NOVEL NEXT Chapter 28: Chapter 28
The taste of champagne lingered bitter on Rae-a's tongue, but she barely noticed. The moment In-ho disappeared into the crowd, she forced herself to let go of the frustration burning in her chest. Her fingers tightened around the delicate stem of the glass before she set it down with more force than necessary, the crystal barely avoiding a sharp clink against the polished table.
Don't let him get to you.
In-ho had shaken her, but she wouldn't let him derail her purpose. She hadn't come here to exchange tense words and stolen glances with a man who had already betrayed her once. No, she had come here for answers. For leverage. For a way to finally end this entire nightmare.
She pivoted smoothly, her movements effortless as she melted into the sea of guests. Unlike before, she wasn't looking to interact with high-profile figures. If anything, she needed to do the exact opposite; divert herself momentarily from the quickening of her heartbeat and find what she was truly here for. The masquerade was a perfect distraction—everyone too enthralled in their own games of influence to notice a single woman slipping away.
With measured steps, she weaved through the grand hall, letting the dim lighting and shifting bodies conceal her movements. Every detail of the environment was etched into her mind—the placement of guards, the locations of side corridors, the subtle shifts in security patterns. She had spent enough time in places like this to recognize when an area was meant to be seen, and when something was deliberately hidden.
And right now, what she needed was in the places they didn't want guests to wander.
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The room thrummed with low conversations and the gentle clink of champagne glasses, a carefully orchestrated illusion of ease and indulgence. In-ho moved through it with effortless precision, offering curt nods to familiar faces, shaking hands with men whose smiles never reached their eyes, and murmuring pleasantries that carried no real weight. This was the kind of event where power was draped in silk and secrecy, where every interaction was a calculated move on an unseen chessboard.
He played his part well, as he always did. But his mind was elsewhere.
Rae-a.
His thoughts kept pulling him back to her—her presence in this room, her reason for being here, and most of all, the way she looked tonight. He hadn't expected her to be here, hadn't prepared himself for the way she would command the space without even trying. Even among the most dangerous figures in the room, she stood out. It wasn't just the elegance she exuded, though there was no denying that she wore it well. It was the undercurrent of something sharper, something lethal, barely concealed beneath the polished exterior.
And that dress—
In-ho exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed the thought aside before it could settle. He couldn't afford that kind of distraction. Not here. Not with her. Not with the way she made it so damn easy for him to forget the bigger picture.
His gaze swept the room, a habit ingrained too deeply to ignore, and landed on her almost immediately. Rae-a was good—too good—but not good enough to fool him. To most, she looked as though she was merely another guest, idly weaving through the opulence with a drink in hand and a face unreadable enough to deter interest.
But In-ho knew better.
His eyes followed her subtly, his years of reading people making it impossible to ignore the telltale signs. The way she moved—not with the idle curiosity of a partygoer, but with precision, intent. Her gaze flickered too strategically, scanning the room under the guise of idle observation. She was looking for something.
His jaw tightened. Damn it, Rae-a.
He should have known she wouldn't sit still. Should have known she wouldn't just play the role of an onlooker. He hadn't anticipated that she would be reckless enough to go hunting in this place, among these people. He felt the prickle of something unpleasant in his chest—irritation, exasperation. And underneath it all, something he was slowly acknowledging.
She shouldn't even be here.
She should be far away. Somewhere safer.
The thought alone was enough to stoke his anger. Rae-a wasn't some foolish woman out of her depth—no, she was clever, sharper than most, and that was the problem. If she had set her mind to something, she would not stop until she had it. And that, in a den full of the most dangerous men in the underground, meant only one thing.
Trouble.
His grip on his champagne glass tightened. He could feel the crisp linen of his gloves stretch against his fingers as he forced himself to appear at ease. He couldn't afford to make it obvious that he was watching her, that he was—
What? Concerned?
A bitter scoff nearly made it past his lips, but he swallowed it down, pushing the thought away. No, not concern. Just pragmatism. He at least tried to convince himself that, but the beating in his heart spoke the opposite. If she was caught—if she slipped up—it wouldn't just be her problem, because he wouldn't think twice before intervening.
He couldn't afford that kind of exposure, not now, not here.
He exhaled slowly, willing himself to ignore the way she looked in that dress, the way the fabric hugged her frame in a way that was far too distracting. Get yourself together. This wasn't the time for his thoughts to betray him.
And then, as if to make matters worse, she moved.
Not toward him. Not toward any of the guests. But toward a dimly lit hallway leading away from the main event.
His breath stilled, his posture stiffening as he watched her slip through the doors, disappearing into the shadows beyond. His pulse ticked sharply in his temple.
