Chapter nine...
1189 Words
Paloma turned slowly in front of the mirror, her dark red gown hugging every curve of her body like a second skin. It was strapless, snug at the waist, with a deep slit that kissed the top of her thigh. The satin shimmered under the light, making her tan skin glow.
She looked older, sexier. The soft blush dusting her cheeks wasn’t from makeup. It was from how she felt — seen, confident, untouchable. Her makeup was flawless: bronzed lids, glassy lips, and just enough highlight to catch the light. Her bouncy ponytail swayed as she tilted her head.
Her phone buzzed.
Kenya: “Party starts at 5 sharp, babe! Let’s light this campus UP! 🔥💃”
Paloma smirked and texted back.
Paloma: “Be there by 5:30. Wait for me.”
She slipped on her heels, grabbed her white purse, and carefully opened her door.
Silence.
The apartment was quiet — no sign of Seojin. Good. She tiptoed toward the front door and reached into her bag for the swipe card.
The lock gave a soft beep.
But then—
The door opened.
She froze.
And there he was.
Seojin stepped in, looking effortlessly sharp in a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled halfway. He was sipping a cup of coffee, but as his eyes landed on her — full form, red gown, flawless face — he choked.
“s**t,” he coughed, setting the mug down on the console table beside the door.
Paloma turned abruptly, her heartbeat jumping.
Seojin’s eyes trailed from her bouncy ponytail, down her flushed cheeks, across her neckline, and over the sleek curves of her body.
He clenched his jaw.
This girl was trouble.
His thoughts were nowhere near holy. They were far from anything he could say out loud. And she had no damn idea what kind of game she was playing dressed like that.
But when he spoke, his voice was tight and sharp.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Paloma raised a brow, clutching her purse tighter. “A dress.”
His eyes narrowed. “I know it’s a dress. Is that what you went shopping for?”
She tilted her head, brushing imaginary dust off her clutch. “Yeah. Why?”
“And where exactly do you think you’re going in that dress?”
She refused to look at him. “To a party.”
“A party?” He stepped forward. “Whose party?”
“Why do you care?” she shot back.
“Because I can’t risk anything happening to you, especially not in that goddamn forsaken dress,” he growled.
She turned sharply, anger rising. “It’s just a party! I’m nineteen, Seojin!”
“I was invited,” she added, reaching again for the door.
Before she could open it, Seojin moved. Quick. Silent. Dangerous.
He slammed the door shut behind her, palm pressing against it just above her head.
She could feel the heat of his body just behind her — not touching, but too close.
Paloma’s breath hitched. “Move,” she said, voice wavering.
“No,” he said darkly. “Not until you change.”
She turned to face him, furious. “What the hell is your problem?!”
Seojin’s eyes were dark, intense — unreadable. “You don’t get it, do you? You walk out in that dress and every man at that party will be thinking things about you—things they have no right to think. You think I want to picture that?”
“Then don’t!” she snapped.
“I can’t just turn it off, Paloma!” he exploded.
She moved to shove him away, to slap him — but his hands caught her wrists mid-air, fast, firm.
Her breath left her lungs.
“Let me go!” she yelled, struggling against him.
But he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, her back lightly pressed to the wall beside the door.
His breathing was heavy. Her chest rose and fell against his.
Neither moved.
Seconds passed. Tension filled the air like smoke.
Paloma’s lips trembled. Her eyes stared into his — stormy, burning, confused.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.
His eyes flickered between her lips and her eyes.
“I wish I could tell you,” he said hoarsely.
Paloma sighed shakily, her back against the wall, heart hammering inside her chest. They stared at each other, eyes locked in a silence that screamed louder than words.
His gaze softened for the briefest moment. His hands, once firm around her wrists, slowly slid down — until they reached her waist.
Her breath caught.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Her body ached with something unfamiliar yet electric. God, she wanted him — wanted this to mean something, wanted him to mean it. But it always ended the same: he touched her, pulled away, and left her burning.
Her heart stung, but her body betrayed her. Her chest rose quickly under the weight of his closeness.
His fingers pressed tighter into her waist.
A whimper escaped her lips.
That was all it took.
Seojin lowered his head, lips just beside her ear, his voice a growl of restraint.
“You’re calling danger making those sounds,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.
Paloma nearly collapsed under the sensation. Her knees wobbled. She gripped the wall behind her for support.
And then—he pulled away.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he had to.
The cold air that rushed between them left her breathless. Her chest still heaved from the tension, but he stepped back, arms folding, face unreadable once more.
“If you don’t want that to happen again—” he glanced at her gown, “—or worse, from some guy who doesn’t give a damn about you, then change.”
Paloma blushed furiously. Her lips parted slightly, but she couldn’t find her words.
He made her this turned on and just left her there? She scoffed inwardly. What a damn player.
She huffed and finally muttered, “Fine. I’ll change.”
He said nothing, only stepped aside and watched her walk off.
A few minutes later, she reemerged in a soft blue gown that hugged her in all the right places — modest yet flattering — topped with a white cropped sweater that gave off a cozy but still gorgeous vibe.
Seojin looked at her and offered a rare, small smile. “Much better.”
Paloma rolled her eyes but secretly felt butterflies twist in her stomach.
He checked his watch. “Be back by nine.”
“Nine?” she groaned, grabbing her purse.
“Yes. Nine.”
She pouted. “Ten.”
“No.”
“Ugh, ten!”
He raised a brow. “Nine-thirty. And that’s final.”
She grumbled something in Spanish under her breath but didn’t argue further.
At exactly six o’clock, she walked out of the apartment, leaving a trail of perfume and tension behind.
Seojin stood there, arms crossed, watching the door close.
And his heart?
Still racing.
- Writer
