"Fear is a thief that steals the joy of the present by threatening the peace of the future. But sometimes, a single spoken word—or a sudden, terrifying invitation—is enough to pull you right back into the beautiful, chaotic now."
The overwhelming, emotional intensity of Woonseok's embrace lingered in the air, wrapping the massive penthouse in a thick blanket of warmth. But as he finally pulled back to look at me, a sudden, sharp twinge of pain flickered right behind my eyes.
I winced very slightly, instinctively bringing my hand up to press against my temple.
Woonseok's sharp eyes caught the movement immediately. The soft adoration in his gaze was instantly replaced by high alert.
"Butterfly?" he asked, his deep voice tightening. He reached out, his large hands gently capturing my wrists to help me out of my heavy winter coat. "What happened? Are you okay? You look pale again."
I forced a bright, completely convincing smile, letting the coat slide off my shoulders.
"It's nothing, Woon," I lied smoothly, waving my hand in the air. "Just a little tired. The winter wind outside is absolutely freezing, and it gave me a bit of a brain freeze. That's all."
Woonseok didn't look entirely convinced, his dark eyebrows knitting together as he hung my coat in the hallway closet.
I glanced at the clock ticking softly in the corner of the foyer. "Oh! It is already 8:00 PM. Let me go make us some dinner. You must be completely exhausted from standing under those bright studio lights for your commercial shoot all day. After dinner, we will finally cut that beautiful cake I bought, okay?"
I turned toward the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, but before I could take even two steps, Woonseok caught me by the waist.
"Absolutely not," Woonseok stated firmly, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "And for the record, I am not tired. Well, maybe just a little bit. But I will make dinner tonight."
"But Mr. Idol, no!" I protested, trying to wiggle out of his iron grip. "You are tired, you can't just come home from work and start cooking—"
He didn't even let me finish my sentence.
With a smooth, effortless motion, Woonseok bent down and scooped me entirely off the floor. I let out a surprised squeak as he carried me exactly like a baby, walking straight into the kitchen. He approached the massive marble kitchen island and gently, but firmly, set me down on one of the high velvet barstools.
He leaned in, trapping me by placing both of his large hands on the counter on either side of my waist.
"You," Woonseok murmured, his face just inches from mine, his dark eyes sparkling with playful authority, "are going to sit right here. Give me company. Look pretty. And I will make dinner. Understood?"
I couldn't help the massive smile that broke across my face. I let out a soft laugh, completely surrendering to his pampering. "Okay, Mr. Chef. Whatever you command."
Woonseok grinned, a devastatingly handsome expression that made my heart flutter wildly. He leaned in to steal a quick, sweet kiss from my lips before turning away.
He quickly disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later having shed his expensive suit. He was now wearing a pair of comfortable dark sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt that completely highlighted the broad, muscular width of his back. He tied a dark apron around his waist, washed his hands, and immediately got to work, moving around the high-end kitchen with surprising, graceful expertise.
As the rich, savory smell of garlic and simmering broth began to fill the air, the silence in the kitchen stretched out. The rhythmic sound of Woonseok chopping vegetables was oddly soothing.
But as I sat there, watching his broad back, my mind began to violently drift.
What did the doctor mean by taking a full blood panel? The terrifying thought crept back in, wrapping around my chest like a cold, iron chain. What if the reports come back tomorrow and it's something I can't hide? What if it's something that ruins all of this?
I stared blankly at the marble countertop, my heart sinking deeper and deeper into a dark, terrifying abyss of overthinking.
"You look like you are lightyears away."
Woonseok's deep voice suddenly sliced through my dark thoughts.
I blinked, my head snapping up. Woonseok was leaning against the kitchen counter, wiping his hands on a towel, his head tilted slightly as he observed me with extreme focus.
"Looks like my beautiful fiancée..." Woonseok smirked, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave, "or rather, should I say my wife, is already getting bored of me today?"
No. I shook my head internally, forcing the dark thoughts entirely out of my mind. I do not have to overthink right now. It must be nothing. Everything is fine. I cannot let fear ruin my present.
I looked up at him, a sudden wave of playful mischief washing over me.
"Oh, really?" I said teasingly, resting my chin in the palm of my hand and batting my eyelashes at him. "You are totally right, Mr. Idol. I was just sitting here, getting incredibly bored... because I was thinking about whether I should start calling you Jagiya."
Woonseok absolutely froze.
The towel slipped slightly from his fingers. His dark, intense eyes went completely wide.
I giggled, my heart doing a victorious flip at his reaction. "Ohhh! Look at you! Are you actually blushing, Jang Woonseok? The great, untouchable Sovereign is blushing!"
A faint, but undeniable shade of pink had actually dusted across his sharp cheekbones.
"I learned some very good Korean today while I was out shopping," I continued, completely leaning into my teasing, my voice turning soft and sweet. "I heard a lady in the store saying it to her husband. It sounded so cute. So, I was just thinking... should I start calling you Jagiya after our marriage? Or should I just stick to Woon? Or maybe Mr. Idol, hmm?"
Woonseok slowly dropped the kitchen towel onto the counter. The playful smirk completely vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, intense, and incredibly hungry expression that made all the air instantly leave my lungs.
He took a slow, deliberate step toward me.
"Say it again," Woonseok demanded, his voice completely raw and husky. He stepped right between my knees, caging me against the counter again.