Do you even realize how reckless you're being right now?
The rational part of him screamed to let her go, to let her get herself into whatever mess she was diving headfirst into. But reason had never worked where she was concerned.
He cursed under his breath.
Then, after ensuring no one was paying him too much mind, In-ho moved, slipping into the crowd with effortless grace. He was already making his way toward the hallway before he had even decided to follow her.
Because of course he was.
He always did.
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Her heart thrummed with purpose as she moved toward the quieter hallways. The moment she stepped out of the grand ballroom's glow, the atmosphere changed. The air was cooler here, thick with the scent of polished wood and something faintly metallic—gun oil, maybe. Security cameras were placed at calculated intervals, but she had already mapped them out in her mind. If she timed it right, she could slip past them unnoticed.
She moved like a shadow, a phantom, silent and precise, her heels barely making a sound against the marble floors. The first few doors she passed were locked—guest rooms or private lounges. Nothing of interest. But she wasn't here for trivial secrets. She needed something more. Something incriminating.
Something that would make the floor crumble underneath Chul-soo's feet.
Pausing at the next intersection, she pressed herself against the wall, listening. A single guard's footsteps echoed down the hall—measured, steady. Rae-a waited, timing his pattern, her body tense with anticipation. The second he passed, she exhaled slowly and moved.
Slipping through a door left slightly ajar, Rae-a stepped into the dimly lit study, her pulse steady despite the weight of what she was about to do. The scent of aged paper and polished wood lingered in the air, the distant murmur of the ballroom muffled by thick walls. The room was immaculate—ledgers stacked with precision, maps pinned with careful intent, documents laid out in a way that spoke of someone who left nothing to chance.
Her gaze swept over the desk as she moved with practiced efficiency, eyes scanning each page, absorbing critical details. Names. Locations. Transactions. A carefully woven network of power and corruption lay exposed before her, each figure and signature another thread she could unravel.
Then she saw it.
Her breath stilled, fingers tightening around the edge of a file as she flipped it open. The inked words before her sent a jolt through her system, sharp and electric. Proof—undeniable, irrefutable proof—that could fracture alliances and set an empire on fire.
A slow smirk ghosted over her lips as she reached for the slim device concealed in the folds of her gown. In the dim light, the screen glowed faintly as she angled the camera, capturing each damning page in crisp detail. Click. Click. Click. The soft shutter of the lens was nearly silent, but each image was deafening in its implications.
She moved swiftly, efficiently, leaving nothing to chance. Yet as she skimmed the final page, a realization settled over her—cold, sharp, and exhilarating.
This wasn't just any document.
This was going to be the beginning of their downfall.
And Rae-a wished to be there for the time it all goes down in flames.
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One of the guards stationed near the private study frowned, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the slight gap between the heavy wooden doors. Suspicion flickered across his face, his stance shifting as he started moving toward the entrance.
Shit.
Rae-a could feel her pulse hammering in her throat as she pressed herself further into the shadows of the dimly lit study, her breath shallow. The documents she had managed to scan through were a blur in her mind now, all overridden by the sharp spike of panic twisting in her gut. If she was caught here, there would be no talking her way out of it.
She needed to move. Now.
Just as she prepared to slip out, she heard it—
A voice. Deep, smooth, and authoritative. One that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
"You seem tense. Long night?"
What the fuck was In-ho doing here?
It stopped the guard in his tracks. Rae-a held her breath, barely daring to peek through the crack in the door. And there he was. In-ho, standing just a few feet away, exuding effortless control. His expression was unreadable, composed as always, but there was something else—a quiet calculation in his gaze as he intercepted the guard's path.
The guard hesitated, his previous suspicion wavering. "Just thought I saw something, sir. That door—"
In-ho tilted his head slightly, as if in idle amusement. "A draft, perhaps. The ventilation in this place is inconsistent." His tone was casual, but the authority in it was unmistakable. "No need to waste time on a ghost, don't you think?"
He was leading the man away?
There was a beat of silence before the guard nodded, his posture easing. "Of course, sir."
In-ho gave a slow, approving nod before moving past him, engaging him in effortless small talk about security placements and other trivial matters—effectively drawing attention away from the study entirely.
Rae-a exhaled softly, her heart still pounding. She needed to move. Now.
Slipping out soundlessly, she re-entered the hallway, pressing herself against the wall as she carefully closed the door behind her. Every second mattered. Every noise felt deafening. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she began to move, keeping to the edges of the corridor where the shadows clung to the walls.
Too close. Too damn close.
She got caught in her own findings that she did not pay attention enough to what was around her. That was foolish of her.
