The tempered glass of the floor-to-ceiling window reflected the lights of Seoul like diamonds scattered over black velvet. It was a fucking perfect view. The air in the penthouse smelled of new leather, sandalwood candles, and the kind of expensive perfume only someone with his bank account could afford. Everything was exactly where it should be. The German car parking downstairs, the designer furniture, the feeling that the world had finally surrendered at his feet.
He poured himself a glass of whisky, feeling the cold glass against his fingers as he watched the reflection of the woman walking toward him.
Miyeon was wearing a white silk robe that barely covered her thighs, gliding over her skin like water. She looked ethereal, almost unreal. She was the very image of purity and elegance that millions of fans adored on their screens, but here, in the privacy of their home, she was simply his.
"Still admiring the view?" she asked in a soft voice, almost a whisper.
He smiled, feeling a sudden heat rise up his neck as she drew closer.
"The best view isn't out that window, babe," he replied, setting the glass on the marble table with a sharp thud.
Miyeon let out a little giggle, a sound that always sent an electric tingle down his spine. She slid into his arms, wrapping her slender arms around him and resting her head on his chest. He could feel the heat of her body through his shirt; the scent of vanilla and soap emanating from her neck hit him like a drug.
"You're a liar," she murmured against his skin, brushing her lips with the tip of her nose.
"I am. But I'm your favorite liar."
He pulled her tight against him, feeling the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. It was an intoxicating sensation. Possessiveness washed over him, a visceral feeling that made his heart throb in his temples. He had fought for all of this: the status, the money, and above all, her. Miyeon wasn't just his girlfriend; she was his most prized trophy, tangible proof that he had won at the game of life.
"I love it when you get like this…" she whispered, pulling back just a few inches to look him in the eyes. "So proud of everything."
Her pupils were slightly dilated, and there was a playful glint in her gaze that always left him defenseless. He slid a hand down to her hip, squeezing the firm flesh of her ass through the silk of the nightgown. Miyeon let out a short gasp, a wet sound that hung in the air.
"I have every right to be," he answered, his voice growling. "Look at this place. Look at me. You have everything you could possibly want."
"I know…" she stood on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his in a chaste, almost tentative kiss. "I have it all."
The physical contact triggered a rush of adrenaline. He felt his cock start to harden against his pants, pressing uncomfortably. Miyeon's skin felt hot, almost feverish under his fingers. It was that constant tension, that hunger that never seemed fully satisfied no matter how much they gave themselves to each other.
"You're driving me crazy," he groaned, digging his fingers into the white silk to pull her upward, forcing her to press closer against his erection.
Miyeon let out a shaky sigh and closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Her neck was exposed, white and vulnerable under the dim light of the room. He could see the rapid pulse in her throat, a quick throb that betrayed she was just as turned on as he was.
"So… why are we still standing here?" she provoked him, opening one eye and giving him a mischievous smile.
The desire became tangible, heavy. He grabbed her waist tightly, feeling the slight tremble in her legs. In that moment, looking at her, he was convinced there was nothing that could break this bubble of perfection. He had the money, he had the power, and he had the most desired woman in the country completely devoted to him.
Or so he thought.
He kept her pressed against his body, feeling the softness of the silk robe against his palms. He stared at her, tracing every feature of her face. It was amazing to think that this same face appeared on billboards all over Seoul, adorning magazine covers and giant screens in Gangnam. To the world, Miyeon was an untouchable goddess, the definition of Korean elegance. But here, under the dim lights of the penthouse, she was simply his woman.
That realization gave him an almost electric pleasure, an ego boost as intoxicating as the whisky he had just drunk.
"You're very quiet," she whispered, pulling away just enough to look at him with those shining eyes. "What are you thinking about?"
He let out a heavy sigh, sliding a hand down the curve of her back, moving slowly until he squeezed the base of her spine.
"That I can't believe you're here," he replied in a husky voice. "That you're mine. Truly mine."
Miyeon let out a soft laugh that vibrated against his chest. She settled deeper into his arms, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt.
"I've always been yours, silly…" she murmured, though there was something in her tone, an almost imperceptible note that he decided to ignore. "Or is it that now that you have the apartment and the car, you think you have to win me over all over again?"
"It's not that. It's just…" he paused, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. "I love knowing that while millions of guys are drooling over you on the internet, I'm the only one who knows exactly how your breath sounds when you're asleep. The only one who can touch you like this."
