​No One Else May Look

The sprawling penthouse in Hannam-dong was quiet, save for the soft clink of porcelain coming from the kitchen. The evening light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass, painting the city skyline in shades of bruised violet and gold. Baek Joohee stood near the breakfast island, wrapped in a sleek silk robe that clung effortlessly to her tall, sculpted frame. On the surface, she was the epitome of grace—Korea's top supermodel, coveted by fashion houses across Paris and Milan. But behind the calm façade, her dark eyes followed your every movement with an intensity that had grown sharper, heavier, and far more suffocating over the past few weeks. Only months ago, this marriage had felt like a hollow arrangement, an obligation she endured with polite distance. But everything had fractured—first with that inexplicable transformation, and then with the realization of what a kind, steadfast presence you actually were. And now... now, she felt the terrifying, electric pull of an obsession taking root. You were hers. You had endured her indifference, and now that her eyes were open, she couldn't stand the thought of anyone else looking at what belonged to her. A sudden, sharp chime from your phone sitting on the marble counter broke the silence. Joohee’s gaze flickered to the screen instantly before you could even turn around. Three distinct notification badges lit up in rapid succession:

• [Kang Seoyeon]: "Hey, handsome. Joohee said you were helping her pick out wine yesterday. I've got a bottle of Romanée-Conti waiting at my lounge, and I definitely don't want to drink it alone... Are you free tonight?"
• [Yoon Chaerin]: "Good evening. The director for that private architectural showcase finally approved the VIP access passes I mentioned. I managed to secure two. I know you appreciate quiet galleries—let me know when your schedule permits so I can arrange a car for us."
• [Choi Minji]: "Oppa~ 🥺 My laptop completely froze while I was editing my vlog and I’m literally going to cry! Joohee is always too busy, but you're so smart with tech stuff... Can you please come over for just a little bit and save me? I'll make you sweet pancakes!" The notifications faded, leaving the lock screen glowing against the dark stone. Joohee set her cup down slowly, the ceramic meeting the saucer with a deliberate click. She stepped closer, her heels silent on the plush rug until she was standing just inches away, looking up into your face. Her expression was a masterclass in composed elegance, but the subtle tremor in her manicured fingers and the dark, possessive glint in her eyes betrayed the storm brewing underneath. She reached out, her fingertips lightly smoothing the collar of your shirt, lingering against the hollow of your throat. "Your phone is quite busy this evening," Joohee said softly, her voice smooth like crushed velvet, though the underlying edge was impossible to miss. "Seoyeon, Chaerin, and Minji... It's fascinating how my dearest friends suddenly seem to have so many urgent matters that require my husband's personal attention." Her hand drifted down, resting flat over your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart beneath her palm. "Tell me..." She tilted her head slightly, searching your eyes with an unblinking, possessive stare. "...what were you planning to tell them?"

The private VIP lounge of the luxury hotel in Cheongdam-dong was bathed in amber mood lighting, the soft murmur of jazz playing against the panoramic night view of the city. You sat in the center of the plush, curved velvet sofa, flanked directly on both sides. To your right was Kang Seoyeon, looking radiant in a plunging crimson silk dress, one slender, bare leg crossed over the other. She sat close enough that her perfume—heavy, dark vanilla and musk—hung thick in the air, her hand resting casually along the back of the cushion just inches behind your shoulders. To your left was Choi Minji, wearing an oversized pastel pink knit that slipped off one bare shoulder. She leaned in with practiced innocence, her chin cupped in her hands, big eyes gazing up at you from an angle calculated to make her look impossibly delicate. Directly across from you at the low glass table sat Yoon Chaerin, clad in an immaculate, sharply tailored off-white ensemble. Her legs were crossed, a flute of champagne held poised in her slender fingers as she watched you with cool, calculating interest, an enigmatic smile playing on her lips. "I still can't believe how much you hid under those baggy sweaters back then," Seoyeon purred, her crimson-painted nails tapping rhythmically against the sofa fabric behind your neck. She leaned in slightly, letting her warm breath brush your cheek. "Honestly, it felt almost cruel keeping all of... this to yourself. Don't you think Joohee is being a little too greedy keeping you tucked away at home?" "Seoyeon-unnie, don't tease him, he's shy," Minji piped up with a pout, gently tugging at the edge of your sleeve. Her hands felt warm against the fabric as she pressed a little closer to your arm. "Oppa, ignore her. You promised you'd help me pick out the camera lens for my new studio, remember? The lighting setup is so confusing, and none of my staff know what they're doing. You'll come over tomorrow, right?" Chaerin swirled the golden liquid in her glass, her gaze sharp, assessing every millimeter of your frame with polished composure. "Minji's little projects can wait. I’ve already secured the private suite for next week's investment gala. You mentioned wanting to look into independent ventures outside the Baek family's shadow. The right introductions make all the difference, and I’ve already reserved your seat right beside mine." Before you could offer a measured response to the three competing stares, the screen of your phone—resting face-up on the black glass table—lit up. A sharp, vibrating chime resonated through the silence of the booth. The screen flashed rapidly with multiple messages from one contact: Joohee ❤️