Her mind raced. If she had been caught, everything would have been for nothing. The files, the information—her entire mission would have collapsed in an instant. No second chances.
She turned the corner swiftly, the glow of the grand ballroom just ahead. But just as she stepped into the open, she felt it—the weight of a gaze. A presence she couldn't ignore.
Instinct forced her to look.
Across the distance, past the sea of glittering gowns and masked figures, In-ho stood at the ballroom's edge. His mask obscured his expression, but his eyes—they found hers immediately. Unreadable.
A flicker of acknowledgment. A warning. A silent command.
Go.
Rae-a hesitated, her fingers tightening at her sides. Why had he covered for her? Why had he let her walk away?
She didn't let herself linger on the question. Not now.
It was undeniable now—Hwang In-ho was playing his own game. Whether his motives aligned with hers or with Chul-soo's remained uncertain. And if she was being honest with herself, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
Because if he was working for Chul-soo, she would have to kill him. And she wasn't sure if she could bring herself to do it.
And if he wasn't… it meant their fates were still tangled together, in some cruel twist of irony. The lies that they both had made, mercilessly binding them to one another.
Either way, knowing would change something. And she wasn't sure she was ready for that.
So she forced her thoughts into silence, disappearing into the night before she could make the mistake of looking back.
Tearing her gaze away, she stepped forward, slipping into the crowd and letting the music swallow her whole. She had what she needed. She had taken the first step in tearing this entire operation apart.
And if In-ho thought he could stop her—
He was mistaken.
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The moment Rae-a reentered the crowd, she kept her movements fluid, deliberate. A passing server, the clinking of crystal glasses, one of which she took, the shifting glow of the chandeliers above—she used every distraction to weave herself back into the throng of masked elites. Each step was calculated, her posture effortless, her expression unreadable. But beneath the carefully crafted façade, her mind raced.
The documents she had found still burned at the edges of her thoughts, unraveling everything she thought she knew about Chul-soo's plans. This operation wasn't just about drugs—it was about power. His power. His way of cementing his legacy, proving that he could rival even the largest criminal empires. The sheer scale of it was staggering; entire shipments mapped out, millions funneled through hidden channels, high-ranking officials on his payroll ensuring that nothing stood in his way.
If this expansion fell apart, it wouldn't cost him everything. He had survived losses before. But this—this was different. This wasn't just a business deal; it was the foundation of his next empire. If it crumbled, it would expose cracks in the illusion of his invincibility. It would make people doubt him. And in Chul-soo's world, doubt was dangerous.
Favors would be pulled. Allies would reconsider. The people who feared him, who respected him, would start to question whether he was truly untouchable. One slip, one weakness, and they would start to turn.
That was how she would break him.
Not all at once. Not with a single bullet. But piece by piece.
Chul-soo didn't fear death. He had stared it down too many times, walked away from it with nothing but a smirk and blood on his hands. But power? The loss of control? That was his greatest fear. She would bring that fear to light. Make him feel the slow, creeping loss of everything he had built. Make him watch as the empire he so desperately clung to rotted from the inside.
She just had to be smart about it.
However, before she could put more distance between herself and the hallway she'd just slipped from, a presence shadowed her.
She felt him before she saw him.
A shift in the air. A break in the surrounding noise, as if the world had drawn a shallow breath. The unmistakable weight of a gaze that burned hotter than the chandeliers overhead.
Rae-a didn't react—at least, not outwardly. Instead, she let herself be pulled along by the current of the party, her movements smooth, though hurried, as if she was trying to avoid him. Which she was.
Before she could walk further, his fingers caught her wrist—light but firm, a tether she hadn't anticipated. The touch sent a current through her, a slow burn beneath the silk of her gloves. She should have pulled away immediately, should have shoved him off, but something in the weight of his grip kept her frozen for a beat too long.
She swallowed against the frustration surging within her, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral.
"In-ho." The name left her lips as smoothly as the wine in her glass, though it carried none of its warmth.
He remained at her side, a silent shadow, his presence as unshakable as ever. The casual poise he maintained was a well-crafted illusion, but she wasn't blind to the tension simmering just beneath it—the way his shoulders held an almost imperceptible rigidity, the flicker of something restrained in the depths of his gaze.
"Tell me," his voice was quiet, pitched low enough that only she could hear. "Is this recklessness or desperation?"
Her fingers tightened around the delicate stem of her glass. The bastard.
Unlike before, his words didn't carry the usual amusement, the subtle taunt that often accompanied his attempts to pick her apart. No, this was different. There was no teasing lilt, no detached amusement—just quiet frustration, laced with something she almost didn't want to name.
Concern.
