Ji Ah shifted in her sleep, her body sinking into the softness beneath her. For the first time since arriving, her dreams were not plagued by nightmares—but they haunted her all the same.

Hands—bare, warm—traced over her skin, ghosting along the curve of her neck, skimming her collarbone before dipping lower. Her body arched into the phantom touch, heat pooling deep in her core.

Fingers drifted over the swell of her breasts, teasing, unhurried. A breathless moan slipped past her lips as they trailed lower, tickling across her stomach, gliding down—searching, claiming.

The pleasure built too quickly, too easily. Ji Ah surrendered to it, her hips shifting, desperate for more.

But then— She looked down.

And met the cold, black void of his mask. The pleasure in her veins turned to ice.

Ji Ah gasped, jolting awake, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. The room was silent, the air still heavy with sleep, but her body betrayed her—flushed skin, trembling limbs, the unbearable ache between her thighs.

Her fingers dug into the sheets as she forced herself to steady her breathing. I't was just a dream. Just a dream.'

But she couldn't shake the feeling that even now, even wide awake— He was still lingering beneath her skin.

Ji Ah looked around the room, trying to find anything to distract herself from the lingering ache between her thighs,

The dim golden glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows across the room, and the sharp scent of clean linen filled the air. Her room was spotless. The circle guards had cleaning it during her time in the bathroom yesterday,

Eyes scanning the space, something feeling off. Her gaze drifted to the desk. Books.

She swung her legs over the bed, padding toward the desk cautiously, her fingers brushing over the spines of the hardcovers. Classic literature, thrillers, romance.

She stared at them, confused.

Then her eyes landed on one in particular—a detective novel. A small white note rested on the cover, the handwriting precise and deliberate.

"For my little detective."

Her stomach tightened. Ji Ah snatched the note, turning it over in her hands. The ink was dry, meaning it had been left here hours ago, whilst she was sleeping.

Did he sneak in the night? Did he hear her moans?

She swallowed, a strange sensation curling in her chest. Not fear, not quite anger—something else.

Curiosity.

And she hated it.

Did he see her, hear her? Did he linger, watching her body shift restlessly beneath the sheets? Did he like it?

The thought was sickening. Or at least, it should have been.

No. She could not let herself think that way. 'I am just going mad cooped up in here. That is all' she tried to reassure herself, even if the words felt like a lie.

With a huff, she tossed the note onto the desk and grabbed the book, sitting back down in her bed. Flipping through the pages. The words pulled her in faster than she cared to admit, the familiar rhythm of investigation and deduction distracting her from the heavy silence of her captivity.

Damn him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

She lost herself in the novel, unwilling to admit she was enjoying it.

———————————————-

The time ticked on as she spent the day reading. Food had been delivered again. She barely touched it, just drinking the milk and water.

Time passed in aching silence the only sound in the room was her breathing. until the door creaked open again revealing a square guard. He said nothing, but Ji Ah knew the routine now.

She followed him down the corridor, stopping at the bathroom door.

"You have one hour," he instructed before shutting her in, the lock clicking into place. Ji Ah exhaled, rubbing her sore shoulder as she turned to the sink. That's when she noticed it.

A change of clothes.

A fitted, off-the-shoulder black dress lay folded neatly on the counter, along with a hairbrush and hair elastics.

Her brow furrowed.

The dress was sleek, elegant—but revealing. The neckline dipped, exposing her collarbones, her shoulders, the upper curve of her chest.

She swallowed, memories of the night before surfacing. The Frontman's gloved fingers in her hair, pushing it back from her face. The way he had stood so close, his mask dipping ever so slightly as if taking in her scent.

She shook off the thought and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the lingering tension in her muscles.

She took her time, scrubbing her hair clean, that scent again washing over her. His scent.

Ji Ah swallowed hard, gripping the soap tighter. She hated that she recognized it. She hated that she wasn't repulsed by it. She hated the way it made her stomach clench, as he placed another claim on her.

