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[headlock] - [imogen heap]

The night had settled like a heavy blanket, the dim lights of the hotel bar casting long shadows against the walls. The air was thick with tension, thick with the unspoken. Iseul sat at the bar, the empty glasses piling up in front of her like a silent testament to her descent into a haze she was desperate to drown in.

The alcohol coursed through her veins, dulling the sharp edges of the pain she couldn't escape. She had always been good at hiding it, but tonight, the masks were slipping.

Sunghoon stood in the distance, his eyes following her every move. He couldn't explain it—couldn't name it, but something deep inside told him to keep watch, to stay close. It wasn't out of duty or obligation, but something far more instinctual, a protective urge that tugged at him relentlessly.

Despite everything that had transpired between them, despite the cruelty they had inflicted on one another, the need to shield her was still there.

Iseul's gaze was unfocused as she reached for yet another drink, her hand trembling slightly. Sunghoon couldn't stand it any longer. He was across the room in an instant, his hand closing around her wrist, stopping her cold.

"You've had enough," he said, his voice low and commanding, but there was something raw in it, something that betrayed his true feelings.

Iseul's eyes, already hazy from the alcohol, sharpened for a split second, meeting his with a cold, almost predatory stare. "Leave me alone," she purred, her voice a dangerous mixture of slurred and sultry. It was the kind of voice that could bring people to their knees, but tonight, it sounded hollow. Empty.

Sunghoon felt the words land like a slap, but he didn't let go. He didn't back down. His hand tightened on her wrist, not out of anger, but because he cared, despite how much it hurt.

But just as the silence between them thickened, his phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife.

Rena's name flashed across the screen. He reluctantly pulled away from Iseul, still standing too close, his hand lingering just a moment too long on her arm before answering. "Sunghoon, how was the meeting at the hotel?"

"It was good, we discussed the contract," he replied, his tone flat, distracted. He wasn't really listening to her—he couldn't. Not when Iseul was sitting right there, looking like she might fall apart at any second.

"So are you with Changbin?" Rena continued, her voice sweet, smooth, oblivious. "Let me talk to him."

"No... he's gone. I'm alone now," Sunghoon muttered, his gaze flicking back to Iseul, who hadn't moved an inch. "Hey, Rena, I have to hang up, okay?"

When he finally ended the call, a silence stretched out between them, suffocating in its weight.

Iseul, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly clapped her hands together, the sound startling in the otherwise still air. The mockery in the gesture was clear, but so was the sadness, the defeat, hidden beneath the bravado. She turned to him, her eyes glinting with something dangerous, something broken.

The fractured pieces of her that had once been so carefully hidden were slowly slipping through the cracks. "Well, look at you, Sunghoon," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "The perfect man with the perfect wife. How's that working out for you?"

Sunghoon's chest tightened. He didn't answer. He couldn't. The words had lodged themselves deep inside his throat, stifled by the weight of everything left unsaid, everything left broken. Iseul's eyes bore into him, but he stayed silent, trapped in the suffocating space between them.

She didn't give him a chance to breathe. "You should change her contact to 'wifey'," she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know this time, your marriage is going to be successful. Do you know why?" She leaned in slightly, her gaze turning venomous. "Because she'll agree to everything you say. Anything to make the master happy, I guess."

Her laughter was bitter, hollow, like a promise of things never to be. The sound twisted something deep inside him—something he couldn't quite explain, but it hurt nonetheless.

"But what about me?" she added, her voice quieter now, as if the question wasn't just for him, but for herself. A question that had no answer.

"The 'me' part is none of my concern," Sunghoon replied, his voice cold, forced. He was numb, his heart ached, but he couldn't let her see that. He couldn't give her the satisfaction. He watched her as she took another drink, the glass almost slipping from her fingers as her eyes locked onto his with a defiance he couldn't break.

She chuckled, the sound bitterer than before. "Mhm, you're right. You're engaged, after all. Who am I?"

The words landed like a slap, and for a second, everything inside him seemed to shatter. But the only thing he could do was grab her drink from her hand, his fingers curling around the glass with a force he hadn't intended.

"You can't tolerate alcohol. That's enough for you," he said, his voice low, but firm.