She hated that she could hear it, hated even more that it made something inside her coil uncomfortably. He was irritated, yes, but there was something more—something that said her presence here wasn't just a nuisance. It was a risk. One he wasn't willing to ignore.
The question wasn't just a probe into her motives—it was a warning. And she resented that he knew her well enough to deliver it so precisely.
Rae-a forced herself to relax, rolling her shoulders back as if shrugging off the weight of his scrutiny. A measured breath. Controlled. The worst thing she could do now was let him see even a flicker of hesitation.
She tilted her head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes beneath the mask.
"And what is it for you?" she countered, her voice smooth, sharpened at the edges. "Business or pleasure?"
Something flickered across his face, too fleeting to name. His lips twitched, but not in amusement. It wasn't quite a smirk—it was something else, something unreadable. Hesitation, maybe. Or restraint.
Then, he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice to a murmur, words meant only for her.
"I would be surprised if you haven't pieced it together already, sweetheart."
Her breath hitched—so subtle no one else would notice, but he would.
The words struck a nerve. Not because of what he said, but because of what they implied.
Because a part of her—the part she fought to silence—had already wondered. Had already questioned whether his interference tonight had been calculated not just for his benefit, but for hers. Had already entertained the idea that, despite everything, he had been keeping her unseen.
Protecting her.
But she crushed the thought before it could take root. If that were true, if any of this was for her, then why wouldn't he have just said it?
The heat of his breath brushed against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain still, to ignore the way her pulse stuttered traitorously.
But this close, she caught the scent of him—clean, dark, musky, expensive cologne laced with something richer, something distinctly his. It was grounding in a way she despised, a familiarity she didn't want.
And yet, she remained.
She exhaled slowly, willing the burn away, but the tension between them only thickened. He was studying her, dissecting her in a way that made her want to shove him back and wipe that maddening look from his face.
Because he saw her.
He always saw more than she was willing to give.
And he knew why she was here. He knew she wouldn't have come unless she felt like she had no other choice.
That realization was worse than anything else.
"Stay out of my way, In-ho. This isn't your business."
Rae-a's voice was low, edged with quiet venom, but it did nothing to deter him.
In-ho exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, like a man entertaining an argument he had already won. "And yet," he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, studying her with the kind of patience that made her skin crawl, "you always seem to end up tangled in mine."
Her fingers curled into her palm, nails pressing into skin. He said it so effortlessly, as if this entire ordeal was an inevitability—like she had simply wandered into his web, rather than fought tooth and nail to stay out of it.
Her pulse stuttered, but she refused to let him see it. "I don't need your interference," she bit out, heat rising beneath her ribs. "Or your protection, Mr Hwang."
A flicker of something—frustration, irritation—flashed through his gaze before it smoothed over, but she caught it. He was tired of this conversation. Good.
"No?"
His fingers barely brushed against her wrist—so light it could have been mistaken for an accident, if not for the deliberate way he lingered just a second too long. His touch was cool, a contrast to the heat burning beneath her skin.
"Then tell me, Rae-a." His voice dipped lower, threading through the hum of conversation and music, meant only for her. "If not for me, where would you be right now?"
A trap. One she had no easy way out of.
She had her answer, but she wouldn't give it to him. Wouldn't admit that, had he not intervened, she might have been dragged somewhere she couldn't escape. That she would have had to fight her way out, or worse—been forced to watch her only lead slip through her fingers.
Her jaw tightened. "I didn't ask you to help me," she said, her voice softer now, but no less sharp.
His lips twitched—not quite amusement, not quite irritation. "You never do."
He leaned in, just enough that she could catch the clean, expensive scent of him beneath the sharper edge of his cologne. Just enough that when he spoke, the words brushed against her skin like a whisper of static.
"But maybe, just this once, you should say thank you."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The words—so calm, so infuriatingly composed—made something reckless rise in her throat.
But before she could speak, before she could throw something cutting back at him, he was already pulling away, severing the moment with the same effortless control that always put him one step ahead. His expression was unreadable, his posture at ease, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than a passing remark.
He held her gaze for just a beat longer than necessary, his eyes tracing over her face with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. Rae-a didn't flinch, but there was a tightening in her chest, an inexplicable flutter she fought to suppress. He knew how to make her feel small without uttering a word, and damn it, he knew it too.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening, sweetheart," he said, his voice calm, measured, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Though, I wouldn't linger for too long. You're starting to attract attention."
She felt his gaze drop, lingering over her figure with a slow, deliberate sweep. Rae-a's breath hitched for a split second, though she masked it with a slight tilt of her head, a sharp, almost imperceptible motion that carried a coolness she didn't entirely feel. She held his gaze for a moment longer than she meant to, but when he turned his eyes back to hers, she quickly averted her gaze, aware of the warmth creeping up her neck.
