058

JEON

"Boss—you're looking more dangerous,"

Dangerous? Really?—

"Oh shut it—Boss is looking... like the big ass mafia he actually is."

Mafia? Am i still looking like the mafia.

"Boss is like… straight outta a funeral scene with style."

I glance in the mirror.

Grey suit. Clean cut. No scars showing. No gun peeking from shoulder holster.

And yet…Still looks like death wrapped in elegance.

Fuck—i thought this clothes will make me look more soft not like usual self.Maybe she will compliment me or something- but— i tug the sleeve—soft fabric, no bloodstain, no bullet proof lining. Wore it for her.

Maybe—just once—I could walk into that room without her flinching at the sight of me.

I glance at the clock. It's close to 8pm.Hell… I don't even have time to change now. Can’t send another tailor last minute—not when everything's ready.

Wooshik and Jisun stares too impressed.

"Fucking idiots" I mutter under breath— "I wore this to look… normal."

Not like the man who burns cities quiet before dawn—Cause she’s different now.Pregnant belly glowing under soft lights every night, Lucas babbling nonsense on her lap, And me?

Canceled a raid in Busan just so I wouldn't miss anything tonight, Those three men are currently buried alive because they questioned why orders changed last second over "family time."

I adjust tie one last time—fingers slow, unsteady—

"Boss," Wooshik says quietly "your face looking weird all soft—"I look back—He shuts up fast, backing away.

Silence falls again.

A breath.

Tonight I'm just father for my son's 2nd birthday, wearing this grey shit that suddenly feels too tight around heart beating louder than any war ever did.

A loud crash.

I turn—

The idiots are on the floor. Wrestling like stray dogs in an alley.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

They scramble up fast—Jisun fixing his tie, Wooshik wiping blood from his split lip.

"Boss—he started it!" Wooshik snaps, eyes blazing.

"No!" Jisun shouts back—"I just told him this new gun is good! That’s all!—"

The new gun.

"—And then he lunged at me like a rabid dog!"

The weapon in Jisun’s hand.Blackened steel. Sleek frame. Engraved serpent coiled around the barrel—the one I had custom-made in Germany.

A limited piece.Personal.Hand-delivered today by private jet under diplomatic cover.And now? It's been passed around like a damn toy between these two morons?

Sigh.

—Wooshik instinctively steps back but trips over a chair leg and nearly falls again—

Idiots.Both of them.One minute talking, next minute fighting on carpet like five-year-olds over a pistol…

"Boss- i didn't do anything—"

Both pointing at each other—

"Boss! No He started it! I swear"

—"But Boss—I was only checking the weight—"

"Whatever its great—I want it," Jisun mumbles

"No, I want it!" Wooshik snaps, nearly slipping on the carpet again. "I saw it first!"

"Shut up, Boss will decide who will take this?"

Both turn to me, eyes pleading like kids in a candy store—

"Boss—Tell him—it’s for me!"

My jaw clenches—The gun lies like a gleaming promise between their palms. Blacker than ink, smoother than silk—classic steel catching the dim ĺlight. The custom piece from Germany.Perfect balance.Single serial number.And one truth only I know—

It wasn’t made for war.

It was made… For Lucas.

"For Lucas"

Silence drops.

Not even a breath.Quiet.Both idiots staring at me like i suddenly grew horns.

This gun wasn't loot… It was legacy.

The first gift. A heirloom before he can even walk straight—

"Now place it on the table" —

Their eyes bulge—Jaw on floor.

"Or my son will practice his first shots… on your fucking heads."

They scramble—hands shaking—slam the gun down on my desk.Bows fast—one-two-three times— "Y-yes boss! Sorry boss! Never again boss!"And flee fast—door slams behind by sheer panic force.

Alone again.Just me and that black steel resting under golden lamplight…

One day... you'll hold this properly, son.But until then—I’ll burn every hand that reaches for what’s yours.

I sigh—walk to the desk. Pick the gun up.

Heavy.Familiar.Like holding my father’s last breath in steel.

Today… he turns two.

Not a soldier. Not yet.But a new beginning.Two years of life, two years of innocence… two years of watching him grow from an infant to a toddler…

But one day—this weight will be his.This silence. This bloodline.

I did it.My father did it before me.Now…Lucas.