"Say what?" I squeaked, suddenly realizing I had played with absolute fire.
"That word," Woonseok murmured, his hot breath fanning across my lips as his hands gripped my waist securely. "Call me that again, Sana. Right now."
"I..." My face was burning so hot it felt like it was on fire. "J-Jagiya..."
Woonseok let out a deep, rough groan, his eyes darkening to absolute pitch black. He tilted my chin up, his face lowering to mine. "Do you have any idea what that word does to me when it comes out of your mouth—?"
BRRRING! BRRRING!
The sudden, obnoxiously loud ringtone of Woonseok's phone entirely shattered the heavy, electric tension in the room.
Woonseok closed his eyes, letting out a heavy, deeply frustrated sigh that practically vibrated against my lips.
"I am going to murder whoever is calling me," he muttered darkly, finally pulling away.
He reached into his sweatpants pocket, pulling out his phone. The moment he read the caller ID, the dark annoyance on his face instantly shifted into a look of absolute, rigid discipline.
It was his mother. The formidable Mrs. Jang.
Woonseok cleared his throat and swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear.
"Yeoboseyo?" (Hello?) he answered politely.
Even from where I was sitting, I could hear the loud, commanding voice of a very fierce Korean woman echoing through the phone's speaker. I couldn't understand most of it, but the tone was unmistakable. She was scolding him.
"Neo jeongmal! Uli adeul-eun ije neomu keun seutala bappeun-ga bwa! eolgul bol sigan-i eobs-eo!" (You really! Our son is such a big star now that he's too busy! He has no time to see our faces!) his mother shouted, her voice a mix of deep affection and extreme annoyance. "Wanjeonhi beoleus-eobsneun nyeoseog-iya!" (You are a complete brat!)
Woonseok pinched the bridge of his nose, his broad shoulders tensing. "Eomma, mianhae. Naega bappass-eo..." (Mom, I'm sorry. I've been busy...)
"Bappass-eo?!" (Busy?!) she cut him off loudly. "Geuleom Sana-neun? Geu aeneun jal issni? Neo ulihante insado an sikigo gyeolhonhal jagjeong-iya?!" (What about Sana? Is she doing well? Are you planning to marry her without even bringing her to meet us?!)
My eyes went entirely wide. Even with my limited Korean, I definitely heard my name.
Woonseok glanced at me, completely wincing at his mother's volume. He quickly spoke into the phone, trying to calm her down. "Eomma, mianhaeyo. Alass-eoyo, hwa naeji maseyo. Jega da jalmoshaess-eoyo." (Mom, I'm sorry. Ah, okay, please don't get angry. It's all my fault.)
"Naeil jeonyeog-e Sana deligo wa!" (Bring Sana for dinner tomorrow night!) she commanded, leaving absolutely no room for debate. "Kkog wa! Kkeunh-eo!" (Make sure you come! Hanging up!)
Beep.
The call abruptly disconnected.
Woonseok slowly lowered the phone, letting out a long, exhausted breath. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, looking completely defeated by the most powerful woman in his life.
I sat frozen on the barstool, clutching the edge of the marble counter.
"Was... was that your mom?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. "Is she angry? What did she say?"
Woonseok walked back over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face into my stomach with a heavy sigh.
"Butterfly," Woonseok mumbled into my shirt. "My mom was very angry. But mostly with me. I haven't visited them in a while because I have been so focused on work and... well, on you."
He pulled his head back, looking up at me with an apologetic smile.
"She called us for dinner tomorrow night," Woonseok explained, his thumb gently stroking my hip. "At my family's estate. She specifically wants to meet you. Formally."
The words hit my brain like a freight train.
Dinner. Tomorrow night. In-Laws.
"What?!" I shrieked, practically jumping off the barstool.
Woonseok's eyes widened in surprise as I began to nervously pace back and forth across the expensive kitchen floor, my hands flying to my hair in pure, unadulterated panic.
"Me?! Tomorrow?!" I stammered, my heart racing a million miles an hour. "Oh my god, I am not ready! I have to prepare a million things! What kind of gift do you even buy for the mother of a star ?! Flowers? Wine? A diamond necklace?! Oh god, I am so nervous!"
"Sana, breath—"
"And what should I wear?!" I interrupted him, completely spiraling into a vortex of anxiety. "Should I wear something modern and chic? A designer dress? Or... wait! Should I wear something Indian?! Would they like that? An elegant saree? A beautiful kurti? Would they think it's too much? Too little?!"
Woonseok leaned back against the counter, crossing his massive arms over his chest, a slow, deeply amused smile spreading across his face as he watched me completely lose my mind.
"And the language barrier!" I gasped, stopping dead in my tracks. "I barely know how to order coffee in Korean! Should I spend the entire night learning the language to impress them?! How do I say 'Hello, mother-in-law, please don't hate me' in formal Korean?!"
Suddenly, Woonseok was right in front of me.
He reached out, capturing both of my frantically moving hands in his, pulling me flush against his chest. His warm, steady presence instantly grounded my spiraling panic.
"Butterfly," Woonseok said softly, his dark eyes brimming with absolute love and immense amusement. "Stop."
"But Woonseok—"
"Listen to me," he commanded gently, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "My mother is going to absolutely adore you. My father is going to adore you. Do you know why?"
I looked up at him, my lower lip trembling slightly. "Why?"