He squeezed her waist a bit harder than necessary, almost marking his territory. Possessiveness was a drug to him. He loved the idea of owning the best-kept secret in the K-pop industry. To him, Miyeon wasn't just the woman he loved; she was the ultimate trophy. He had climbed every step, bought every luxury, and now he had the crown jewel resting in his arms.
"You get so intense when you talk like that," she said, looking up. Her lips were parted and her pupils dilated. "I like it… but it scares me a little."
"You don't have to be afraid," he replied, lowering his face to brush his nose against hers. "I'm just making sure you don't forget who you belong to."
He noticed Miyeon's breathing become heavier. Heat began to radiate from her, that scent of vanilla becoming denser, sweeter. He lowered his head and began kissing her neck slowly, enjoying the velvety texture of her skin. He could feel the racing pulse in her carotid artery, a fast thumping that betrayed her arousal.
"Mmm…" she let out a low moan, throwing her head back to give him more space. "You're being very possessive today. Did something happen at work?"
"No," he grunted against her skin, leaving a wet kiss just below her jawline. "I just realized that I have everything I ever wanted in life. And I don't plan on letting anything or anyone touch what is mine."
He pulled back a bit to look at her. Miyeon smiled—a sweet, almost angelic smile—but her eyes had a different glint. There was a fake vulnerability in her posture that he found irresistibly provocative. She looked so small and fragile amidst all the luxury, as if he were the only anchor keeping her tied to reality.
"And what do you plan to do with everything that's yours?" she asked in a whisper, deliberately brushing one of her hardened nipples against his chest through the silk.
The desire hit him like a sledgehammer. He felt his cock tighten violently against his pants, a dull pressure demanding immediate relief. The tension in the room became thick, almost palpable, charged with an electricity that threatened to blow a fuse. He didn't just see his girlfriend; he saw a precious property that needed to be claimed over and over again.
"I plan on reminding you exactly who's in charge here," he replied, his voice now a visceral growl.
Miyeon let out a shaky sigh, closing her eyes as she surrendered to the strength of his grip. In that instant, surrounded by marble and glass, he was convinced the whole world was at his feet and that she was the final piece of a perfect puzzle. No cracks, no doubts. Only the heat of her body and the absolute certainty that he had her secured forever.
He didn't wait for her to answer with words. He grabbed her by the nape of her neck, digging his fingers into Miyeon's silky hair, and forced her to look at him as he smashed his lips against hers. It was a kiss charged with possessive urgency, a clash of teeth and tongues that tasted of whisky and contained desire.
Miyeon let out a muffled moan against his mouth, a wet sound that vibrated in his chest. Her arms slid over his shoulders and tangled around his neck, pulling him down, seeking more contact, more pressure. He could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic and messy rhythm telling him she was just as desperate as he was.
"God… you're shaking," he whispered, pulling back just a few millimeters.
His voice was a husky growl, almost animal. His eyes dropped to Miyeon's lips, which were swollen and glistening with saliva. She was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, making the white silk of her robe tighten over her breasts.
"It's just… you drive me crazy when you get like this," she replied in a broken whisper. "I can't… I can't think about anything else."
He let out a short nasal laugh, feeling his cock pulsing violently against the fabric of his pants. The desire was a dull pressure, a hunger that began to cloud his judgment. He slowly lowered a hand, sliding his palms along her sides, feeling the scorching heat emanating from her skin even through the silk.
He reached her hips and squeezed hard, forcing her pelvis against his. Miyeon let out a sharp gasp, instinctively arching her back. He could feel the hardness of his own erection pressing against her belly, a raw promise of what was to come.
"Do you feel that?" he asked in her ear, brushing his lips against her earlobe. "You're so hot you're going to burn me."
"Then burn me…" she murmured, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.
He took advantage of the exposed neck to leave a trail of wet kisses and light bites. He knew exactly where to press to make her shiver. While doing this, he slid his right hand under the robe, seeking direct contact with her skin.
The touch was electric. The skin of Miyeon's thighs was soft, almost velvety, but it was tense, vibrating under his fingers. He moved up slowly, inch by inch, enjoying the psychological torture of making her wait. He could hear her breathing becoming more erratic, heavier.
"You… ah… don't play with me," she pleaded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Please…"
He deliberately ignored the plea. Instead, he slid his hand up until he reached the lace of her panties. Upon touching the area, he immediately felt that the fabric was wet. A viscous, hot trail adhered to his fingers—an unmistakable sign that she was completely soaked.
