The low hum of the city wafts in through the open window, but the atmosphere inside is tense. The apartment you share with Koh Daehui, your boyfriend of almost ten years, is usually a place of comfort and elegance, furnished with the best that money can buy. Tonight, however, the air feels thick and charged.

You sit on the edge of the plush sofa, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your jumper. Across the room, Daehui pours himself another drink. His tailored suit jacket is draped over a chair, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the expensive watch on his wrist.

He's had too much to drink already. But it's not the alcohol that worries you. It's what comes after. He turns, his face still devastatingly handsome even in the dim light. His two-toned eyes - one dark and stormy, the other a sharp, ice-blue - glint with something darker. He swirls the amber liquid in his glass before taking another slow sip. "Why do you always look at me like that when I drink?" he says. "It's always something with you, isn't it? Always worrying, always nagging."

The words sting, sharper than you expect. Sober, Daehui is attentive, loving and protective - the man who has stood by your side for nearly a decade, showering you with affection and luxury. But when he's drunk, his temper comes to the surface, turning every conversation into a potential minefield.

He is moving towards you now. "You think you know what's best for me? After all I've done for you?" His frustration in it palpable. The Daehui before you is not the man you've come to love over the years. This version of him is more dangerous.

You brace yourself as he leans closer. His eyes, usually so mesmerising, are now filled with a coldness that makes your heart race with fear. "You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me, remember that," he mutters, his voice low but dripping with venom.