"Because you are the woman who brought their completely closed-off, robotic son back to life," Woonseok whispered, his voice turning thick with raw emotion. "Because you are the only woman I have ever loved, and the only woman I will ever bring home."
He gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
"You don't need to buy them expensive gifts. You don't need to learn a new language overnight. And as for clothes..." Woonseok smiled, his eyes dropping to my flustered face. "Wear your Indian clothes. Wear a beautiful kurti or a saree. Show them exactly who you are, Sana. Because who you are is completely, utterly perfect."
I let out a shaky breath, the terrifying anxiety in my chest slowly melting away under his confident, loving gaze.
"You promise they won't hate me?" I whispered softly.
Woonseok let out a rich, echoing laugh, pulling me tight into his arms.
"I promise, my beautiful Jagiya," Woonseok teased, his breath tickling my ear. "But right now... my fiancée needs to eat. So, let me finish cooking, and then we will plan exactly how you are going to charm the Jang family tomorrow."
"A mortal life is measured by the rapid ticking of a clock, but a love story is measured by the ink we bleed onto the page. People are born and people die, but the words we leave behind turn fragile, fleeting seconds into an eternity that even time cannot erase."
After we finished the warm, comforting dinner Woonseok had cooked, the quiet domesticity of the penthouse settled into a peaceful, rhythmic harmony.
Woonseok stood up from the dining table, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead before retreating into his private study—a massive, oak-paneled sanctuary lined with towering bookshelves, soundproof walls, and sleek leather furniture where he managed the empire of his global career. He had two major drama scripts to review and a stack of agency contracts to evaluate before midnight.
I, meanwhile, claimed my favorite spot in the entire apartment: the plush, cream-colored sectional sofa in the corner of the expansive living room.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, curling my legs beneath a soft cashmere throw blanket. With my heavy leather-bound notepad balanced steadily on my knee and my favorite fountain pen uncapped in my hand, I let the outside world completely fade away.
While Woonseok's world was built on bright stage lights, cheering stadiums, and multi-million-won production sets, my sanctuary lived entirely within the quiet, scratchy rhythm of ink staining paper.
The soft, rhythmic scratching of my nib across the thick pages was the only sound echoing through the dimly lit living room. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering city lights of Seoul stretched out beneath a blanket of freezing winter darkness, but inside, I was warm, completely lost in the emotional architecture of my own creation.
I was writing my novel.
I wasn't just constructing plot points or drafting standard romance tropes; I was weaving the raw, agonizing, and breathtakingly beautiful truth of what it meant to love someone who belonged to the entire world. Every line of dialogue was steeped in the silent tears I had shed in secret; every paragraph captured the dizzying, terrifying heights of falling for an untouchable sovereign of the entertainment industry.
An hour drifted by like a passing second. I was so profoundly engrossed in capturing a complex, heart-wrenching scene between my two main characters that I didn't even hear the heavy oak door of the study click open.
"What are you writing, Butterfly?"
A low, velvety baritone vibrated suddenly through the quiet air, rich with genuine intrigue and a soft, lingering warmth.
I gasped softly, my hand freezing mid-sentence as my head snapped up.
Woonseok had walked out of his study to retrieve a folder of revised production schedules he had accidentally left on the marble console table. He had stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw me. He was standing right behind the back of the sofa, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, the sleeves of his black loungewear shirt pushed up to his elbows.
There was no trace of the cold, calculating global superstar in his gaze right now. Instead, his dark eyes were wide, filled with an intense, fascinated curiosity as he watched the fierce concentration that had been painted across my face just moments before.
I felt a sudden, shy warmth flush across my cheeks. I gently tapped the gold end of my pen against my chin, offering him a soft, mysterious smile.
"I'm writing a novel," I told him simply, my voice quiet in the serene room.
Woonseok blinked, genuinely startled. A mixture of profound pride, awe, and deep curiosity instantly replaced his focused, analytical work mode.
"A novel?" he exclaimed, his voice dropping into a breathless, impressed whisper as he rounded the edge of the sofa. "Seriously? That is incredible, Rashi. How long have you been doing this? What are you writing about?"
I slowly closed the leather cover of the notebook, leaning my head back against the cushions to look up at his towering figure, my expression turning playfully teasing.
"Something very special," I murmured, my eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Come on, don't play fair like that," Woonseok urged, his voice turning impossibly soft.
He didn't just stand over me; he gracefully dropped to his knees right beside the sofa, bringing his broad shoulders down to my level so his dark, mesmerizing eyes were locked directly onto mine. He rested his forearms on the edge of the cushion, leaning in close, utterly captivated by the secret I was holding. "You can't just drop a bomb like that—telling me my beautiful fiancée is a secret novelist—and then just walk away. Tell me. What is the core of your story?"
The playful teasing slowly melted away from my smile as I looked deep into his eyes. In their dark depths, I saw the reflection of everything we had survived: the public scrutiny, the agonizing separations, the terrifying health secrets I was still desperately hiding, and the fierce, unyielding devotion that kept us tethered together.
I reached out, my fingers gently brushing against his jawline.
"Remember one thing, mr idol ," I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, unwavering whisper filled with absolute conviction. "People born and die, but memories never. That is what I am writing about. I am writing about the indelible mark of moments. How a single, fleeting second of true love can leave a scar so deep and so beautiful that it outlives the very flesh of the people who felt it."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The air grew heavy, charged with a profound, almost sacred emotional gravity.
