Chapter 4 : The Party
The mansion pulsed with noise, laughter too sharp, glasses clinking like brittle bones, conversations thick with smiles that never quite touched the eyes.
Yeri steadied the tray in her hands, her fingers trembling slightly. The dress Soojin had squeezed her into felt too tight around her ribs, and the heels pinched with every step. Still, she kept her face calm and distant. Invisible.
She had become good at blending into the background. Safe in the shadows.
Across the room, Yunjun stood with a glass of whiskey, his jaw tight. Men surrounded him, talking, laughing, and gesturing as if they owned the world. He wasn't laughing.
His eyes kept drifting toward her.
She looked away, pretending she didn't notice, pretending she didn't feel *him*.
Then he approached.
Kang Daeho. His silver hair was slicked back too neatly, and his smile was a little too sharp. He smelled of expensive cologne and something colder underneath, like rusted metal hidden beneath silk.
"Ah, what's this?" he said, his voice smooth as ice. His fingers brushed against hers while she poured his drink. They didn't move away. "Yunjun-ssi never mentioned he had such a pretty little helper."
Yeri stiffened.
She pulled back, but not fast enough.
His hand clamped around her wrist.
"Leaving so soon?" His thumb pressed into her skin, too hard and too familiar. "A girl like you should know how to be accommodating."
Her heart thudded against her ribs. The room dimmed at the edges.
*Don't react. Don't give him anything.*
She focused on her hands, but her breath became shaky, uneven.
Then—
**"Let go of her."**
The voice was low, dangerous.
Daeho's smirk faltered. He turned, still holding her wrist. "Yunjun-ssi, come now. I was just—"
He didn't finish.
In an instant, Yunjun crossed the room and his fist cracked into Daeho's face.
The tray clattered to the floor.
Blood sprayed. Daeho hit the ground.
Yunjun yanked him up again, fury burning in his eyes.
**"You don't touch her."**
Another punch.
**"You don't *look* at her."**
Daeho tried to speak, choking on blood.
**"You don't even *breathe* near her."**
Silence swallowed the room. No one moved. No one dared.
Yeri stood frozen. Her wrist throbbed where Daeho had gripped it.
Yunjun's knuckles were torn, blood dripping down his hand. His voice was rough when he turned to his men. "Basement. Now."
The guards moved to drag Daeho away.
Then he looked at her.
Just looked.
And for a moment, the mask cracked.
She saw it—rage, fear, *regret*.
He stepped toward her. The crowd parted around him as if they couldn't bear the weight of his presence.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice barely more than a breath.
She shook her head.
He reached out, then stopped himself. His hand hovered near her arm, uncertain.
"Go upstairs," he said quietly. "You're done for the night."
She didn't argue. She didn't thank him. She just walked away.
---
**Later that night**, in the quiet of his study, Yunjun pressed a shaking hand to his face.
His heartbeat hadn't slowed. His knuckles burned.
What had he done?
He hadn't lost control like that in years. Not since—
The door creaked open.
He turned.
Yeri stood there, barefoot. Her hair down. The stiffness of the dress gone, replaced with something softer, quieter. She looked young and tired.
He swallowed hard. "You should be resting."
She didn't answer. She just stepped in and shut the door.
The silence stretched.
Then—
"Why did you do that?"
Her voice wasn't accusing. It was just honest.
Yunjun stared at the amber swirl in his glass. "Because he had no right."
She tilted her head slightly. "Men like him always think they do."
He looked up.
She was watching him carefully.
"You didn't have to stop him," she said. "You could have ignored it. No one would have said a word."
He blinked. His throat tightened.
"I would have," he said softly. "I would have said plenty."
Something shifted in her expression.
He saw it now—the exhaustion in her posture, the way her fingers tugged at her sleeves as if she were holding herself together thread by thread.
He set the glass down. "I'm sorry."
Her brow furrowed. "For what?"
"For all of it. Bringing you here. Ignoring what that meant." He paused. "For how I looked at you when you first arrived. Like you were something I could use."
She didn't flinch. She just listened.
Then—quietly—"Why did you bring me here?"
The question he'd been avoiding.
He looked down. "At first… you reminded me of someone."
She hesitated. "Who?"
"My mother."
Her eyes widened a little.
He gave a bitter smile. "She left when I was twelve. No note. No goodbye. Just gone."
He shook his head. "When I saw you that day, you had her eyes. That quiet sort of defiance. Like the world couldn't quite touch you." He looked at her again. "But I was wrong. You're not her."
She was still. "You hated me."
"I did." He didn't pretend otherwise.
Silence.
Then—
"Do you still?"
The question hit him harder than he expected.
He let out a shaky breath. "No," he said. "*God*, no."
Her lips parted.
Slowly—*so slowly*—he reached out, fingers brushing the faint bruise on her wrist.
She didn't pull away.
His voice dropped. "I don't want to hurt you. Not ever again."
Her eyes filled, but she didn't cry.
She just let him see.
And somehow, that was more intimate than anything else could have been.
---
**Down the hallway**, Soojin leaned against the wall, her fists clenched.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Her brother was unraveling.
And she knew exactly who was pulling the thread.
She smiled, cold.
*This isn't over.*
To be continued.....
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