I tuck the gun into my inner pocket—close to heart, not for use, but for promise.

I step outside.

Tonight no orders shouted. No threats left hanging. Tonight isn’t about fear or fire at gunpoint…

It’s about walking into that room—with balloons and cake and her watching me not just the monster who rules Korea from shadows…

______________________________________

Loud murmurs ripple downstairs—voices tangled with fear, respect, and the sharp scent of expensive cologne.

I step down.

The grand staircase curves like a serpent’s spine beneath.

Each step—slow, deliberate—cuts through the noise.

Below…

My kingdom.

Every major player in Korea is here—politicians to businessmen—watching for that first glimpse of their king...and the empire’s future.

I step down—Each head snaps up, eyes locked on my every move.Another step.Every shadow of the underworld is here.

Men who slit throats for sport. Politicians who bury truth with fake evidence. Businessmen whose empires run on blood contracts signed in private jets.

They stand frozen. Drinks in hand—but no laughter. Ties straightened at perfect angles—but eyes downcast. No one speaks above a whisper.

My feet presses each marble step—the crowd parts instinctively. Not because I ordered it.

Because they know.

A bow begins near the entrance—a Don from Busan drops his chin so low it nearly touches his chest. Another follows—a council member stumbles back just to clear space. Then another… and another…

Soon, silence spreads like wildfire.

No one dares approach. Not even to greet me as “Boss.”

They cower—in awe or fear?Both, probably.

The living room stretches wide beneath cathedral ceilings—one massive chandelier dripping crystal light over black marble floors.

At center: the massive cake—three tiers tall shaped like a throne wrapped in silver vines and red sugar roses that look suspiciously real...Food counters line both sides—Korean royal banquet beside Western delicacies: abalone stew next to truffle wagyu, Sushi-grade fish arranged in patterns resembling scorpion tails—not by mistake; Minho’s doing most likely as warning disguised as decoration.

Corner bar glows dim blue—Outside near garden terrace: fire dancers move in choreographed flame arcs—one wrong step & they’d burn alive but none falter; pain is nothing when loyalty runs deep enough.

I walk to the bar corner—

The waiter instantly bows, hands trembling slightly and places my usual on a black velvet coaster:

Two cubes. No water. Just 25-year-old smoke in glass.

I take it slow—fingers tight around chill—And turn—

Freeze.

There, She’s coming down the stairs.

Red.A long, blood-red dress clinging to every curve like it was sewn on her skin. My boy—Lucas—in her arms, giggling at something she whispered into his ear. One tiny hand gripping her shoulder, the other waving wildly at a balloon floating above.

Maids flank both sides—one steadying her step, another adjusting the train of silk behind. The dress clings and flows effortlessly over her bump—the mark of my empire growing day by day inside her…

Our eyes lock—

Hers harden instantly.

That fire… that stubborn pride i both hate and crave—she looks away fast.Cold dismissal sharper than any blade ive ever held.

She reaches the floor. Maids smooth out  the red fabric around her feet.

Divine?No—that word doesn’t fit.Too weak for what burns inside that body and soul.

Mine. That’s what she is—even if she denies it with every breath.Cheeks fuller now—from sleepless nights nursing our son? From carrying another one inside? Or from me?

Bump peeking beneath silk—my second growing under guarded ribs… hair down tonight—for me or despite me?

Everyone watches in silence,

"Is that really her?"

“Don’t blink too long—you’ll end up missing your head.”

But I can’t see them anymore.Just her.

Holding my legacy in arms.Wearing red like rebellion—but looking more mine than ever before.

I sip slowly—the whiskey burning nothing compared to her.

You can look away all you want…

But you’re still standing in my world,breathing my air,carrying my blood…

And tonight?Every single soul here knows—it wasn't just Lucas' birthday they came to celebrate...

It was ours too....the queen who refuses to wear her crown.

I sip quietly—not breaking eye contact even if she won't glance me.

Soon enough… those eyes will soften when they look at me again.

Not because you want to…Because you have no choice left.

The room swarms with people flocking to her in an endless wave - businessmen to politicians to underworld don's all coming to greet her as if there's no one more important in the room than her.

Her eyes—soft with smiles...Genuine?I can't tell.

All I know is—that smile isn't meant for me.

