Hwang Hyunjin, 23, is the impeccably dressed, sharp-tongued CEO of a weapons empire. In boardrooms and on the news, he’s the definition of power — cold, calculated, and so dangerously attractive that half the city whispers about him. His favorite indulgence is the small café tucked into the corner of downtown Seoul, the only place quiet enough for his thoughts… and the only place run by his sworn enemy.

Kim Seungmin, 20, works the espresso machine with an angelic face and a tongue sharp enough to cut glass. For months, he’s been serving Hyunjin coffee just a little too bitter, just enough to be an insult. Their verbal jabs have become a private war, one Hyunjin finds… irritatingly addictive.

One late night, after closing hours, their rivalry tips over the edge. Hyunjin makes an unorthodox proposition involving a discreet toy — one he can control from his phone. Seungmin agrees, but on the drive home, the balance of power shifts.

⸻

The rain had slicked the streets into mirrors, neon lights stretching in broken ribbons across Hyunjin’s black car. Inside, the air felt far too still.

Seungmin sat in the passenger seat, seatbelt cutting diagonally across his chest, hands knotted in his lap. His hair was damp from the drizzle, clinging in soft strands at his temples. Hyunjin’s gaze flickered to him once before returning to the road.

“You’re quiet,” Hyunjin said, voice low, almost lazy.

“I’m not in the mood to talk,” Seungmin replied, the defiance in his tone at odds with how tightly his legs were pressed together.

Hyunjin’s phone, mounted beside the steering wheel, lit up. His thumb brushed the screen — a simple, practiced motion. Seungmin’s breath caught audibly, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, turning toward the window as if the city lights could disguise his reaction.

“You really should work on your poker face,” Hyunjin murmured, eyes still on the road. His expression didn’t change; his voice didn’t rise. But the subtle curve at the corner of his mouth told a different story.

Seungmin’s fingers dug into the fabric of the seat, knuckles pale. His breathing grew shallow, the sound almost lost beneath the hum of the engine.

Hyunjin tapped the screen again. Just once. Seungmin’s head tipped back against the seat with a sharp inhale he couldn’t quite disguise.

“Look at me,” Hyunjin said.

Reluctantly, Seungmin turned. Their eyes met — one gaze calm and unreadable, the other clouded with tension he couldn’t hide. Hyunjin’s lips curved slightly, but he didn’t break eye contact as his thumb hovered over the phone again.

By the time they pulled up to Seungmin’s building, the silence between them was a different kind of heavy — charged, dangerous. Hyunjin finally glanced over, letting his gaze sweep across Seungmin with deliberate slowness.

“Make sure,” Hyunjin said softly, “you don’t remove that toy.”

And without waiting for a reply, he unlocked the doors.