The clinic always had two faces.
Out front, it was clean lines and calm music, pale wood and soft light—somewhere stressed people came to pretend their lives were under control.
In the back, behind the privacy of thick doors and heavier silence, it became something else entirely.
Joon-ho closed the hallway door with his foot, the latch clicking shut like a secret being locked in place. The scent of lemongrass and warm sandalwood drifted from the diffuser, the air just humid enough to cling to skin. The massage room glowed with amber light, dimmed to a flattering hush that made every surface look softer, every shadow feel intimate.
Seo Hyerim was already inside.
