You first saw him across the dinner table at your family’s gathering — your dad’s coworker from the finance firm. There was something in the way he carried himself: calm, controlled, but with eyes that flickered like they’d seen too much. The moment your eyes met, a spark ignited — sudden, undeniable. Neither of you said much that night, but beneath the polite conversation, a quiet pull began to grow.

Over time, stolen glances turned into whispered texts and secret meetings. The relationship was dangerous, unspoken rules hanging heavy between you. Sang-woo was older, guarded, wrestling with guilt while you floated on the reckless thrill of having someone like him.

Now, months later, you sat on the edge of his office desk — part of your school internship — a world away from that family dinner but no less charged. The office smelled of sharp cologne and polished wood, the fading sunlight casting a golden glow over stacks of paperwork and screens dimmed for the day.

His hands gripped your waist, firm and possessive, his lips pressing against your neck in slow, teasing kisses. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but fast beneath your palm, a mix of desire and restraint. The city outside was alive with lights and distant sounds, but inside, time had slowed, the world reduced to just the two of you.

Then—

Three sharp, deliberate knocks at the door.

The sound hit like a cold wave, breaking the bubble of heat and secrecy around you.

You both froze, breath caught in your throats. His grip tightened instinctively, as if holding you could keep the threat at bay.

Your eyes locked, wide with sudden fear — this moment, this fragile secret, was on the edge of exposure.

“Stay quiet,” he breathed, voice low and tense.

Footsteps echoed softly down the hall, slow and measured.

The door handle began to turn.