"Fuck… look at this," he grunted, pressing his fingers against the center of her pussy, crushing the lace against her clitoris. "You're dripping, babe. Just a little touch and you're already like this."
Miyeon let out a long, vibrating moan, her legs shaking slightly. She leaned on him to keep from falling, while her body shook in a small spasm of anticipated pleasure. Her nipples were so hard they poked through the silk of the robe as two firm little points; he could see it perfectly, and that image finished off any remaining shred of patience.
"You've got me fucking desperate," he confessed, feeling the racing pulse in his temples. "I want to feel you… I want to know how much wetter you can get before I put my cock in you."
"Do it…" she whispered, her eyes clouded with lust. "Take me to the bed right now and make me yours. Please… do it now."
He stared at her, enjoying the submission in her gaze, that vulnerability only he could provoke. In that moment, the air in the room felt thick, charged with a sexual electricity that made every touch feel like an electric shock. Without stopping his touch, without breaking physical contact, he began pushing her slowly toward the bedroom, while she made little sounds of impatience that drove him crazy.
The tension had reached its peak; the prelude was ending and the physical need had become unbearable. He pushed her into the room, but not gently. He threw her onto the king-sized bed—a massive mattress with Egyptian cotton sheets that felt cold against Miyeon's hot skin as she bounced slightly on the mattress. He stood by her for a second, observing her.
Miyeon lay there with her legs slightly open and the robe sprawled around her body like a white stain. Her chest rose and fell in violent spasms, and her eyes, clouded by lust, looked at him with a mix of hunger and submission.
"Look at me…" she whispered, her voice broken. "Don't just stand there."
He didn't answer. Instead, he stripped off his own clothes with abrupt movements. He ripped off his shirt, throwing it anywhere, and pulled down his pants, leaving himself exposed. His cock was fully erect, pulsing with a visceral force that seemed to want to break the skin.
When he approached her again, the air in the room felt saturated with pheromones. He positioned himself over her, feeling the weight of his body make the mattress give way. Miyeon let out a long moan when he captured her lips again, but this time the kiss was slower, exploratory. Their tongues intertwined in a wet, sticky dance while he reached down to finish removing her black lace panties.
He didn't slide them off carefully; he yanked them down with a sharp movement that made Miyeon let out a sharp gasp.
"Fuuuck…" he grunted, pulling back to admire the view. "You are fucking perfect."
He looked down at her pussy. The area was glistening, soaked in a thick, transparent flow sliding over her labia. The scent of sex and vanilla hit him with an intensity that almost made him dizzy. Without warning, he lowered his face and buried it between her thighs.
"Ahhh… God!" Miyeon screamed, arching her back so hard only the nape of her neck touched the sheets. "No… wait… ahhh…"
He ignored her fake protests and began licking her with a long, firm tongue, sucking her clitoris with rhythmic pressure. He could feel Miyeon's thighs beginning to shake violently, a tremor that started in her pelvis and spread through her entire body. Her skin was burning, almost feverish.
"You taste so sweet…" he murmured against her wet skin, his voice muffled and vibrating. "I love how you taste when you're this turned on."
He moved up slowly, leaving a trail of glistening saliva across her flat stomach until he reached her breasts. Miyeon let out a shaky sigh, her fingers digging into the sheets, wrinkling the expensive fabric under her nails. He took one of her hardened nipples between his lips and sucked hard, while with his other hand he squeezed the soft flesh of her breast, molding it slightly.
"Mmm… more…" she gasped, closing her eyes. "Please, don't stop… suck it harder."
He obeyed, alternating between sucking and lightly biting the tip of the nipple, causing Miyeon to let out short, erratic moans. He could feel her heart beating wildly against his cheek, a frantic thumping indicating she was on the edge of sensory collapse.
"You're driving me crazy, babe…" he whispered, sliding two fingers back down inside her. "You're so tight… and so hot. I can feel how you're squeezing my fingers."
"It's just… ah… I want your cock now," she confessed in a desperate whisper, opening her eyes to look at him with animal intensity. "Stop playing… put it in… please, fill me up."
He let out a husky, sensual laugh, enjoying the plea. He pulled back just a few centimeters, letting her feel the cold void of air on her wet skin before brushing her nipples again with the tip of his tongue.
"Don't be in such a rush," he told her in her ear, his voice now a growl. "I want you to feel every second of this. I want you to know exactly how much I want you before I break you."
