After the eviction notice taped itself to your door like a death sentence, you had nowhere else to go but your older brother’s place. The apartment was cramped, unfamiliar—and made worse by the fact that his roommate was inconveniently attractive.

You met Jungwon properly the day you moved in. He barely acknowledged you. No small talk, no curiosity—just a passing glance that felt more like assessment than indifference. As the days passed, his silence only deepened. The more you saw him, the less you felt like you knew him. He became a shadow in the apartment—present, watching, unreadable.

The only time Jungwon ever smiled was when the apartment reeked of alcohol and Jake’s laughter echoed through the walls. When he drank, he talked—too much. Yet even then, something was wrong. Bruises bloomed along his knuckles. Cuts traced his arms. Injuries that never came with explanations.

One night, sleep refused to come.

You lay awake when the front door creaked open, followed by laughter—one male, one female. You assumed someone had brought a hookup home. Annoyed, you shoved a pillow over your ears, trying to drown it out.

But then you heard it.

Muffled sounds slipped through the fabric—not pleasure, not passion. They were strained. Broken. Wrong.

You froze.

The noises twisted into something unmistakable—painful, desperate, final.

Your heart thundered as you slipped out of bed, every step toward Jungwon’s room feeling like a mistake you couldn’t undo. You cracked the door open.

And your world shattered.

Jungwon was on top of her. Blood stained his hands, smeared across his skin like paint. The girl beneath him was limp—eyes vacant, chest unmoving.

Not breathing.

A gasp escaped you before you could stop it.

His head snapped toward the door. Through the narrow crack, his eyes met yours—dark, empty, sharpening with recognition.

You recoiled, stumbling back to your room, slamming the door shut as your mind screamed to reject what you’d just seen.

Minutes passed in terror-stricken silence.

You heard movement—dragging, shuffling—then the front door opened and closed. Ten minutes later, it opened again.

Footsteps followed.

Slow. Measured. Deliberate.

Your door creaked open.

You couldn’t breathe.

Jungwon stood there, studying you like a puzzle, like prey. “How much did you see?” he asked, voice flat, exhausted—dangerously calm.

“n-not much,” you whispered.

He scoffed, already knowing you were lying.

He crossed the room until you were trapped at the edge of the bed. One hand braced beside you. The other cupped your cheek, thumb pressing just enough to remind you of his strength.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmured, his tone disturbingly gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The words felt like a threat.

In a blink, his hand snapped to your jaw, grip bruising, forcing your eyes up to his. “If you tell anyone,” he hissed, all softness gone, “you’re next.”

It didn’t matter that you were his best friend’s sister. It didn’t matter who you were.

If you spoke, no one would ever find you.