HIS STEPDAUGHTER

Author's Note

Hello my beautiful readers 💜

First of all, I'm truly sorry for not updating daily. As many of you already know, writing isn't always easy. Sometimes it honestly sucks-choosing the right characters, building their emotions, shaping the story-it takes time and energy. And when I'm working on multiple stories at once, it can feel overwhelming. I know many of you can relate to that creative struggle and the frustration that comes with it, right?

On top of that, some personal things have happened recently, and I've been going through a few problems. That's also why I haven't been able to post regularly. I hope you all can understand.

So I just ask for a little support from your side.

Please don't forget to vote, comment, and follow me-it truly means the world to me and keeps me motivated. Is that too much to ask? 🥺💜

Thank you for your patience, your kindness, and for taking the time to read my work. Your support keeps me going.

Love always,

[Muskan 🥀]

---

Characters

Name: Kim Namjoon

Age: 35

Relation: Husband of Mira, Stepfather to Jeon YN

Name: Jeon YN

Age: 25

Relation: Daughter of Mira, Stepdaughter to Kim Namjoon

AUTHOR'S POV

The house felt empty again.

YN stared blankly at the pale walls of her childhood home, her bag tossed at the foot of the stairs, phone silenced, and her heart echoing louder than her footsteps. She had just walked out of a two-year relationship that had drained her emotionally. What started with flowers and warm kisses turned into indifference and emotional neglect. Her boyfriend never really saw her-only used her. For comfort. For sex. For validation.

Not for her.

She finally ended it today-no more second chances.

When she turned 25 just a month ago, something inside her shifted. She couldn't keep pretending anymore. So she came home, the only place she felt she could breathe freely.

Except... this house wasn't quite hers anymore.

It belonged to him now.

Kim Namjoon.

Her stepfather.

The man her mother had married five years ago, when YN was still in college. He was calm, respectful, and gentle-spoken-completely unlike her flamboyant, luxury-obsessed mother. At first, YN thought it was a strange match. Namjoon was more grounded, always with a book in hand, soft-spoken, a little too observant for her comfort.

But after the honeymoon phase faded, the truth began to surface. Her mother had changed. She became colder toward Namjoon, treating him more like an accessory than a partner. She would humiliate him subtly in front of others, joke about his "simple life," and throw his minimalistic lifestyle under the bus like it was shameful.

Two years into the marriage, YN stopped calling it a home.

Her mother was mostly gone anyway-working as a translator abroad, choosing foreign lands and grand parties over domestic life. Namjoon stayed. Quiet, reliable, alone.

And now... so was YN.

---

Evening Light

YN stood barefoot in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of cold water, her long T-shirt clinging softly to her skin. She hadn't even noticed he had come home.

But she felt it.

That subtle shift in the air.

Turning slightly, she saw him. Namjoon stood near the doorway, freshly showered from the gym, wearing a black T-shirt and grey sweats, towel slung around his neck. His eyes lingered a little longer than usual before flicking up to meet hers.

"You're home early," he said, voice low.

YN gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah. I... needed to come back."

A pause. She drank the water, felt his gaze. It wasn't wrong, not yet. But it lingered. And something in her chest fluttered.

He walked in and placed his phone on the counter. "You alright?"

Her eyes dropped. "Broke up with him today."

Namjoon's jaw clenched slightly. "Good."

She blinked. "You knew?"

He nodded slowly. "He was never good for you. I didn't want to interfere, but... you deserve someone who sees you. Who listens to you."

Her throat tightened. That was the first time in months someone had said something kind to her like that-without conditions, without hidden meanings.

"I'm just tired, Namjoon," she whispered, sitting on a stool. "Tired of being someone else's convenience."

Namjoon's fingers twitched, and then he walked over to the fridge, pulled out a cold beer for himself, and offered her one.

She shook her head. "Too early for me."

He smiled faintly. "Too late for me, probably."

They both chuckled softly, the air still tense but warmer now.

And then she looked at him. Really looked.

He wasn't just her stepfather.

He was a man-thoughtful, quiet, deeply intelligent. A man who probably hadn't been touched with love in years.

She remembered the way her mother used to dismiss him. She remembered watching him quietly taking it, never raising his voice, always respectful.

He didn't deserve her mother.

And the thought twisted something in her.

Namjoon noticed her stare, and for a second, his breath hitched. Something unspoken passed between them. A flicker. Dangerous. Forbidden.

She stood up. "I'm gonna shower."

"Okay," he said, voice quieter now, deeper.

