Ji Ah sat stiffly in the chair, hands curled around the arms of the seat, her breath slow and measured.

She could still feel it.

The ghost of warm lips pressed against her skin, the weight of fingers lingering on her bare shoulder.

She hated that she could still feel it.

Hated that it sent something sharp and unbearable curling in her stomach.

The Frontman sat across from her, as composed as ever, his mask a void in the dim light of the room.

As if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn't just kissed her.

The table was smaller than she remembered, the flickering candlelight too intimate, too warm.

A meal had been prepared for her—pork, rice, and vegetables, the scent rich and enticing. But Ji Ah had no appetite.

Not when her thoughts were still wrapped around what had happened in the bathroom.

Not when her pulse jumped every time she thought about his hands on her.

She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus. She would not let him see how shaken she was.

Not after what he'd done. Not after what she'd felt.

"You seem tense, my little detective." His voice was smooth, effortlessly calm as he poured her a drink. "Did something happen?"

Ji Ah's grip on her chair tightened.

He was playing with her. Toying with the silence.

She reached for chopsticks, if only to give her hands something to do. "You tell me," she shot back, pushing her food around the plate.

The corner of his mask tilted slightly—a subtle amusement that she hated.

"Eat." The command was effortless, as if he'd already assumed she would listen.

Ji Ah's jaw clenched.

That was it? No mention of what happened?

No acknowledgment of his lips on her skin?

He sat there, poised, untouchable, pouring himself a glass of whiskey like this was just another dinner.

Like he hadn't just crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed.

He slides a glass of wine toward her, hand not retreating till hers reach out, making a point of brushing his fingers against hers just slightly.

The bastard was playing with her.

Ji Ah gripped the stem of her wine glass a little too tightly, the cool glass grounding her even as her pulse refused to settle.

If he was expecting her to bring it up, he was going to be disappointed.

The Frontman, as always, was infuriatingly patient. He as usual he had no food, but did pour himself a glass of whiskey. The same whisky she spilt on her, the day she tried to escape.

He was watching her, fingers tapping lightly against his whiskey glass, ice rocking gently against the sides.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Tell me, little detective—what do you think of the book?"

Ji Ah paused mid sip. Her gaze snapped up, caught off guard. Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not one of them.

She hesitated. Answering him truthfully meant admitting she had read it. That out of all of them she read the one he picked for her. That she had enjoyed it.

And she did not want to give him the satisfaction.

So she shrugged. "It's fine."

The Frontman made a low noise in his throat, tipping his glass slightly. "Just fine?"

She pushed the food around her plate, avoiding his gaze. "A little predictable."

"Ah," he mused, resting his elbow on the table. "And yet you spent the entire day reading it."

Ji Ah's grip on her chopsticks tightened. Damn him.

Of course he knew.

Her stomach twisted at the reminder that she was constantly being observed, tracked, studied.

She picked up her wine glass again, taking another sip. "I had nothing better to do."

"And yet, out of all the books I left you, you chose that one." His voice was smooth, as if he were pinning her down with his words alone.

Ji Ah set her chopsticks down, fingers coming to trace around the rim of her wine glass. "Maybe I just wanted revisit to see how the criminal mind works."

His head tilted slightly, in silent amusement. "And? Did you find me between the pages?"

Ji Ah's lips parted slightly, heat crawling up her neck. She shouldn't have taken the bait.

She looked away, focusing on her wine instead. She took a long sip, the warmth of it sinking into her, clouding the edges of her thoughts.

She hadn't realized how much she had drunk until that moment—how dangerous it was to drink on an empty stomach, how the soft hum in her body made her limbs just a little too loose.

The Frontman watched her over the rim of his whiskey glass, his fingers curling slightly. She knew he noticed.

"You should eat more," he said, pushing a bowl of rice closer to her. His fingers brushed against hers again, deliberate and slow.

Ji Ah's breath caught, and she pulled her hand back like she had been burned. She hated the way he always managed to find new ways to touch her—always fleeting, always calculated.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice lowering just enough to crawl under her skin.

"You're already lightheaded. It wouldn't do for you to fall into my hands so easily." Ji Ah clenched her jaw, swallowing down the warm buzz in her chest.

"I think you enjoy hearing yourself talk," she muttered, picking up some rice.

"I think you enjoy listening."

Ji Ah did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she took another bite, determined to ignore the way her skin still burned from his touch.

She continued to push food around her plate in silence, taking small bites. Honestly she liked the warmth of the alcohol seeping through her veins, it was the closest she had felt to good in a while. She was not ready to let that go quite yet, taking a further gulp of her wine.

