Manson stepped in, his presence filling the room instantly oppressive, commanding.
Across the room, Kim Dahyun sat sprawled on the couch, a glass of wine dangling lazily in his hand, its crimson contents catching the dim light like blood.
Manson’s russet robe trailed behind him as he closed the distance, unhurried, composed, and carrying an unmistakable weight of authority.
Behind him, Brian lowered his head in a respectful bow and quietly withdrew, the door closing softly as he left them alone.
“Annyeonghaseyo, Kim Dahyun-ssi,” he greeted, his voice smooth, too smooth as he dropped onto the sofa.
The cushions groaned under his weight, as though protesting his dominance.
Dahyun lifted his gaze, unfazed, though a flicker of tension passed through his eyes.
“Annyeonghaseyo, Maenseon-ssi. Eotteoke jinaeseyo?”
A faint smirk tugged at Manson’s lips.
“Jeoneun gwaenchanayo.”
There was a brief pause thick, suffocating.
Dahyun exhaled, swirling the wine in his glass before speaking again.
“Sorry for coming late. I had some… unexpected situations to take care of.” His tone dipped, cautious.
“I know you hate people slacking off.”
Manson’s eyes narrowed slightly, amusement dancing in their depths dangerous, unpredictable.
“You’re definitely misusing the privilege,” he said, leaning back, his gaze locking onto Dahyun like a predator sizing up prey.
“Because you are my chingu.”
Dahyun scoffed lightly, though his grip on the glass tightened.
“Being your friend is exhausting.”
A beat.
Then Manson’s smile sharpened cruel, deliberate.
“Then stop being my friend.”
The words fell like a guillotine.
Dahyun stiffened, the humor draining from his face as he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping, almost pleading yet laced with stubborn defiance.
“Chingu… don’t cast me away.”
“F*ck off, fill me in,” Manson barked, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.
“The fragrance we recently produced… it turned out well, yes,” Dahyun said, his voice smooth and precise, “but something still feels… incomplete. The designs you sent, I want the color of the perfume to harmonize with the jewelry, every detail merging into a seamless, flawless whole.”
Manson leaned back with easy grace, his russet robe falling open to reveal his skin, warm as liquid fire.
“Take your time,” he said evenly.
“My craftsmen have yet to finish their work, you still have time.”
Dahyun muttered under his breath, half-smile twitching, “Cool… then I’ll tell my workers to work at ease.”
“That’s no excuse for laziness,” Manson interjected sharply, eyes narrowing.
“Deadlines still exist, Dahyun. You know that.”
“Argh… my Chingu wants to work me to death!” Dahyun groaned theatrically, leaning back and resting at the edge of the chair.
“Aren’t you drinking?”
“I already had a drink by the pool, not too long ago,” Manson replied, his tone calm, yet edged with a teasing lilt.
“That must have been boring drinking alone?” Dahyun mocked, leaning forward with a grin.
“Not alone,” Manson said, a dark glint flashing in his eyes.
Dahyun raised an eyebrow.
“A chick?”
“Just… a little girl,” Manson said casually, as if it were the most ordinary statement in the world.
Dahyun froze, then burst out, “Little girl?! When do you start becoming a ped*phile?!”
Manson’s eyes widened in shock, his composure cracking for the briefest second.
“Michyeosseo? No… she’s an adult. I just call her ‘little girl.'”
Dahyun let out a long, relieved exhale.
“Da haeng i da… I thought you’d completely lost it.”
Manson smirked, lips curling darkly. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“Hahaha… Ssi-bal.”
Dahyun leaned closer, curiosity sharpening his grin.
“Is she… hot? Beautiful? S*xy? Which one?”
Manson’s gaze sliced through him like a blade sharp, dangerous, and teasing all at once.
“You really wanna know?” His smirk deepened, a predator enjoying the hunt.
“She’s… dirty.”
Dahyun’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Dirty, huh? That means she’s gotta be s”xy.
I’d love to see that.”
Manson chuckled, leaning back lazily.
“I’ll introduce you… some other time.”
“Oh? You cool if I played with her?” Dahyun jabbed, grinning like a shark.
“No biggie. Not my spec. She’s all yours, if she agrees.” Manson replied smoothly.
With that, he rose to his feet and strode toward the bedroom, a towel slung low over his shoulder.
“You said it! No taking back now!” Dahyun yelled after him.
Manson’s voice drifted from the bedroom, sharp and lazy all at once.
“Hey… when’s your flight?”
“What?” Dahyun replied, not catching his words clearly.
He stormed in to hear him better, only for his eyes to land on Manson’s bare frame.
“Eww! Phh! Close that… elephant!”
“Hahaha, jealous much? Not exactly blessed, are we?” Manson teased.
“Aigoo. I pity any girl who agrees to let you use that thing on her,” Dahyun shot back, mock disgust painted across his face.
Manson strolled toward the bathroom, water already running.
“They love it. Can’t get enough.”