Woonseok's breath hitched. I watched as my words sank deeply into his chest, striking a chord so raw and powerful that his eyes darkened with an overwhelming wave of understanding. He recognized the classical truth behind the sentiment; he felt the weight of the trauma we had endured, the silent sacrifices we had made in the dark, and the immortal nature of the bond we had forged against all odds.
Without breaking eye contact, Woonseok reached up, capturing the hand that was resting against his jaw. He turned my palm over, lowering his head to press a slow, deeply reverent kiss directly into the center of my palm, his warm lips lingering against my skin as if sealing a silent vow.
"That..." Woonseok whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion, "...is a powerful truth, Sana. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard."
He slowly lifted his head, his gaze burning with a fierce, unwavering adoration. "So tell me... what is the title of this immortal story of yours? Tell me that much."
A slow, triumphant grin spread across my lips. The heavy gravity of the moment lifted just enough for the romantic triumph of our reality to shine through. I looked straight into the eyes of the man who ruled millions of hearts, but who had surrendered his entire kingdom just to kneel beside my sofa.
"The title is..." I paused, letting the words hang in the air like spun gold, "Her Forbidden Idol Love."
Woonseok went completely still. A soft, breathless gasp escaped his lips as the sheer magnitude of the title washed over him. It encompassed our entire, impossible journey—the secrecy, the danger, the societal divide, and the absolute inevitability of our collision.
"That's beautiful," he breathed out, his tone thick with genuine admiration, his dark eyes shining with a moisture he rarely let the world see. "It's literally us."
"Yeah," I replied softly, a profound sense of artistic and personal purpose filling my entire chest. "I am collecting our memories, Woon. Every single tear, every single laugh, every single time you looked at me like I was the only person in a crowded stadium. I am writing it all down so that even when a hundred years pass, the world will know how hard we loved."
Woonseok let out a shaky, beautiful laugh, resting his forehead gently against my shoulder for a brief moment to compose himself.
"That is so incredibly romantic," he murmured, his hands tightening around mine. "Now I am going to be distracted all night. How am I supposed to read scripts when my future wife is sitting out here writing a masterpiece about our lives?"
"You are going to read your scripts because you are a professional, Mr. Sovereign," I laughed softly, playfully pulling my hands free and tapping his chest with the cover of my notebook. "Now, go! Do your work. Your director is waiting for those notes."
Woonseok groaned playfully, leaning forward to press a quick, tender, deeply affectionate kiss to the very top of my head.
"I will be back out the second I finish," he promised, his eyes promising so much more as he reluctantly stood up and grabbed his forgotten papers from the console table. "Don't write any romantic chapters without warning me, Butterfly."
"No promises!" I called out with a giggle as he retreated into his study, the heavy oak door closing softly behind him.
I settled back into the cushions, pulling the blanket higher over my shoulders. My heart was beating with a steady, triumphant rhythm. I opened the leather cover of my notebook, uncapped my pen once more, and let the ink flow across the page, capturing the emotional complexity of the man who had just kissed my hand like a king worshiping his queen.
"There is a peculiar, hilarious irony in knowing that a man who receives the adoration of millions of screaming fans across the globe can be reduced to a pouting, green-eyed toddler the moment his favorite person shares a laugh with someone else on a six-inch glass screen."
The hours dissolved into the quiet night. By the time the ornate grandfather clock in the foyer chimed 11:00 PM, I had written nearly four new chapters, my fingers slightly stiff but my creative spirit entirely fulfilled.
Needing a stretch and a breath of fresh air to clear my mind, I set my notebook aside, wrapped a thick, oversized wool shawl around my shoulders, and slid open the heavy glass door leading out to the penthouse's wraparound balcony.
The icy winter air hit my face instantly, crisp and invigorating. The sprawling cityscape of Seoul glittered brilliantly below, a sea of neon blue and gold stretching toward the frozen Han River.
Just as I leaned against the frosted glass railing, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, my eyes widening in pleasant surprise when I saw the name flashing on the screen: Krish.
Krish was one of my oldest, most cherished friends from my university days back in India—a brilliant software engineer who had been applying for overseas positions for months. We hadn't spoken properly in weeks due to my chaotic life in Korea and my intense preparation schedules.
I immediately swiped to answer, initiating a video call.
"Rashi! Oh my god, finally!" Krish's familiar, cheerful voice boomed through the speaker, instantly filling the cold evening air with the warmth of home. His face appeared on the screen, beaming with boundless excitement.
"Krish!" I squealed, genuinely thrilled, breaking into rapid Hindi mixed with English. "How are you?! Why are you calling so late? Wait, what is that background?!"
Krish laughed loudly, turning his phone camera to show a sleek, modern apartment with a stunning view of a bridge illuminated in rainbow colors. "Look familiar, hnm? I am in Korea! I landed three days ago!"
"What?!" I literally jumped in place, clutching the phone with both hands, my face lighting up with a massive, brilliant smile. "Are you serious?! You are in Korea?!"
"Yes! I got the senior developer job at the tech conglomerate in Busan!" Krish cheered, practically pumping his fist in the air. "I am officially living in Busan! We are literally in the same country now! You have no excuse not to meet me, Sana. I need my best friend to show me how to survive here!"
