Chapter 1/2: Smoke and Silk

The lights were blinding.

Jinwoo stood at the center of the stage, sweat clinging to his skin under the harsh glow. Fans screamed his name from the shadows beyond the spotlight, their voices a chorus of obsession and adoration. He smiled—flawlessly, emptily—like he was trained to.

Dance. Pose. Wink.

Smile like you're in love with being watched.

But inside, he was choking.

Backstage, it was colder. Not literally, but the air shifted. It was the kind of chill that came with money and power—the kind you couldn’t see, but could feel sliding down your spine.

“Tonight’s afterparty,” his manager whispered, handing him a clean shirt and a forced grin. “Private. VIP guests only. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Smile. Be charming.”

Jinwoo didn’t reply. He just tugged the shirt over his head and followed the script. Same as always.

The penthouse was soaked in luxury—gold, glass, and guilt. Foreign men in tailored suits laughed too loudly. Their watches cost more than cars. Jinwoo stood near the bar, untouched drink in hand, pretending he wasn’t disgusted by their eyes crawling over him.

That’s when he walked in.

Aleksandr Volkov.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even look impressed.

He walked like he owned the floor, black trench coat brushing his boots, tattoos peeking from his shirt cuffs. His hair was tousled like he didn’t give a damn, and his icy blue eyes scanned the room like a wolf hunting sheep.

Then he saw Jinwoo.

And stopped.

Their eyes locked—idyllic idol meets cold-blooded kingpin. Time didn’t freeze. It burned.

Sasha tilted his head slightly, studying him like he wasn’t a performer, but a puzzle. Jinwoo’s mask cracked for just a second. No one had ever looked at him like that. Like he was real.

Later.

Jinwoo slipped away to the rooftop. The air was sharp, night breeze tugging at his hair. He lit a cigarette—habit he picked up not to rebel, but to feel anything. The city below sparkled like a lie.

He barely heard the door open behind him.

“You’re not supposed to be up here.”

The voice was deep. Russian-accented Korean. Smooth like silk, sharp like broken glass.

Jinwoo turned. It was him. The man with frost in his eyes.

Sasha leaned against the wall, pulling out a cigarette of his own. “You don’t look like a fan,” Jinwoo muttered, watching him.

“I’m not,” Sasha replied, lighting it in one flick. “But I like what I see.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was charged.

“I’m not a doll,” Jinwoo said quietly.

“Good,” Sasha replied, stepping closer. “I don’t collect toys. I protect what’s mine.”

Their eyes locked again. And this time, neither looked away.

Jinwoo should’ve walked away.

He should’ve gone back downstairs, smiled for more men with money, and pretended he didn’t just meet someone who made his whole body wake up. But he stayed. Let Sasha lean beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

“Why are you here?” Jinwoo asked, voice soft but sharp. “People like you don’t come to idol events.”

Sasha smirked, exhaling smoke into the cold air. “I was bored.”

“Bored enough to stalk celebrities?”

He laughed—low, deep, dark. “I don’t stalk. I was invited. You’d be surprised how many powerful men pay to look innocent on paper.”

That hit Jinwoo like a slap. He knew his agency was shady, but hearing it like that?

Gross.

“You’re different,” Sasha said, dragging his eyes over Jinwoo—not like the others, not like a creep. Like he was searching for something beneath the surface. “Your smile downstairs? Lies. But up here? This… this is real.”

Jinwoo scoffed. “You think you know me?”

“No,” Sasha said. “But I want to.”

That shut him up.

Inside the building, chaos was starting.

Someone had come in uninvited.

Men in black scrambled through the halls. Jinwoo and Sasha heard the click of heels, the quiet mutter of guns being drawn. Sasha’s body tensed immediately.

He dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his boot, and turned to Jinwoo with eyes like ice.

“You need to go,” he said. “Now.”

Jinwoo frowned. “Why? What’s—”

Before he could finish, Sasha grabbed his wrist—not hard, just firm. Protective. Urgent. It sent heat up Jinwoo’s arm.

“I said go. Take the elevator. Don’t stop. Don’t talk. Just leave.”

“And if I don’t?” Jinwoo challenged, voice shaking slightly.

Sasha stepped closer. Their chests brushed. His breath was warm against Jinwoo’s cheek. “Then I’ll have to protect you. And trust me, you won’t like how I do it.”

Their eyes locked again.

Jinwoo wanted to hate how safe he felt.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t even flinch when the first distant gunshot echoed from below.

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