She scrubbed harder, as if trying to wash away the thoughts entirely. She finished up her shower quickly, not wanting to continue down her train of thoughts.

Drying herself off, she opted to go bra less as she dressed, the strap had been rubbing against her wound,

Dressed and hair still damp, Ji Ah moved to the mirror, eyeing herself critically. The dress was a perfect fit—not too tight, not loose. Comfortable, but deliberate. Her fingers curled into the fabric at her sides.

Brushing through her hair, she took her time detangling. Deciding on her options, she decided a simple bun would be best.

She lifted her arms, gathering her hair, starting to twist it but then was startled by a knock at the door. Ji Ah jumped, twisting too quickly, her hands still tangled in her hair.

Pain flared in her shoulder, a sharp, biting ache tearing through the half-healed wound.

She gasped, to sound reverberating around the room, hissing through her teeth as her hand flew to her shoulder.

The door burst open, the Frontman moved fast. He was beside her before she could even react, his presence overwhelming in the small bathroom.

He was looking around as if assessing a threat.

Ji Ah turned sharply, her breath still uneven. "I pulled my, shoulder that is all"

He said nothing, but his posture relaxed slightly. His bare hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder. Not his gloved fingers—his skin.

Her pulse stuttered. The warmth of his skin against hers sent an unwanted shiver curling down her spine. Her breath hitched, her body betraying her before she could stop it.

"You're bleeding," he noted, voice smooth but quieter than usual. Ji Ah wasn't sure why that made her breath catch.

He traced his fingers over the wound, careful, controlled. "You tore the wound."

Ji Ah's body was tense beneath his touch, but she didn't move. There was something strange about this moment.

Something too close.

Too deliberate.

She could feel his warmth, his heat pressing close too her.

"Stay here," he murmured, and then he was gone, leaving Ji Ah standing there, breath shallow, unsure what had just happened.

He returned minutes later, stepping silently beside her.

She watched as he unwrapped a roll of gauze, setting down antiseptic wipes and tape.

"Turn," he ordered.

Ji Ah hesitated.

She met his eyes —or rather, the empty void of his mask.

"Turn," he repeated. Softer this time.

She swallowed, then turned her back to him, facing the sink she watched his reflection in the mirror as she came to stand close behind her.

His fingers worked slowly, methodically. The antiseptic stung, but he was careful, taking his time to thoroughly clean and tape the wound.

Ji Ah kept her eyes fixed on him in the mirror, ignoring the hammering of her heart or the way her breathing stuttered every time his bare skin touched hers. A fact she is sure he did not miss.

He worked silently, the only sound in the room was their breaking and the occasional ruffle of gauze. After what felt like hours but was really a few minutes, Ji A watched as he secured the new bandage with precise efficiency.

Ji Ah watched in the mirror, waiting for him to move, still pinned between the counter and him.But he didn't step away.

His moved up fingers upward, his left hand coming to rest firmly on her bare shoulder, as if pinning her in place.

Ji Ah's brows furrowed in confusion, a shiver rolling down her spine as her eyes met his mask in the mirror.

Then—his head dipped lower.

Ji Ah felt the shift in the air before she felt him.

Warm lips, a barely-there pressure against her bare skin. Soft. Slow. Unnervingly careful.

A sharp, unbidden gasp left her lips, too quiet to echo but too loud in the silence between them.

Heat rushed through her veins, but it wasn't fear.Not fear. It should have been, but it wasn't.

Her breath stilled, her fingers curling into fists. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then he pulled back, stepping away as if nothing had happened. She watched has he reaffixed the bottom of mask to his face, catching only a glimpse of skin.

Ji Ah turned sharply, heart hammering.

His posture was still composed, hands clasped in front of him. "Dinner is ready" he said smoothly, as if nothing happened.

Then he left, the door remaining open behind him.

Ji Ah stood there, breathing too fast, her skin still burning. She pressed her fingers against the bandage, right where his lips had been. And she hated herself for how much she felt it lingering.