Under the moonlit canopy of ivy and blossoms, silence wrapped around us gently, our shared breathing syncing unconsciously. The rooftop felt suspended, set apart from the harsh realities of Seonghwa below.
Hyerin's shoulder pressed softly against mine, warmth seeping through the thin layers of fabric separating our skin. She stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence, letting herself lean lightly against my side as the night settled deeper around us.
Minutes passed like this—maybe hours—before I broke the quiet again.
"You know, I've never brought anyone here before," I murmured, my voice a careful whisper, soft as the night itself.
She turned slightly to look at me, curiosity lighting her eyes. "No one?"
"No one," I repeated quietly, holding her gaze steadily. "You're the first."
She exhaled softly, eyes wide, as though trying to understand exactly what that meant. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely louder than a breath. "Why me?"
I allowed myself a gentle smile, reaching out to brush her cheek again, fingers trailing slowly, possessively along the soft curve of her jaw. She shivered faintly at the touch.
"Because," I said softly, steadily, "you're different, Hyerin. You came into Seonghwa, into my world, and changed it without even realizing it."
Her breath hitched quietly, eyes locked onto mine. "Changed it how?"
I leaned closer, close enough to feel her breathing quicken, close enough to notice every flicker of emotion dancing beneath her guarded expression.
"You made it feel like there might actually be something worth holding onto here," I whispered. "Something beyond rankings, beyond power. Something real."
She swallowed, her pulse visible in the delicate hollow of her throat. "But you already have everything—"
"Not everything," I corrected her gently, my voice firm, quietly possessive. "Not until now."
She stared at me, lips parted as if unsure what to say or how to respond to such an open confession. Her vulnerability was raw, unguarded, and intoxicating.
I allowed my fingers to linger against her cheek, feeling the heat beneath her skin. It took all the control I had not to close the distance fully, not to claim her right there beneath the moonlight. But I wanted to savor this—to stretch it out, to enjoy every detail of her surrender when it finally came.
"You're dangerous, Yoon Saehwa," she murmured, voice soft, almost dazed.
"You're only figuring that out now?" I teased gently, my thumb tracing her lower lip softly, just enough pressure to feel it tremble beneath my touch. "You're slow, Hyerin."
She breathed in sharply, leaning instinctively into my hand. Her eyes, full of confusion and desire, met mine boldly now. "Maybe I like being slow with you."
My pulse quickened at her honesty, my fingers tracing down her jawline to the delicate curve of her neck. I could feel her heartbeat beneath my fingertips—rapid, uneven, matching my own.
"I can be patient," I whispered, leaning forward slowly until my lips brushed gently, carefully against the sensitive spot just below her ear, speaking softly against her skin, "But don't make me wait too long."
She shivered at my touch, a soft, helpless sound slipping from her lips. Her body leaned naturally closer to mine, as if she'd forgotten how to pull away.
I drew back just enough to look into her eyes again. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes glazed with a mixture of longing and caution. "Yes."
"Good," I said quietly, my fingers lingering on her collarbone, tracing a possessive line along her skin before slowly withdrawing my hand. "Because once I decide to claim something, I don't let go."
Her breathing was shallow now, cheeks flushed, eyes darkening as she processed the full weight of my words. "I'm not something you can own, Saehwa."
I smiled softly, meeting her defiance with quiet confidence. "Aren't you?"
Her lips parted, but no argument came.
Instead, she leaned into me again, her head resting lightly against my shoulder, her soft, hesitant voice trembling faintly as she spoke again. "Then… claim me."
My heart tightened, pleasure and possessiveness coiling sharply within me. I tilted her chin gently upward, forcing her to look at me again.
"Say it again," I whispered.
Her gaze was firm, unflinching, as she repeated the words, clearer now, more confident. "Claim me."
I exhaled slowly, feeling something deep inside me finally settle into place. "Remember, Hyerin. You said it yourself."
"I know exactly what I'm saying," she breathed softly.
I smiled faintly, leaning down until my forehead touched hers, sharing our quiet breaths in the space between. "Then from now on, you're mine. Only mine."
"Only yours," she echoed softly, her voice full of quiet conviction.
It was a promise I intended to keep.
And tonight, beneath a quiet sky filled with soft starlight, I allowed myself to believe that it could truly happen—that Hyerin was more than just another part of Seonghwa, another pawn in my careful, calculated game.