Iseul's eyes narrowed, her face twisting with a mix of anger and something else, something desperate. "Mind your own business," she spat, her words sharp. "I am nothing to you. Take care of your wife or something, and leave me alone."

Iseul took another sip of her drink, her fingers trembling slightly as she tilted the glass to her lips, the liquid burning down her throat. Her gaze never left Sunghoon, her words cutting through the silence like a razor.

"You should've said to Rena—" she paused, her smile sharp and knowing, "—you should've said you're with your ex-wife."

Sunghoon's eyes widened at the insinuation, his expression slipping into something colder, a flash of mockery in his voice. "What?" he asked, pretending to feign confusion.

"You should've said it, but you can't do that, can you? You don't have the courage, do you?" Iseul's laugh was bitter, full of pain and anger, as if she was speaking words she knew were never meant to be said aloud.

A fleeting moment passed before Sunghoon's gaze hardened, his jaw clenching tightly. His eyes narrowed on her, cold and unforgiving. "I will, but I don't want to spoil the fun for you," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He was trying to hold onto his composure, but he could feel the familiar burn of bitterness crawling up his throat. The sight of her, the way she pushed his buttons, it all made his insides churn.

Iseul chuckled darkly, the sound hollow in the still air. "Well, aren't you so very caring, sir? Please, spare me the righteous act. You're only heartless, Sunghoon. Only I know how much."

He didn't respond. He couldn't. Instead, he just glared at her, his frustration simmering, his hatred rising like a tide that threatened to swallow him whole. But Iseul, relentless, didn't stop.

"Why didn't you tell her that you spent the night with me before you proposed to her? Did you tell her how you kissed me?"

The words came like daggers, one after the other, each one sinking deeper into his chest, twisting inside him. He wanted to shout, to scream at her to stop, but instead, all he could do was stand there, frozen.

Her voice cracked on the last word, and for a split second, Sunghoon saw the vulnerability behind the anger, the hurt she was hiding beneath layers of bitterness. But before he could process it, Iseul's sob broke through, her face crumbling into something fragile, something desperate.

"Shut up, Iseul," Sunghoon said, his voice low and warning, the anger barely contained. He was on the edge of losing control, but she wasn't listening.

"Are you going to take her to my house?" she screamed suddenly, her eyes flashing with madness. "Is she going to live there? In the house that was ours?"

The words stung like acid, burning deep into his chest. He couldn't breathe for a moment, couldn't think. His heart raced, his blood boiling at the memory of all that had gone wrong. But before he could say anything more, he felt the weight of something he didn't even know was there.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Rena's friend had been quietly recording the entire exchange from the corner of the bar, capturing every word, every sob, every broken promise between them.

Sunghoon stood there, a man caught between the pieces of a shattered past, unsure whether to leave or step closer. But her tears cut through him like a blade, a deep, relentless ache that gnawed at him from within. Despite the anger, there was something inside of him that couldn't walk away.

Iseul's cries grew louder, more frantic. Her voice broke through her sobs, but the words, those awful words, continued to spiral. Each syllable she screamed, each jagged breath she took, seemed to pierce the fragile wall Sunghoon had built around himself.

He couldn't take it anymore. His instincts kicked in, the part of him that had always been her protector, even when he hated her for what she'd done to him.

He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and placed his hand gently on her legs. She stiffened, her body trembling beneath his touch, but her sobs didn't stop. Sunghoon's gaze softened as he gently lifted her, cradling her body against his chest. There was a strange tenderness in the way he moved, a contrast to the storm raging inside him.

Iseul didn't resist; her head fell against his chest, her tears staining his shirt as he carried her bridal style, her sobs shaking her frail body. The weight of her grief was palpable, and it felt like the world was crumbling around them. Every step he took, every motion, felt like it was pulling them both deeper into the wreckage they had created.

It was absurd, how tenderly he carried her despite everything that had happened. His heart raced as he walked, unsure of what to make of the fragile connection he still felt with her.

As they passed through the hallway toward Iseul's hotel room, a soft gasp broke the air. Sunghoon glanced up, seeing a figure in the shadows, a woman clutching her phone. Before he could process it, the woman had sent the video.

He didn't care. His attention was on Iseul—the broken woman in his arms. Her sobs had slowed, but the quiet vulnerability in her body told him everything. It wasn't anger anymore. It wasn't hatred. Just sorrow. A sorrow that had been buried for far too long.