But as if on cue, she glanced around the room, hoping to brush off the uneasy feeling that had settled deep in her chest. Her eyes locked onto a group of men across the room, their gazes fixed on her with an intensity that mirrored In-ho's, but there was no control in their looks—just an open, almost predatory hunger. Rae-a felt a surge of annoyance, her lips pressing into a thin line.
That could be a problem.
For a moment, her body tensed, her instincts kicking in, ready to handle the attention. But before she could react, she caught In-ho's retreating figure, his movements smooth as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving her standing there, momentarily flustered.
Rae-a exhaled, the air tight in her chest, her heartbeat still betraying her calm front. Fuck him.
Her fingers flexed around the fragile glass, her grip tighter than necessary, knuckles turning white as she tried to ground herself. It wasn't the glass that threatened to break—it was her control. She could feel her pulse racing, the weight of his presence still hanging in the air. And that damn teasing smile that had lingered just beneath his words, as if he knew the effect he had on her, only made her more frustrated.
She took another slow breath, forcing herself to relax. His words echoed in her mind, "Don't linger too long, sweetheart." Was he playing with her? Or had he genuinely noticed the change in the room and the focus on her?
She took another breath, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks, trying to steady herself. The crowd felt suddenly too close, the eyes too many. She didn't need to be reminded by him that she was under scrutiny.
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Rae-a kept to the edges of the ballroom, letting the ebb and flow of conversation mask her presence. The scent of expensive cigars and sparkling champagne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint floral perfume of passing women. Every step she took was measured, every movement controlled. She had made it this far unseen, unbothered—until now.
The information she had gathered tonight was all that she needed. The names, the alliances, the key players in the underground operations she had been hunting for so long. She could leave now, slip into the shadows and disappear before anyone even clocked on that she had left.
But first, she had to make her exit—quietly, unnoticed.
Her eyes scanned the room, already mapping out her route, mentally plotting the least suspicious way out. The door to the terrace was still clear; a perfect escape, unobstructed. She took a slow breath, ready to move—until a voice, smooth yet edged with arrogance, sliced through the veil of idle chatter.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
Rae-a barely had time to school her features before she turned, finding herself face-to-face with a man who wasn't just another guest. His suit was sharp, tailored to perfection, but it was his eyes—cold and calculating—that held her attention. He wasn't someone she wanted to interact with, especially now, when she had just about everything she needed and was ready to leave.
But there was no mistaking it; this man was a high-ranking figure in the underground, someone with influence, someone dangerous. She had seen him before, heard whispers of his dealings, but had always managed to avoid direct interaction.
And now, he was looking at her as though he meant to change that.
Her pulse quickened, irritation bubbling beneath her calm exterior. This was exactly the kind of interruption she didn't need. She had been so close to slipping out unnoticed, and now this man—this narcissistic figure—had to make his move. Her fingers twitched at her side, a silent urge to draw away, to make her escape, but he was already moving toward her, his hand extended with a smile that teetered on the edge of mockery.
"A dance, perhaps? It would be a shame to let such an evening go to waste."
Rae-a felt the weight of nearby gazes, the unspoken pressure curling around her. Her eyes flicked around the room briefly, registering the subtle shift of attention toward them. Refusing him outright would draw attention, and that was the last thing she needed right now. The delicate balance she had worked so hard to maintain could crumble in an instant if she wasn't careful.
Her stomach tightened, her options narrowing. With a faint sigh, she allowed her lips to curve into a practiced smile, masking the irritation she felt. She couldn't afford to antagonize him. Not here. Not now. After all, what was a mere dance?
She was seconds away from reluctantly accepting when another presence cut in, dark and commanding.
"I believe she's already spoken for."
The words were smooth, but there was an edge to them, sharp enough to make the air shift.
In-ho.
She hadn't even seen him approach, yet now he was there, standing beside her as if he had been watching the entire time. One hand outstretched toward her, his posture easy—controlled—but there was something else in the way he carried himself. Possessive. Unyielding. His mask concealed his expression, but she didn't need to see his face to know the look in his eyes.
The man across from her stiffened. For a brief moment, the calculating gleam in his gaze flickered with something sharper—annoyance, perhaps even challenge.
Rae-a exhaled through her nose, pulse still steady but annoyingly aware of In-ho's proximity. His fingers found her wrist, his touch deceptively light, yet unmistakable in its meaning.
Play along.
For a fleeting second, she considered doing the opposite—just to spite him. Just to remind him that he had no claim over her. But the weight of the other man's scrutiny, the silent tension in the air, made her decision for her.
