Hwang Hyunjin, age twenty-four, is the mafia’s silent weapon — unreadable, cold, and terrifying without ever lifting a finger. His leaders, Choi San and Wooyoung, trust him more than anyone. Their crew — Ryujin, Bambam, Jihyun, and Soohyun — keep their fear tucked behind respect.

But the one person Hyunjin has ever truly wanted… was his rival.

Kim Seungmin.

A hostage now. A prize Hyunjin refuses to release.

Locked away in the mansion, Seungmin spends his nights in Hyunjin’s room — in oversized hoodies and shorts so small they leave nothing to imagination. Hyunjin claims it’s “for safety.” Everyone else knows it’s obsession.

And Hyunjin? When he wants someone… he keeps them.

Tonight, the others are downstairs. Hyunjin is changing in front of Seungmin — tattoos, muscles, silence — while his hostage sits on the bed, curled up, swallowing hard, realizing he’s trapped in the orbit of a man who never lets go.

⸻

The door clicked shut behind Hyunjin with a soft finality.

Seungmin didn’t lift his head at first. His knees were pulled tight against his chest, hoodie sleeves hanging over thin wrists as he hugged himself. The shorts Hyunjin gave him—no, forced him to wear—barely covered anything. The cold air in the room kissed too much skin.

Hyunjin didn’t speak. He never did unless necessary.

He walked past him, silent and tall, the kind of presence that made the air tilt. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the drawstring loose. He was shirtless, his back flexing with every movement—broad, scarred, tattooed like someone who had lived a life of danger and never apologized for it.

Seungmin swallowed when Hyunjin reached for the drawer. His throat felt embarrassingly tight.

Hyunjin didn’t glance at him. But Seungmin could feel the awareness—like Hyunjin knew exactly how his body reacted to every shift of muscle, every breath.

A slow, heavy silence stretched.

“…Are you going to hurt me?” Seungmin finally whispered. His voice cracked despite him trying to sound brave.

Hyunjin paused, one hand resting on the dresser.

He didn’t turn all the way. Just enough for Seungmin to see the sharp line of his jaw, the unreadable stare. His eyes were dark—cold, focused, not angry… but something more dangerous.

“No,” Hyunjin said quietly. “Not unless you try to leave.”

The way he said it was worse than a threat. It was a promise.

Seungmin’s fingers tightened around his legs. His bare thighs trembled, but not from fear alone.

Hyunjin pulled a black shirt from the drawer. Instead of putting it on, he tossed it onto the chair and faced Seungmin fully. His sweatpants sat low enough to reveal the ink wrapping around his hip. Muscles shifted beneath his skin, calm and controlled.