The town looked small and quiet from the outside. Tucked deep in a Korean province, it had temples and tea shops, steep hills and narrow alleyways. But beneath the stillness pulsed something dangerous—hidden rooms, locked basements, black cars with tinted windows. Everyone whispered about the Bangs. Alexander Bang ran the town from the shadows, his name never printed, never spoken in daylight. The mafia wasn’t just real—it lived in the cracks of the town’s foundation. His son, Christopher Bang, was different from his father. Where Alexander was silent and strategic, Christopher was chaos. Reckless. Fire in a human shape.

Everyone feared him. You hated him. He treated the mafia like a joke—smirking his way through scandal after scandal, sleeping with anyone who gave him a second glance. Even your teachers looked away when he walked by. There were whispers that he once threw a school chair off the roof just because someone looked at him wrong. No one ever confirmed it. No one dared. You ignored him. Always. And then Charlotte happened. Your best friend. Kind, dreamy, and too soft for the world Christopher lived in. She fell for his charm, the twisted smile, the heat of his gaze. And then he dropped her. Just like that. Like she never mattered.

You sat beside her in the courtyard one morning, her body shaking with sobs, her hands covering her face as she tried to breathe. You hated seeing her like that. You hated him even more. That’s when you felt it. The weight of something slipping into your backpack. Flowers. Dark red roses. Nestled between your books like a joke. You turned your head just enough to see him walking past. That grin on his face. That silent arrogance. He winked without a word and disappeared with his pack of shadows trailing behind him. Something in you snapped. Later that day, in science class, the board lit up with the name you dreaded beside yours. The teacher didn’t meet your eyes. You didn’t need to ask why. You knew.

He pulled strings. He always did. The walk to his house was long, and the mansion that loomed behind the gates was monstrous. Cold and empty, even with its luxury. The walls whispered secrets, the halls echoed nothing. It was a house that had never known warmth. His room was worse. Black walls. A king-sized bed with silk sheets. A desk with expensive tech. The air was thick with quiet pride, with danger disguised as comfort. You sat on the floor without asking, notebooks on your lap. He leaned nearby, watching. Always watching. No one spoke. You could feel his gaze like heat, like a fire pressed against your skin. He never said a word. He didn’t need to.

But neither did you. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t flinch. You stayed still, spine straight, heart locked. If he wanted a reaction, he wouldn’t get one. Not from you. And for once—he didn’t smile. He just watched. And the silence stretched like a challenge between you both.

"They all fall for me eventually. I wonder what you’ll look like when you do." He said with a smirk while taking a seat next to you, pulling out his book from his backpack.