Whatever this was between them, she would rather deal with In-ho than the alternative.
In-ho didn't hesitate. He pulled her into the crowd with seamless ease, the transition so fluid that to an outsider, it might have looked rehearsed. He guided her onto the ballroom floor, one hand settling at her waist, the other still clasping her fingers in a grip that felt far too possessive for her liking.
Still, she wasn't about to let him think he had won.
She turned slightly, just enough to let her voice reach only him. "I was leaving."
"And now you're not." His response was immediate, infuriatingly steady. He tilted his head slightly, his hand sliding to take hers properly. "One dance, Rae-a." A pause. "Unless you'd prefer to go back to him?"
Her eyes narrowed. He knew damn well what the answer was.
With a quiet huff, she placed her hand in his, her grip firm, fingers just a little too tense. "You're insufferable."
She swore she could hear the smirk in his voice when he replied, "And yet, here you are."
"You're welcome, again," he murmured, his voice pitched just low enough for her ears alone.
Rae-a's jaw tightened, her pulse quickening despite her best efforts to remain unaffected. There was something in his tone—calm, composed, yet laced with an undercurrent she couldn't ignore. It wasn't overt, but she could feel it, a subtle possessiveness threading through his words, unsettling in its quiet intensity.
"Stop acting like you don't know I can take care of myself," she said, her voice clipped as she fought to steady the unease settling in her chest.
His grip remained firm, his movements unhurried as he led her through the dance with effortless precision. "Oh, I'm well aware of your capabilities, sweetheart," he replied, the endearment rolling off his tongue with infuriating ease. "Which is why I found it rather interesting that you were considering such poor company."
Irritation flared, mingling with the restless energy his presence always seemed to stir within her. "A dance is hardly a reckless decision," she countered, lifting her chin slightly, determined not to let him goad her.
He merely hummed, his fingers shifting against her waist with deliberate ease. "Perhaps not," he conceded, his tone almost thoughtful, though the quiet certainty beneath it was impossible to miss. "But you and I both know you would have regretted it."
Her breath hitched, the weight of his words settling between them with undeniable finality. It wasn't just what he said—it was the way he said it, the quiet confidence, the way he held her just a fraction closer than necessary, as if making a point without ever needing to say it outright. But it was not just that. It was almost...jealous?
She opened her mouth to refute him, but before she could speak, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering toward where the other man still lingered on the outskirts of the crowd. A slow, knowing smirk played at the edges of his lips, deliberate in its timing.
"Tell me something," he mused, his voice dropping just enough to send an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Was it truly the dance you wanted? Because if that were the case…" He leaned in just enough for his breath to brush against her skin, his tone a quiet challenge wrapped in silk. "You need only have asked me."
Her pulse thundered in her ears, the frustration curling low in her stomach made all the worse by the realization that he was enjoying this far too much.
Worse still was the fact that, despite everything, a part of her wasn't entirely sure she minded.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, her expression carefully schooled into indifference, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he unsettled her. "Why are you really doing this?" she asked, her voice measured, though she despised the slight breathlessness in it.
His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes, as if he found her question more entertaining than worthy of a real answer. "Consider it a favor," he said smoothly, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant.
A quiet scoff escaped her. "You expect me to thank you?"
"I expect many things from you, Rae-a," he murmured, and before she could register the shift, he leaned in, the heat of his breath grazing the shell of her ear in a deliberate, calculated move. "Gratitude is only one of them."
Her pulse faltered—a single, traitorous beat stuttering against her ribs. She prayed he hadn't noticed.
But of course, he had.
His fingers flexed slightly against her waist, his grip neither harsh nor insistent, yet undeniably firm. The shift was subtle, a fleeting press of warmth that sent an uninvited shiver trailing down her spine. His voice dipped lower, a velvety murmur meant for her ears alone. "Try not to get yourself into trouble, hm? I'd hate to have to step in again."
Rae-a's jaw clenched, her fingers twitching where they rested against his shoulder. "And I'd hate for you to think you have any right to."
His lips curled, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the edges. "Oh, but you see, I already have. More than once." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering as he watched her reaction with quiet satisfaction. "And it seems you haven't stopped me yet."
The implication in his words sent a slow burn curling beneath her skin, equal parts irritation and something she refused to name.
Before she could snap back, before she could rip herself away from his hold and storm off like every nerve in her body was screaming for her to do, he shifted—smooth and practiced, his fingers skimming the bare skin of her back with a touch that was maddeningly casual yet entirely purposeful.