The burn in throat is nothing compared to the fire in chest—Businessmen bowing too low,Politicians kissing her hand,U

nderworld Dons laughing too loud at whatever soft words slip past her lips—

She smiles again.Freely.Easily.Like she hasn’t forgotten how to.

But never for me. Never.

Fingers clench around glass—Glass cracks—Whiskey drips red—She smiles at some old Don’s joke—I slam glass down—

And walk—Closer.More closer.

The crowd around her thins like fog—Eyes widen—backs straighten—someone chokes—Scared.Like rats in sewer.

Good.

They should fear this.

Her head turns slow—Our eyes lock—Her smile vanishes instantly —

Just like that. Eyes drop—

I snake arm around her waist—She stiffens—drag her flush against me—Silk dress crushed under grip.

The crowd watches— No one breathes loud—

Her pulse races under my thumb—face blank—Lucas giggling on her shoulder,I turn at the crowd—

"Ladies and gentlemen."

Every breath stops.

"Today is my son Lucas’s second birthday…"

I glance down at her. She’s holding her breath, Clutching Lucas like he's the only shield between us."And today…I officially announce that..."

"I’m going to be a father again."

Silence.

Then—Loud claps erupt.

Thunderous.Obligatory.Full of greed disguised as joy.

Politicians rise first—faces stretched with fake smiles—Underworld dons bang fists on tables like war drums.They all already calculating how this new heir will shift power balances outside the womb.

The bloodline continues.Stronger than before.

But she?

She frozen.

Jaw tight. Eyes flicker—not fear… no. That fire is still there. Brighter, angrier—My little lawyer—who once stood in court wearing fury as armor… who dared challenge me with documents instead of guns…

Now standing here—with my son in arms—and another growing inside. And all because I refused to let you walk away when you tried so damn hard to forget me.

Before she can pull back,Before she can scream or spit venom—I lean fast—Peck her lips—Her breath hitches…Like when I kissed her for the first time after breaking into her apartment—loud claps echoes.

She steps back instantly—eyes red now—not tears—

But glare?Yes.

Crowd roars louder—but we don’t move—stay locked—in silence, as the empire celebrating new life…

"Boss—It’s time to cut the cake!"

But I don’t move.Eyes locked on her—like chains around my ribs.

She’s staring at me. Not fear. Not submission.

But this look? Like she wants to rip my heart out with those perfect hands and smile when it stops beating in her palm.

And i want to grab her and drag her behind any one of these silk-stitched curtains—she turns and walks away, Lucas cradled close like a shield no bullet could break. Her red dress glides behind her, catching light like spilled blood.

The crowd parting for her as if she's the true monarch tonight—not me—the king is just shadow walking behind the light.

She reaches the table.Wipes fast under one eye—one quick flick across lashes.A tear? Gone before anyone else sees but me.

She places Lucas gently on the edge of table—he whimpers immediately, tiny fists grabbing her, pressing face into soft curve of neck.

"Nanananna—Ma..mah!"

Just like his father… hating ceremony but still standing through it.

The massive throne-shaped cake looms between them—one candle lit atop— silver peak for two years old..

Everyone begins to sing—

Soft at first…Then louder…Maids in white uniforms,Staff lined against walls,My men—all joined now not by order—Her lips twitch up—not fully smiling—but close enough. She takes knife gently—and wraps her hand around his. One motion down—a slice parts clean through tiers—Lucas bursts into tears immediately—

"WAAAHHHH WAAAHHHHH!" Arms flailing—he doesn’t want dessert—but wants her, warm arms...the same need he got from me.

And there she stands with my crying boy pressed against chest, cake split open before them,crowd laughing and sing- softly now—

She lifts that thick slice of cake—cream dripping between her fingers—and tries to feed Lucas a bite. But my stubborn boy twists away with another wail, burying in her shoulder, rejecting this sweet offering.

She tries to feed him—but he twists his little body and wails louder—"Please," she whispers to him "Eat…bub"

He turns his face away "Nuh uhhh…"

Hush falls, Thick frosting dripping—she tries to coax Lucas with it.

But he hiccuping from tears, pressing wet cheeks against her shoulder. She’s left standing there, holding the crumbling piece of sweetness no one seems to want.

And then—every eye flicks to me.

