Donghwa doesn't seem to notice my internal crisis. He slides his sunglasses down his nose, looking me over, and flashes asmile that is entirely too charming for my current mental state. It’s that lazy, confident grin that usually makes me want to punch him, but right now just makes my stomach do a traitorous little flip.
He reaches out, taking the bag from my shoulder without a word. He tosses it into the back seat like it weighs nothing, then walks around to the passenger side.
He pulls the door open and stands there, waiting.
I stare at him, then at the open door. My defenses snap into place automatically, a shield of snark to cover the fact that my palms are sweating. I scoff, rolling my eyes as I stalk past him.
"What am I, your girlfriend?" I snap, trying to inject as much disdain into the words as possible.
I drop into the leather seat, crossing my arms over my chest as he shuts the door with a solid, expensive-soundingthunk. I hate that I like it. I hate that even when I’m terrified, being around him feels like gravity, pulling me in whether I’m ready or not.
Donghwa slides into the driver’s seat, bringing a gust of cold air and that maddening scent with him. The engine purrs to life, a low vibration that hums through the floorboards, but before I can even buckle my seatbelt, he moves.
He leans across the center console, invading my space with zero warning. His hand clamps around my jaw, fingers long and firm, tilting my face up before I can get a word out. He kisses me hard, messy and possessive, stealing the breath right out of my lungs. It’s not a polite peck; it’s a claim.
My brain short-circuits. For a second, I just freeze, my hands hovering in the air, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Then the bond flares, hot and heavy, and I shove him back by the shoulder, my face burning.
"Personal space," I hiss, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, though my pulse is racing. "I said I'm not your girlfriend."
Donghwa just grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he shifts the car into gear. "No," he agrees, his voice dropping an octave, dark and satisfied. "You’re my bonded. That’s higher up the food chain."
I snap my mouth shut.
I don’t have a comeback for that. I hate that I don’t have a comeback for that. I just sink lower into the leather seat, crossing my arms and staring aggressively out the window as he pulls away from the curb.Bonded.The word hangs in the quiet cabin, heavy and undeniable. It makes my stomach do that stupid flip again, a mix of dread and a thrill I refuse to acknowledge.
The drive is long. Much longer than the trip to my parents’ place. We leave the city center behind, the towering skyscrapers and neon signs fading into the rearview mirror as we head toward the outskirts, winding up into the mountains where the air is thinner and the real estate prices are astronomical for entirely different reasons.
My leg bounces nervously. I try to stop it, but the energy has to go somewhere. I’m used to noise. I’m used to the city. As the scenery changes to dense forests and winding private roads, the silence starts to feel oppressive.
"Relax," Donghwa says without looking away from the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel. "You’re going to levitate right out of the car."
"I’m fine," I lie, gripping the door handle.
Then we turn a corner, passing through a set of iron gates that look like they’ve been standing since the Joseon dynasty, and the house comes into view.
My breath catches in my throat.
I was expecting a mansion. I was expecting marble columns, gold leaf, maybe a fountain the size of a swimming pool—the kind of stuff my father buys to screamI have money.
This isn't that.
It’s an estate. A sprawling, traditional compound that seems to grow directly out of the mountainside. Dark wood, gray stone, sweeping tiled roofs that curve elegantly toward the sky. It’s surrounded by ancient pines and manicured gardens that look wild but are probably maintained by an army of invisible gardeners. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It’s just... permanent. It looks like it’s been here for five hundred years and will be here for five hundred more.
It makes "Oh! Paradise" look like a cheap plastic toy.
"Jesus," I mutter, my bravado cracking. "Do you live in a museum?"
"It’s drafty in the winter," is all Donghwa says as he pulls the car around a circular gravel drive.
He kills the engine, and silence descends instantly.
I wait. I look at the massive wooden double doors, expecting them to fly open. I expect a valet to come sprinting out to take the keys. I expect a line of maids to bow. That’s how it works at my house. Arrival is a production.
Nothing happens.
The wind rustles the pine trees. A bird chirps somewhere in the distance. The house stands silent, imposing, and completely unbothered by our presence.
"Where is everyone?" I whisper, feeling like we’re trespassing.
