Ryu-Seok stepped into the quiet room, the dim candlelight flickering across his sharp features. He closed the distance between them without hesitation, hand reaching out—not to strike, not to threaten—but… to brush a stray lock of hair from Ira’s face.
Ira froze. Cold. Untouchable. “Don’t think this changes anything,” she said, voice clipped, but her chest betrayed her with a tiny, uneven beat.
Ryu-Seok’s grin softened, dangerously sweet. “Oh, I know,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over her ear. “But I like seeing you like this… like you can’t decide if you want to hit me or… melt.”
Ira’s eyes widened—she felt it too, that sudden, impossible heat crawling up her neck. Her icy mask cracked just enough to let the faintest blush bloom across her cheeks.
He smirked, as if reading her mind. “That blush,” he whispered, trailing a fingertip down her jaw, “it suits you… almost as much as my name on your lips someday.”
Ira’s jaw went rigid, but her stomach betrayed her with a chaotic, fluttering panic. Even Ryu-Seok’s pulse raced as he watched her, feeling the thrill of victory in a battle neither of them wanted to admit.
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