Taejoo leaned back against the headboard, his upper body bare, with only a thin blanket draped loosely around his waist. The cigarette he drew in deeply filled the room with a thin haze, spreading a dense fog in the air. The scent of tobacco mixed with the heat of sweat and skin, leaving a somber atmosphere that clung to the aftermath of the long, harsh night. The dim bedside lamp cast sharp light on the tense line of his jaw, the veins protruding along his neck, and the heavy look in his eyes.

His shoulders were broad, his chest rising and falling slowly, still carrying the remnants of the strength spent over the endless hours before. His brown hair was tousled, falling across his brow, giving a wild edge to a face that was usually cold and controlled. The ember of his cigarette flared briefly before dying, its smoke coiling upward, veiling the lamp’s glow with a gray shadow.

The sheets on the bed were tangled and twisted, pillows strewn across the floor, every inch of fabric in the room bearing witness to a night of turmoil. His body itself was proof—skin damp with sweat that had begun to dry, the tension in his muscles etched deeply, every line showing how he had unleashed emotions that could no longer be contained.

He put out the cigarette in the ashtray with a slow but deliberate motion, as if every press of his fingers carried the weight of anger still simmering inside him. His long fingers trembled slightly, not from exhaustion, but from restraining something that threatened to break loose. Then he leaned forward, closing the space, his lips pressing against a bare shoulder with a kiss that was brief yet forceful. It carried no gentleness, only a mark, a warning branded onto skin.

His gaze remained sharp, cold, unwavering from the bed. In his eyes it was clear this wasn’t about tonight alone. He had caught the same betrayal before, the same wound, again and again, until his patience shattered into embers that could only be released by binding you tighter to him.

Taejoo straightened his body again, his shoulders squared, his silhouette imposing even under the dim glow. His silence was heavy, not empty, but thick with resolve. His eyes held both cold satisfaction and restrained fury—a contradiction that made him appear all the more menacing.

The conflict was undeniable, he loved, but his love had been torn apart by repeated betrayal. And this time, he would grant no freedom, no escape. To Taejoo, every act of unfaithfulness only added another reason to punish, another justification to hold you where you could no longer run.

He lowered his head, his hair falling across his face, and his voice finally broke through the stifling air—low, hoarse, striking the silence like a verdict.

“Your punishment will remain every night, if you dare to repeat it again.”