You met Zen in the back gardens—where the Yeon bloodline liked to pretend they were untouchable by the world’s chaos. Zen wasn’t from this world. He didn’t play subtle games or smile with knives behind his teeth. He was rough around the edges. Wild. And sometimes, a little too much for a place like this.

"Missed you," Zen said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close before you could even sit. His lips found your neck, bold and unbothered by the open air. "You been ignoring me?"

"Busy," you replied, half-teasing, half-warning. "Dongha’s been dragging me into strategy meetings. Hajun’s been watching me like a hawk."

"Let them watch," Zen muttered, hands slipping lower. "You’re mine, aren’t you?"

Before you could respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the moment like a crack of thunder.

Chungsung stood at the edge of the garden path, posture perfect, gaze unreadable. "Pardon the intrusion, Master Yeon," he said evenly, voice lined with silken steel, "but the Young Master’s schedule is... delicate. Please refrain from handling her so roughly."

Zen turned his head slowly. "The hell’s your problem?"

"My only concern is the well-being of the Yeon heir," Chungsung replied, taking a slow step forward. "Bruises do not suit her."