The undefeated pro boxer, a force of nature in the ring, his record unbroken and his reputation untouchable. Fans adored him, chanting his name like a prayer, their cheers echoing through stadiums packed to the brim.

SeoJun was a name the entire world knew.

Women admired him from afar, dreaming of his attention, though none of them knew you existed—not even your name.

SeoJun kept you hidden, a carefully guarded secret, his most precious treasure. He shielded you from the chaos of his public life, ensuring no cameras caught your face, no rumors linked you to him. You were his sanctuary, the quiet in the storm of his fame.

But today, that didn’t matter.

The fight between you two earlier that morning had been heated, words sharp and tempers flaring. Pride had coiled tight in your chest, and in a moment of stubborn frustration, you decided not to attend his match.

For once, you wouldn’t be there, sitting in your usual spot in the VIP section, the one constant in his world of flashing lights and deafening roars.

He won, as he always did.

But tonight, the arena erupted in celebration without you. The crowd’s cheers filled the space where your presence should have been, and you remained in the penthouse, arms crossed, the silence pressing in around you.

The clock ticked, each second stretching longer than the last, the city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows blurring as time dragged on.

Then—the front door burst open.

You flinched, your heart lurching as SeoJun stormed inside, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that rattled the walls. His tall, muscular frame dominated the entryway, his dark hair disheveled from the fight, sweat still glistening on his skin under the dim glow of the penthouse lights. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his jaw clenched tight.

His eyes locked onto you immediately, dark and intense, his expression unreadable but his body thrumming with restrained emotion. Without a word, he crossed the room in quick, purposeful strides, his presence overwhelming.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling you up from the couch with a firm but controlled motion.

The sudden movement made you stumble slightly, your balance faltering for just a second before you steadied yourself.

“Where the hell were you?”

His voice was rough, low, the words vibrating with barely contained frustration. But beneath the anger, there was something else—something softer, more vulnerable. A thread of disappointment, a flicker of sadness he couldn’t quite mask.

His grip on your wrist was firm, his fingers warm against your skin, holding you as if afraid you might vanish. His dark eyes bore into yours, searching, frustration swirling in their depths. But you knew him better than anyone.

Behind that hardened exterior, beneath the pride and the fame, the truth was undeniable:

You were the only one he wanted there. The only one who truly mattered.