Miyeon let out a sob of pleasure and frustration, instinctively moving her hips against his hand, seeking the solid touch that would satisfy her. She was totally surrendered, reduced to pure instinct and physical sensation. Her breathing was a mess of gasps and nonsensical words, while sweat began to bead on her forehead and cleavage, making her skin glow under the dim light of the room.
He could feel his own erection pulsing with an almost painful urgency. Her wetness was on his fingers, his lips, and his tongue. Desire had become something tangible, a brute force that no longer allowed for games.
"You're ready…" he murmured, feeling Miyeon's internal walls contracting rhythmically around his fingers, inviting him in. "You're fucking ready for me."
He positioned himself between her legs, forcing them open until Miyeon was completely wide, vulnerable and exposed beneath him. The view was devastating: her pussy glistening with flow, her nipples hardened pointing toward the ceiling, and that look of absolute plea in her eyes. He felt his own cock pulsing against her entrance, a dull pressure that made his balls ache from all the accumulated tension.
"Look at me, Miyeon," he ordered in a husky voice. "I want you to see exactly who is filling you right now."
She let out a gasp, locking her eyes onto his while her fingers dug into the sheets. He didn't go in all at once. Instead, he pressed the tip of his cock against the wet opening and pushed slowly, just a few centimeters, feeling how her internal walls clung to him, squeezing him with an instinctive force that made him grunt.
"Fuuuck… you're so tight," he muttered, closing his eyes for a second to process the scorching heat enveloping him. "You're fucking tight, babe."
"Don't stop… ah… put it all in… please, break everything inside me," she pleaded, arching her pelvis upward, desperately seeking to close the gap.
He let out a snort and, with a slow but forceful thrust, sank deep into her.
Miyeon let out a sharp scream that died into a prolonged moan, throwing her head back and digging her heels into the mattress. Her eyes rolled back for an instant as her body processed the fullness. He stayed there, frozen for a few seconds, feeling how her pussy pulsed rhythmically around his cock, trying to assimilate the size and heat.
"God… look at how you're squeezing me," he whispered, his voice a visceral growl. "You're going to make me cum right now if I don't control myself."
He began to move. At first, they were slow, deep, deliberate thrusts. Every time he pulled out almost completely, the wet sound of skin against skin echoed in the room. And every time he went back in, he did so with a force that made the whole bed shake slightly.
"Ah… ahhh… yes… right there!" Miyeon screamed, wrapping her legs around his waist to anchor him deeper. "Harder… please, fuck me harder."
He obeyed. The rhythm changed abruptly; the slowness disappeared to give way to a frantic and aggressive cadence. The sound of his pelvis hitting hers became constant, a wet and rhythmic thumping that filled the silence of the penthouse. Miyeon could no longer articulate coherent words; she only emitted short gasps and broken moans while her hands moved from his shoulders to scratch his back, leaving red marks on his skin.
"You love this, don't you?" he asked her, accelerating the pace, feeling how the friction generated unbearable heat. "You love being fucked like this while the rest of the world thinks you're a saint?"
"Yesss… ahhh… I'm yours… only yours… Fuuuck yes!" she responded in a delirium of pleasure, her hips moving in perfect sync with his thrusts.
He felt himself losing control. The feeling of having her like this, reduced to pure instinct and need, fed his ego as much as his desire. Every time he hit her deep, he felt her contract violently around him, as if trying to suck him further inside. The smell of sex, sweat, and vanilla became suffocating, creating a dense atmosphere that enveloped him completely.
"You're so wet it's all slipping…" he grunted, changing the angle to hit directly against her G-spot. "Fuck, Miyeon… you're going to drive me insane."
She let out a sob of pure pleasure, her eyes clouded and her breathing a mess of gasps. Her breasts bounced violently with every impact, and he couldn't help but lower a hand to squeeze one hard, molding the soft flesh while continuing to hammer into her without mercy.
The friction was so intense he felt like her pussy was burning, but neither of them wanted to stop. It was a visceral struggle to see who would hit the limit first. He could feel the tension building at the base of his cock, an electric pressure warning him that the climax was dangerously close.
"Don't stop… don't you dare stop…" she panted, squeezing her thighs against his sides, forcing him in as deep as possible. "Fill me… I want to feel all of you inside me… ahhh…"
He let out an animal grunt and increased the speed to the maximum, turning the act into a succession of fast, deep hits that made Miyeon tremble entirely beneath him. The outside world had ceased to exist; there was no longer a penthouse, no fame, no money. There was only this wet heat, the sound of skin against skin, and the intoxicating feeling of possessing her completely.
