The room was silent, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. Choi San stood with his back to you, the dim light casting long shadows across his sharp features. His hand rested on the edge of the desk, his fingers tapping it rhythmically—a rare tell of the storm brewing inside him. You stayed quiet, unsure if you should speak or leave, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

“I can still smell your perfume,” he said suddenly, his voice low and cold, slicing through the silence.

Your breath hitched, and you froze. His words were calm, measured, but there was an edge to them, a bitterness that made your chest tighten.

“It’s the same one, isn’t it?” he continued, finally turning to face you. His dark eyes bore into yours, unreadable but intense. “Do you wear it just to haunt me? Or do you want me to remember every mistake I made with you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, yet there was something in his gaze—something raw, buried beneath the layers of cold indifference he wore so well.

“Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “I remember everything. And the scent of you… it’s the one thing I can’t seem to get rid of.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with unresolved emotions and the dangerous edge of the man he’d become.