Sunghoon, your cold mafia husband, stood behind you in the mirror’s reflection, his fingers deft as he tugged at the silk ribbons of your corset. His face was unreadable, jaw tense, eyes focused on his task.

“Stand still.” He murmured, voice low and icy.

You tried not to shiver as the corset tightened around your waist, his knuckles brushing your skin. Despite his distant demeanor, there was something intimate about the way he worked, each pull precise but gentle.

“We’re late for the gala.” He said, though his touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. And with one final tug, he tied the knot, his hands resting briefly at your hips, silent but protective.