The rhythm became unsustainable. He was no longer thinking; he only felt the scorching friction and the way Miyeon sucked him in with every contraction of her internal walls. Her vaginal muscles tightened around him in rhythmic spasms—a clear sign she was on the edge of the abyss.
"I'm going to… ahh… I'm going to cum… God, I'm cumming!" Miyeon screamed, her voice breaking into a sob of pure pleasure.
She arched her back with violent force, digging her nails into his shoulders while her legs shook out of control. He felt the first strong spasm of her orgasm enveloping his cock; it was as if hundreds of tiny invisible fingers were squeezing him all at once. The heat inside her suddenly increased, becoming almost liquid, almost electric.
"Do it, babe… cum for me," he grunted, accelerating the final thrusts with desperate brutality.
He couldn't hold back any longer. The pressure at the base of his cock exploded in an instant. With one last deep push that buried his pelvis against hers with a dull, wet thud, he let out a guttural roar and came deep inside her.
He felt every pulse of his own semen filling Miyeon's pussy, a hot and visceral discharge that seemed to empty him completely. He stayed there, sunk to the hilt, while both trembled in perfect sync, their breaths crashing into one another in a mess of gasps and sobs.
Silence slowly returned to the room, broken only by the sound of their hearts beating a thousand miles an hour and the sticky rub of their sweaty skin. He collapsed on top of her, resting his weight carefully so as not to crush her, but staying joined to her, feeling how the hot fluid began to slide slowly outward while he continued pulsing inside.
"Fuuuck…" he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of vanilla mixed with the raw smell of sex. "Fuck, Miyeon… you've left me empty."
She let out a weak little laugh, an exhausted and satisfied sound. Her arms surrounded him languidly, stroking his wet back with slow fingers.
"You're the one who did that to me…" she murmured, closing her eyes while the residual pleasure continued to course through her nerves. "I feel… complete."
He pulled away slightly to look at her. Miyeon was radiant; her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes had that haze of satisfaction only an intense orgasm can leave. She looked vulnerable, broken, and surrendered. To him, that image was the ultimate definition of success.
He watched her for a few seconds, feeling a wave of tenderness mixed with that toxic possessiveness that defined him. He reached out to brush a stray lock of damp hair from her forehead, touching her skin delicately.
"You're fucking perfect," he told her in a whisper. "You have no idea how much I want you all to myself."
"I know…" she responded, giving him a sweet smile that revealed nothing more. "And I'm yours. Only yours."
He smiled, feeling like the most powerful man in the world. He slid out of her with a wet, sticky sound, feeling the loss of internal heat as a small grief. Both stayed there, entangled in the tangled and stained sheets, enjoying the afterglow. The air in the room was no longer charged with sexual tension, but with a dense and intoxicating peace.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting exhaustion wash over him. As he felt the weight of Miyeon's body against his and the smell of sex floating in the air, he convinced himself that this was the peak of his life. He had the apartment, he had the career, and he had the most desired woman in the country surrendered in his bed. There were no cracks in his world. No doubts.
"I'm going to shower," he whispered after a few minutes, kissing the tip of her nose. "Want me to join you?"
"You go first… I want to stay like this for a moment," she responded in a sleepy voice, settling against the pillow while watching him leave with an expression of absolute serenity.
He got up, feeling the cold air conditioning hit his sweaty skin, but he didn't care. He walked toward the bathroom with the satisfaction of someone who has won every battle. In that moment, as he closed the door behind him, he was completely blind to the reality waiting for him on the nightstand.
The hot water fell over his shoulders like a waterfall, washing away the sweat and remnants of the encounter. Steam filled the black marble bathroom, creating a dense white atmosphere that enveloped everything. He stood there, leaning against the cold tile wall, letting the stream hit the nape of his neck while he closed his eyes.
He felt light. Almost ethereal.
It was that feeling of fulfillment that only comes after a powerful orgasm and the certainty of having life figured out. As he ran the sponge over his body, the smell of expensive soap mixed with the residual scent of Miyeon that still seemed clung to his skin. He smiled to himself. Everything was in its place. The apartment, the professional success… and her.
"Damn, I'm a lucky man," he whispered to himself, his voice echoing in the empty bathroom.
He looked at himself in the fogged-up mirror, sliding his hand across the glass to clear a strip and observe his reflection. His eyes were bright and his expression was one of absolute satisfaction. He felt like the owner of the world—or at least, the owner of the only thing that mattered in this world. There were no doubts in his mind. Miyeon's surrender, her pleas in bed, the way she clung to him… all of that was irrefutable proof that she was as hooked on him as he was on her.
