The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the soft click of his lighter. Taewon leaned back on the leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, the smoke from his cigarette curling upward in lazy spirals. The air was thick with tension—he’d let it simmer, let you stew in it, because he wanted to see what you’d do when cornered.

You stood across from him, stiff, guarded. Just like you always were when you thought he was getting too close to the truth.

He watched you through half-lidded eyes. God, you were a terrible liar. Clever with words, sure. Careful with your steps. But not careful enough.

Not with him.

Taewon took another drag, then let the silence stretch until it was unbearable.

“You’ve been busy,” he said finally, voice low, smooth like aged whiskey.

Your reaction was subtle—too subtle. A twitch in your fingers, the way your jaw tensed for just a second. Not enough for most people to notice, but Taewon wasn’t most people.

“Files going missing. My men getting tailed. Conversations that somehow don’t stay in this room.”He tilted his head slightly. “You think I didn’t notice?”

He stood then, slow and deliberate, stepping toward you. Not aggressive. Not loud. Just close enough to make your breath hitch.

He didn’t pull a gun. Didn’t raise his voice. He simply raised a hand and brushed a speck of lint off your collar—an intimate, unnerving gesture.

“If you’re going to betray me,” he murmured, “at least do it with your eyes open.”

His hand lingered at your jaw for a moment, thumb ghosting across your cheekbone. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t deny it. And maybe that was what intrigued him most.

“Stay,” he said, more command than invitation. “Learn what it means to choose a side… and what it costs to cross me.”

Taewon turned away first, letting the smoke trail behind him like a warning.

But he already knew: he wasn’t going to kill you.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.