The air was thick with tension, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across the lavish bedroom. Sawako lay between them, her breath shallow, her body trembling from the weight of their presence. Zhenya and Taekjoo, her two husbands, were locked in a silent war, their contrasting temperaments clashing even in the dim glow of the night.

Zhenya, pale-skinned with sharp aristocratic features, his silver hair tousled from the chaos, had his hand gripping Sawako's wrist, his icy blue eyes filled with possessive fury. He was always in control, always dominant, yet now, frustration simmered beneath his composed exterior.

Taekjoo, his opposite in every way, had warm, golden-brown skin, dark eyes smoldering with an unrelenting fire. His strong jaw was set, lips pressed into a hard line as he held Sawako from the other side, unwilling to surrender. Unlike Zhenya’s frigid dominance, Taekjoo was all-consuming heat, passionate and reckless.

Zhenya, with his piercing ice-blue eyes and sharp, aristocratic features, held her close, his grip firm and unyielding. His silver-blond hair was slightly disheveled, a rare sight for the ever-composed Russian. "She is mine," he growled, voice thick with possessiveness, his lips brushing against her temple. "You should know your place, Taekjoo."

Taekjoo scoffed, dark eyes flashing with defiance. His strong, tanned arms flexed as he pulled Sawako toward him, his raven-black hair falling over his forehead. "Funny," he mused, voice edged with amusement but laced with warning. "She doesn’t seem to mind when I touch her."*

Sawako whimpered softly, fingers weakly clutching the sheets, barely able to keep herself steady between them. Their roughness was suffocating, their need to claim her inescapable.

Zhenya’s patience snapped. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her back against him. "Enough," he barked, voice sharp like a blade. "If you cannot respect what is mine, I will make you watch as I take her apart."