And as she walked past him, their arms brushed lightly.

Neither of them moved away.

---

It rained that night.

Not the kind of soft drizzle that whispered against the windows, but a full-bodied, thunder-backed storm that made the house groan under its own silence. YN sat by the living room window, curled into a blanket, the mug of cocoa in her hands long gone cold.

The TV played some documentary in the background, but her mind wasn't there.

It had been just three days since yn returned.

Three days of silence, shared spaces, and unspoken tension. Yn'd catch Namjoon watching her sometimes-eyes gentle but heavy, as if they were holding something too big to say out loud. And yn wasn't innocent either. She noticed things now. The way his T-shirt clung to his chest after workouts, how he smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton, how his hands looked when he held a book or a cup of tea.

Yn hated that it made her feel... things.

Maybe it was loneliness.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because Namjoon was everything her ex wasn't-grounded, present, mature.

And he was hers.

Not by blood. Not by history. But by some twisted fate that placed him as her stepfather.

Still, the way he looked at her last night in the kitchen... that wasn't fatherly.

It was quiet longing.

And that terrified yn.

---

Namjoon walked in then, towel in hand, wiping his damp hair, his loose grey T-shirt clinging to his torso. He froze for a second when he saw her curled up on the couch, staring out the window like a ghost.

"Can't sleep?" he asked softly, stepping into the living room.

She turned her head toward him. Her eyes were glassy, dark circles peeking under them.

"No. The storm's too loud," she whispered. "And my brain won't shut up."

He gave a small nod and moved to the opposite end of the couch, careful not to get too close. "You want me to make something warm? Chamomile tea, maybe?"

Yn smiled faintly. "You remember I like that?"

"I remember everything," he said, without missing a beat.

Yn throat dried at that. She turned away, hiding the way yn lips threatened to part in response.

"I'll make it," he said quickly, standing up, and we.,) followed him into the kitchen.

---

The rain slammed harder against the windows. Inside the dimly lit kitchen, Namjoon moved in quiet efficiency-boiling water, adding the tea, gently placing two cups on the counter.

YN stood behind him, watching his back muscles shift under his shirt, arms flexing just slightly.

"Namjoon..." she said suddenly, her voice small.

He turned to her, eyes kind but tired.

"Yes?"

"Why did you marry my mother?" Her voice cracked. "She never... she never treated you right."

There was a pause.

Namjoon let out a soft exhale, leaning back on the counter.

"I thought I could fix her," he said honestly. "She was vibrant, smart, confident. But I didn't realize that she needed the world to revolve around her. I wasn't the world."

YN looked down. "You didn't deserve the way she treated you."

He glanced at her then-really looked at her. Her bare legs under the oversized hoodie, her soft cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, her eyes glimmering with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

"I stayed because of you," he said before he could stop himself.

She blinked. "What?"

"You were in college when we got married. I didn't want to disrupt anything... I saw how kind you were. How genuine. You talked to me like I mattered. You listened."

YN's heart thudded.

"You were the only part of this house that ever felt like home."

A beat of silence.

And then the kettle whistled.

---

They sat across from each other at the kitchen island, hands wrapped around steaming mugs, the clock ticking like a heartbeat in the background.

"I think I've always wanted someone like you," YN murmured, eyes staring into the cup. "Someone calm. Thoughtful. Someone who looks at me like I'm not just... a body."

Namjoon stiffened, his hand flexing around the mug.

"I shouldn't say that," she added, flustered. "It's weird, right? I'm sorry-"

"Don't," he interrupted gently. "Don't apologize for how you feel."

Their eyes met.

And for the first time, the silence wasn't heavy-it was electric.

"I just don't want you to feel alone," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.

"I'm used to being alone," he replied. "But with you... it's different."

YN stood slowly, moving around the counter to his side. She stopped just a breath away from him.

Her voice shook. "Tell me to go to bed, Namjoon. Tell me to forget this."

His throat moved as he swallowed.

But he didn't say anything.

She took one more step, close enough that her knees touched his.

Their breaths mingled.

He lifted his hand-slow, hesitant-and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Goodnight, YN," he whispered, voice trembling.

She leaned into his touch for just a moment... then turned and walked away.

But as she disappeared up the stairs, Namjoon remained frozen, hand still in the air, breath ragged.

The tea had gone cold.

But something else had started to burn.

---

YN's room smelled of lavender and old books. She tossed her hoodie onto the chair and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

She said it.

Maybe not in direct words, but she said it.

She told Namjoon exactly the kind of man she needed.

