March 6, 2024 | 07:00 AM
The morning news burst through the silence like a gunshot. The anchor's voice was clinical, stripping the glamour away from the headline:
"Alex, also known as Kim Geoun, owner of the Trinity Well House and one of the most prominent estate moguls in the district, was found murdered in his residence late last night. Police are treating the incident as a targeted assassination. The surrounding commercial sectors are currently under lockdown…"
Jihoon sat in the living room, a morning teacup balanced in his hand. He didn't blink. He didn't move. He simply stared at the screen—his reflection ghosting over the images of police tape and sirens.
Beneath the silk of his robe, his skin was a map of the previous night—deep marks and bruises blooming across his body, silent hints of their last passionate night. He stayed still… staring at the TV as if he could find a different truth in the pixels.
He heard the footsteps first. A pair of hands reached around from behind, pulling him into a possessive hug.
"Why did you wake up so early?" Ivan's voice was deep, grazing Jihoon's neck. "You should sleep more. You have dark circles under your eyes."
Ivan began exploring Jihoon's body with his hands, pressing kisses to his skin. Jihoon stayed perfectly still. Slowly… he started to give in to the pleasure—but not for the sake of the touch. It was because when Ivan acted like this, it assured Jihoon that he held the absolute control in their relationship.
"Is it your doing?" Jihoon asked.
The hands paused. Jihoon took a deep sigh; he knew the answer already.
SLAP.
Jihoon struck him across the face—a sharp, stinging blow that caused blood to bead at the corner of Ivan's mouth. Jihoon turned, his fingers caressing the spot where he had just drawn blood… a malicious smile washing across his face.
"Did you really do it, Honey?"
Ivan smirked, his eyes unreadable. "What do you think?"
He shifted his hair, whispering in a voice that was hauntingly calm but bone-deep: "Master doesn't need another dog. He has me. Don't you think that's unfair?"
SLAP.
That was predictable. The second strike landed on the other side of his face.
"When did I lose your leash?" Jihoon hissed. "You just killed the only connection between us and the Vane."
Ivan didn't show a shred of remorse. If anything, he looked like he was enjoying the suffering he had caused. As Jihoon turned to head back to his room, Ivan grabbed his arm forcefully—crashing their lips together in a kiss that didn't break until they both tasted blood.
"Fucking psycho," Jihoon gasped. "Handle this shit. If anything happens to my plan because of you, I'll kill you."
Ivan smiled. "Let me handle things, then."
Jihoon stopped, shocked by the sudden, serious weight in Ivan's voice. "What did you say?"
Ivan headed to the sofa, relaxing his body as he lay back, staring up with a cold focus. "Didn't I say I would get revenge for you? But you didn't want me to."
He looked at Jihoon—the "blind" obsession finally taking a definitive shape. "Let's kill the root… and we will leave for Russia for good."
Jihoon listened to Ivan's proposal without a word. His silence was more deafening than the news on the TV. Slowly, the anger he had been gathering for years began to bleed into his eyes. Cold. Calculated. A rage that had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike—and by some stroke of luck… or perhaps fate… Ivan's reckless violence had finally provided the opening.
"You think I'm doing all this just for simple revenge?" Jihoon's voice was like ice cracking. He leaned in—his gaze pinning Ivan to the spot. "I want that bastard's pride. I want the very organization he has nursed like a child. I want it all. He took everything from me, and now? Now it's my turn to strip him bare."
He lunged toward Ivan, his voice trembling with a lethal promise: "You watch me, Ivan. If I don't see that dog squirming under my feet, begging for mercy, I'll change my own name. I will burn his world to the ground just to see the look on his face."
The tears welled up… blurring his vision—but they didn't fall. Even in his breakdown, Jihoon was a master of his own body. His tears didn't have permission to drop.
Watching this explosion of raw, beautiful fury, Ivan felt a surge of something dark and protective. What he was feeling was a twisted love, spinning like a color wheel. He didn't see a master losing control—he saw a god he needed to serve.
He stood up from the sofa, moving with a predator's grace, and wrapped his arms around Jihoon in a crushing embrace. Leaning into Jihoon's ear, Ivan whispered in a voice that was both a question and a vow:
"What should I do now? Tell me… and I'll make it happen. The only reason I'm dragging this shit out is because you want to take it slow."
....

While the fire of the "Glacial Manor" was spreading through the air, things at Rivert's house had grown cold and quiet. Rivert had been busy for the past few days—his presence replaced by a lingering silence.
I should find a part-time job soon, Nova thought, his mind drifting as aimlessly as the water running over his skin. How much longer can I remain a burden to him?
He grabbed a bottle of all-in-one shower gel from the rack, pouring a generous amount onto his head without a second thought. He scrubbed himself with such frantic energy it was a miracle his skin didn't peel right off in his hands.
He clicked the water off and reached for a towel to tie back his hair. He had always been cursed—or blessed—with thick, dark, long hair. As a child, he hated it. People would tease him… calling him a girl because of the length. But his mother would sit him down every single day, running a comb through the dark strands with a gentle hand.
"A man's identity is found in his karma, Nova," she would whisper. "Not in how many hairs are on his head or what clothes he wears."
Now, those words felt like a shield. He had grown to love his long hair. It framed his honey-gold skin perfectly—a physical bridge between his half-Korean, half-Indian heritage. It made him look unique. Like a painting that didn't quite belong in this century.
Tring. Tring.
The sudden shrill of the doorbell shattered his thoughts. In the three years he had lived here… no one had ever visited besides delivery men.
Who could it be?