She watched as the frontman's suddenly stood, carefully walking to the side of her refilling her glass still clasped in her hand. She tried to ignore how close he was, tired to ignore the hand placed at the back of her chair whilst he poured, the subtle drag of his fingers along her back, sending a shiver down her spine and a familiar burn in other places.

She was tipsy she needed to stop. But it felt too good.

Wine glass full, he walked toward his bar cart, his whisky glass in hand. The roar of the fire suddenly making her feel too warm.

She watched as his kept his broad back to her, his hand coming up to take down his grey hood. Her stomach clenched as she saw the back of his head, thick dark hair.

She was frozen in place as she watched him lift his hands toward his mask. Was this it? Was she finally going to see the man behind the mask? Her breath stilled when she saw instead her just lifted the mask slightly, taking a long sip of his drink.

"You're staring, little detective," he remarked, casually mask slipping back into place. "Enjoying the view?

Ji Ah nearly choked. "You're insane."

The Frontman chuckled, setting his glass down. "Am I?" The room felt too warm, too intimate.

Ji Ah took another sip of wine, hoping it would cool the heat crawling up her skin.

But it only made everything worse.

"Why do you keep it on?" The question comes out before she can could herself. The air between them shifts immediately.

He pauses for a moment, fingers tightening on around his glass

"Would it change anything?" he finally asks, his voice unnervingly quiet.

Ji Ah doesn't know how to answer. Would it change anything?

'Yes.' He drink mind reinforces. But she doesn't say that.

She watches him carefully, the flickering light catching the sharp angles of his mask.

He sets his whiskey down, then turns, walking toward her again.

When he reaches her chair, he leans down—just slightly, his hands bracing on either side of the table.

Closer than before. Close enough to make her stomach twist with something unfamiliar.

"Would you prefer me without it?" His voice is quiet, smooth, curling at the edges of something she can't name.

Ji Ah knows she should say no. But in the haze of wine and heat, another thought creeps in— Yes. 'I want to see your face. I want to know what you look like when you

She swallows the thought down hard, the alcohol making it harder to separate what's real and what's just heat under her skin

She doesn't answer right away. And that silence is louder than any response.

Her body betrayed her before she could stop it—her chest rising just a little too quickly, her fingers twitching slightly against the glass stem of her drink.

The Frontman noticed. Of course he noticed.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand.

Ji Ah stilled.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, skimming the delicate skin just beneath her ear before trailing along the curve of her cheek.

Bare skin on bare skin.

A shiver rolled down her spine. Not fear. Not quite.

His touch was light, but possessive in its own way, as if testing her, seeing how far she would let him go.

Ji Ah should have pulled away. She should have done something, said something. But she didn't.

She just sat there, leaning into the warmth of his touch.

"One day," he murmured, his voice impossibly soft, just for her. "One day, you'll see."

Ji Ah wasn't sure if it was the wine making her bold, or if it was something else entirely, but the words sent a deep heat curling in her stomach.

Before she could stop herself, her fingers lifted from the table.

He watched her closely. Unmoving. Waiting.

For a split second, she thought she would reach for his mask. But she didn't.

Instead, her hand shifted—an instinctual movement, one that didn't quite register until her fingers found him.

Not the cold metal of his mask. Not the fabric of his hood. But his hair.

Ji Ah's breath hitched as her fingers sank into the thick, soft, dark strands, her thumb barely grazing the side of his head.

She felt him tense just slightly beneath her touch, a momentary stillness, a hesitation so brief she almost missed it.

Then—his hand caught hers.

Not roughly. Not to stop her.

But to hold her there.

His fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist, his thumb pressing against her pulse point, feeling the rapid beat beneath her skin.

Ji Ah's head was spinning, but whether it was the wine or something far more dangerous, she didn't know.

She met his gaze—or at least, the dark void where his eyes should be.

She knew she should pull away. But she didn't. And neither did he.

The moment stretched, humming between them, something raw, something unspeakable.

Her fingers stroked across his head, as she could have swore her saw his breath catch.

Then, as suddenly as it happened, he let go.

The warmth of his skin disappeared, and Ji Ah exhaled sharply as if she had been holding her breath the entire time.

The Frontman pulled back, his mask catching the firelight once more, making him unreadable.

You look tired," he murmured. "Perhaps it's time for you to return to bed."

And just like that—the moment was over.

But Ji Ah could still feel it.

His touch. His heat. His presence, lingering beneath her skin.

And somewhere deep inside her, a part of her knew—this was only the beginning.