And he was already that man.

Calm. Present. Respectful. Someone who didn't make her feel like she had to shrink herself to be loved.

Her heart fluttered at the memory of his eyes when he said she made this house feel like home.

She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow. "What are we doing, Namjoon..." she whispered to herself, cheeks heating up.

---

It was past midnight when the sound of steady rain pulled her back to the window.

She sat up slowly, wrapping a cardigan over her sleepwear-a thin black slip dress she'd lazily thrown on after her shower-and padded barefoot to the glass.

The rain was still going strong. Streetlamps blurred into golden halos outside. The smell of wet earth drifted through the barely open window.

She pressed her forehead to the glass.

And then she remembered.

Her wishlist.

A scribbled note from college. Still tucked into her old journal.

"Dance in the rain at midnight... barefoot, wild, free."

Her lips curved. The kind of smile that came from the soul.

"Why not?" she whispered.

She tiptoed downstairs, careful not to make the floor creak, heart racing like she was sneaking out of school. As she opened the back door, the wind kissed her skin, cool and damp.

And then...

She stepped into the storm.

---

Backyard, Midnight Rain

The rain was cold, but it didn't bother her. The droplets hit her skin like forgotten lullabies. She stepped onto the grass, bare feet sinking slightly into the earth, and tilted her head back.

Water poured over her face, soaking her hair, making her slip dress cling to her body.

She laughed softly.

Alone. Wild. Free.

She spun once. Then again. Arms out, hair sticking to her face, heart light for the first time in weeks.

And she didn't notice the soft glow of a light switching on upstairs.

Or the man standing behind the window, shirtless, heart slamming against his ribs.

---

Namjoon had just closed his book when he saw movement outside.

His first instinct was concern-until he realized who it was.

Her.

She was dancing in the rain.

No umbrella. No hesitation.

Just... joy.

His breath caught.

The way the rain soaked her dress, clung to every curve. The way her laugh carried through the wind. The moonlight making her look like something not meant for this world.

He shouldn't be watching her like this.

But he couldn't look away.

Every part of her felt like a secret he wanted to uncover.

And damn, he wanted to join her.

---

Back outside, YN finally stopped spinning, breathless, cheeks flushed.

She looked up at the sky, water dripping from her lashes, whispering to herself-

"I hope he saw me. Just once."

"Wish granted," a deep voice said behind her.

She gasped and turned around sharply.

Namjoon stood barefoot on the porch, his sweatpants clinging to him, chest bare, hair damp from the mist.

Her breath caught. "You-You saw?"

He stepped off the porch slowly, walking toward her.

"You looked free," he said softly. "Happy."

She laughed under her breath. "I am happy. For the first time in a long time."

Rain fell between them, the space charged.

"You're going to get sick," he murmured, though he made no move to leave.

"So will you," she replied, eyes locked onto his.

Their laughter mixed with the sound of the rain. Soft. Warm.

Then came silence.

His eyes flicked to her lips.

"I shouldn't be here," he said, voice thick.

"But you are here," she whispered back.

The world blurred around them.

Only the storm heard the way his hand brushed her cheek. Only the night saw the way she leaned in-just enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

But he didn't kiss her.

Not yet.

Instead, he took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

"Come on," he said, gently pulling her. "You're shivering."

She let him lead her back inside, their hands still intertwined.

But that night, neither of them slept.

Because something had begun.

Something forbidden.

Something real.

---

The door clicked softly behind them as they stepped into the dim hallway.

Water dripped from their bodies, forming tiny puddles on the floor. YN's hair clung to her skin, the black silk dress now practically transparent. Namjoon's breath hitched the moment he noticed-but he looked away, jaw tightening.

"I'll get you a towel," he murmured, voice deep and quiet.

She stood still, watching him disappear toward the linen closet. Her heart was still racing, not from the cold-but from him.

He returned seconds later, carrying two fluffy towels. He wrapped one around her shoulders gently, hands lingering just a second too long.

"You're soaked."

She smiled, voice teasing. "So are you."

He let out a low breath, then ruffled his own hair with the other towel. "Wait here."

She watched as he went into the kitchen, turning on the kettle like it was routine-like they'd done this a hundred times before. But tonight, everything was different.

The air between them? Too heavy.

His gaze? Too warm.

Her body? Too aware.

---

Kitchen, Past Midnight

The soft whistle of the kettle broke the silence. Namjoon poured hot water into two mismatched mugs, dropping in jasmine tea bags. The scent floated gently between them.