• [Joohee]: "Where are you?"
• [Joohee]: "The penthouse is empty. The driver said he dropped you off in Cheongdam."
• [Joohee]: "Seoyeon’s location just updated to the same district. Chaerin cancelled her dinner. Minji isn't answering her phone."
• [Joohee]: "You’re with them, aren't you?"
• [Joohee]: "Answer me right now. Don't let them touch you. Send me your live location, or I’m coming to look for you myself." A chilling silence fell over the table. Minji blinked, her cute smile slightly freezing as her eyes darted to the bright screen. Seoyeon let out a soft, amused chuckle, her fingers tracing a slow line down the sleeve of your jacket. Chaerin merely lifted an eyebrow over the rim of her glass, taking a slow, unbothered sip. "My, my," Seoyeon whispered, her voice laced with deliberate provocation as she leaned right into your ear. "The leash is pulling tight, isn't it? Are you really going to let her ruin our night, handsome?"

The upper hallway of the penthouse was usually insulated by soundproof wood and thick runner carpets, but tonight, the cold stillness of the corridor was shattered by raised voices cutting straight through the heavy oak door of Joohee's private dressing suite. "...did you really think I wouldn't notice the private invitation you slipped into his coat?" Joohee's voice was devoid of its usual runway composure, trembling with a sharp, razor-thin hostility. "You smiling in my face while you try to crawl into my home?" "You’re being pathetic, Joohee," Chaerin’s voice countered, cold, sharp, and dripping with calculated disdain. "You hated this marriage. You treated him like a ghost until he became someone everyone else desired. You don't own him just because you signed a registry. If you can't keep his eyes on you, that’s your—" Crack. The sound was sharp and sickening—a hard, open-palm strike that cut the sentence in half. It was immediately followed by the frantic shatter of glass hitting marble, a violent thud against a vanity table, and a wet, heavy splash as liquid spilled across the floor. Then came another strike—dull, brutal, and accompanied by a muffled gasp of pain that choked off into a ragged cough. The corridor went dead silent. Seconds dragged into agonizing weight before the brass handle clicked. The door swung open smoothly. Joohee stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. Her sleek designer blouse was slightly disheveled at the shoulder, her breathing slow, shallow, and controlled. But what caught the light immediately were her hands. Fresh, crimson smears coated her manicured fingertips and trailed down the polished surface of her nails. Her eyes—wide, dark, and utterly unblinking—locked onto yours the second she saw you standing there. There was no guilt, no panic, no regret on her face. Only a feverish, intoxicating relief that you were right in front of her. Behind her, through the open threshold of the wrecked suite, Yoon Chaerin was collapsed on the polished Italian marble. Her tailored ivory jacket was soaked and ruined by dark red wine and shards of a shattered crystal decanter. A trail of blood dripped from Chaerin’s split nose and pooled at the curve of her chin, her manicured fingers trembling weakly against the floor as she struggled to push herself up, coughing against the sudden haze of shock and pain. Joohee didn't look back at her once. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate step toward you, closing the distance until she stood within arm's reach. Her gaze never wavered from your face, drinking in your calm presence as if nothing else in the world existed. Slowly, carefully, she raised her right hand—the clean knuckle resting just beneath your jaw, while her blood-tipped fingernails hovered agonizingly close to your collar. "You're awake," she whispered, her voice chillingly soft, a tender smile curving her lips while a mad, possessive fire burned deep in her pupils. "I'm sorry about the noise, darling. Chaerin forgot her place. She seemed to think she could negotiate for things that belong to me." Her hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the adrenaline of keeping you entirely to herself. "She won't be visiting again. None of them will."