Evening fell.
Slowly.
Like a threat.
Nari changed mechanically, without thinking.
Every gesture felt distant, unreal.
In the mirror, her reflection stared back at her.
Her hair still damp from the shower, her eyes swollen, her skin too pale.
She wished she could disappear.
She wished she could stop everything.
But reality struck her chest like a drum:
Tonight, I'm coming to get you. Dress well.
She shook her head.
— I'm not going…
— I won't…
— I can't anymore…
Lies again.
Even to herself.
She opened her closet.
Her fingers slid over the clothes without seeing them.
Her heart beat too fast, too hard, like before an accident, before a fall.
In the end, she slipped into her silver dress.
The one she had only worn once.
The one that traced her shoulders, her waist, her hips.
The one that made something dangerous beat inside her chest.
When the time came, she said in a strangled voice:
— I'm going out. Don't wait up.
He nodded, eyes filled with tenderness that hurt her.
— Have fun.
The Seoul wind still blew as Nari walked down the stairs of her building.
The moment she stepped outside, a black car slid along the curb like a silent predator.
The tinted windows hid the interior, but she already felt that shiver climb her spine, that familiar burn — the promise that he was there.
The back door opened with a sharp click.
Sion lifted his gaze.
And for one second, one barely noticeable heartbeat, his expression faltered.
The silver dress she wore — thin, silky, clinging to her waist and hips like a second skin — caught the streetlights and reflected them.
She glowed.
She shone.
She was no longer the shadow she had always been.
He said nothing.
But his gaze stripped her bare.
Then, slowly, a dangerous smile curved his lips:
— Did you think I was taking you to propose?
His voice was mocking, but his eyes… his eyes told another truth.
Another hunger.
Nari lowered her face, cheeks burning, her fingers tightening around her clutch.
— It was… the only dress I had…
He looked away, a barely audible breath escaping his lips.
— Gorgeous… he murmured, too low for her to be sure she heard it.
The word fell like a smothered confession.
The car slid through Seoul until it reached a restaurant too bright, too golden, too silent for them.
Crystal. Chandeliers. Marble floors where their reflections slid separately yet tied by an invisible thread.
Nari felt tiny, misplaced, foreign to the décor.
Sion, on the other hand, stood there like a damned prince — calm, sharp, confident, terrifying.
He leaned behind her, his breath brushing her ear, a burning caress:
— Don't act shy, princess.
She tapped his arm nervously and he laughed — that rare, deep laugh, the one he gave to no one.
A waiter approached with the grace of a dancer, menu in hand, velvet voice:
— Good evening, Mr. Jeon. Miss. Vintage champagne to start?
Sion simply nodded.
Bubbles rose in the glasses like the announcement of a sweet catastrophe.
Then he attacked.
— Has your boyfriend ever taken you here?
Or does he stick to takeout?
— Don't talk about him like that. I forbid you.
— He's my safety, my stability.
He tilted his head.
— That's all?
— Isn't it you who said he was exceptional in bed?
She looked away, gripping her napkin.
— He is…
— More than me?
She inhaled, her voice trembling:
— Him… I love him. It's not the same.
A flash crossed Sion's eyes — a mix of rage, jealousy, and hurt he refused to show.
His jaw tightened.
He walled himself in silence.
After dinner, outside, in front of the illuminated façade:
— Will you take me home? she asked softly.
— You really think I'm going to settle for that little?
She felt her skin shiver under the wind.
The car started again.
The ride was torture — a heavy silence, saturated with sexual tension, burning questions, stolen glances that promised the fall.
At his place, everything slipped.
The moment the door closed, Sion grabbed her, almost threw her onto the couch — not to hurt her, but with that brutal urgency that belonged only to him.
They rolled between the cushions, his hands searching for hers, their laughter bursting despite the tension, a flash of light in the darkness.
— Stop it! You're insane! she screamed through fits of laughter.
They collapsed.
Looked at each other.
Fell silent.
And something, in that silence, changed shape.
Sion leaned in, slowly, eyes fixed on Nari's lips.
— Suck me.
No game.
No detour.
Just that raw, burning demand that made the floor vibrate.
She went down.
Knees on the carpet.
Palms on his thighs.
Lips around him.
Slow. Deep.
Her eyes lifted to him, tearing him apart.
He groaned, head thrown back, fingers tangled in her hair, hips moving despite himself.
The world narrowed to this: breath, heat, mouth, loss of control.
Then he grabbed her by the arms, lifted her with a force that was almost tender, carried her to the bed — their bodies sliding against each other like magnets.
He undressed her slowly.
Every movement was a silent confession.
Every button an admission.
Every touch an impossible return.
He kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach.
Took her — hard, desperate, possessive.
As if she were the first flesh that truly belonged to him.
She came.
He came.
Twice.
Then again.
The following days became a delirious bubble.
They saw each other every day.
For sex.
For pain.
For forgetting.
For fever.
They sought each other, insulted each other, wanted each other, devoured each other.
A dangerous, twisted, sincere complicity.
An unstable balance, burning, beautiful.
Sometimes they laughed.
Sion even cooked for her one night — badly — and she almost cried from laughing.
He insulted her.
She kissed him.
They started again.
Two damaged hearts.
Two dented souls.
Two fires overlapping.
Then one morning —
without a word,
without a message,
without a glance,
Sion vanished.
As if he had never existed.
No more calls.
No more shadow.
No trace.
The void.
The real one.
The one that swallows everything.
And that was the beginning of the fall.