Her breath caught, her muscles coiling instinctively at the contact. It was nothing, a fleeting brush, a ghost of warmth against her spine. And yet, it set her every nerve on edge, her body acutely aware of the space between them—of the way he erased it so effortlessly.
Infuriating bastard.
With an ease that felt like second nature, he led her into another step, seamlessly guiding her through the slow, deliberate rhythm of the dance. She knew it was intentional—the way he maneuvered her, the way he left her with no opening to pull away, no room to break free from the unspoken game unfolding between them.
He wasn't just leading the dance.
He was controlling the moment, the space, the air between them.
And as if that weren't bad enough—she was letting him.
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The orchestra swelled, strings humming with an air of restrained intensity, a rhythm that dictated the movement of the masked figures on the ballroom floor. Chandeliers cast a golden glow, flickering over the polished marble, reflecting the silk and satin of extravagant attire. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey clung to the air, mingling with the faint burn of candle smoke.
Rae-a was painfully aware of the man before her.
In-ho's hand rested at the small of her back, his grip neither gentle nor forceful, but firm enough that she knew he could tighten it at any moment. His other hand held hers in a controlled clasp, his thumb pressing lightly against her knuckles, just enough to be noticed. They moved in calculated steps, locked in an unspoken game beneath the guise of an effortless waltz.
"Should I be flattered or suspicious of your undivided attention on me?" Rae-a murmured, her voice laced with something sharp, something challenging.
His lips barely moved, but she caught the faintest trace of amusement. "You tell me," he countered, his tone smooth as silk. "I was under the impression you were enjoying yourself."
She scoffed, tilting her head slightly. "You always did have a talent for rewriting reality."
A jab at his games.
In-ho guided her into a turn, the motion pressing her closer just for a breath, his voice dropping lower. "And you always did have a talent for avoiding the truth."
The words slid under her skin, setting her pulse alight with something dangerously close to irritation—and something else she wasn't ready to name. The scent of his cologne, dark and woodsy, wrapped around her, mingling with the warmth of his breath near her cheek. He was too close, and yet not close enough to be inappropriate. A deliberate, careful balance. A game they both played.
"I wonder," she mused, allowing her fingers to flex ever so slightly against his, a deliberate test of his control, "how many times have you danced this dance in all the lavish events you've attended, Hwang In-ho?"
A smirk ghosted over his lips, subtle but sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Only when necessary."
"And is this necessary?"
His grip on her waist tightened—just for a moment, fleeting yet unmistakable. She felt it. The slight shift, the instinctive response, the flicker of something possessive before he smoothed it over with practiced ease.
"Absolutely."
The certainty in his voice sent an unwanted thrill through her, one she buried beneath layers of caution and defiance. Their movements were seamless, guided by an unspoken rhythm, but beneath the elegant precision was something raw, something electric. Every shift of his hand, every subtle press of his fingertips against her spine, every brush of their clothes in motion—it was a conversation in itself. He was reading her, just as she was reading him, each step a calculated push and pull of power neither of them were willing to surrender.
The crowd blurred into meaningless background noise, their murmurs nothing more than a dull hum against the sharp clarity of his presence. For all the people in the room, it felt as though only they existed, locked in this quiet war of tension and restraint.
"You're playing at something," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper, suspicion threading through her tone. "What is it?"
A quiet chuckle left him, warm and maddeningly self-assured. His fingers slid slightly along the bare skin of her back, the touch deliberate in its subtlety. Not enough to be improper, but enough that she felt the heat of it, the awareness that coiled at the base of her spine.
"And here I thought you were the one playing."
Her breath hitched before she could stop it. A small betrayal, but he noticed—of course he did. His gaze flickered behind his mask, sharp as ever, but there was something else, something unreadable. The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of hesitation, the restraint woven into his movements.
He was holding back.
She clenched her teeth, forcing her focus elsewhere, but her mind betrayed her, dragging her thoughts back to the reason she was here. The documents hidden beneath layers of security, the information she had risked so much to retrieve. She had what she needed. She should be leaving. She should be anywhere but here, in his arms, where the lines blurred too easily between what was real and what was wrong.
He watched her closely, her gaze flicking everywhere but toward him, yet carrying a distracted, unfocused air. She was calculating her next move, strategizing her escape. He was certain of it.
But when he interrupted her conversation with the stranger, instead of running, she did the unexpected—she agreed to a dance.
In-ho, ever the picture of calm composure, the man who always anticipated the outcome before it unfolded, had not seen this coming. He had braced for a fight, a sharp retort, a cutting comment about the audacity of his asking for a dance.
And yet—
She was still here.
Still within his grasp, still following his lead as though there weren't a dozen reasons why she should have pulled away by now. He wondered if she realized that she was hesitating. If she realized that, despite every instinct screaming at her to run, she hadn't.