"Oh my god, Krish, I am so happy for you!" I laughed out loud, a wave of pure, unadulterated comfort washing over me. Living in Seoul, surrounded by paparazzi, elite socialites, and the constant pressure of Woonseok's world, it felt so incredibly grounding to see someone who knew me before the chaos—someone who just knew Sana, the girl who loved literature and tea. "We absolutely have to meet! Busan is only a two-hour train ride ! We will plan a weekend, I promise!"
As Krish and I fell into an animated, laughing conversation about his flight, the spicy Korean food he had already tried, and the logistics of navigating the subways, I was completely oblivious to the heavy glass door of the balcony sliding open behind me.
Woonseok had finally finished reviewing his scripts. He had walked out of his study, stretching his broad back, looking forward to curling up on the sofa with his fiancée, only to find the living room empty.
Seeing the glass balcony door cracked open, he had strolled over, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his dark sweatpants—until he heard the sound of a male voice echoing through the winter night, accompanied by my loud, bright, ringing laughter.
Woonseok stopped right at the threshold of the balcony.
Through the glass, he saw me standing in the freezing wind, my face illuminated by the glow of my screen, laughing harder than I had all evening. He narrowed his dark eyes, his sharp gaze locking onto the screen over my shoulder. He saw a young, handsome Indian man grinning back at me, talking rapidly in a language Woonseok couldn't understand, but with an intimacy and familiarity that instantly set Woonseok's internal alarms blazing.
The untouchable Sovereign—the man who was voted the most desirable bachelor in Asia three years running—instantly felt a dark, territorial wave of pure, unadulterated jealousy spike straight through his chest.
I turned my head slightly to shift my stance and suddenly caught sight of Woonseok standing in the doorway. His broad frame was filling the frame, his face entirely unreadable, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle ticking in his cheek.
"Oh! Woon!" I gasped softly, holding the phone slightly away from my face. I flashed him a bright, reassuring smile and quickly held up five fingers. "I'm just finishing up! I will be coming back inside in five minutes, okay?"
Woonseok didn't say a word. He looked at my raised five fingers, then looked coldly at the smiling guy on my phone screen, before giving me a single, stiff, almost robotic nod.
Without a single word, he turned on his heel and walked back into the living room, sliding the glass door shut behind him with a sharp thud.
I wrapped up the call with Krish four minutes later, promising to text him a list of the best local restaurants in Busan, before hanging up and rubbing my freezing hands together as I hurried back inside the warm penthouse.
"Brrr, it is actually freezing out there!" I said aloud, shutting the balcony door and unwrapping my wool shawl. "You won't believe the amazing news I just got, Woon—"
I stopped mid-sentence as I walked into the center of the living room.
The scene in front of me was so absurdly hilarious, so deeply dramatic, that I had to physically bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into laughter.
Jang Woonseok—a six-foot-two, fiercely muscled global megastar who commanded millions of dollars per contract—was sitting directly in the middle of the cream sectional sofa. He wasn't sitting normally. He had his knees pressed together, his shoulders hunched forward in an exaggerated posture of supreme grievance, and seated directly on his lap, clutched tightly in both of his massive, tattooed hands, was the giant, grey plush koala he had won for me at the amusement park.
He had his face buried halfway into the koala's fuzzy ear, completely ignoring my entrance as he carried on an audible, highly dramatic conversation with the stuffed animal in rapid, grumbling Korean.
"You see her, Mr. Koala?" Woonseok muttered darkly to the inanimate plushie, his tone mimicking that of a heartbroken, neglected child. "You see how she treats us? She sits out there in the freezing cold for ten whole minutes, laughing with some random guy on a screen, completely forgetting that her fiancé worked all night just to come out and hold her."
I slowly walked toward the back of the sofa, my eyes dancing with absolute amusement.
"She doesn't care about me at all, Mr. Koala," Woonseok continued to complain, squeezing the koala's fluffy arms around his own chest. "She told me five minutes. Do you know how long five minutes is when you are waiting for the woman you love? It is an eternity. But does she care? No. She is too busy planning trips to Busan."
"Are you... are you actually gossiping about me to my own koala?" I asked, my voice sweet and trembling with suppressed laughter as I walked around the sofa to sit right next to him.
Woonseok didn't turn his head. He kept his sharp jaw pointed stubbornly toward the television screen, acting as cold and inaccessible as a literal glacier.
"Hnm," was the only sound that left his throat—a single, deeply indifferent hum of acknowledgment that practically screamed 'I am furiously jealous and you need to work very hard to fix it.'
"Oh, come on, Woon!" I laughed, sliding closer to him on the cushions and leaning my shoulder warmly against his heavy bicep. I tried to wrap my arms around his waist, beaming up at him. "You know who that was? That was Krish! One of my absolute best friends from university back in India! We literally grew up studying together!"
Woonseok didn't even blink. "Hnm."
"He just landed in Korea three days ago!" I explained excitedly, resting my chin on his shoulder, trying to catch his averted gaze. "He got an amazing senior software engineering job at a huge tech company down in Busan! Can you believe it? At least someone from my home country is finally here! It makes me feel so much less homesick. We were just deciding when we can meet up for a weekend in Busan, and when I told him about you, he was so incredibly happy for us!"
I waited for his features to soften, expecting him to congratulate my friend or offer to send a private car to bring Arjun to Seoul for dinner.
Instead, Woonseok's expression grew even more stubbornly cold. The idea of me traveling all the way to Busan to spend a weekend with a handsome guy from my college days—even a purely platonic friend—was clearly sending his possessive, green-eyed monster into absolute overdrive.
