"Pretending to be asleep?"
The low, husky voice murmured against her ear, languid and slightly amused. "You've learned to behave today. No crying. No running. I'm impressed."
Warm breath spilled over her skin. Josephine Durand bit down on her lower lip and stayed silent.
She had woken up on this man's couch again.
Behind her, a large hand slid to the small of her back, the web between his thumb and forefinger bracing against the base of her spine as his fingers tightened.
The pressure was so heavy it felt as though he meant to crush her.
It had been days now.
Every time she closed her eyes—even for a moment, even just to doze off—she would be dragged back into this dream.
The man beside her, visible only as a blurred outline in the shifting shadows, clung to her like a specter, leaving marks all over her body.
Bruises from his grip.
Broken skin where he bit.
Red streaks where he kneaded and pressed.
When she woke the next morning, every one of them would appear on her real skin.
"Speak."
His hand slid up along the curve of her waist, his fingertips rough. They stopped beneath her ribs, his thumb pressing into the soft hollow of her side.
"Have you gone mute?"
"Mnh…" Josephine could no longer hold back. Her voice trembled with tears as she asked, for what felt like the hundredth time, "Who… who are you?"
He chuckled softly. The sound vibrated in her ears.
"Who am I?"
His other arm came around her from behind, circling her waist. His palm rested flat against her abdomen, his hand so large it seemed to swallow her slender frame.
"We've slept together this many times, and you still ask such a foolish question?"
He pressed her back into his chest without warning. She cried out in surprise.
His body was frighteningly hot. Even through the thin fabric between them, the heat scorched her back like molten lava.
She froze.
"Don't…" Her body began to tremble. "I—I have something to do today…"
"Something to do?"
He sounded as though he'd heard the funniest joke. Lowering his head, the tip of his nose brushed the back of her neck.
"Climbing into a man's bed—that's your 'something', hmm?"
She shrank her shoulders. "No—"
Before she could finish, he flipped her onto her back.
Candlelight flickered in restless shadows around them. She couldn't see his face—only feel the heavy, suffocating presence looming above her.
"What's this?"
He caught her chin in his hand, thumb pressing into her lower lip. His gaze seemed to rake over her body.
"Dressed like this, lying on my couch—if that isn't climbing into my bed, what is?"
She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him this was only a dream. That she had no idea why she kept appearing here.
But the moment her lips parted, he lowered his head and bit into the curve of her neck—less brutally than before, but still hard enough to make her gasp.
"Mmh—"
Pain shot through her. She shoved at his chest.
Her palm met firm muscle—and the rough edge of bandages.
Is he injured?
The thought flickered through her mind, only to dissolve the next second.
With one hand, he seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head.
Today, for the show, she had deliberately worn a high-slit slim fir dress…
"Wait—please—" Tears slipped free once more. "It hurts…"
"Then remember this pain." He whispered. "Remember who is the one giving it to you…"
The final words were spoken through clenched teeth, close against her ear.
She wanted to curse him, to call him shameless, but only a broken sob escaped her throat.
The world collapsed into a single point.
She couldn't stop the tears spilling over.
"Why are you crying?" His voice was low, almost gentle, as his lips brushed the corner of her wet eyes.
His breath burned.
Her thoughts dissolved into haze. Only instinct remained.
She despised this weakness in herself, the way she seemed to sink instead of resist. Her mind struggled.
But her body betrayed her. Like a vine that only knew how to twine and bind.
"Yes." His breath scorched her ear. "Just like that…"
"Please… let me go…"
"There are so many people watching…" she begged, her voice softening against her will.
His fingers tightened around her wrists.
"In that case," he whispered in her ear, "shouldn't you try harder to make a good show?"
She bit her lip and shook her head.
"Then let them listen to how you beg."
No.
Inside, she fought desperately.
Unable to see his face, she let her tear-soaked words spill out.
"Please…"
It was not because of the pain. She simply couldn't stand it anymore.
"Jospehine? Josie?"
Her shoulders were shaken hard. She jolted awake.
Blinding lights. Cameras. And a handsome face magnified close to hers.
Lucas Robin—her assigned partner for this variety show—was staring at her with concern.
"Are you okay?" he asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
She blinked, her awareness snapping back into place, though her heart was still racing violently.
Her gaze darted around, guilty and flustered.
She was back at the studio. The live broadcast set of Heartbeat! Fall in Love!
She was seated on a sofa, dressed in a pale pink silk dress, a soft cushion behind her back. Everything was normal.
Except... For a lingering ache on her thigh, as if someone had gripped it hard just moments ago.
She went still.
Had she fallen asleep sitting up just now?
Ever since she first encountered that man in her dreams, she had been afraid to sleep.
And yet she hadn't been able to hold out. During the break in filming, she must have drifted off without realizing.
"Josie?" The host leaned closer. "You don't look well. Do you need a moment before we continue?"
She parted her lips to say she was fine, but her throat tightened, and no sound came out.
Whispers rippled through the audience.
The live comments began flooding the screen.
[Did she just fall asleep?]
[Something's off about her—she looks possessed.]
[Wait… her neck—is that red? It wasn't there before, was it? Some kind of rash?]
Slowly, Jospehine came back to herself and met Lucas's gaze.
His pupils had contracted slightly. His eyes were fixed on her neck.
"You… here…"
Before he could finish, she caught sight of her reflection in a nearby glossy surface.
On the pale side of her neck, clear as day, was the mark the man had left in her dream.