Episode 2 – “The Confrontation"

The trial was over, but the echo of victory still clung to the marble halls. Reporters swarmed the courthouse steps, chasing Kim Jun-ho’s retreating figure like moths to flame. He played the crowd effortlessly, each smirk and sharp retort feeding their fascination.

But Jun-ho knew eyes were still on him. Heavy. Calculated. Not the gaze of gossip-hungry journalists, but of someone far more dangerous.

He wasn’t wrong.

When he slid into the underground parking lot, away from flashing cameras, the air shifted. The sound of footsteps echoed off the concrete, slow, deliberate, predatory. Jun-ho didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Aleksandr Volkov.

The mafia kingpin walked out of the shadows, his tailored black suit immaculate despite the cold Seoul night. A faint scar traced along his jawline, half-hidden by stubble, making his already sharp features even more ruthless. His hazel eyes gleamed with a wolfish intensity, and when he spoke, his Russian-accented Korean was low and controlled.

“You enjoy playing with fire, don’t you, lawyer?”

Jun-ho turned, leaning casually against his sleek black car, one hand in his pocket. His lips curved in a slow, mocking smile. “Better than choking on smoke. What’s the matter, Aleksandr? Upset that your little courtroom puppet couldn’t dance to the prosecution’s tune?”

Aleksandr’s steps echoed as he closed the distance, stopping only a breath away. He was taller, broader, radiating the kind of lethal aura that made most men crumble. But Jun-ho’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You think clever words will protect you?” Aleksandr murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Seoul isn’t safe for men who make enemies out of me.”

Jun-ho chuckled, soft but sharp, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “Enemies? Don’t flatter yourself. To be my enemy, you’d have to matter. Right now, you’re just… entertainment.”

The sheer audacity of it cracked Aleksandr’s calm for a second. His jaw clenched, and his hand shot out, pinning Jun-ho against the car door with a thud. The force was enough to make most men tremble. Jun-ho only arched a brow.

“So dramatic,” he drawled. “Do all Russians confuse intimidation with flirting? Or is this just your way of saying hello?”

A dangerous glint sparked in Aleksandr’s eyes. He leaned closer, his breath brushing Jun-ho’s ear. “Careful, lawyer. One wrong word, and you won’t leave this garage alive.”

Jun-ho smirked, unshaken. “And yet, here I stand. Breathing. Mocking you to your face. Which tells me something important…” He tilted his chin up, crimson tie brushing Aleksandr’s chest. “You won’t kill me. Not because you can’t, but because you don’t want to.”

Aleksandr stilled, his grip tightening unconsciously. Jun-ho’s words were like poison wrapped in silk, sinking under his skin.

“You’re arrogant,” Aleksandr said finally, his voice dark with restrained anger.

“No,” Jun-ho corrected smoothly, eyes glittering with defiance. “I’m right. That’s what bothers you.”

The tension between them thickened, dangerous and electric. Aleksandr could feel the steady beat of Jun-ho’s pulse beneath his grip—calm, unafraid, infuriatingly steady.

At last, Aleksandr released him, stepping back, his expression once more unreadable. He adjusted his cufflinks, as if nothing had happened. “Enjoy your victories while you can, Kim Jun-ho. The higher you climb, the harder you fall.”

Jun-ho dusted an imaginary speck from his shoulder, smirking as he opened his car door. “Oh, Aleksandr… I don’t fall. I make others trip.”

The engine purred to life as Jun-ho slid into the driver’s seat. He spared the mafia boss one last glance, eyes glinting with amused challenge. “Next time you want my attention, Volkov, try making an appointment. I don’t offer free consultations.”

The car pulled out, taillights disappearing into the night.

Aleksandr remained in the dim garage, hands clasped behind his back, expression cold. And yet, beneath that icy exterior, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest.

Not just anger.

Fascination.

Kim Jun-ho was no ordinary opponent. He was a flame that refused to be snuffed out.

And Aleksandr Volkov was a man who had never been able to resist fire.

ML (Male Lead – Russian Mafia Boss)

Name: Aleksandr Volkov (Александр Волков)

Age: 32

Occupation: Head of the Volkov Mafia Syndicate

Appearance:

Towering at 6’3”, broad-shouldered, commanding.

Silver-blonde hair, usually slicked back with ruthless precision.

Icy blue eyes that cut through lies—and freeze souls.