When Hana opened the door, Choi Seungcheol looked up at her in relief.
"Here you are. And still awake. I'm glad."
Hana paused, staring. He wasn't radiating aggression, unlike the past few weeks, but stood there quietly, his eyes soft, the expression on his face warm with familiar affection.
Her heart fluttered. He looked like the man she had fallen in love with so many months before, before Seo Jaemin had come between them.
"I know," he began, his voice a husky murmur. "I know I've been absent. I'm sorry, Hana. I came here because I needed to tell you that."
Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward, catching her in a full, tender embrace that made her tilt backwards, held up only by his strong arms. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her faint natural smell.
"I missed you," he whispered, warm breath brushing against her ear. "I'm sorry I'm over so late, but I missed you and needed to see you. All the noise, the endless work… Only you can calm me down the way you do."
Before she could say anything, he drew back to kiss her, long and slow, a disarmingly gentle kiss that melted the chill of her isolation. She felt herself instantly surrender, the cold logic of her defences dissolving in the face of his affectionate attention. When he finally released her, she was breathing heavily, eyes heavy and darkened with desire for him.
"Have you had your dinner?" he asked softly, his hands moving with meticulous tenderness to cup her face.
"Yes," she managed, her voice barely a breath.
"Good," he whispered, his eyes blazing with a mix of desire and affection as he stepped inside and shut the door. "Because I'm hungry for something else."
The subsequent hours were a perfect, feverish illusion. Seungcheol, fully focused on Hana, showered her with the kind of intense, patient passion she had always known he was capable of, the affection that she craved from him. He made love to her with overwhelming, consuming tenderness, and she responded with desperate abandon, clinging to him, her heart aching.
He was back. Her love had finally come back to her. The thought made her cry out in pleasure as she peaked.
He continued holding her fierce and close, whispering promises of a shared future, telling her that she was beautiful, he needed her, she was his foundation, his world.
When he finally came, he gave a visible shudder of immense self-control, and gently withdrew, choosing to manage his orgasm without knotting her, to spare her the discomfort. Body limp from being satiated multiple times, she lay there and watched the handsome features she loved twist with the intensity of a shattering climax.
…
Afterward, as a faint, gray light began to touch the window, Hana lay draped over his chest, her heart beating a slow, contented rhythm to match his. She felt loved, valued, and finally seen.
The raw, focused intensity he had shown her was the reward she had worked for, proof that her stability could provide him the refuge that Seo Jaemin never could.
But she knew this peaceful connection was fleeting. It was fragile. As long as Seo Jaemin existed as an option—as long as the SPS stood as a monument to Jaemin's independence—Seungcheol would always be tempted to look back.
She needed to burn the bridge. She needed to make the wreckage so complete that Seungcheol would have nowhere to look but at her.
Slowly pushing herself up, she walked, naked, out into the living room, and found the envelope on the table. She picked it up, her fingers tightening on the paper.
If I give him this, she thought, a cold resolve settling in her chest, he destroys them. And once Jaemin is ruined, once the obsession has nothing left to feed on... he will finally be mine.
She returned to where Seungcheol was lying on the bed, eyes closed, breathing deep and even.
She placed the documents directly into his hand and sat beside him, tenderly stroking his hair away from his face. "Seungcheol," she murmured, her voice soft with adoration.
He opened his eyes, reaching to pull her close, then stopped, confused by the manila envelope in his hand. "What is this?"
"Read it." Hana felt a small surge of triumph, needing to explain her competence one last time. "They're the medical records… of Kang Jeon-ho."
"Kang Do-hyun's father?" Seungcheol sat up immediately, his attention instantly snagged by the documents in his hand. As his eyes scanned the printed summary—the suppressed medical consults, the hormonal prescriptions, the diagnosis—the tenderness in his face cracked, dissolving into something cold, calculating, and frighteningly focused.
He looked up at her, a strange, chilling smile breaking out across his face. "This is good," he breathed, his voice thick with delight. "Hana, this is very, very good." He pulled her close again, twisting her onto the bed and rolling his weight on top of her before kissing her fiercely. "You are brilliant, my darling."
She moaned softly, reaching for him—but in the next moment his weight was gone, lifting off her as he rose and left the bed.
Confusion replacing his warmth, Hana asked, "Where are you going?" She watched him quickly yank on his clothes, their earlier intimacy completely forgotten.
"Out," he replied shortly, already fastening his cufflinks. The alpha mask was back in place, sharp and cold.
"But—stay," she pleaded, reaching for his arm. "It's still dark."
"You did well, Hana." He gently removed her hand, not unkindly, but with a finality that slammed the door on their previous hours. "But this requires immediate action."
She looked on, helpless to stop him leaving. "Should I send the documents to my media contacts now?" she asked, desperate to be part of the plan.
Seungcheol paused at the door, pulling on his coat. He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror, straightening his tie, smoothing his hair. He looked at himself with a critical, predatory eye, ensuring he looked every inch the perfect, victorious alpha.
"No," he said, his smile chilling as he adjusted his cuffs. "I'm not sending anything yet. I need to prepare. If I'm going to see him, if I'm going to finally bring him home, I need to be perfect."
He wasn't thinking about lawyers. He was thinking about the performance. He was preparing for the final act.
And then he was gone, leaving Hana alone in the cold, silent apartment.
She stared at the closed door, the lingering scent of his passion now feeling like a lie, her victory tasting of ashes.
She had given him the weapon to destroy his rival, hoping it would end the war. Instead, she had just reminded him that there was still a prize worth fighting for.