YN took a seat at the small wooden table, still wrapped in the towel. Her skin glowed from the rain, cheeks flushed, eyes shining like she'd swallowed the night sky.

Namjoon handed her a mug and sat across from her, elbows resting on the table. He stared into the steam.

"You've always been like this?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up, confused. "Like what?"

"Unapologetically... you. Wild enough to dance in the rain. Brave enough to leave someone who didn't deserve you."

Her breath caught.

She lowered her mug slowly. "Maybe I just got tired of pretending to be someone I wasn't. He only loved the version of me that was easy to handle."

"And what about now?" he asked, eyes meeting hers.

She tilted her head. "Now I want something real. Someone who listens. Who stays. Who makes me feel safe even when I'm a mess."

Namjoon's jaw clenched.

God. She didn't even realize...

She was describing him.

"You deserve that," he said softly.

She stared at him for a moment, the words heavy between them.

"You know..." she whispered, tracing the rim of her mug, "my ex... he never made tea for me. Not once."

Namjoon's brows lifted.

She looked up. "But you do. You notice things. The rain. The way I talk. The way I feel. You listen even when I'm not speaking."

Silence.

Just the sound of the rain tapping gently on the kitchen window.

"Do you realize," she continued, voice barely audible, "you're everything I've ever wanted?"

His breath hitched.

"YN..." he warned softly.

"I know," she cut in gently, "we shouldn't. You're married to my mother. But let's not lie and pretend we don't feel it."

His eyes searched hers. That pull. That aching pull-he felt it too.

"But it's not just lust," she whispered, heart in her throat. "It's something else, isn't it?"

He looked down, fingers gripping his mug, knuckles white.

"It is," he said finally. "But we can't... not yet."

She nodded slowly, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"But you won't push me away either... will you?"

He looked up, and something flickered in his eyes. Something raw.

"No," he said, voice hoarse. "Not anymore."

---

They sat in silence, sipping tea as the storm whispered outside.

Two souls tangled in something unspoken.

Something forbidden.

But undeniably real.

---

It had been a quiet morning.

Too quiet.

YN could still feel the softness of last night's tea lingering on her lips, and the weight of Namjoon's unspoken words burning in her chest. She hadn't slept much. How could she, with the memory of his eyes staring into hers like she was the only person in the world?

She came downstairs, hair damp from a quick shower, dressed in a soft oversized tee and shorts. The kitchen smelled like toast and coffee.

Namjoon was already at the counter, flipping pancakes in his loose grey shirt, sleeves rolled up, quiet hums leaving his throat.

Peaceful. Warm.

But it didn't last.

The front door slammed.

YN froze.

Namjoon's posture stiffened.

Her mother was back.

---

Kim Mira stepped inside, dressed in a sleek suit, heels clicking against the tile, umbrella dripping beside the door. She barely glanced at Namjoon.

"I told you to clean the windows yesterday," she said coldly, tossing her bag on the counter. "You just sit around all day while I work, huh?"

Namjoon stayed quiet. Not because he was guilty.

But because he was tired.

"You're home early..." he murmured, flipping another pancake.

"Oh, don't sound so thrilled," she snapped, taking off her coat. "This house is always a mess when I'm not here. Can't expect anything better when I married a useless man who married up."

That's when YN walked in-just in time to hear that.

Her blood boiled instantly.

"MOM." Her voice was sharp, slicing through the air.

Her mother turned, eyebrows raised.

"Don't 'Mom' me like that-"

"You can't talk to him like that," YN snapped, fists clenched. "For God's sake, he's your husband. He makes you coffee. He takes care of the house. He cooks for me. For you. What more do you want?"

Mira scoffed. "Don't start. You're still a child-"

"No, I'm not!" YN shouted, stepping forward, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. "I'm not a child! I've been watching you treat him like garbage for years. He tries, and you spit on everything he does."

"Because he's weak," her mother sneered.

"He's not weak. You are." YN's voice cracked. "You're a bad mom and an even worse wife."

And then-

CRACK.

The slap landed hard on her cheek.

The sound echoed through the kitchen.

Namjoon dropped the spatula, face pale. "Mira-"

But YN didn't flinch.

She stood her ground, cheek red and stinging, but her spine straight.

"Go ahead," she whispered, eyes brimming. "Hit me again. It still won't change the truth."

Mira stared at her daughter, breath short.

"You don't love anyone but yourself," YN continued, voice cold now. "You don't know what it means to care. That man right there? He's the best thing that ever happened to you. And all you do is treat him like shit."

