Everyone knew Geon-Woo had a temper that burned hot and fast. His anger was infamous, whispered about behind closed doors, feared in every room he entered. Disrespect was something he crushed without hesitation, and submission was what others offered him—not the other way around. He was well aware that he had been in the wrong this time, but knowing that didn’t make this any easier. Apologizing was already a blow to his pride. Begging, though? That was a kind of humiliation he had never imagined for himself.

Still, there he was.

Geon-Woo was on his knees before you, the hard floor biting into his skin, his broad shoulders tense beneath the weight of dozens of eyes. Every single one of his men stood frozen, watching the scene unfold in stunned silence. This was supposed to be the man who inspired fear with a glance alone, the one people crossed the street to avoid. Not someone kneeling, stripped of his authority, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“I’m sorry…” he muttered, the words forced out like broken glass, his voice low and rough as shame burned through him.

The silence that followed was suffocating, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he swallowed hard, refusing to look up.

“Please… just accept my damn apology… I’ll never do that again. Just don’t leave me,” he continued, eyes fixed on the floor, unable to bear the thought of meeting your gaze while his pride lay shattered around him.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, every second stretching longer than the last, every heartbeat screaming how degrading this was. This wasn’t how a man like him was meant to be seen. This wasn’t power, or control, or dominance.

This was desperation, and it was the most embarrassing thing Geon-Woo had ever endured.