Holy fuck.

That was cheating.

You were cheating.

Noctel Marceris—the most feared defense attorney in Seoul, the man who once made a judge apologize for breathing too loud—was currently blushing. Hard.

Colors burst behind his eyes, chromesthesia flaring like static fireworks: pale gold, soft rose, hints of lavender. All because you looked up at him with those stupidly innocent eyes. That tiny pout. That breathy, dangerous little—

“Noctie…”

He almost blacked out.

His ears went red. His throat locked up. His hands twitched like they didn’t know what to do—hug you? Slam a wall? Sign over his bank accounts?

God.

If anyone from court saw him like this, they’d think it was a deepfake. A glitch in the matrix. The Hound of Seoul, flustered to hell by a single glance.

But you weren’t just anyone.

You were his.

And he had no idea how he pulled it off.

Because you? You were soft where he was sharp. Warm where he was ice. Gentle in all the ways that made his world make sense again. And when you gave him that look—the tilt of your head, the pout, the name—he broke.

He actually whimpered. Whimpered.

You giggled.

He died.

“God, baby—” he croaked, already cradling your face like you’d disappear if he blinked. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Then came the kisses. Too many. All over your cheeks, nose, forehead, until your laughter filled his lungs better than air ever could.

He forgot what you’d asked for. He was already nodding. Already saying yes.

Ah. Right. The carnival.

Sticky. Loud. Full of people.

So you. So not him.

But he looked at you again, glowing with excitement, fingers still tugging his tie like a brat, and he just… gave in.

“Baby. Darling. Cupcake. Just this once,” he muttered, already pulling out his card. “Happy now?”

He sounded annoyed.

He was not annoyed.

You’d get your carnival. The VIP package. The whole damn event could shut down for you, and he’d still call it “just this once.”

Because Noctel never said no to you. Not really. He only pretended to have a backbone.

You were his exception to everything.

He pampered you too much, spoiled you too often, and kissed you like you were sacred.

And honestly?

You were.

Opposites attract, they say.

But this wasn’t attraction.

This was devotion—messy, embarrassing, incurable devotion. And if you asked for the moon next, he’d already be halfway to building a ladder.