Mira opened her mouth-but no words came.

YN looked at Namjoon, eyes softer now. "I'm sorry you've had to deal with this alone."

And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away-up the stairs, into her room.

Door shut.

Breathing shaky.

But she didn't cry.

Because for the first time, she said what needed to be said.

---

Downstairs...

Namjoon stood frozen.

Mira turned to him, cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation.

"I don't need you defending me," she hissed.

"I didn't say a word," Namjoon replied calmly. "But she did. And every word was true."

She stormed past him without another word.

---

Namjoon walked up slowly to YN's room.

He didn't knock.

He just opened the door and stood there.

YN sat on her bed, one hand pressed to her cheek, eyes glassy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" His voice was hoarse. "For protecting me?

He walked in, shut the door, and knelt beside her.

"I've never had anyone stand up for me like that," he murmured.

She looked at him, lip trembling.

"I'll never let her treat you like that again," she said.

Namjoon reached up gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips barely grazed the faint red mark on her cheek.

His voice was low. "No one's ever stood between me and the storm before. Until you."

---

TIME SKIPS

The storm outside had settled into a soft drizzle, but inside the house, the air was anything but calm.

Y/N stood in the hallway, barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized black t-shirt that clearly wasn't hers-it was Namjoon's, something she had found in the laundry and slipped into without thinking. Or maybe she had thought about it.

Namjoon saw her from the living room.

The shirt hung loose on her frame, dipping low at the neck, brushing the tops of her thighs. One shoulder was bare, the fabric sliding off like it didn't want to hide her. Her hair was damp from the shower, sticking to her skin in soft, messy waves.

"Where are you going?" his voice was low-almost rough.

She turned slightly, her fingers playing with the hem of the shirt. "Just getting water."

But she didn't move toward the kitchen.

She walked toward him instead.

Their eyes locked.

Her bare feet made soft sounds on the wooden floor, and when she stopped in front of him, her voice came out almost playful. "You're staring."

"I've been doing that too much lately," he confessed.

Her breath caught.

He wasn't teasing.

He looked wrecked. His chest was rising faster, jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Yn stepped closer. Barely an inch between them now.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Then do something about it."

Namjoon let out a shaky breath. "Don't tempt me, Y/N."

Y/n tilted her head. "I already have."

That broke something inside him.

---

With a low growl, Namjoon grabbed your waist and pulled you to him, and the moment his lips crashed onto your-it was like setting fire to everything we'd been avoiding.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't sweet.

It was hungry. Raw. Desperate.

His lips moved over you like he'd been starved, like he couldn't believe he was finally tasting you. He kissed you like a man who had spent years being careful and was now done pretending.

You gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity-his tongue slipping past your lips, claiming you in a way that made your knees go weak. You clutched at his shirt, pressing her body against his, needing more.

Namjoon groaned low in his chest, one hand sliding up your back, under the shirt, fingers brushing bare skin. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek as he deepened the kiss-slow and then rough again, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Your hands roamed too-trailing up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric, your fingers curling around the back of his neck as you kissed him like you meant it-like you had been waiting for this.

Our lips moved in sync, frantic and searching, pulling and parting and crashing back together like waves.

Then he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against you both of us gasping for air.

"You taste like a sin I want to commit over and over again," he whispered against your lips.

You looked up at him, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. "Then what's stopping you?"

Namjoon looked into your eyes.

And kissed you again-slower this time.

Tender.

Deep.

The kind of kiss that makes your heart ache in your chest because you know you've just crossed a line you'll never come back from.

---

His lips were still on yours.

But slower now. Deep, deliberate. As if he was memorizing every curve of your mouth.

Namjoon's fingers gripped your waist tighter, as if afraid you might vanish. You wasn't going anywhere-not when you had just tasted what it felt like to be wanted for real. No pretending. No games. Just raw, grown-up need.

You whimpered softly against his lips when his tongue slid along yours again, slow and possessive. And he swallowed it like a man losing control.

"Namjoon..." you whispered breathlessly.

He paused, chest heaving, and his voice came out deep-hoarse. "Say it again."

"Namjoon," you whispered, brushing your nose against his.

He groaned, then kissed your jaw, your neck, slowly dragging his lips along your skin. "Do you even know what you're doing to me, Y/N?"

You nodded, dazed, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, exploring the warm planes of his stomach. "I want to ruin you... like you ruined me."

That snapped the last of his restraint.