He left the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, letting the cold air of the bedroom hit his still-damp skin. Upon entering, the scene was almost like a painting.
Miyeon lay in the middle of the tangled sheets, her hair spread across the pillow like strands of dark silk. Her eyes were closed and she had a languid smile on her lips—the very image of post-coital peace. The dim light from the side lamps highlighted the paleness of her skin and the natural flush that still lingered in her cheeks.
He approached slowly, feeling his heart beat with a rhythmic and satisfying calm. He sat on the edge of the mattress, watching her with an almost animal pride.
"Still alive?" he asked softly, brushing his fingers against the curve of her ankle.
Miyeon let out a lazy moan and opened one eye, looking at him with a tenderness that tightened his chest.
"Barely…" she murmured, stretching an arm to try and reach him. "You left me exhausted. I don't think I can move for the next hour."
He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her forehead. Her skin was cool now, but it still gave off that scent of vanilla that drove him crazy.
"You deserve it for provoking me so much," he replied, lowering his hand to stroke her thigh slowly. "You look beautiful like this… so relaxed. So mine."
Miyeon sighed and closed her eyes again, settling deeper into the pillows.
"I'm yours… I've already told you a thousand times," she responded in an almost imperceptible whisper, her voice dragged by sleep.
He stayed there for a moment, enjoying the silence. It was that kind of comfortable silence where words weren't necessary because everything was implied. He felt invincible. In his mind, he had built a fortress around their relationship, a bubble of luxury and pleasure that nothing could penetrate. He had bought the best apartment in the city so she would be comfortable; he had ensured she lacked for nothing, and in exchange, he had her absolute devotion.
Or so he believed while watching her sink further into the mattress, surrendering to the lethargy of exhaustion.
"I'm thirsty," Miyeon said suddenly, opening her eyes with a trace of drowsiness. "Can you bring me a glass of water? Please…"
He nodded without thinking, getting up from the edge of the bed.
"Sure, babe. Don't move."
As he walked toward the kitchen, he couldn't help but think about how perfect his life was at that instant. Everything fit. Her public image as a perfect idol and her private reality as his submissive and devoted woman. It was the ideal balance.
Upon returning with the glass of cold water, Miyeon had already sat up slightly, leaning her back against the headboard of the bed. Her phone, which until then had been forgotten on the nightstand, suddenly lit up with a notification. The short, dry sound of the message broke the quiet of the room.
He set the glass on the table, right next to the device. In that moment, the screen illuminated, revealing a fragment of text that remained visible before the screen protector darkened again.
The sender wasn't a friend or a relative. It was the CEO of her agency.
The glass of water was still in his hand, but the world seemed to stop dead. The white glow of the screen lit up the marble surface of the nightstand, and although it was only for a couple of seconds, it was enough for the words to be seared into his retinas.
The message wasn't a professional instruction. It was a disgusting declaration of ownership.
"I love seeing you like this… freshly used. That photo is fucking perfect; you can tell you got laid hard and it drives me crazy knowing it. Come to my office tomorrow, private session. Don't forget the black dress we used last time."
His heart gave a violent thud against his ribs, as if someone had hit the door of his chest with a sledgehammer. The air became thick, unbreathable. He felt the coldness of the water glass transfer to his fingers, but it was no longer refreshing; it was a frigid void that ran up his arm until he was numb.
"What the fuck is this?" he whispered, though his own voice sounded strange and distant, as if coming from another plane.
His eyes didn't leave the darkened screen, but the words were still there, burning in his brain. Freshly used.
He felt a bitter, metallic taste rise in his throat. Nausea hit him with physical force. He quickly remembered: a few minutes ago she had moved in bed while he was in the bathroom… had she taken a photo? Had she captured that state of languor, that residual wetness and the flush he himself had caused, to send it to another man?
The idea was devastating. Miyeon wasn't just cheating on him; she was using sex with him as a prelude or an accessory to excite the CEO. He felt reduced to a tool, a simple heater preparing the merchandise so the real owner could enjoy the final result.
"Is something wrong?" Miyeon asked.
He jumped. The glass of water trembled slightly in his hand, causing some liquid to spill onto the table, wetting the base of the phone. He turned his head slowly to look at her. She was still there, leaning against the pillows, with that expression of serenity and sweetness that now felt repulsive to him. She looked like a perfect porcelain doll, but now he could see the seams, the filth hidden under the glaze.