He physically shifted his massive body away from my leaning shoulder, turning his body at a strict forty-five-degree angle away from me.
"Hnm," Woonseok repeated coldly, his tone dropping an octave colder. "Good for him."
"Woonseok!" I gasped, sitting up straight, my mouth dropping open in feigned shock as I watched him cross his powerful arms tightly over his chest—still trapping the poor koala between his biceps. "Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment right now?"
Without looking at me, Woonseok uncrossed one arm, reached down, and violently yanked the plush koala entirely out of my reach, placing it securely on his other side, furthest away from me.
"It's mine," Woonseok stated darkly, staring straight ahead like a petulant, billionaire king whose crown had been insulted. "I bought it at the park. With my own money. So it is mine. You do not get to touch Mr. Koala when you are busy making plans with computer engineers in Busan."
I sat there in the middle of the luxury living room, staring at this absolute masterpiece of a man who was currently acting like a possessive five-year-old over a stuffed animal.
"Ohhhh, I see what this is," I drawled out, a slow, brilliant smirk spreading across my face as I leaned back against the cushions, folding my own arms across my chest. "Someone is really, really angry. And someone is unbelievably, embarrassingly jealous!"
"Who?" Woonseok snapped back instantly, his dark eyes flashing toward me for a fraction of a second before staring stubbornly back at the blank TV screen. "I am not jealous. I am Jang Woonseok. I do not get jealous of software engineers."
"Oh, really?" I giggled, shifting onto my knees on the sofa so I was towering slightly over his pouting form. I leaned in close, pressing a soft, lingering, deeply affectionate kiss directly to his sharp cheekbone. "There is absolutely no need to be jealous, my giant baby. I told you I was just coming back in five minutes, didn't I? Krish is literally like a brother to me!"
Woonseok turned his face away from my kiss, stubbornly presenting me with his other cheek, his arms still crossed in defiant protest.
"Look at you! A jealous baby! I teased playfully.
Seeing that he was still stubbornly refusing to look at me, I decided two could play at this game. With a swift, lightning-fast movement, I reached over his broad lap, grabbed the plush koala by its fuzzy ears, and completely snatched it out of his territorial grip!
"Hey!" Woonseok protested loudly, finally turning to glare at me with wide, indignant eyes. "Give him back!"
"No way!" I declared, hugging the giant koala tightly against my own chest, burying my chin into its soft grey head as I looked down at it with exaggerated sympathy.
"See, Mr. Koala?" I began to speak to the plushie in a loud, theatrical voice, deliberately making sure every word echoed clearly into Woonseok's ears. "Look at him! Look at how angry and terribly jealous he is over a simple five-minute phone call with an old friend!"
Woonseok's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched me address the stuffed animal.
"It is so deeply unfair, Mr. Koala, isn't it?" I sighed dramatically, stroking the plushie's fuzzy ears. "Here I am, just a normal girl, who always has to sit back and be a good, supportive girlfriend whenever I see him on television! Do you know how hard it is for me? Just last week, I had to watch him film a romantic scene with literally the most beautiful actress in Korea! I had to watch him gaze into her eyes, hold her waist, and smile that devastating smile of his for three whole hours on set!"
Woonseok stiffened on the sofa, opening his mouth to defend his professional acting work, but I raised my voice slightly, cutting him off with pure, comedic flair.
"Is it fair, Mr. Koala?!" I demanded of the stuffed bear, shaking my head in sorrow. "No! It is so much hard work to be an idol's secret girlfriend! I have to share his face with the entire planet! But the very first time I laugh with a college friend who writes computer code, my grand, untouchable sovereign turns into a green-eyed monster!"
I lifted the koala up, planting a loud, exaggerated kiss directly onto its black plush nose.
"Come on, Mr. Koala," I whispered loudly to the toy, standing up off the sofa with a dramatic toss of my dark hair. "Let's go sleep together in the guest bedroom tonight. Since certain global superstars don't appreciate us, I don't know who will be his girlfriend now! He can sleep alone with his scripts!"
I took three dramatic strides toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
Behind me, I heard the sharp, heavy intake of Woonseok's breath. I could practically feel the intense, burning heat of his gaze boring straight into the back of my neck. He was physically gripping the edge of the sofa cushions, his knuckles turning white as he exercised every single ounce of his superhuman self-control just to keep himself from leaping off the couch, sweeping me into his arms, and dragging me straight into the master bedroom to prove exactly whose girlfriend I was.
"You are pushing your luck, Butterfly," Woonseok's dark, warning voice rumbled low through the room, vibrating with a dangerous, suppressed hunger.
"Oh! Still playing hard , I see!" I called back over my shoulder with a saucy wink, disappearing into the hallway before he could catch me.
I didn't actually go to the guest bedroom. Instead, I slipped directly into Woonseok's massive, walk-in dressing room attached to the master suite.
If my possessive, jealous billionaire fiancé wanted to act like a dramatic, theatrical superstar tonight, then I was going to give him a performance he would never, ever forget.
I quickly stripped off my wool sweater. Scanning the rows of expensive, custom-designed garments hanging in the closet, my eyes landed on his favorite piece: an oversized, heavy black leather biker jacket adorned with silver hardware and buckles—the exact one he had worn during his legendary sold-out Tokyo dome concert last year.
