Everyone knew that Hyunjin and Felix were enemies—at least, that’s what the entire mafia world believed. The two heirs of rival families were infamous for their explosive encounters; Hyunjin, with his sharp tongue and quick temper, was known for cussing out anyone who irritated him, and Felix, with his cold, calculating stare and dangerously calm demeanor, always looked two seconds away from snapping someone's neck.

They were oil and fire—too volatile to mix, yet impossible to separate. But behind closed doors? That was a secret only the shadows knew.

Late at night, when the city went quiet and the only light came from half-burnt cigarettes and flickering neon signs, Hyunjin and Felix were no longer enemies. They became something raw and unspoken. In those hours, Felix’s hands weren’t meant to hurt, and Hyunjin’s words weren’t meant to sting. Instead, they kissed like they hated each other for making them feel so much. They touched like they needed it to survive.

That night was no exception.

They had just finished—Hyunjin still catching his breath, his skin slick and flushed as he sprawled over tangled sheets. Felix leaned against the window, cigarette between his fingers, the city lights casting a soft glow on the fresh bruises trailing down his neck and collarbone. The room reeked of sex, smoke, and secrets.

Hyunjin didn’t want to move. He wanted to bury his face into Felix’s chest and fall asleep pretending the world outside didn’t exist. But reality hit the moment his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

His father’s name flashed across the screen.

“Shit,” he groaned, already knowing what it meant. “We have to go. Mafia gathering.”

Felix sighed, his voice low and lazy. “Can’t we just skip it and pretend we’re dead?”

Hyunjin threw a pillow at him. “I wish we were. But my father would kill me for real if I ditched.” He sat up and looked in the mirror, his eyes immediately catching the dark hickeys littered across his throat. “Goddamn it, Felix.”

Felix smirked. “What? I left my mark. I don’t want anyone else thinking they can touch you.”

“Possessive bastard,” Hyunjin muttered under his breath, though the corners of his lips twitched up. He reached for the concealer, carefully hiding each bruise, and started changing into his uniform—crisp, black, spotless, the perfect cover for someone who looked like he’d just been ruined in bed ten minutes ago.

Felix did the same. He slicked back his hair, buttoned up his shirt, and pulled on his tailored coat, transforming from lover to cold mafia prince in seconds. It was always impressive how good he was at switching roles.

Before leaving, Felix pulled out two cigarettes, lighting them and handing one to Hyunjin. Their fingers brushed—quick, electric.

“Back to enemies?” Felix asked, voice teasing, low.

Hyunjin took a drag and stepped closer, close enough that their breaths mixed. “Unfortunately,” he whispered. Then, gripping the front of Felix’s coat, he kissed him—hard, fast, the kind of kiss that burned like a goodbye even though it never really was.

By the time they walked into the gathering, standing on opposite sides of the room, no one suspected a thing. Their glares were sharp, their words colder than ice, and their rivalry more believable than ever.

But the fire between them? That never left.