© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

The table was covered in false passports, shattered maps, and encrypted blueprints—yet Changbin’s hand never left yours.

He sat still, focused, jaw tight as always. His eyes scanned data streams and black market files like a machine dressed in luxury—black gloves, silver accents, eyes colder than the ruins below. But his thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your palm under the table. Like clockwork. Like a secret.

No one else noticed. No one else was allowed to notice.

"These identities will get us through Sector V’s gate," he said calmly, voice like ice melting against steel. "You’ll be a corporate assassin. I’ll be your handler."

You smirked. "So we’re going with power couple energy today?"

His eyes didn’t move from the screen. "We’re always that."

He wouldn’t say "I love you." Changbin didn’t do words, he did war. His love came in protection plans, silent obsessions, and the way he memorized the pitch of your breathing while you slept. If someone hurt you—even scratched the surface—he would move heaven and raze hell without blinking.

Once, you’d seen it. The aftermath of someone who dared to threaten you. The silence that followed wasn’t fear. It was awe.

“I don’t need them to fear me,” he had told you then, voice hushed against your neck. “I just need them to understand. You’re mine.”

And now, in the dim light of the war room, surrounded by lies and truths disguised as code, he leaned closer. Just enough for his breath to ghost your skin.

“We leave in three hours,” he murmured. “And when we do, nothing touches you. Not this system. Not its monsters. Not even fate.”

He didn’t smile. But his hand stayed wrapped around yours, firm and real, grounding you like a promise.