10:47 p.m. — Gangnam, Seoul
Rain crushed Gangnam like a divine punishment.
Every drop a punch against the asphalt.
Nari walked aimlessly, coat soaked, hair stuck to her neck, shoes slapping in puddles, because going home meant returning to the warm apartment, her boyfriend's gentle smile, the routine that suffocated her slowly, day after day, kiss after kiss without fire, and tonight she couldn't take it anymore, she just wanted to disappear into the noise, into the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, into anything that didn't resemble her life.
She pushed open the door of HELL'S DOOR without thinking, the heavy heat of the bar slapped her instantly, muffled music hammering against her ribs, the smell of sweat, expensive perfume and spilled whiskey, red lights bleeding over faces, and she slipped to the counter, ordered a straight whiskey, swallowed the first in one shot, the burning liquid slid down without warming her, the second neither, the third even less, she stared at the distorted reflection of her own gaze in the glass, black, empty, dead, and she was about to stand up, grab her bag, go back to her gilded cage when she saw him.
He was there.
His back to her.
Surrounded.
Three women, maybe four, circling around him like hungry hyenas, hands brushing his neck, fingers sliding along his thigh wrapped in a black suit, mouths seeking his skin, and he didn't move, didn't respond, didn't smile, just that massive, magnetic presence that swallowed all the light in the room.
The man from the street.
The man with the golden eyes.
She recognized him before he even turned around, before he even sensed her gaze on him.
She felt heat rise suddenly between her thighs—brutal, shameful, alive—a heat she hadn't felt in years, a heat that terrified her and made her tremble on her stool.
She stayed there, motionless, maybe two minutes.
Then she did what any reasonable woman would have done:
she took her bag.
She stood up.
She left.
She breathed hard.
She wanted to go home.
Forget.
Forget this man and what he awakened inside her.
But behind her, far back in the bar, a pair of golden eyes turned for one single second in her direction.
Outside, the rain had intensified—cold, violent, slapping her face, soaking her clothes in one second. She ran toward the alley where her car was parked, slick pavement, iridescent oil puddles, and two men sitting on her hood, beer bottles in hand, a lit joint, greasy laughter, eyes full of pure insolence.
She clenched her fists.
Her stomach knotted, but she advanced anyway.
No backing down. Not tonight.
— What are you doing on my car?
One of them lifted his head, a twisted smile stuck to his face.
— Oh, look at that… little princess wants her ride back.
Both men slid off the hood slowly, their heavy steps echoing on the wet pavement, and the air suddenly grew thicker, dirtier, filled with alcohol, sweat, and pure threat.
— A little blowjob would calm you down, right?
He laughed. A filthy laugh.
A laugh that sticks to your skin.
Nari felt the heat of the whiskey rise in her throat but didn't give in.
— Get out. Now.
One second of silence.
One second where everything shifted.
The bottle flew.
Exploded against the back window in a brutal crash.
Glass everywhere.
Shards on the pavement.
A blade of fear in her chest.
— Watch how you talk, bitch, growled the other, already kicking the door panel.
Nari stepped back.
Then again.
Until she felt the wall at her back.
The first man approached, slowly, like a predator savoring.
He placed his hand on the wall, right beside her head, trapping her.
— You can always tell when a woman hasn't been fucked right, he murmured, bringing his mouth closer to hers, reeking of alcohol and cold tobacco.
He grabbed her hair.
Without warning.
A violent, brutal grip.
His fingers dug into her black hair, yanking her head back so hard her neck cracked, hot tears bursting out before she could stop them.
He slammed her against the wall, his heavy body crushing hers.
His hand slid under her skirt.
Violently.
Without hesitation.
His fingers forced themselves between her thighs.
She inhaled sharply—too sharply.
Her whole body trembled.
— Shut up, he murmured, pulling her hair even harder.
Her shirt tore.
Buttons flew.
Her bra snapped.
And suddenly her bare skin was exposed to the freezing air, to the rain, to the eyes of the man.
Her breasts exposed.
Vulnerable.
Shivering.
He growled like a dog.
Bit her collarbone.
His hand moved up, down, forced, explored without any gentleness.
She could have screamed.
She could have hit him.
She could have tried to run.
But she stayed still.
What's the point?
My life is already dead.
It won't change anything.
The second man approached, still laughing.
— Hold her tight. I'll take her behind the building…
She felt their hands on her.
Their fingers.
Their voices.
The rain.
The cold.
The fear.
The scene shrank around her.
The world became a tunnel, a dull roar in her ears, a breath choking inside her.
The first one slid his hand between her thighs again, forcing harder.
— Fuck… you're mine now…
A sharp sound split the air.
A crack.
Bone against concrete.
