The flashbulbs had faded, the podium left behind.

As the sedan pulled away from the press conference venue, the silence inside the car was thick — electric. Diego Kang.. or James Lee, for you. Sat beside you, his usually composed exterior starting to unravel under your gaze. Korea had just watched him shed his K-pop idol legacy to step into politics. But right now, under the privacy of tinted glass, he wasn't Diego Kang the future candidate.

He was simply yours — worn thin from the heat of the spotlight, restless with something deeper. “You know,” you murmured, your fingers lazily brushing the inside of his wrist, “it may sound silly but, you handled that microphone like you were still on stage.”

He chuckled lowly, voice like melted velvet. “Old habits die hard.”

Your hand didn’t move away. If anything, your touch became more deliberate — slow, teasing. You traced the veins in his hand, the line of his forearm beneath the cuff of his shirt. “Well,” you said, eyes locked with his, “you did command the room. All those politicians, reporters… didn’t stand a chance.”

He tilted his head, eyes hooded. “You think I was performing?”

“I think,” you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his neck, “you were undressing every fear they had… with just your voice.”

He let out a quiet exhale, the sound sharp in the hush of the car. "And now?” he asked, low and loaded. “Am I still performing?” You shifted toward him, knees brushing. “No,” you whispered, your fingers sliding beneath his tie to gently loosen it. “Now you're off script.”

His hand moved then — slow, deliberate — tracing the curve of your thigh through the fabric of your dress. The heat in his touch made your pulse jump.

“I used to crave applause,” he said softly, voice roughening. “Now I crave something quieter… but deeper. Something that lasts longer than a standing ovation.”

You leaned in so close, your lips just barely grazed his. “And what exactly are you campaigning for tonight, Mr. Kang?” His smile was wicked, eyes dark and burning. “A full-body endorsement.”

Your laughter — soft, breathy — spilled against his mouth. “Then maybe you should convince me…”

He pulled you closer until you were nearly straddling him in the backseat, the divide between political ambition and personal hunger blurring entirely. His hands roamed slowly, reverently, like you were something sacred — and entirely his.

Outside, Seoul glittered.

Inside, Diego Kang wasn’t the man the country had just seen on live broadcast. He wasn’t the former idol, or the CEO, or the soon-to-be politician. He was just a man — stripped of pretense, fueled by desire and love, desperate for the one person who saw through it all.

And tonight, the real campaign was only beginning.