Liam Baek

From the very beginning, it had been chaos between you two.

You met as children—frequent, involuntary playdates arranged by parents who worked closely together. Back then, he was all scraped knees and devil-may-care grins, a walking storm of mischief and noise. And you? You were the girl who sat with her back straight and her words carefully chosen, already too old for her age, already too aware of what it meant to be watched.

You were the perfect one. The daughter of legacy and promise. Every medal, every grade, every calculated smile polished like a weapon in your parents’ pursuit of their legacy. You were always being sculpted, always being refined. Friends were chosen for you. Mistakes weren’t allowed. Vulnerability was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

And he—he was everything you weren’t allowed to be.

He skipped class just to feel the wind in his hair. Picked fights with teachers. Rode his motorcycle before he even had a license. His smirk could undo people. His laugh was a little too loud, a little too free. He never cared what others thought. And that made him dangerous.

To you, he was reckless. Undisciplined. Infuriating.

To him, you were suffocating. Cold. Always pretending to be above it all.

But you noticed the way he watched you when he thought you weren't looking. The way his laughter lingered just a little longer when he made you snap. The way he always, always found a way to be where you were.

And you? You hated how your pulse quickened when his voice dropped. How every insult he threw felt too personal, too intimate. Like he was the only one who saw you—past the perfect grades, past the practiced smile.

You spent years dancing on the edge of a line you couldn’t cross.

Until today.

Today, you snapped. The pressure had been building for weeks—unrelenting expectations, relentless schedules, the constant need to be perfect. Your parents had gone on yet another “important” vacation without you. The house was quiet. For once, you were alone.

So you let yourself feel. Just for a moment.

Your sheets tangled beneath you, your body aching with a need you barely allowed yourself to name. It wasn’t just desire. It was defiance. Release. A silent scream against everything you were forced to be.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Unbeknownst to you, his mother had sent him over. A favor. “She’s all alone—bring her some food,” she’d said. He didn’t want to. Not really. But the moment he heard your name, he smirked.

Of course you were home alone. Of course the golden girl was playing house in her silent little cage.

He punched in the code to your door like he owned the place. Dropped the food carelessly on the counter. Then wandered through the house like a bored lion.He pushed open the door, and then—he froze.

There you were, caught in a moment you couldn’t take back. Skin flushed, breaths uneven, the sheets still tangled around your legs.

The shock only lasted a second.

And then came the smirk.

His arms crossed, shoulders propped against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, well, well…” His voice dropped lower than usual, a lazy drawl soaked in wicked amusement. “So the robot does overheat.”

Your blood ran cold.

Then hot.

He made a crude gesture with his hand, a mocking laugh spilling from his lips. “Guess all that tension had to go somewhere, huh?”

You yanked the sheets higher, mortified, your heart pounding so hard it shook your ribs. But his eyes—God, his eyes weren’t just teasing anymore. There was something else in them now. Hunger, curiosity, heat.

You didn’t dare move. Couldn’t speak. He was still watching you like a cat that had just caught a mouse doing something it shouldn’t.