Dahyun whistled dramatically.
“Holy sh*t… they must be crazy.
“Crazy in love… with my dunk,” Manson said, the shower pouring over his skin.
“Wait… what were you asking me earlier?” Dahyun’s voice carried a mix of confusion and caution.
Manson arched a single brow, his gaze sharp.
“So… when is your flight?”
“8 a.m.,” Dahyun replied.
In a couple hours, I should be in Incheon.
“I’ll drop you off.”
Dahyun snorted, shaking his head.
“Who else would, if not you?”
“You’re f*cking enslaving me, man,” Manson muttered, lathering the soap over his skin with exaggerated irritation, but the smirk never left his face.
***
Sunlight poured through the window, scattering across the polished floor like molten gold.
Kingsley’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and demanding.
“Make the brand visible, every detail must scream to the lens!”
Fiona and Jacob held the oversized toothpaste in trembling hands, their movements synchronized, fragile yet purposeful.
The camera’s shutter clicked relentlessly, freezing the moment as if it were a heartbeat suspended in time, every glint and curve captured with merciless precision.
“Lift it higher—yes, just like that! Fiona, tilt it toward the light. Jacob, a little closer… closer! Perfect, hold it!”
Fiona’s hands shook as she angled the oversized toothpaste, obeying every subtle command.
Jacob adjusted his stance instinctively, his fingers grazing hers as they moved in unison.
The camera’s lens glimmered like a predator’s eye, hungry for perfection.
“Now—turn it slightly! Let the logo catch the sunbeam, let it speak! Yes… exactly there! Don’t move, don’t blink!”
Time warped around them.
Each click of the shutter felt like a drumbeat in a battle, every second stretching, taut with expectation.
“Hold it! Lean forward, Fiona… Jacob, tilt it toward her. Yes! That’s the shot!”
The sunlight struck the logo perfectly, igniting it with a brilliance that made the mundane extraordinary.
They froze, statues carved from light and tension, obedient to the Kingsley’s unrelenting will.
And with one final click, the moment was theirs but not yet theirs to breathe.
Kingsley’s voice lingered, sharp as a whip
“Don’t relax. Not yet. We’re not done.”
A few more clicks, and Kingsley exhaled, his eyes lighting up.
“Great job. Both of you… truly impressive.”
The moment he finished, a quiet satisfaction lingered in the air.
“Pleasure working with you,” he said, his words carrying a weight that made even the silence around them feel charged.
“Thanks, sir,” they said in perfect unison, the relief of completion humming between them.
“Nice one,” Hazel’s voice cut through the air like sunlight slicing through clouds as she approached Fiona.
Kingsley rushed forward, almost stumbling over his own urgency.
“That’s a wrap, Miss Hazel.”
“Thanks for your magic hands, Mr. Kingsley,” Hazel replied with a wink, the corner of her lips curling with playful charm.
Kingsley nodded, a faint pride flickering in his eyes.
“Rest assured, I will transform this beautifully.”
“Mmm”
Hazel turned to Fiona, her gaze softening.
“Let’s go, babe.”
The two women strode toward Hazel’s car with a fluid elegance, the city lights reflecting off the sleek curves of the vehicle.
Doors closed, engines hummed, and the car drifted away into the evening.
“Ahhh… thank goodness that’s over,” Fiona exhaled, relief washing over her like warm water.
“You did a good job,” Hazel said simply, her voice calm yet reassuring.
“Thanks, baby,” Fiona whispered, the bond between them unspoken but palpable.
“You’re always welcome,” Hazel replied, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Fiona’s brow furrowed.
“Aren’t you going to let Manson know we’re heading back home?”
Hazel’s lips quirked in amusement.
“Whoa… concerned about him, are we? Aww… catching some feelings, perhaps?”
Fiona’s face flamed, stuttering.
“Catch… what feelings? I’m… I’m just concerned for you. That’s all. So he… probably won’t be expecting us back at the hotel.”
Hazel cleared her throat deliberately.
“Actually… Manson left the hotel earlier. He notified me.”
Time seemed to stall as Fiona froze, the weight of the words pressing down on her.
Her lips parted slightly, yet no sound came, only the dark furrow of her brows betraying her rising fury.
Hazel’s grin deepened, mischievous and sharp.
“He left with his…”
“I don’t care to know,” Fiona cut her off immediately, her voice low but firm.
Hazel’s laughter lingered like a teasing echo, playful and light, as the car glided to a smooth stop outside Fiona’s apartment moments later.
“Thanks for dropping me off, babe. We’ll talk later,” Fiona said, relief softening her voice.
“Sure,” Hazel replied, her tone smooth as silk.
Fiona slammed the car door, watching Hazel’s car disappear down the street, expecting the calm of her evening.
But the moment she turned, her eyes snapped wide with fury.
There it was parked right in front of her apartment, a car that should not have been there.
“What the f*ck is he doing here?” she muttered under her breath