His eyes—still and deep like a tranquil lake—were the first thing she saw.
And the moment their calm gaze met hers, a storm of tangled feelings surged within Celeste .
The tender warmth she felt with Jinwoo—like soft petals brushing her skin.
And the sudden, overwhelming wave that always came with Daniel.
She asked herself, quietly—
"Am I truly… in love with them both?"
Not one more. Not one less.
Each complete in its own way.
And the answer that rose from her chest—clear and unshakable—was yes.
It was a feeling that defied reason. And yet, it felt… peaceful.
There was nothing to suppress, nothing to excuse.
She had stepped willingly into this crossroads, anchored by one vow: that no one would be hurt.
And so, she would no longer run.
She would feel her emotions—exactly as they were, exactly as they came.
Without a word, she leaned into his arms.
With the fading warmth of whiskey still on her breath, she drifted into the arms of the man who loved her without question—achingly beautiful, and utterly hers.
She gazed at him for a long moment.
Then, shattering the silence, she kissed him.
Slowly, she slipped out of her underthings, then climbed atop him in silence.
Jinwoo blinked, slightly surprised, but soon his expression softened, melting into the quiet gravity of her touch.
His injured left hand remained suspended, careful in the air, but his right hand circled her waist, steady and warm.
His fingers traced the curve of her back, down to the small of her spine, where he gently tugged the strap of her slip. The silk slid from her shoulder with a breath.
She guided his hand to her chest, offering a silent, trembling desire.
His gaze swept slowly across her skin, where trust and longing danced—not spoken, but deeply understood.
She began unfastening his shirt, button by button, and each soft brush of her fingers sent a ripple beneath his muscles.
When the last clasp gave way, he rose slightly, cupped the nape of her neck, and kissed her—deeper, more desperate.
Their breath quickened, becoming ragged, uneven.
Lips met lips, tongues met tongues, and the rising heat between their heart smelted the stillness of the early dawn.
Jinwoo's lips trailed down her shoulder, her neck, leaving soft, wet traces in their wake.
She responded by drawing even closer, sinking deeper into the feeling.
Her hand moved to the zipper of his pants, and the sound—sharp and metallic—rang loud in the hush.
He inhaled sharply, lifting his hips slightly. With one hand, he grasped the waistband of his pants and underwear, and in a single, minimal motion, slid the fabric down.
In the silence that followed, his body stood revealed—hard, full, and trembling with want.
She lowered herself, slowly, and his length pressed into her—hot, thick, steady—pushing past the walls she hadn't known she still held.
A rush of heat.
A tightening that stole both their breath.
They gasped together.
Their breath faltered.
Her breath scattered, and a rush of heat swept through her limbs, deep and unrelenting.
"It's okay…Take it slow..."
His voice was low, reassuring. She nodded—and began to move.
Softly, gently, she rode him.
The friction between her thighs, the way his right hand clutched her waist—it all became rhythm, a dance between skin and breath.
Palms planted on his chest, she rolled her hips, letting the motion grow.
Her breath shortened. Tiny shivers chased over her body.
A low moan escaped him.
She welcomed him deeper, hotter, more completely.
Her rhythm built slowly, steadily, each wave of motion drawing a sheen of sweat to his brow.
"Celeste…"
His voice cracked, hoarse with restraint, his eyes no longer hiding what burned inside.
He gripped her waist tighter—soft curves, searing heat—driving him mad.
The rhythm broke, lost to something raw and primal.
"Haa… I can't— I'm gonna…"
His breath hitched—and in the next instant, Jinwoo's hips jerked upward in one deep thrust.
Still holding her tightly, he released—hot, full, deep inside her.
"Ah… Celeste…!"
He moaned her name as if surrendering, coming undone at the very core of her.
She felt the heat of him spill into her like a wave, and instinctively, she pressed her hips lower, drawing in every last tremor.
His body trembled beneath her.
She collapsed against his chest, breathless.
He stroked her back slowly, as if reading the shape of every emotion poured into her.
Everything he was—his warmth, his trembling, his breath, his love—remained inside her.
And for a long, quiet while, held close in his arms, she allowed herself to simply breathe.