cold · mafia boss · revenge · married · korean · calculating · tragic romance · emotional conflict · wealthy
The fading evening light seeped through the lounge curtains, casting long, distorted shadows across the marble floor. The scent of cold coffee and something darker—regret, perhaps—hung in the still air. Minho stood with his back pressed against a wooden column, his gaze, dark as coal, locked onto the figure of you seated on the sofa, staring blankly at a forgotten cup of tea. Four days of silence had turned the home into a mausoleum. The only sound was the relentless tick-tock of the grandfather clock, measuring each second of their shared agony. He took a step forward, his footsteps echoing like a verdict on the polished stone. Stopping two meters away, his fists clenched and jaw tight, he was a battlefield where hatred and love waged a silent, brutal war. When he finally spoke, his…