Yeongjae's POV
The wait was torture dressed up as anticipation.
I counted seconds until they blurred into minutes, minutes until my jaw ached from clenching it too hard.
The music outside flowed back and swelled. Women laughing, clinking glasses, a tambourine shaking like a heartbeat, that couldn't slow down. Almost an hour crawled by before the cue slipped through the curtain.
"…we prepared something special."
The tambourine rattled again. Hands drummed against the table.
This was it.
Soon, the first group burst into song behind the outer curtain, their voices loud and playful. My heart slammed so hard it felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. Our turn was seconds away. I inhaled once. Twice.
And then—
The second curtain parted.
Light spilled in, applause detonated, before the guys moved into position.
There she was… Sora Han.
She sat in the middle of the room, her back facing us, shoulders relaxed, unaware of the storm about to break. I didn't rush her. I couldn't.
Jeremy's instructions echoed in my head: timing, rhythm, restraint. This wasn't about revelation. It was about attention. About presence.
So I moved the way he taught me to.
Slow. Graceful.
I reached for her chair, gripped the legs, and turned it towards me in one swift, clean motion.
Took her hand gently, carefully, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"This one's for you, baby girl."
It was brief. Respectful. Intentional.
Then the lights went out.
The room bloomed with colors from the glowing laser swords held by the guys against their bodies.
She gasped, then laughed, bright, unguarded, covering her face with both hands as the room erupted. The sound of her laughter cut straight through me.
I dropped to one knee.
I handed her the stuffed koala waiting in my palm.
"Happy birthday, Sora," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "Hold on to him for me."
She took the toy with both hands.
And there she was.
Not a name on a reservation. Not a target. Not a ghost from my past.
Just… Her.
The woman I never wanted to see tonight. Not like this. Not here. Not as the same Sora Han I was told to look for, to destroy, and to take back what belongs to my family, what belongs to me. To reclaim something I didn't even fully understand yet.
My chest tightened at the thought but thankful for the mask that's currently masking my identity.
But she was smiling at me, wide and warm and real. I smiled back, because this moment demanded it.
"Like this," I said softly, guiding her hands to her chest so she could cradle the koala. She nodded, trusting me that easily.
Without warning, I moved forward, spread her knees just enough for me to fit between them, and lifted her smoothly, wrapping her legs around my waist.
The room screamed. She squealed, surprised, delighted, and I stood, steadying her weight as if she weighed nothing.
The music goes on.
I leaned her back and swayed her in a controlled arc, half her body dipping toward the floor while I anchored her safely, firmly.
She laughed harder, breathless, fingers clutching the koala as her legs tightened instinctively around my waist.
Nervous. Excited. Alive... Unlike her previous five dead husbands… Including my uncle…
I brought her upright again and set her back down gently, hands lifting away the moment her feet touched the floor. The choreography flowed on.
The men moved forward, making her sit in the chair again before lifting it, parading her like a queen in the room.
I removed my denim jacket, and it landed on my feet to a fresh wave of screams. The mask stayed on. The lighting shifted, and I lifted her hands and brought them to my chest. The ladies squealed. But Sora pulled her hands back, hesitant to touch me.
But I pulled it back and made her palms touch my chest and slowly guided it down towards my abs, her hands were cold and sweaty, obviously nervous, like me.
She laughed hard, and her cheeks were so red, partly because of embarrassment, and partly because she was already drunk. "My goodness! What did I walk into?" she uttered in between her laughter.
I danced for her, controlled body rolls, a teasing step back, then forward again, without ever crossing the line. My hands traced the air, stopping inches from her shoulders, her waist, never landing.
I took her hand again and guided it to my shoulder so she could feel the movement as I rolled my chest with the beat.
I stepped behind her chair, hands hovering at her shoulders, then sliding down the sides of the chair instead of her body. I leaned in just enough for her to feel my presence, "Having fun, birthday, girl?"
She didn't speak, but she nodded with a genuine smile.
That was enough for me. It was her night after all.
I could feel her watching me, not just the dance, but me.
That terrified me more than anything else.
I offered my hand, and she took it.
I guided her to stand, and we moved together in the simplest way. Just a shared sway, laughter bubbling out of her as she found the rhythm with me.
I spun her once, careful and clean, and the room erupted again as I set her back on the chair.
The final beat approached.
The dancers formed a line behind me with flowers in our hands. I took one step forward to give her the flowers that her friends prepared.
The music cut and applause crashed down, loud enough to rattle the walls. Sora clapped too, laughing, breathless, eyes shining in a way that made my chest ache.
'Why, of all the women in the world, it has to be her?'
We gave her a final bow before we set the table and chairs back to their place.
Each man sat beside each lady, and Sora kept her gaze on me.
Has she recognized me already behind this mask?
She narrowed her eyes and said, "Why aren't you removing—"
"Let's all toast to Sora! To a happy life and new beginnings!"
Thank God, one of her friends stood up and suggested a toast, cutting Sora off.
I immediately took a bottle and gave it to her. It was my job after all tonight, to serve her and treat her like a queen that she is.