Including hers.

Her throat bobs—like she’s swallowing down words she’d rather spit in my face.

Then…She sets the cake back down. Untouched.

The message is clear:If my son won’t take it, then his father doesn’t deserve it either.

The air sharpens—She won’t even pretend. Not for them.This is why I wanted her.

Not some obedient doll wrapped in silk and fear.

But her–– who looks me in the eye and denies me—even in front of every powerful man in Korea.

No surrender.

No forgiveness.

Just fire.

I stride forward—She draws Lucas close—eyes lowered—breathing fast.

The crowd falls into a quiet sudden, footsteps echo.The closer i get her chest rises quicker.

She holds him tighter—my boy, stubborn as his mother, pressing his tear-streaked face into her neck, glaring at me like I’m stealing something from him.

I stop before her.

She won’t lift her eyes.

I take the abandoned slice—still pristine, untouched—soft cream yielding between my fingers like the curve of her waist.

I bring it to her lips.

Her breath catches—eye lashes finally flick up. Dark. Defiant.

She doesn’t move.

So I press closer—frosting brushing her mouth—until her stubbornness cracks and she takes the smallest bite.

White cream smears on her lips..

Silence.

I drag my thumb across the white sweetness—and bring to my mouth.

Her eyes widen.The crowd inhales one.

It’s sweet.

Too sweet.

Just like her.

And I want more.

Not the cake.

"Boss—" a silk napkin on my hand as trembling fingers wiping cream from mine—

She gulped.

Looked away.

Then—turn.

"Excuse me." She walks out, disappearing up the staircase in a wave of red silk, Lucas still clutched tight against her chest—both of them retreating upstairs without glancing back.

Maids scramble after her like shadows.

Silence. The sweetness on my tongue now tastes like defeat.

Run, little lawyer.

I’ll always find you.

_______________________________________

Silence.

Slowly, I open the door.

The room cloaked in black. Only the faint glow from the hallway light filters in—moonlight cutting through velvet curtains like silver blades.

I step in.

Silence.But not empty.

Her red dress—discarded on the floor like some unworthy shit.

My boy on bed, small legs kicking, blabbering nonsense at some stupid stuffed animals—a crooked rabbit with one ear, a bear with an missing eye…

I close the door behind. He sees me.Head tilts.

I crouch slow—to his level—No words between us… just eyes measuring each other: king and heir; father and future; fear and love.

A cheeky grin splits across his face—White traces smear at the corner of his lips…

I brush my thumb gently over his lip—the milk still fresh—bring it to mouth—

Warmth hits first.Salt beneath sweetness…And then—

Her scent floods my tongue.

Hers alone. Her body—her life—her warmth that feeds mine without ever wanting to…

Lucas watches me thoughtfully—he doesn’t flinch but reaches out suddenly with sticky fingers and pats my cheek like I’m one of his toys...

“Da..dah” he mumbles with milk breath—and smile again—as if he knows exactly what he is doing.

Destroying me… slowly… innocently…

Sigh.

Slowly i pull the gun out from pocket—cold steel glinting in dim light—and set it gently on bed.

The moment it touches the sheets, Lucas freezes. Eyes widen—pupils blown with curiosity.

Chubby hands shoot out—fingers brushing over sleek metal, tracing the engraved serpent.“da… bah…dah… dahh…” he babbles, voice thick with wonder.

Just like a tiny king.

He watches—like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world—and tries to pick it up—but his chubby fingers can’t wrap around the girth and weight.

"Da..dah..dadhh" he mutters and stares up at me—mouth open, little hands clenching tightly….

"Dahh.."

I lift it slightly and place on his lap.It rests heavy against his tiny legs—he tilts his head…

And then—

Suckles the barrel end.

Drool smears down the black steel as if this is milk too—little mouth wrapping around the metal, tongue licking the cold steel—

You don’t know what this is yet—but you accepts it like instinct,like blood always finds its way home…

Lucas giggles around metal, eyes shining up at me—

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

Lucas flinches—the gun slips on sheets.

I turn.

She stands in doorway—bathrobe tied around her swollen frame, wet hair clinging to shoulders, Eyes wide at Lucas.

Shock. Fear. Fury—all warring across her face at once.

Her lips part—

But no words come out.

Because none are needed.

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