Tonight, I let myself believe she was something real.
Something worth holding onto—
Something worth protecting at all costs.
The next morning, I woke before the sun.
I always did.
But this time, something was different. Something lingered.
Not tension.
Not ambition.
Warmth.
Her warmth.
I could still feel the imprint of her fingers wrapped between mine. The softness of her hair as it brushed my shoulder. The weight of her body leaning gently against mine beneath the ivy-laced night.
And her voice.
"Claim me."
The way she had said it—quiet, unsure, and yet completely hers—had echoed through me all night.
I pulled the covers back in a smooth motion and stepped onto the cold marble, reaching for my uniform.
Composure first.
Desire later.
By the time I entered the main hall, Seonghwa was already shifting into motion. The halls buzzed lightly with conversation and the scuff of polished shoes against marble. Distantly, I heard Nari's voice, overly bright and sharp as always, followed by Gaeun's quieter tones—deceptively sweet, venom beneath the surface.
I didn't stop walking.
They fell silent the moment I passed.
Good.
They could sense it.
That something had changed.
And it had.
Because this time, when I turned the corner past the central staircase, I found her.
Yeon Hyerin.
Standing by the notice board, her hair braided loosely down her shoulder, her hand brushing across the edge of her tablet as she read something with that quiet, focused expression.
She hadn't noticed me yet.
I let myself admire her for a moment—just a moment. The way her skirt brushed just above regulation length. The way her eyes darted carefully from line to line. The gentle tension in her jaw when she was concentrating too hard.
She looked like she belonged here now.
Not a transfer.
Not an outsider.
Mine.
I walked up to her without a word and stopped just inches behind.
She noticed the shift in air before she turned.
Her eyes widened slightly—barely. She tried to mask it.
I didn't let her.
"Morning," I murmured, my voice soft and close to her ear.
"You're late," she said, not looking at me.
"I'm not."
"You are to me."
That caught me. Briefly.
I let the silence stretch between us, filled only with the soft noise of students murmuring around us.
Then she looked up.
Not shy.
Not flustered.
Clear.
"I've been thinking about what you said last night," she said quietly.
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Which part?"
"About staying by your side."
I studied her. "And?"
She hesitated. "I want to. But not if you're hiding something from me."
My gaze narrowed slightly.
Too early.
Not yet.
"What could I possibly be hiding?" I asked, light but measured.
Hyerin looked away. "I don't know. That's what bothers me."
Before I could answer, the announcement tone crackled overhead.
"All students registered for the Legal Society Inquiry Project, please report to the courtroom by second period. Attendance is mandatory."
I watched her reaction closely.
She flinched slightly—just slightly.
"You joined?" I asked.
"I was invited," she said.
"I didn't know."
"You weren't supposed to."
My jaw tensed. Just a little.
I smiled instead. "Then I'll come with you."
"You're not part of it."
"I am now."
Before she could argue, I stepped past her, brushing her shoulder as I did.
I needed to know who was pulling strings behind the curtain.
Because the Inquiry Project wasn't just a workshop. It was a sanctioned investigation—often involving sealed or controversial case files provided by alumni or family contacts. It was a playground for students with something to prove.
And it was exactly the kind of place Hyerin could stumble into the truth.
Too soon.
Too fast.
If I didn't control it now, everything I had worked to protect—the careful line between me, her, and my father—would start to blur.
And I wasn't ready to lose her yet.
By the time we entered the academy courtroom, half the seats were already filled. Nari sat near the front, fingers flying over her tablet. Gaeun leaned lazily against a bench in the back, chewing on a pen and watching us with sharp, curious eyes.
Professor Min stood at the podium, reviewing a file.
And on the screen behind her, the title appeared in bold lettering:
CASE INQUIRY 1724: Internal Mishandling of Financial Evidence – 2018
I froze.
Just briefly.
But it was enough.
Hyerin turned to look at me.
"What is it?" she asked.
I schooled my expression instantly.
"Nothing," I said, already calculating how to pull her away from this without raising suspicion.
Because Case 1724…
Was the case.
Her father's case.
The one that shouldn't have surfaced.
Not here.
Not now.
And not in front of her.
But it was too late.
I could already see the curiosity tightening in her eyes.
She was going to dig.
And when she did—
She was going to find me buried at the center of it.
And I had no idea if I could stop her.