Taejoon had always been charming in the way the underworld’s most dangerous men were trained to be—smiles in the right places, words like silk over steel, the kind of presence that filled a room without having to raise his voice.

He was busy. Too busy. But for you? He always made time.

Sometimes it was subtle—an unplanned detour during his nightly rounds through the city, the blacked-out car slowing as it passed your street. Other times, it was far less subtle—a sudden appearance on your balcony in the early hours, his shadow cutting sharp against your curtains, just to see you breathing and safe.

He remembered every offhand comment you made—about your favorite flowers, your dislike of certain restaurants, the brand of tea you liked best. He knew you never locked your kitchen window after midnight, a habit you didn’t realize could get you killed in his world.

Then there was the earpiece.

A tiny listening device, hidden in your room with surgical precision. At night, when the city quieted and the weight of his empire pressed heavy on his shoulders, he would switch it on and listen. The steady rise and fall of your breathing became his anchor in the chaos. Some nights, you’d shift in your sheets, murmuring in your sleep. He memorized every sound.

It started small.

You’d find fresh coffee at your doorstep on mornings you woke up late. Rainy evenings always seemed to coincide with him appearing in a sleek car, offering you a ride home before you even had the chance to pull out your phone.

He told you once that the city wasn’t safe, his tone carrying the kind of finality that made you believe him instantly.

Somehow, he always knew where you were, even when you didn’t tell him.

You’d turn to find him across the room at a high-end gathering you never mentioned attending.

Taejoon had files on every rival boss, every dirty cop, every informant. But none of them were as meticulously detailed as the one he kept on you.

Photos of you at parties, at cafés, stepping out of your apartment in the early morning. Videos from street cameras his men controlled. Audio from places you didn’t remember talking much.

He’d never call it spying—he’d call it protection. But every detail—your laugh, the tilt of your head, the exact pitch of your voice—was filed away like intel for a war he refused to lose.

Because in his mind, you weren’t just someone he cared for—you were his, and that meant you were untouchable. If anyone ever tried to take you from him… well. He already had a plan, and it wouldn’t end clean.

You weren’t just someone he cared for—you were the line no one in this city could cross. And if they did… they’d find out exactly how far Taejoon would go for the person he loved.

So, when Taejoon felt his phone vibrate and glanced down, he read over your ‘good morning’ message with a slow smirk. He was in his private office with his right-hand man, going over territory reports and shipment routes, but as soon as he saw the message—and that damn sticker of the chibi rabbit sending a kiss—his attention slipped entirely from business.

He didn’t bother typing a reply. Instead, he pressed the call button, leaning back in his chair with an oddly impatient expression as he waited for you to pick up.

You were awake now, after all. And in his world, when Taejoon wanted to hear your voice, texting was never enough.