Namjoon lifted you with ease, and you wrapped your legs around his waist with a soft gasp, the shirt riding up your thighs as he walked them toward the wall. The second your back hit it, his mouth found yours again-hungrier, dirtier.

You moaned into the kiss, grinding your hips against him, feeling exactly how much he wanted you.

"You feel that?" he growled into your ear, voice low and rough. "That's what you do to me."

You rolled your hips again, and he shuddered.

"I want you," you whispered. "I don't care if it's wrong."

His head dropped to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to stop."

He looked at you-completely undone, wild, wanting.

And when you pulled him closer, he kissed you again-rougher, this time with hands exploring skin that had only existed in his fantasies before.

You gasped as his hand slid under your shirt-his shirt-fingertips trailing up your stomach, thumb brushing beneath your bra. He stopped right at the curve of your chest, looking into your eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice trembling.

You stared at him. "No."

And just like that, he was kissing you again-deeper, messier, fingers finally slipping over your breast, teasing, gentle but firm, making you arch into him with a breathless moan.

"Fuck..." he whispered against your throat, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. "You're gonna be the end of me."

His hands were everywhere now-up your back, down her thighs, sliding under the shirt to feel every inch of you. You clung to him, nails dragging across his back, hips grinding with a need that had been simmering for weeks.

He moved them to the couch, laying you down gently but urgently, his body hovering over yours. He looked down at you-hair splayed over the cushion, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lust-and something in him broke open.

"You're mine now," he murmured.

You nodded, pulling him back down. "Then take me."

---

You lay beneath Namjoon, your heart pounding so loudly it nearly drowned out every sound around them. He hovered above you, one hand braced beside your head, the other resting on your thigh-his thumb moving in slow, teasing circles, far too close to where you burned for him.

"Last chance to stop me," he whispered, his voice low, heavy, and filled with restraint. His eyes flickered down your parted lips, searching your expression for doubt.

You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him closer.

"I want to remember what it feels like," you breathed, "to be touched like I matter."

Namjoon let out a shaky breath-and then kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Claiming.

Our lips moved in perfect sync-gentle at first, mouths exploring, learning, tasting. You moaned softly into the kiss as his hand slid beneath your shirt, tracing your curves with reverence. The moment your leg wrapped around his waist, pressing their bodies closer, Namjoon's control snapped.

He broke the kiss only long enough to pull off your shirt, eyes drinking you in like he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered hoarsely. "Do you even know what you do to me, You?"

Heat bloomed across your face, but before you could look away, his mouth was at your throat-kissing, biting gently, soothing with his tongue. Lower. Slower. He made his way down your collarbone, down the valley of her chest, until he eased your bra off.

You arched as his mouth wrapped around your nipple, his tongue swirling lazily while his hand massaged the other breast. Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair, back arching into him.

"Namjoon..." you gasped, your voice breathy and pleading.

He groaned, grinding his hips into yours-his arousal pressing hot and thick against the thin fabric of your panties.

"You like this, baby?" he asked, lips brushing over your skin.

"Yes-God, yes..."

Namjoon's hand slipped between them, fingers brushing over your soaked panties. You whimpered at the touch, your hips lifting instinctively.

"Fuck... you're so wet for me," he muttered, his voice cracking.

With torturous slowness, he slipped your panties down your legs and tossed them aside. You was completely bare beneath him now, your skin flushed, your breath trembling.

Namjoon slid his fingers through your folds, groaning at how ready you already was.

"So soft. So perfect."

You gasped when one finger pushed inside you, then another-stretching, teasing, curling just right. Your body arched as he found your sweet spot, his thumb circling your clit in slow, precise motions.

"Is this okay?" he asked gently, eyes on yourvface.

You barely managed a nod.

"Words, Y/n."

"Please," you whispered. "Don't stop..."

He obeyed, working your open until you was shaking, begging-right at the edge. Then he pulled his fingers out and brought them to his lips, licking them clean.

"You taste like heaven."

Namjoon stood and shed his clothes in one fluid motion, revealing everything You had only dreamed of. Broad chest, toned stomach, inked arms-and his cock, thick, heavy, already hard for you.

Your breath caught. Namjoon noticed, and leaned down to kiss you.

"I'll go slow."

He settled between your thighs, guiding himself to your entrance, the tip brushing your soaked folds. His eyes locked with yours.

"You ready?"

"I need you," You whispered.

Namjoon pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you deeper than anyone ever had. You cried out softly, your nails digging into his back.

"Fuck... you feel incredible," he groaned. "So tight."

