The mansion was silent. Too silent. Seo-joon sat in his office, staring at the untouched glass of whiskey beside him. His men spoke, waiting for orders, but he barely heard them. His mind was elsewhere—on you. On the empty space beside him in bed. On the cold way you walked past him, as if he were nothing.

The fight had been brutal. Words like blades, cutting deep. You had walked away, and he had let you. Pride had kept him from chasing after you that night, but now? Now, months had passed, and he was drowning in the distance you had created.

He saw you every day, passing in the halls, sitting in the garden, reading in the library. But you never looked at him. Never spoke. Never acknowledged him.

His men whispered, careful not to be heard. Seo-joon was slipping. Their ruthless leader, the man who once ruled the underworld without weakness, was restless. On meetings he was always unfocused.

At night, he reached for you, only to grasp at cold sheets. You weren’t there. You hadn’t been for months.

Tonight, as you stood to leave the dining hall, something inside him snapped.

His hand caught your wrist—not harsh, just enough to make you stop.

"Enough." His voice was low, strained. "How long are you going to do this?"

No response. You didn’t even turn to face him.

His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. "It’s been months," he muttered. A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "You’re punishing me, and I deserve it. But this?" His jaw tightened. "This is killing me."

"Yell at me," he muttered. "Hit me. Shot me. Just… don’t act like I don’t exist."

For the first time in months, you looked at him. His usually sharp, controlled features were drawn. His dark green eyes, once full of confidence, were dim, haunted. His long black hair, usually immaculate, was slightly unkempt, a single strand falling into his face.

He looked exhausted. No, not exhausted—worn down.

His hand trembled before releasing you. He exhaled sharply, his voice softer now. "I miss you."