The rooftop was quiet once more. The stars hung heavy in the sky, as if they too were watching—witnesses to the silent violence left behind. The echo of retreating footsteps faded, swallowed by the night breeze. Cha Hayeon's heels had barely touched the ground below when the man she had left broken behind stirred.
Kang groaned, his body aching, pride shattered, but still holding onto a sliver of arrogance. He staggered to his feet, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "She'll regret this," he muttered.
He never made it off the rooftop.
A shadow moved behind him—fast, silent, merciless. There was no warning. Just a dull thud.
Darkness.
---
The air was colder now.
When Kang woke up again, the sharp sting of metal against skin greeted him before his eyes could even adjust. His wrists were tied to a chair, rough rope biting into bruised flesh. The only light came from a flickering bulb above him, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts on concrete walls.
A figure sat across from him—still, silent, face hidden in the dark.
Then… the voice.
"You're awake, huh?"
The chair creaked as the figure rose. The sound of footsteps was deliberate, each step slow and heavy as the figure approached. A knife gleamed in the dim light. Kang squinted into the harsh glow, and his heart sank.
"Nam Jihoon?" he whispered, disbelief dripping from his tongue. "What the hell...?" Kang's panic rose like a tide."What is this? Why are you here? What the hell is wrong with you people?! First her, now you—!"
But Jihoon wasn't listening. He wasn't looking at Kang anymore, but lost somewhere in his thoughts. Somewhere where Hayeon's words echoed in his mind: "You thought a smile or two could buy you closeness... And that your empty charm gave you the right to defile what I hold dear."
His heart had nearly stopped then.
Because he was what she held dear.
Not that she knew it yet.
He had belonged to her for as long as he could remember.
Kang's voice yanked him back.
"Are you on drugs?! What the hell is going on!?"
Jihoon's dreamy gaze hardened. He lowered his voice, the blade tracing slow, cruel circles across Kang's trembling hand.
"This hand…" Jihoon said, voice dripping with coldness. "Was it the one that touched her?"
"Did you hold her hand… like you had the right to?"
Doyeon gasped. His mind scrambled to remember, but the rooftop memory hit him hard. That smug moment when Hayeon had let him hold her hand—so brief, so warm. She hadn't pulled away. He thought it meant something.
Kang flinched. "What the hell does that have to do with—"
Scream.
The knife pierced flesh. Sharp. Fast. Deep.
"You held her hand. You touched what's mine," he whispered to himself, voice laced with poisonous envy. "Do you know how long I've waited to be near her again? Twelve years. And you—you dared to look at her, talk to her like that, spread lies about me… and then touch her?"
Kang wailed, his cries echoing like a haunted symphony. "You're crazy! Let me go! What did I do?! If it's about that punch—I'm sorry! I swear, I'll never do that again!"
Jihoon leaned in, his gaze now unnervingly calm, as though he were speaking to someone far removed from the present.
"Oh, you think that's what this is about?" He chuckled, soft and venomous. "You think your punches hurt me? I let you do that because I had to act weak. I had to let her protect me—because she thinks I need her protection. Isn't that just… adorable?"
Kang trembled. "You're insane…"
"No," Jihoon said, the blade now dancing deeper into skin. "I'm just in love."
And then came the final blow—emotionally, if not physically.
"You're not getting out of here, Kang. Not with hands that touched her. Not with eyes that dared look at her like that. Not with a breath that thought it could whisper her name."
He turned away, dismissing Kang as though he were nothing.
"To the rats who hover around my girl, there's only one fate."
He glanced at his men.
"Make sure I never see him again." Jihoon's voice was ice cold. "By morning, I don't want a trace of him left in this city."
"Yes, sir."
---
Two weeks later, the office buzzed as usual. Kang's desk remained empty, untouched. Some whispered rumors—debts to loan sharks, disappearing overseas, a sudden fall from grace.
Cha Hayeon heard it all with a flick of her perfectly lined eyes.
"Serves him right," she said. "At least now, I won't have to see that pathetic excuse for a man pretending to matter."
And then her gaze shifted—drawn, as always, to the gentle soul across the room.
Nam Jihoon, sleeves rolled, pen in hand, smile soft and eyes innocent. The picture of warmth.
She didn't know that just hours ago, those same eyes had looked at someone with bone-chilling hatred. That those gentle hands had shattered a wrist out of jealous rage.
She stared too long.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
She panicked—turned away so fast it was almost comical.He didn't see me, right? He can't.I'm not visible from here. Right?
But Jihoon saw everything.
And he smiled to himself.
You still don't know who I really am, do you?
But you will. Soon....
---