Perhaps, in some twisted way, she wanted to see how far this would go.
Or perhaps she simply didn't trust herself to leave just yet and not regret missing the moment they shared.
Neither did he.
His jaw tensed as his mind betrayed him, as something unbidden coiled low in his stomach. He was always so careful. So composed. Yet here he was, wading deeper into something he had no business indulging in. He shouldn't want this—shouldn't want her.
But he did.
And he had for far longer than he was willing to admit.
The realization settled like an unwanted truth, one he could no longer ignore.
His grip on her waist tightened—just for a second, an unconscious slip before he forced himself to ease it. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. And if she didn't leave soon, if she kept looking at him like that, with those sharp, discerning eyes that saw too much, he wasn't sure he would let her.
So he spoke before he could stop himself, before reason could tether him back. His voice dipped lower, threading through the charged air like a quiet confession.
But then his voice dipped lower, threading through the air like a quiet confession.
"I don't want you getting hurt."
He saw the exact moment it unsettled her, the slight widening of her eyes, the fractional stiffening of her spine. For all her skill at masking emotion, this one caught her off guard. Not the teasing, not the calculated tension between them—but this. The truth beneath it all.
Because the worst part—the part she wasn't prepared for—was that he meant it.
And he knew she saw it.
Her stomach tightened, and for a second, just a second, she looked like she might pull away, like she might sever the thread between them before it could tangle them any further.
But she didn't.
And neither did he.
Should have broken the moment before it could sink any deeper.
But instead, she held his gaze and allowed him to lead. Allowed herself, just for this moment, to be guided through the steps of a dance neither of them wanted to admit they weren't entirely opposed to.
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The last note of the waltz echoed through the grand ballroom, a delicate, almost mournful sound that seemed to linger in the air. Rae-a's fingers tightened subtly around In-ho's hand as they finished their final spin, the silk of her gown flaring out before settling in soft waves around her. The floor beneath them felt too still now, too quiet, as if the world had momentarily stilled in the wake of their movements.
In-ho's gaze held hers as the music faded, his grip around her waist unwavering, as though he wasn't ready to let go just yet. The warmth of his hand against her back seeped through the thin fabric, grounding, steadying. A contrast to the carefully controlled chaos thrumming beneath the surface of the night.
Then he leaned in.
She felt it first—the shift of air, the subtle tilt of his head. Then the heat of his breath as it brushed against her ear, a quiet thread of tension coiling between them. His voice followed, soft yet edged with steel, smooth as ever but carrying a weight that cut through the air like a blade.
"It would be wise to leave now, Rae-a," he murmured.
A warning. A command. A tether of control woven seamlessly into his tone.
Rae-a paused for a fraction of a second longer than she should have. Her pulse fluttered, but not from the dance. It was the way he said it—the unspoken gravity behind his words, the quiet finality that made her feel as though the night was slipping through her fingers.
Her gaze flickered past him, scanning the ballroom, the power brokers, the masked figures who thrived in the shadows, whispering behind closed doors and orchestrating chaos with the flick of a wrist. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against her skin.
They were still watching.
She had gathered too much tonight—far more than she was meant to. The documents, the overheard conversations, the knowledge that could fracture this operation from within. Staying any longer was a risk she couldn't afford.
With a slow exhale, she lifted her gaze back to him, forcing herself to nod. "Fine."
Yet neither of them moved.
For a moment, she only looked at him, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. Maybe it was caution. Maybe it was something else entirely. But she found herself searching, wanting to see through the calm, unreadable exterior he wore like armor, to peel back the layers and find the truth beneath.
Would she ever?
She shoved the thought aside as In-ho finally released her. He stepped back, but not before his fingers brushed against hers in a fleeting moment that felt almost deliberate. Then, with practiced precision, he inclined his head in a slow, elegant bow, his movements steeped in the same controlled grace he always carried.
She shouldn't hesitate.
She shouldn't care.
And yet, as she turned away, she couldn't stop the whisper of reluctance curling at the edges of her thoughts.
She didn't know when she would see him again.
Didn't know how this game between them would end, or if she would even allow it to reach its conclusion.
But those were thoughts she locked away, buried beneath sharper, more immediate truths.
Her goal was clear. This operation—this empire of control built on blood and secrecy—needed to fall.
And this was only the first step in Chul-soo's unraveling.
With that, she strode toward the exit, never once looking back.
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I am sorry it has taken me so long to upload the next chapter! I wanted it to be absolutely perfect! Most chapters take me about 8 hours with heavy editing! I hope you enjoyed haha!