He reached the door of her room, his hand guiding her waist carefully, as if the smallest misstep might shatter her even more. "Sunghoon, walk slowly," she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with the weight of her emotions.

He didn't respond right away, instead focusing on keeping his steps steady, each movement deliberate as he adjusted his hold on her.

"It's okay," he said softly, his voice betraying the uncertainty he tried to hide. "We're already here. You're okay."

In that moment, neither of them seemed to remember the hatred between them—the anger, the bitterness, the years of resentment. The wounds that had festered in the darkness between them, the scars they had both tried to ignore.

Sunghoon stood there, rigid, his chest tight as he lowered Iseul onto the bed with a care he could barely understand himself. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment longer than necessary, a fleeting tenderness in the midst of a storm they both could feel coming.

Iseul's gaze, dark and heavy with something raw, met his as she reached for his hands. She held them for just a second too long, the silence between them thickening with the weight of everything unsaid.

Her voice broke the stillness, soft but cutting, barely above a whisper, as though she couldn't help but say it. "You're a bad person."

Sunghoon froze. The words hit him like a slap, but he didn't react, couldn't react. He wasn't sure whether to hate her or to hate himself more. His eyes narrowed, his voice barely audible as he retorted, the anger in his chest clawing at his throat.

"I suffered this whole time, trying to forget you. But you used me to your advantage, and I'm bad?"

For a moment, Iseul's eyes faltered, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, but couldn't find the strength. Her face softened then, as if the bitterness and rage within her cracked, revealing something much more fragile, much more vulnerable.

She closed her eyes, her breathing shallow as she drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The moment hung suspended between them—unspoken, unresolved, impossible to escape.

Then, slowly, deliberately, her hands moved. They slid up his shoulders with a languid grace, pulling him closer, her touch slow but insistent, her body following the pull of her hands.

Sunghoon's heart thudded, his thoughts scattering as he was drawn toward her, like a moth to a flame. The warmth of her body, the softness of her touch—it was all too much.

"I just wanted you to love me again," she whispered, her voice trembling, thick with the weight of regret. "I still do."

Sunghoon's chest tightened, his mind a storm of confusion and frustration. Her words hit him like a wave, shattering whatever resolve he thought he had left. His breath caught in his throat, the magnetic pull between them too strong to fight, too familiar to ignore.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but he couldn't. Not when she was this close. Not when she was still the one he couldn't let go of, no matter how much he wanted to.

Before he could stop himself, her lips were on his.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was desperate, hungry—a kiss that spoke of years of pain, longing, and regret. Sunghoon's body responded before his mind could catch up, his hands finding her body, pulling her closer.

He kissed her back with a fervor that surprised him, as if in that single moment, he could erase everything—the past, the hurt, the betrayal—by losing himself in her. Her lips were soft, but there was a fierce desperation in them, as if she, too, was trying to reclaim something lost.

But then, just as suddenly as the kiss ignited, it burned out. Iseul shoved him away, the tears that had been threatening to spill now falling freely. She covered her face with her hands, her body trembling as she sobbed, the sound of her pain cutting through him in a way that felt almost unbearable.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, the words breaking apart on her lips. "You're getting married... I shouldn't have done that."

Sunghoon stood there, paralyzed, as the weight of her confession hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind raced, trying to make sense of everything—what had just happened, what they had done, what it meant—but all he could feel was the raw ache in his chest, the painful echo of the kiss lingering on his lips.

His throat tightened, but he didn't speak. He couldn't. His body was screaming at him to stay, to hold her, to fix everything, but he knew he couldn't.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strained whisper. "It's fine. You're confused."

Iseul looked up at him, her eyes filled with something so vulnerable, so broken, it made his chest ache. She reached for him, her fingers trembling as they brushed against his skin.

For a moment, he thought he might give in, let himself be pulled back into her. But he didn't. He couldn't. Not like this. Not when everything was falling apart around them.

He turned away, the pain in his chest growing sharper with each step. He left the room without looking back, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the hollow silence. And as he walked away, the only thing that seemed real was the lingering taste of her lips, and the bittersweet ache that would never go away.

In the darkness, Iseul's sobs were the only sound left, and Sunghoon knew, deep down, they both were too lost to find their way back.