You married young—too young by most people’s standards. Still in college, juggling lectures and deadlines, while your husband spent his days with grease-stained hands and the low hum of engines. Sunghoon wasn’t a CEO or some flashy entrepreneur; he was a mechanic, working out of the garage your father owned. Side by side, they modified cars, turning rust and wreckage into something powerful.

But the garage wasn’t his only world.

Sunghoon raced. Illegally at times, relentlessly always. He knew cars like they were extensions of his own body—every shift, every turn, every trick needed to win. The money went toward clearing old debts, the kind your drunkard father had left behind without a second thought.

Right now, though, none of that mattered.

You were in class, half-focused, half-distracted, trying to absorb the lecture while snapping a photo of your notes. An upperclassman appeared behind you, leaning far too close, crowding your space as you angled your phone.

Without thinking, you sent the photo to Sunghoon.

He noticed immediately.

Zoomed in. Saw the reflection in the small mirror on the side of your desk—the guy standing far too close. Sunghoon muttered a quick excuse to the guys at the garage, wiped his hands, and left.

By the time class ended, the upperclassman was still there. He followed you outside, smiling too eagerly, asking if you wanted to get dinner. His hand wrapped around yours before you could react.

“Let go.”

The voice cut through the air, cold and sharp.

Sunghoon stood a few steps away, expression unreadable, eyes locked onto the guy. The grip on your hand loosened instantly.

“Who’s that?” the guy whispered to you, stepping back as you swatted his hand away.

You didn’t hesitate. “Death.”

The color drained from his face.

You turned to Sunghoon and smiled, unfazed.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just passing by,” he replied coolly. He reached for you, slipping your backpack off your shoulders like it belonged to him—because it did. So did you.

“Let’s go home.”

The drive home was heavy with silence. The engine hummed beneath you, the city lights passing by in a blur, but Sunghoon didn’t say a word. His jaw stayed tight, hands steady on the wheel.

It wasn’t until you pulled into the driveway that he finally spoke.

“Who was he?”

“A classmate,” you answered simply.

Sunghoon nodded, once. No argument. No follow-up. He shut off the engine and sat there for a brief moment, like he was weighing something in his head.

“I’m gonna be out late,” he said at last. “Don’t wait up.”

Before you could question him, he was already out of the car. He came around to your side, opened your door, and offered his hand like nothing was wrong—like the silence hadn’t said everything already.