp on the nightstand threw golden light across their skin, painting him in soft gold and shadow. He looked like the perfect man—the kind women dreamed of, the kind they only saw in magazines. In public, he was sweet, attentive, always smiling with that quiet grace that made people lean in without knowing why.
But she knew better. She had seen the way his smile dropped like a guillotine the second a door closed. She had felt the way his fingers tightened around her wrists when she spiraled. She had heard the edge in his voice when someone touched her without permission.
And she loved him for it.
Her thigh ached beneath the silk sheet. Earlier, when he'd parted her legs and kissed his way down with reverence, she had flinched—not from fear. From shame. The ridges and scars she kept hidden under socks and boots were always there, even when he touched her like she was holy.
"You're quiet," Ji-won murmured, voice rough from sex and sleep.
Her fingers curled into the pillow. "...Just tired."
He didn't move for a moment. Then his hand slid down, over her hip, gently stroking the outside of her thigh beneath the covers. He didn't go higher. Didn't try to start anything again.
But he was touching her scars. And they both knew it.
She stiffened. "Don't."
Ji-won didn't pull back. He kept tracing the skin there with unbearable gentleness.
"You had an episode this morning," he said softly. "You screamed in your sleep again. I found blood on your leg in the shower."
Her eyes burned. She blinked hard and stared at the wall. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"You always say that."
"And you never listen," she snapped.
He moved then—quick and fluid, until he was above her, pinning her wrists to the pillow, his body between her legs. Her chest rose and fell sharply.
Ji-won stared down at her, gaze unreadable. "I'll never stop looking," he said, voice low. "And I'll never pretend you're fine when you're not."
Her throat tightened. The words were right there: I miss the baby. I miss what we could've had. I don't know how to live anymore. But they stayed locked behind her teeth.
He leaned down slowly. Not to kiss her mouth. His lips brushed her collarbone, her jaw, the curve just behind her ear. Each breath from him was a promise she didn't know how to accept.
"You're mine, Sae-ri," he whispered against her skin. "Even the broken parts. Especially those."
She gasped when his hips pressed down.
"You want to forget?" he murmured.
She nodded before she could lie.
"Then let me ruin you again."
And she let him.
---
Flashback — 3 years earlier
New York City, Columbia University
Sae-ri was late to her lecture. Again.
The autumn wind snapped at her coat as she darted across campus, heels clicking against the pavement. She hated being late. She hated even more the way people still looked at her—some with pity, others with curiosity. "The Korean heiress whose father collapsed on national TV," they whispered. "The quiet one with the bodyguards. The sad one."
She pushed through the lecture hall doors—
—and slammed straight into him.
Strong arms steadied her before she could stumble. She looked up.
And saw the warmest eyes she had ever known.
"Careful," he said, smiling down at her. "The floor here's expensive."
She blinked. "I—sorry, I wasn't watching—"
"That makes two of us." His hand lingered on her elbow. "You okay?"
Sae-ri nodded, a little breathless. She didn't know it then. Didn't know this stranger's name or his last name or how broken she would become beneath his love.
But that was the first time Seo Ji-won touched her.
And she would never be the same again.
---
Back to present — Seoul
She lay crumpled in the bathtub, knees to her chest, water cold around her.
The razor was on the tile.
The knock came softly. Then the door creaked open.
Ji-won didn't speak. He didn't panic. He just stepped inside, pulled her into his arms—clothes and all—and held her like he was made of steel and she was all that kept him warm.
"You're okay," he whispered, voice hoarse against her soaked hair. "You're still here. That's all I care about."
She didn't cry. Not this time.
But she clutched his shirt until her fingers ached.
And finally breathed.