This episode contains violence, strong language, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised. (18+)
The question made Margaret flinch; her shoulders trembled as if a bullet had struck the most fragile point of her mind. Her breath hitched as she glanced at Frankestein, just as the car slowed to a halt beneath a red light, and he turned his head to face her.
"Actually… how important was it, hm? I mean, how much did that bouquet of roses and the black tote bag from your 'friend' mean to you, that you… didn't reply to my messages or pick up my calls for days?"
"Was it… not from a friend, but from a boyfriend, perhaps?"
There was a heavy sense of emphasis—a mix of curiosity and jealousy that he kept tightly guarded, masking every tremor that others might have detected.
Yet, his gaze betrayed a restlessness that was hard to hide, as if he were terrified of an answer far worse than his darkest imaginings.
Before Margaret could even draw a breath to respond, he pressed on.
"Or… once again… is it because of CATYOURS?"
"Have you started to… become interested in them? Following their social media accounts, searching for video clips, photos… even hunting for information about them… like a fangirl who can't help herself when she sees those young men? And your attention… is always on them… not on me, the one who is always worrying about you, hm?"
This time, his tone shifted—it was sharp, almost piercing.
Frankestein had clearly surrendered to his own emotions; the jealousy he had kept buried was now unmistakably real.
Margaret didn't answer right away. Instead, she remained silent, holding her breath, her eyes widening slightly—like someone witnessing something horrific.
And that horror, somehow, wasn't just in Frankestein's words, but in the underlying accusations and the naked jealousy written clearly in his eyes.
She hurriedly averted her gaze, staring straight ahead, trying to ground herself by focusing on the mundane reality: the rows of cars stopped neatly in front of them, and the red light hanging in the air, waiting for the moment it would turn green.
"Is... is Frankestein Oppa... jealous?"
Her voice was incredibly faint, almost inaudible, like a soft whisper that rose and vanished, carried away by the wind.
There was no answer from Frankestein.
His silence only fueled Margaret's hesitation, making her heart beat slowly yet erratically. She held herself back, refusing to glance at him again, terrified that whatever she imagined was etched on his face—jealousy, disappointment, or something far deeper—was actually true.
"I… I'm sorry for ignoring all of your calls and messages, Frankestein Oppa, and for only being able to reply today."
"If Oppa thinks I was intentionally avoiding you, that might not be entirely accurate, because I never intended to avoid anyone. It's just that, I… I needed more time for myself."
"If Oppa asks why… everything happened so fast in a single day—including that incident—and I needed space to recover before I could return to school as usual."
Her tone remained faint, yet as she continued to speak, her voice gradually lowered, dipping into a heavier and deeper register.
Occasionally, her words seemed to vanish mid-sentence, evaporating into thin air before she would utter them again—a little clearer, a little more certain.
Yet, once again, Frankestein remained silent.
There was no reaction, no answer, not even the slightest movement to indicate what he was feeling. His silence forced Margaret to hold her breath; she bit her lower lip softly, almost unconsciously, as if trying to channel the suffocating tension building up in her chest.
"Regarding the bouquet of roses and the tote bag..."
She paused, hesitation flickering for a moment, before she finally let out a soft sigh and continued.
"I… I don't want to talk about it. It's not because I'm hiding something, but it's just not the most important thing right now, so you don't need to worry, Oppa."
"And… one more thing. I don't have a boyfriend, and I'm not the type to go crazy over CATYOURS. I'm… I'm not that kind of person."
"But since they are the new group from my father's agency, it feels inappropriate for me to always show a displeased expression. If I act that way, they might think I dislike them—even though, to be honest, I truly don't like them much at all."
She ended her sentence with narrowed eyes, bothered by the shards of sunlight reflecting off the car's glass.
The glare made her blink rapidly before she could adjust. Once her vision stabilized, the hesitation and guilt were clearly visible—because some of her words had been intentionally blurred, and some truths she had withheld from full confession.
"I'm also sorry for making you worry, and thank you fo—"
Her words were instantly cut short when suddenly, with a movement that was swift yet not rough, Frankestein seized her hand.