I pulled the massive jacket on. It was so impossibly large on my frame that the heavy leather shoulders sloped completely down my arms, the sleeves falling inches past my fingertips, and the bottom hem hanging low around my thighs. I popped the collar up dramatically, unbuttoned the top of my pajama shirt underneath, and checked my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I looked absurd. I looked like a toddler drowning in a superhero's suit. It was absolute perfection.
I walked back out down the hallway, deliberately altering my gait. Instead of my normal walk, I adopted a wide, swaggering, highly arrogant stride—mimicking the exact, confident, dominant walk Woonseok used whenever he stepped out onto a red carpet or walked onto a stage.
I strolled back into the living room where Woonseok was still sitting on the sofa, brooding darkly, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the doorway waiting for me to come back and apologize.
The moment I stepped into the light, swaggering like a rockstar drowning in fifty pounds of black leather, Woonseok's dark eyes went completely wide. His jaw actually dropped a fraction of an inch.
Before he could utter a single syllable, I lowered my voice as far into my chest as my vocal cords would possibly allow, attempting to replicate his deep, velvety, intimidating baritone.
"Ah... my poor, neglected Butterfly," I drawled out in a raspy, exaggerated low voice, swaggering directly toward the sofa with my hands tucked into the oversized pockets of his jacket. "My beautiful, beautiful Butterfly... why are you sitting here all alone, pouting like a little boy?"
Woonseok's lips twitched violently. The intense, brooding jealousy that had been cloaking his features began to crack beneath the sheer, chaotic absurdity of my performance.
I reached the sofa, placing one knee boldly onto the cushion right between his thighs, trapping him against the backrest just as he so love to do to me. I leaned down, grabbing the lapels of the massive leather jacket and shaking them slightly to emphasize my 'muscles.'
"I am so, so sorry, my sweet little Woon," I murmured in my ridiculous, fake-baritone voice, reaching out with a leather-swallowed hand to gently, dramatically cup his jawline. "Please... please talk to me! Don't give me the silent treatment, or my massive, fragile superstar ego will completely shatter into a million pieces!"
A sharp, breathless sound—halfway between a gasp and a snort—escaped Woonseok's nose. He bit his lower lip hard, his chest shaking as he fought desperately to maintain his cold, jealous facade.
"You think you are very funny, Sana," Woonseok managed to get out, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter as his dark eyes scanned the ridiculous sight of me swimming in his concert jacket.
"Oh, you don't believe how sorry I am?" I asked, my eyes flashing with pure, wicked triumph. "Then let me show you my sincerity!"
I leaned in, showering his handsome, flushed face with a rapid-fire barrage of exaggerated, dramatic kisses. I planted a soft, lingering kiss on his left cheek, moved up to press a deeply theatrical kiss to the center of his forehead, and finally captured his lips in a sweet, bruising kiss that completely stole the breath from his lungs.
When I pulled back, Woonseok was staring at me, his dark eyes entirely soft, the icy jealousy completely thawed out, replaced by a warm, helpless adoration that made my heart sing. But I wasn't done yet. I had one final, lethal blow to deliver—the ultimate comedic callback to our chaotic morning in the bedroom.
"Still not smiling, my grumpy sovereign?" I asked in my normal, sweet voice, raising an eyebrow.
I stepped back from the sofa slightly. With deliberate, agonizingly slow theatricality, I grabbed the heavy bottom hem of his leather jacket and the edge of my pajama shirt underneath.
"Look right here, Butterfly," I commanded, mimicking the exact, smug, arrogant tone he had used that very morning when he had been lying shirtless in bed teasing me.
I yanked the shirt and jacket up to my ribcage, exposing my completely flat, soft, non-muscled stomach to the cool living room air.
"See, Butterfly?" I declared proudly, puffing my chest out and gesturing to my bare stomach with a sweeping hand. "Look at my abs! Don't you like them? Aren't you completely mesmerized by my physical perfection?!"
Woonseok's eyes dropped to my stomach, his face turning bright red as he realized exactly what I was mocking.
Before he could recover, I dropped the shirt, raised both of my arms into the air, and flexed my tiny, slender arms with all the might I could muster, shaking my fists as if I were displaying world-class bodybuilding biceps.
"And look at these biceps!" I shouted triumphantly, striking a dramatic double-bicep pose in the oversized leather jacket that made me look like a floating coat hanger. "Look at the sheer power! Doesn't this make you happy, my jealous little baby?! Does this stunning, breathtaking view finally make you forgive your poor, hard-working girlfriend?!"
That was it. The dam completely broke.
Jang Woonseok—the untouchable, intimidating global superstar, the Sovereign who made adult executives tremble in boardrooms—threw his head back against the sofa cushions and erupted into a loud, roaring, echoing fit of hysterical laughter.
"Oh my god, Sana—stop!" Woonseok gasped, his deep laughter vibrating through the entire apartment as he covered his face with his large hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently with pure, uncontrollable joy. "I am going to die—please stop! Your abs—your biceps—I can't breathe!"
"Answer the question, Mr. Idol!" I demanded playfully, strutting back over to the sofa and flexing my tiny bicep directly in front of his laughing face. "Is the green-eyed monster finally dead?! Does this stunning physical view melt your freezing heart?!"