Body against ground.
The man holding her was torn away from her.
Ripped off her like a useless bag of flesh.
His skull hit the pavement with a dull, irreversible thud.
He collapsed.
Limp.
A thin stream of blood mixing with the rain.
The second one didn't even have time to understand.
Jaw dislocated, teeth flying, a muffled scream.
His head twisted at an impossible angle and he collapsed.
Silence.
The rain.
The blood.
Her ragged breathing.
And him.
He stood there.
Motionless.
His black hair plastered by the rain.
The collar of his shirt soaked.
His golden eyes — unreadable, icy — locked onto her.
He wiped a trace of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
Slow.
Nonchalant.
Disturbing.
Beautiful in the horror.
Then he turned around.
Nari felt her legs give out.
She pulled her torn shirt against her chest, tried to cover her nudity, stepped back, stumbling.
She ran.
Half-naked.
Skin on fire.
Throat tight.
Tears mixing with the rain.
Heart pounding so hard she thought she would vomit.
— Tell me your name! she cried without understanding, like an animal reflex.
He stopped.
Turned around slowly.
Looked her up and down.
His gaze slid over her soaked skin, her bare thighs, her breasts barely covered.
He smiled.
A slow smile.
Cruel.
Sexual.
Dark enough to be hypnotic.
— What? What do you want now?
The wind punched her chest.
She lowered her eyes, small, humiliated, trembling.
— Thank you… she whispered in a broken breath.
He lit a cigarette.
The flame lit his face for a second.
One second too long.
— Jeon Sion, he said before disappearing into the rain.
The night swallowed him.
She stayed there, trembling, naked under the rain, tears mixing with the water on her cheeks, the taste of blood and fear in her mouth.
She finally went home.
Her keys shook so hard in the lock she dropped them twice.
The apartment was dark.
Her boyfriend slept, peaceful, unaware.
She didn't turn on the light.
She walked through the darkness, bare feet on the cold floor, passing like a ghost through a place that wasn't hers anymore.
Each step felt like she was dragging a piece of the alley back with her, a piece of the rain, a piece of those hands that—
She yanked violently on her torn shirt.
She rushed into the bathroom and locked the door.
She undressed in front of the fogged mirror, the bruises already turning violet on her hips, red scratches on her breasts, finger marks around her throat.
She froze.
One second.
Two.
Then panic erupted.
She turned on the hot water faucet.
She tore off her clothes.
All of them.
Without thinking.
As if every piece of fabric left against her skin was burning her.
She stepped under the water.
Directly.
Without waiting.
The burning water crashed onto her shoulders, her back, her neck.
She clung to the tiles, fingers slipping on the surface, nails searching for something to hold onto.
She scrubbed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until her skin turned red, until it burned, until the tears finally fell—silent, scorching.
The hands.
The alcoholic breath.
The dirty fingers.
The pain.
She scrubbed until it hurt.
Until she felt a real burn, a pain that finally matched hers.
She sat on the ground, naked, curled up under the water hammering her neck.
And only then did she cry.
Not silent tears.
Dry, broken, violent sobs that rose from years ago.
Sobs that tore her chest, scraped her stomach, made her want to vomit.
She lifted her eyes to the fogged mirror.
Her reflection stared back.
A stranger.
Cold.
Shaking.
Alive.
Then an image slammed into her mind, brutal, impossible to push away:
Him.
The man from the alley.
The one who overturned the entire scene in a single move.
The one who didn't scream, didn't tremble, didn't hesitate.
The one who broke bones like crushing an empty can.
The one who turned toward her, soaked, impassive, golden eyes slicing through her soul.
Jeon Sion.
The name spun in her head, hammered in her temples, pulsed between her thighs, branded into her like iron.
She placed a hand on her chest.
Her heart beat.
Too fast.
He shouldn't have looked at her like that.
He shouldn't have spoken like that.
He shouldn't have existed in her night.
But it was too late.
He had left a mark on her.
Not a mark of fear.
Not only.
A living mark.
A forbidden heat.
A shiver she couldn't explain.
A vertigo that had no right to exist after what had just happened.
Why…
Why did his name burn her more than her attackers' hands?
Why did his gaze cling to her mind?
Why was her body still reacting?
She pressed her head against the cold wall.
The sobs returned.
— Sion… she whispered, not understanding why.
Something had entered her.
Something dark.
Burning.
Dangerous.
Something that would destroy her life…
and save her at the same time.
Outside, the rain still fell.
In the bathroom, steam danced around her.
And in her stomach, slowly, an obsession had just been born.
An invisible, incandescent thread that tied her breath to his.
Jeon Sion.
The demon she should have fled.
The demon she would never escape.