The morning light stole shyly into the suite, a hesitant golden pioneer inching around the thick curtains, shining dimly against the highly polished gold and ivory. The room's luxury, so meticulously planned for a postcard-perfect bridal start, now had the slightest untidiness—rumpled bed clothes, a half-drunk glass of champagne, her lace veil carelessly dropped like the leftovers of an overpowered prize. Even here, in the gilded quiet, Seoul's pulsating energy seemed to thrum weakly through the softened light, refusing to completely give itself up to the illusion of peace.
Seo-yeon woke first. Her body was warm, a ghost of Joon-woo's presence still hanging around her skin, but her mind was ice. Sharp. Concentrated. Joon-woo's arm was still draped over her waist, heavy and possessive even when he slept, his breathing slow and steady, completely unguarded.