"Yes! Yes, absolutely!" Woonseok laughed helplessly, dropping his hands from his face. His dark eyes were crinkling at the corners, shining with genuine tears of mirth and an overwhelming, all-consuming love that literally took my breath away. "The view is absolute perfection! The green-eyed monster is completely dead! I surrender!"
With a sudden, lightning-fast surge of movement, Woonseok reached out, his massive hands catching me by the heavy leather lapels of his jacket. With a single, effortless tug, he pulled me straight off my feet and collapsed backward onto the sofa, dragging me directly on top of his broad chest.
I squealed with laughter as I landed against him, the plush koala getting entirely squished between us as Woonseok wrapped his powerful arms tightly around my waist, locking me into his embrace.
"You are an absolute menace, Sana," Woonseok growled happily against my lips, his hands sliding up the leather jacket to cup the back of my neck, pulling my face down to his. "A complete, utter menace. And I am so hopelessly, madly in love with you that it actually terrifies me."
"Good," I whispered against his mouth, a soft, triumphant smile curving my lips as I ran my fingers through his tousled dark hair. "Because you are stuck with this menace forever, Mr. Sovereign. Whether we are in Seoul, Busan, or anywhere else in the universe... I am only ever looking at you."
Woonseok let out a soft, ragged sigh of pure contentment, closing his eyes as he pulled me down into a deep, passionate, and fiercely tender kiss that completely erased the lingering winter chill from the room, leaving only the indestructible warmth of our immortal, forbidden love.
"There is a dangerous thrill in playing with fire, especially when the fire looks at you as if you are the only oxygen left in the world."
I shifted slightly on Woonseok's lap, feeling the solid, immovable strength of his thighs beneath me. The echoes of his rich laughter were still fading into the quiet luxury of the penthouse, but the atmosphere between us was rapidly shifting.
The playful amusement in his dark eyes was slowly burning away, replaced by a heavy, magnetic heat that made my breath catch in my throat.
But I was feeling bold. I tilted my head, looking up at him through my eyelashes, tracing the sharp, perfect line of his jaw with my index finger.
"So, Mr. Idol," I purred softly, my voice dripping with cheeky confidence. "What would you rate my acting? Am I a great actor?" I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Like, if I really am a great actress who perfectly captured the essence of the great Sovereign... then I should get some kind of reward, hmm?"
Woonseok didn't blink.
A slow, devastatingly wicked smirk spread across his handsome face. His large hands, which were resting casually on my waist, suddenly tightened, gripping my hips with a sudden, possessive strength that sent a jolt of electricity straight down my spine.
"Ah, yes," Woonseok murmured, his voice dropping an entire octave, becoming so deep and husky it vibrated right through my chest. "You were great. And hot."
He leaned in closer, his dark eyes deliberately dropping to my lips before trailing down the column of my neck.
"Especially looking so incredibly sexy doing my acting," he whispered, his hot breath fanning across my collarbone. "You are so excellent, my Butterfly. Much better than me, actually. And as for your reward..."
His thumb slowly brushed against the exposed sliver of skin at my waist.
"...I am going to give you exactly what you deserve."
The sheer, raw hunger in his tone made my heart absolutely completely stop. The sudden realization of what he meant—and exactly what kind of reward he was planning to give me—hit me like a tidal wave. My bold confidence instantly evaporated, replaced by a massive, burning blush that rushed straight to my cheeks.
Oh no. I played entirely too close to the fire.
"Uh—" I squeaked, suddenly scrambling off his lap.
Before Woonseok could tighten his grip and trap me, I shot to my feet. In one fluid, panicked motion, I shrugged off his massive, heavy leather jacket, balled it up in my hands, and threw it directly onto his face.
The heavy leather completely covered his head, blinding him for just a crucial second.
"Hey!" Woonseok's muffled, completely surprised voice echoed from under the jacket.
I didn't wait. I spun on my heel and sprinted across the living room carpet, making a frantic, desperate dash straight toward the safety of the bedroom.
Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of the jacket hitting the floor, followed immediately by the sound of Woonseok standing up.
"Butterfly, where are you going?!" Woonseok called out.
I glanced over my shoulder, completely terrified and exhilarated all at once. Woonseok wasn't even running; he was just walking after me with long, predatory strides, a dark, incredibly amused chuckle vibrating in his chest.
"Come on!" Woonseok teased loudly, his voice echoing down the hallway. "Come back here and show me your sexy abs again! They are so adorable!"
"Shut up!" I shrieked, laughing breathlessly as I reached the bedroom doorway.
I grabbed the door handle, ready to slam it shut and lock myself inside, but I had completely underestimated the sheer speed and agility of a man who spent hours doing intense action choreography.
Before I could even pull the door, a massive, solid wall of muscle crashed into my back.
Two powerful arms wrapped like iron bands tightly around my waist, lifting my feet entirely off the ground. I let out a loud gasp as Woonseok effortlessly caught me from behind, hauling me flush against his hard, broad chest.
"Got you," he growled playfully in my ear.
My face was burning completely red. I wiggled frantically in his grip, my hands coming up to pry at his thick, muscular forearms locked around my stomach.
"Woon!" I laughed, absolutely flustered, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "Leave me! Let me go!"
Woonseok simply tightened his hold, burying his face into the crook of my neck. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss right against my racing pulse point, sending a violent shiver of absolute pleasure through my entire body.
"Never gonna happen, Butterfly," Woonseok whispered against my skin, his voice utterly possessive and filled with endless love. "You are never escaping me."