Chapter 2: Blood in Silk
The night air smelled like gunpowder and cherry blossoms.
A man screamed in the distance cut short by a single, muffled shot.
Leejoon didn't flinch.
He stood over the body of the man who dared to steal from his syndicate, blood blooming across the white marble floor like spilled ink. The warehouse was silent again, except for the soft tap of his shoes as he turned away, unbothered. His gloves were still clean. He always kept them clean.
His men stood at attention, silent, reverent.
"Burn everything," Leejoon said flatly. "And make sure his wife gets the fake story."
One of the guards nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Y-yes, boss."
Leejoon's eyes narrowed. Weakness.
He hated weakness.
With a sigh, he stepped out into the night, his trench coat billowing behind him. Seoul glittered in the distance like a dying star. His world was built on violence and fear, but none of that showed on his face. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable. Not a wrinkle, not a muscle twitch, betrayed the chaos within him.
No one saw his nightmares. No one ever would.
Meanwhile, Lee stood in front of a rack of designer coats at Golden Media Group, pretending to take inventory, though his mind was elsewhere. He hadn't stopped thinking about the mysterious message since last night.
You looked stunning tonight.
Who are you really?
He hadn't replied.
He couldn't.
Too many truths were tangled in that single question. If Leejoon ever found out who he really was… would he be disgusted? Intrigued? Or worse violent?
Lee touched his lower lip unconsciously, remembering Leejoon's stare. It had pierced through Lia's perfect image and found something deeper, something raw and real.
And that terrified him.
"Lee," a sharp voice snapped behind him. "Spacing out again?"
It was Han Jisoo.
She leaned against the doorframe, camera slung over her shoulder, her long coat falling open to reveal a silk blouse and leather pants. Every inch of her radiated confidence and controlled danger.
Lee bowed slightly. "I'm sorry."
She walked toward him slowly. "You've been different lately. Distant." She cocked her head, eyeing him. "I have always wondered, is there someone in your life?"
Lee's throat tightened. "No. There's none."
"Shame," she said, circling him. "If it's true there isn't, then there should be."
Her fingers brushed the back of his neck lightly. Lee stepped away.
Too close.
Too messy.
"I have work to finish," he said, voice steadier than he felt.
She watched him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing. "We'll talk later love."
As she left, Lee let out a shaky breath. Every day was a performance, a tightrope between desire and deception. And the world kept pulling him in opposite directions.
Later that evening, dressed as Lia, Lee returned to the streets for a gig, a private modeling job arranged by a stylist friend. The client? Confidential. The location? A luxurious penthouse at the edge of the city.
He arrived to find the place dimly lit, filled with the scent of expensive whiskey and something darker underneath.
The door creaked open.
And there he was Leejoon, leaning against a piano, sleeves rolled up, and a glass held in one hand.
Lia froze.
"We meet again beautiful," Leejoon said, voice low and almost amused. "I wasn't sure you would make it, but turns out my instincts were right."
Lee's heart slammed against his ribs. "You… you hired me?"
Leejoon smiled, slow and sharp. "Not exactly. I just made sure your name ended up on the list."
He walked closer. "You haven't replied to my messages yet, you know I'll be waiting."
"I didn't know what to say," Lee replied quietly, voice laced with Lia's soft femininity.
"You don't have to say anything," Leejoon murmured onto his ears, stepping even closer. "I'm good at reading people."
Lee held his breath. "And what do you read when you look at me?"
Leejoon studied him, expression darkening not in anger, but in fascination.
"You're hiding something way big," he said finally. "And not just behind makeup."
Lee's entire body went cold.
"I see it in your eyes," Leejoon added. "You smile, but your eyes beg for someone to see the real you."
Lee's hand trembled slightly at his side. "And what would you do if you saw the real me?"
Leejoon's eyes burned. "Depends on what I find.Would it be interesting?"
The room fell into a heavy silence. Electricity crackled between them, unspoken feelings simmering just beneath the surface.
Lee couldn't handle it.
"I should go," he whispered.
Leejoon stepped aside, but his eyes never left him. "I won't stop you."
Lee turned toward the door, heart racing.
"But next time," Leejoon added behind him, "don't run."
Back in his apartment, Lee tore off the wig, sank onto the floor, and finally let the panic roll over him.
How could someone like Leejoon see through him so easily?
And why did it matter so much?
Lee didn't want to be vulnerable, not with someone as dangerous as him. Yet, something in Leejoon's voice, in his touch, made Lee feel… protected. Like he wasn't just a disguise or an illusion.
But Leejoon was a killer. He lived in a world of shadows. He would never accept a truth so complicated, so blurred.
Would he?
Elsewhere, Leejoon walked into a hidden room behind a velvet curtain in one of his clubs. Two men knelt before him, beaten and bloodied. They'd stolen from one of his casinos. They begged. Pleaded.
He said nothing.
He only raised a hand.
And in seconds, silence returned.
Yet, for the first time in years, his hand shook just a fraction when he wiped the blood off his gloves.
Because tonight, a beautiful stranger had looked at him with something close to fear… and it had hurt.
His feelings changing rapidly annoyed him, he exited the scene and requested for his guards to clean up the mess after him.
To be continued…