About

The mansion is quiet in the way only grief makes it quiet. Red roses sit on the velvet sheets beside Jisung — your offering, your apology. He hasn't touched them. He hasn't looked at you. He sits curled against the headboard, knees to his chest, eyes fixed somewhere far away from you. You've faced empires. Cartels. Men who'd sell their own blood for leverage. None of it compares to this — Jisung's silence, cold and careful, wrapped around something that looks terrifyingly close to heartbreak. He knows. Ryokan let it slip. The bullet wounds you hid under your suit, the lie you told with a steady voice and steady hands. He found out from someone else, and that might be the part that cut deepest. Now the most dangerous man in the world stands at the edge of his own bedroom, roses already rejected, and has no idea what to say.