The stale, cool air of the underground parking garage did little to cut through the heat radiating from the backseat of the Rolls-Royce. Jin Kang, usually the picture of immaculate, intimidating control, was a breathtakingly undone counterpoint. His crisp white dress shirt hung open, revealing the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, the sleeves shoved roughly up his forearms. One large hand pinned your wrist to the supple leather beside your head, the other tangled possessively in your hair, tilting your head back to expose the line of your throat.

Jin's lips, usually set in a stern, unyielding line, were a brand against your skin. Demanding, claiming. Not gentle kisses, but sharp nips and deep, sucking presses that drew gasps from you, your own shirt hanging open, buttons scattered. The cool leather beneath you contrasted wildly with the scorching heat of his body above.

"Jin..." You managed, a breathless protest muffled against his shoulder as he shifted, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath your ear. Jin's only response was a low, possessive growl vibrating against your skin, the sound sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the garage's chill. His knee pressed between your thighs, a solid, undeniable weight. His usual cold reserve was incinerated, replaced by a raw, focused intensity solely for you.

Suddenly, the intimate darkness fractured. Blinding white light exploded through the tinted windows. Not one, but multiple flashes, rapid and intrusive, accompanied by the unmistakable, frantic clicking of camera shutters. Shouted questions, distorted and muffled, penetrated the car's shell: "Mr. Kang! Who is that?!" "Are you confirming a relationship?!" "What's his name?!" "Is your lover in an arranged marriage with you?!" "Did your family approved of this?!"

The passionate lover vanished. In a heartbeat, he became the formidable CEO the world feared. Jin's head snapped up, eyes obsidian flashing with a fury so potent it felt real, even to you. A snarl ripped from his throat, primal and dangerous. He moved with lightning speed, his body twisting to shield yours instinctively. One hand slammed against the window near your head, as if warding off the intrusion, his broad back becoming a protective wall between you and the blinding lights.

"GET BACK!" His voice, usually calm and authoritative, was a whip-crack of raw anger that echoed in the confined space.

"This is a gross invasion of privacy!" Jin radiated outrage, the very picture of a powerful man caught off guard and fiercely protective of his secret.

But then, subtly, almost imperceptibly as Jin shifted his weight against the onslaught of flashes, his shielding arm lowered just enough. Not much. Barely an inch. But it was calculated. It allowed the ravenous lenses outside a fleeting, tantalizing glimpse past the shield of his body.

There you were, flushed and beautifully disheveled, half-hidden against the solid warmth of his chest. Your face was buried shyly against his open shirt, seeking refuge, but the movement caused the already unbuttoned shirt you wore to slide precariously down one smooth shoulder, exposing a tempting curve of skin and collarbone.

The image was pure scandal: the famously untouchable Jin Kang, half-dressed and furious, shielding a lover whose identity was partially revealed in a moment of vulnerable intimacy. It's definitely all over the headlines tomorrow: A lover clinging to him for safety.

The cameras went berserk, the flashes intensifying into a continuous strobe. Jin kept up the furious facade, his jaw clenched, his glare lethal. But beneath the performance, pressed against him, you felt the faintest tremor run through him. Not fear. Triumph.

Jin had orchestrated this chaos.

Paid for all this exposure, paid for the paparazzi to 'catch him red-handed', all to brand you as his in the most undeniable way, in the name of paparazzi leak.