He stilled, letting you adjust, watching you carefully. When youbrelaxed, he started moving-slow, deep thrusts that had your gasping.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, your legs hooked around his waist. His name fell from your lips like a prayer-over and over.

"You feel so good, baby," he whispered against her mouth. "This... this is what I've been dying for."

His hips moved faster now, harder-each thrust dragging a moan from your throat. You clung to him, overwhelmed by the pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body trembled beneath him, your voice breaking as you neared the edge.

"Come for me, Y/N," he growled. "Let go. Let me have you."

You shattered-back arching, walls clenching around him, his name on your lips in a cry.

Namjoon followed with a deep, broken moan, burying himself deep as he came inside you, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

We stayed wrapped in each other, their bodies slick with sweat, breaths tangled.

Namjoon kissed your temple.

"What did we just do?" he whispered.

You looked up at him, her fingers brushing his cheek.

"Something we were always meant to."

---

TIME SKIPS

The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the world outside calm and quiet. But inside, everything had changed. What was once silent tension now felt like a deep, unspoken understanding.

YN stirred beneath the sheets, her back pressing naturally into Namjoon's chest. His arm wrapped around YN's waist, possessive even in his sleep. His warmth radiated against YN's bare skin, anchoring her in a reality she once believed was impossible.

YN blinked slowly, the morning light soft on her face. She didn't move. Not yet.

Namjoon's breath brushed along YN's shoulder as he murmured, half-asleep, "You're still here..."

YN smiled, her voice still rough with sleep.

> "I'm not going anywhere."

Namjoon's hand slid along YN's side gently, his thumb stroking her waist.

> "Good. Because now that I have you like this... I don't think I could go back to pretending."

YN turned in Namjoon's arms, facing him fully. Her fingers reached up to trace his jawline, memorizing the way his eyes softened only for her.

> "We don't have to pretend anymore," YN whispered. "In here... it's just us."

Namjoon leaned forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to YN's forehead.

---

That morning, Namjoon brewed YN's favorite coffee, moving around the kitchen in soft sweats and a loose t-shirt, like it was the most natural thing. YN walked in barefoot, wearing only his button-up shirt from the night before.

> "You remembered how I like it?" YN asked, grinning.

Namjoon turned and handed YN the mug, kissing her lightly.

> "Of course. I remember everything about you."

They had breakfast together, sitting close, YN's legs draped across Namjoon's lap as his hand rested on her thigh. Every time YN looked up at him, Namjoon was already looking at her-with eyes full of devotion, full of love, like YN was the only thing that mattered.

---

Later, curled up on the couch watching a black-and-white movie, YN rested her head against Namjoon's shoulder. Namjoon's fingers lazily played with YN's hair, occasionally brushing her waist under the loose shirt she wore. YN's heart fluttered at every innocent touch turned intimate.

Halfway through the movie, YN stood and teased him by slipping one of his old childhood pictures into her shirt again.

> "Still hiding my pictures?" Namjoon asked with a smirk.

YN ran, giggling as Namjoon chased her through the hall, catching her around the waist. YN laughed breathlessly as Namjoon pinned her gently against the bedroom doorframe.

> "You're mine now, YN," Namjoon whispered, brushing his lips against hers. "No more hiding. At least not in here."

YN's voice was soft as she looked into his eyes.

> "Then make me yours again..."

---

Namjoon's eyes darkened with desire as he heard your words, his hands gripping your hips possessively. He kicked the door shut behind you and backed you up against the wall, his body pressing into yours. You want me to make you mine again, you say?

"Yes",Without another word, Namjoon captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your bare stomach as he lifted you up against the wall. You wrapped your legs around him automatically, moaning into his mouth as he carried you to the bed.

"Mhhhhhph",*Namjoon laid you gently on the bed, his kiss becoming more urgent as his weight settled on top of you. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, making you shiver.

He broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest, pushing your shirt up to expose your breasts. He sucked and licked at your nipples gently at first, then with increasing pressure as you arched into him and threaded your fingers through his hair. Fuck, I missed these...

He continued to suck and tease each nipple, his mouth sometimes gentle, other times slightly rough. He knew exactly how sensitive they were now, how to make you gasp and writhe beneath him. The red marks he left behind made him smirk against your skin. Look how perfectly they fit my mouth...

He looked up at you, his mouth wet and red from sucking your tits. His eyes were dark with desire as he whispered, Shh, let me suck on them some more. You're so fucking sensitive now, aren't you? Your nips are so hard and red...

