The invitation arrived without ornament.
No sealed letter. No formal messenger. Only a quiet instruction passed through the household—prepare the inner rooms. The servants understood immediately. They did not ask questions. They moved with the practiced efficiency of people who had learned what silence was worth.
Seo Yerin was told to bathe before dusk.
She did so thoroughly.
Not hurriedly, not nervously, but with care that bordered on ritual. She scrubbed her skin until it was warm and faintly sensitive, rinsed her hair until it fell smooth and heavy down her back, then dried herself slowly, standing naked while the steam thinned around her.
She dressed afterward, but only partially.
The garment chosen for her was deliberate: a single robe of dark silk, heavier than the one she had worn before, opaque enough to promise modesty and cut loose enough to deny it. It tied only once at the waist. There were no layers beneath.
When she walked, the fabric parted with every step.
When she stopped, it clung.
The inner drink hall was arranged differently this time.
The table had been moved aside, leaving the center of the room open. Cushions were placed low and wide, positioned not for dining but for viewing. The lanterns were set higher, light falling downward instead of across—illumination without shadow, exposure without softness.
Her husband sat back from the center.
Relaxed.
One leg folded, the other stretched comfortably, a cup of wine resting loosely in his hand. Jin Muyeon did not watch the preparations closely; he had already approved them.
When Yerin entered, he glanced up once.
Only once.
"Stand there," he said, gesturing to the open space.
She obeyed.
The door opened again shortly after.
Master Baek Horyun entered with no ceremony, his gaze already sharp, already assessing. He stopped the moment he saw her—not because she was unexpected, but because she was exactly as described.
He smiled faintly.
"So this is how you entertain now," he said.
Muyeon lifted his cup. "We do not waste effort."
Baek's eyes remained on Yerin. "Turn."
She did.
Slowly.
The robe shifted immediately, the silk sliding open at the front, revealing the full length of her body beneath. The light caught her skin cleanly—breasts bare, nipples tightened from exposure rather than cold, stomach flat and drawn in by posture rather than tension, hips full where the robe framed rather than concealed them.
She stopped when she faced him again.
Did not close the garment.
Did not lower her gaze.
Baek exhaled once, deliberate. "Closer."
She stepped forward.
The silk brushed against her thighs, the hem whispering softly with movement. When she stopped an arm's length from him, he rose and approached without hesitation.
He did not touch her immediately.
Instead, he walked around her—slow, appraising, eyes moving where his hands had not yet gone. He paused behind her, close enough that she felt his breath against the back of her neck.
"Arms," he said.
She lifted them.
The robe fell open completely.
The silk slid down her sides and pooled loosely behind her, leaving her fully exposed beneath the lanternlight. Her breasts lifted slightly with her breath, nipples dark and unmistakably tense now, her posture held not by shame but by discipline.
Baek's hands came up then.
Not gentle.
Not rough.
Firm.
One palm pressed against her upper back, flattening her posture, the other sliding down her side, fingers spreading over the curve of her waist, then lower, anchoring her hips in place. He did not squeeze. He placed.
She remained still.
His thumb brushed upward, slow and deliberate, tracing heat along skin that had already begun to react. His fingers followed the line of her body with methodical intent—mapping rather than caressing—until his hand settled beneath her breast, lifting it slightly, testing weight, warmth, response.
Her breath changed.
Just enough.
He felt it.
He leaned in, mouth near her ear. "Do not move."
She did not.
His other hand came forward, sliding across her stomach, pressing flat against skin, holding her there as his thumb passed close to her nipple—close enough to draw awareness sharp and sudden, close enough that her body reacted before thought could intervene.
He did not touch it.
He withdrew instead.
The absence hit harder than contact would have.
He stepped in front of her, eyes level with her chest now, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, the faint flush spreading along her skin. He reached up and took her chin between his fingers, tilting her face upward.
"Kiss me."
She did.
Her lips met his with controlled pressure, not eager, not hesitant. He deepened it immediately, mouth firm and deliberate, taking rather than inviting. His hand returned to her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left unoccupied.
The kiss stretched.
Long.
Measured.
His mouth left hers only to return again, slower this time, as if testing endurance rather than desire. When he finally pulled back, her breathing was deeper, slower to settle.
"Enough," he said.
He turned toward the inner chamber, hand still at her waist—not guiding, not restraining, simply ensuring she followed.
She did.
The curtain fell behind them.
The rest of the night unfolded out of sight.
***
Later, in the bath, Yerin stood longer than necessary.
The water slid over her skin, tracing paths that felt familiar too quickly. She did not rush to wash away sensation. She did not linger on it either.
She simply observed.
When she returned to the marital chamber, Muyeon looked up from his scroll.
"He approved," she said.
Muyeon nodded. "He will return."
She accepted that without response.
She lay down to sleep shortly after, body still warm, mind quiet.
The arrangement was no longer new.
It was simply functioning.