"No… nothing," he replied, though his voice sounded husky, forced, almost like a growl. "Just… I got distracted for a second."
He looked back at the phone. The message had disappeared when the screen locked, but the image of the words "freshly used" kept floating in his mind. Rage began to bubble in his stomach, a toxic mix of humiliation and wounded possessiveness.
"Drink your water," he said, extending the glass with a mechanical movement.
Miyeon took it, giving him a small, distracted smile. There was no trace of guilt in her eyes, no nervousness. That naturalness was what fucked him up the most; the ease with which she could go from moaning his name in bed to sending "used" photos to the man who managed her career.
"Thanks, love," she murmured, taking a sip while avoiding looking him directly in the eyes.
He stood there, watching her. Suddenly, the scent of vanilla he loved so much began to smell like betrayal and foreign secretions. Miyeon's white skin no longer seemed ethereal; it seemed like the skin of someone who belonged to another, a pet that simply returned home to rest before going back to its owner.
What else is on that phone? How many photos has she taken while I thought we were in our most intimate moment?
The questions were like needles stabbing his temples. He felt an unbearable pressure in his chest, a visceral desire to scream, to shake her and force her to confess every disgusting detail of that "private session."
"You've gone quiet again," she commented, setting the glass on the table with a sharp sound. "Are you okay? You have a… strange look on your face."
He felt his jaw tighten so much it was almost about to crack. He stared at her, trying to find any crack in her expression, any trace of the "black dress" mentioned in the message. But Miyeon only looked at him with that exasperating calm—a calm he now knew was the mask of a professional liar.
"I'm fine," he lied, though inside he felt something had definitively broken. "I'm just tired."
He turned to walk away, but his eyes fell on the phone again. The temptation was a powerful and cruel magnet. The desire to know how far the degradation of their relationship went was stronger than any remaining trace of trust. He knew that if he unlocked that device, the bubble of perfection would burst into a thousand pieces, but he no longer cared. He preferred the pain of truth over the disgust of being the idiot who supported her while she gave herself to another.
The words "freshly used" repeated in his head like a destructive mantra. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the mental image of Miyeon taking a photo while he was in the shower, capturing the trace of his own semen on her skin to send it to another man. The humiliation was an acid burning his insides; it wasn't just sexual betrayal, it was a mockery. He had been turned into the pre-game toy, the warm-up tool so the CEO could enjoy the final result.
He stood by the bed, pretending he was simply processing exhaustion, but his eyes were glued to the phone. The device rested on the nightstand, small and silent, guarding secrets that had the power to reduce his world to ashes.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Miyeon asked, setting down the glass with a dull sound. "You look very pale."
He didn't respond immediately. He felt his palms begin to sweat, a cold, sticky moisture that made his fingers tremble slightly. The pulse hammered in his temples, a frantic rhythm that clouded his judgment.
"Yes… I just need a moment," he lied, looking down at the floor to keep her from seeing the rage and desperation in his eyes.
Miyeon let out a soft sigh and settled deeper into the sheets, closing her eyes as she surrendered to the languor of sleep. She was vulnerable, given over to rest, fully trusting that the man beside her was the same naive idiot from an hour ago.
He took advantage of that instant. With a slow, almost surgical movement, he extended his hand toward the phone. His fingers brushed the cold glass of the device and he felt an electric shock run up his arm. He grabbed the mobile with cautious speed, making sure the noise didn't alert Miyeon.
As he held it, he noticed his hands were shaking violently. His heart was beating so hard he felt it might jump out of his chest; the sound was a deafening drum in his ears. He unlocked the screen and saw the notification again, though he no longer needed to read it. It was there like an open scar: the invitation to the "private session" and the mention of the black dress.
"Damn it…" he whispered through grit teeth, feeling his jaw tighten to the limit.
He tried to enter the messaging app, but the phone asked for a password. A digital wall standing between him and the absolute truth. His fingers flew over the numbers, trying the most obvious dates: their anniversary, her birthday… nothing worked.
He felt a visceral, almost animal urgency to break that lock. It wasn't just curiosity; it was the need to know how long he had been the fool in this story. He wanted to read every vulgar word the CEO said to her, he wanted to see the photos she sent, he wanted to know if she laughed at him while writing those messages. The idea that Miyeon could be mocking his "love" and "protection" drove him crazy.
When was the last time she was in that car? How many times has she worn that black dress while I thought she was in a work meeting?
Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and the air became suffocating. He felt like an intruder in his own room, a spy in his own life. As he tried to crack the code, his eyes never stopped watching Miyeon. She still had her eyes closed, but every time she let out a sigh or moved slightly among the sheets, he held his breath, freezing in place as if any movement could trigger an alarm.
"Fuuuck… tell me what the code is, damn it," he muttered in a desperate whisper.
He tried one more combination, feeling how the accumulated tension in his neck caused a stabbing pain. He was about to try restarting the phone or finding some other way in when he heard Miyeon stir.
She let out a small moan, a lazy and sweet sound that now felt irritating. She turned on her side, slowly opening her eyes and looking toward where he was.
Panic hit him like an electric shock. In a reflex action, he slid the phone back onto the nightstand with a brusque movement, almost knocking it over, just as she focused her sight. His heart leapt into his throat and he felt the air escape from his lungs.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice still husky from sleep but charged with sudden curiosity.
He froze, hand still suspended in the air, feeling cold sweat run down his back. Miyeon's gaze moved from him to the phone and back to his eyes. The silence that followed was unbearable—a dense void where every second weighed a ton.
He knew he was one move away from everything exploding, but the truth had already begun to leak poison into his system. There was no going back; trust had evaporated, and all that remained was a cold, calculating rage.
The silence lingered a second longer than it should have, a dense void that seemed to vibrate between them. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs, a dull, frantic thumping he feared she could hear. His hand still trembled slightly, skin cold and damp from panic sweat.
"Nothing…" he finally responded, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I just saw the phone light up and thought it was an important call from your manager. I didn't want to wake you."
Miyeon watched him for a few moments. Her eyes—those dark, deep orbs that had once seemed like a refuge—now looked like scanners searching for any trace of doubt. He held her gaze, though he felt the air becoming heavier with every passing second.
"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice soft, almost melodic, but with a hint of suspicion that made the hairs on his neck stand up. "I don't remember expecting any calls at this hour."
"Probably just an automatic notification," he lied, feeling the words taste like ash in his mouth. "Forget it. Go back to sleep, babe. You're exhausted."
Miyeon let out a long sigh and slowly relaxed against the pillows. The suspicion seemed to dissipate, replaced by that post-coital languor that now felt disgusting to him. She extended an arm toward him, gesturing for him to return to her side.
"Come here…" she murmured with a sweet smile—an expression of angelic purity that made the CEO's message resonate in his mind like a scream. "I feel lonely without you."
He moved mechanically. He slid under the sheets and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her against his chest. Miyeon settled in naturally, resting her head on his shoulder and letting out a sigh of satisfaction. The scent of vanilla hit him again, but this time it wasn't intoxicating; it was suffocating.
He felt the heat of her skin against his, the softness of her curves that had driven him crazy minutes ago. But now, as he held her, he couldn't stop thinking about the "black dress." He couldn't stop imagining her in the CEO's office, using this same body that was now curling up against him to satisfy another man's desires.
Freshly used.
The phrase resurfaced in his mind like acid. The irony was brutal: she was there, hugging the man who had left her "used," while likely already planning how to use that state to excite her boss. He felt like the biggest idiot in the world—a pawn in a game where he thought he was the king.
"I love you so much," Miyeon whispered against his skin, closing her eyes and kissing him softly on the collarbone.
He closed his eyes too, but not out of tiredness, rather to avoid seeing reality. His fingers tightened slightly on her waist—a gesture that seemed affectionate but was, in the background, almost possessive, an instinctive reaction to betrayal.
"I love you too…" he lied, his voice barely a husky thread.
He stayed there in silence, listening as Miyeon's breathing became slow and rhythmic until she finally fell into a deep sleep. The penthouse remained the same: luxurious, perfect, silent. The lights of Seoul continued to shine outside the window like diamonds on velvet. But for him, everything had changed.
The bubble had burst. There was no turning back.
While he felt the dead and warm weight of Miyeon on his chest, his eyes drifted toward the nightstand. The phone rested there, dark and silent, but loaded with a truth that was consuming him alive. He didn't move, nor did he say anything, but in the darkness of the room, a cold and calculating rage began to take root in his heart.
He was no longer the man in love who wanted to secure his life forever. Now he was a betrayed man who knew exactly where the enemy was.
He stayed awake for hours, hugging the body of the woman he loved and hated at the same time, waiting for dawn and thinking about what would happen the next day with Miyeon at her company.
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