Margaret's heart immediately hammered against her chest, a mixture of shock and confusion, as she reflexively turned to face him. Frankestein's gaze was now fixed on her with an intensity that was impossible to decipher—she couldn't tell if it was anger, jealousy, concern, or something far deeper and more complex.
Meanwhile, Frankestein, with a gentle motion, pulled Margaret's hand toward him and pressed it briefly against his cheek.
Without a moment's pause, he began to kiss each of Margaret's knuckles, one by one.
"Yes… I am jealous. Beyond jealous. To the point where I have nearly lost my mind, Margaret."
"And it is because of those feelings that I almost killed my own patient—because I could no longer concentrate on my work. My mind was consumed by you, incessantly, without end."
That cold tone ensnared Margaret instantly, forcing her to hold her breath.
But Frankestein offered no reprieve; he pressed on without a second's pause.
"Since you say you don't have a boyfriend, I feel relieved. It means… I still have a chance."
"That chance exists only for me—to be the only one who can claim your heart, no one else. And that chance will forever be mine, and mine alone. It will never belong to anyone but me."
Margaret's eyes widened at that very second, and even her fingers, still held in Frankestein's grasp, began to tremble slightly.
"Cla... clai... claim... m...my heart?"
Her voice was fragmented, stuttering as if she were shivering from the cold—but it wasn't the temperature. Margaret could feel it: a wave of astonishment that was slowly morphing into a full-blown shock, something so jarring that it became impossible to control.
Frankestein then leaned his body forward, causing Margaret's back to press softly against the glass behind her.
He braced both of his hands on either side of her, framing the narrow space between them. His face drew closer, nearly brushing against hers, forcing their gazes to lock.
"Of course. I will claim your heart before anyone else even has the chance to do so."
"I will make you fall in love with me, Margaret. And I will do whatever it takes until you fall into my arms—not anyone else's."
"Do you understand, Margaret?"
Frankestein's tone, which remained cold yet had dropped to a low whisper this time, caused the back of Margaret's neck—bathed in the splinters of sunlight from the car window—to suddenly turn ice-cold, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
With a deliberate slowness and total control, Frankestein's hand reached out to touch Margaret's cheek.
He gently tucked away a few stray strands of hair that obscured her face, then his thumb grazed her lower lip with a tenderness that made her body flinch, though she remained paralyzed.
"And the reason you gave me earlier… I cannot accept it, Margaret."
"I have already felt the sting of jealousy—because you ignored me, even if you claim you didn't."
"Because of that, you must take responsibility, Margaret."
Frankestein's eyes, which had been locked onto Margaret's, shifted their gaze downward to her parted lips.
"I also don't care if you have to act kind in front of the CATYOURS members, even if you don't truly want to."
"But if that's the case, then do the opposite. Do not be kind to them."
"Be obedient and kind… only to me. And if you don't do what I want—"
He paused for a heartbeat, lowering his face until his lips were only a single breath away from hers.
"I will kiss you until you run out of breath, Margaret."
"…Like this."
In that very instant, before Margaret could fully process it, their lips collided. The sensation hit her like a sudden blaze, searing her consciousness and snatching the air from her lungs.
As Frankestein began to move his lips against hers, Margaret found herself dissolving into the moment, swept away by a feeling she had never once imagined.
Unconsciously, her hands reached up to grip his shoulders tightly, pressing down until his white shirt wrinkled beneath her trembling fingers.
What neither of them realized was that the world around them was silently watching.
To the left and right of Frankestein's car, two other vehicles had stopped, waiting for the green light. From the car on the left, Gomsuk stared with wide, disbelieving eyes, while on the right, Chase looked on, equally stunned.
Frankestein's car windows were tinted dark, yet a stray beam of sunlight managed to pierce through, revealing a fleeting glimpse of the scene unfolding inside—the way Frankestein kissed Margaret with such intensity, tenderness, and an air of absolute certainty.
At that sight, both Gomsuk's and Chase's hands instantly balled into tight fists, their expressions hardening in unison.