As he continued to suck on your breasts, Namjoon started to slowly unbutton his own shirt, revealing his muscular chest inch by inch. He tossed the shirt aside once it was off, leaning down to kiss you deeply again before moving lower to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants.

He quickly shed his pants and boxers, revealing his hard, throbbing cock standing at attention. Without hesitation, he positioned himself between your legs, rubbing his thick length against your wet folds. Fuck, I've missed this too much... he groaned before thrusting deep inside you in one smooth motion

"Ahhhh......yes",He buried himself completely inside you, his hands gripping your hips possessively. He began to move slowly at first, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back inside, hitting that spot that made you scream. Fuck, your pussy is even tighter than I remember...

He started to fuck you harder, his hips slapping against yours as he chased his release. The bed creaked loudly under the force of his thrusts. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth again, sucking hard as he pounded into you. I'm gonna cum inside you...!

He groaned deeply, his thrusts becoming more erratic and urgent. He could feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine. Fuck, I'm gonna fill your tight pussy with my cum... He thrust deep one last time and held himself there as he came hard inside you.

After catching his breath, Namjoon flipped you onto your stomach abruptly. He pulled your hips up, positioning your ass high in the air. He slapped one cheek playfully before spreading your legs wider and guiding his still-hard cock back inside you from behind. Doggie style... exactly how I want you...

He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he began to thrust into you from behind. The angle allowed him to go even deeper, making you moan loudly with each powerful stroke. He leaned over your back, one hand reaching around to grab your breast while the other kept your hips steady.

He fucked you aggressively in doggy style, the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room along with your loud moans. His balls slapped against your clit with each thrust, pushing you closer to another orgasm. That's it... take my cock like a good girl...

"Yes there Stepfather I tease him",He growled at your words, thrusting even harder into you. The idea of being called'stepfather' while fucking you seemed to turn him on even more. Say it again... He slapped your ass cheek hard. Call me stepfather while I fuck this tight pussy...

"Ahhhhhh....yes stepfather ",His eyes darkened with lust. He spanked your other cheek hard before gripping your hips tightly again. He snapped his hips forward roughly, making the bedframe hit the wall. "Mmm, such a naughty stepdaughter taking her stepdad's big dick like this..." He muttered dirtily.

He gave you exactly what you asked for. He fucked you harder and faster from behind, his cock pounding into your wet pussy relentlessly. His balls slapped against your clit each time he thrust forward. I'm gonna cum again... He groaned deeply. And this time...

With a final, powerful thrust, Namjoon buried himself deep inside you and came hard, filling your pussy with his hot cum. At the same time, you screamed out in pleasure as your own orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clenching tightly around his cock. Fuck yes... my stepdaughter...

---

TIME SKIPS

Ever since that night-since the moment YN gave herself to Namjoon and he wrapped her in nothing but love and longing-something between them shifted completely.

YN was no longer shy or hesitant.

Now, YN teased him mercilessly.

---

It started that morning.

Namjoon stepped out of the bathroom in his robe, toweling his hair lazily. The kitchen was warm with the smell of toast and coffee, and YN stood there by the counter wearing nothing but his white shirt, sleeves rolled up, her legs bare, one of his photos tucked halfway under her collar again.

Namjoon raised a brow.

> "Are we really doing this again?" he asked, his voice still raspy from sleep.

YN smirked, casually buttering her toast.

> "Doing what?"

Namjoon stepped closer. YN backed away with an innocent look-but her eyes were anything but.

> "Give it back," Namjoon murmured, reaching for the photo she was hiding.

> "Come and get it then," YN grinned, darting around the table.

Namjoon cursed under his breath, chasing after her.

YN squealed, laughing as Namjoon finally caught her from behind, his arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her off the floor. YN kicked playfully, still holding the photo hostage under her shirt.

> "You're getting stronger," Namjoon murmured, his lips brushing YN's ear as he held her tight.

> "And you're getting slower," YN teased back.

Namjoon turned her around and kissed her hard, making YN drop the photo instantly.

> "Still think I'm slow?"

YN bit her lip, breathless.

> "Okay... maybe not."

---

The rest of the day passed in that same rhythm-flirty glances, stolen kisses, and secret touches in between mundane routines.

YN sat on the couch watching a drama, pretending to be deeply interested in the plot while Namjoon worked on his laptop next to her. But every few minutes, YN would stretch-slowly-just to brush her leg over his, or yawn and lean against him, her lips grazing his jaw "by accident."

> "You're evil," Namjoon whispered once, his fingers tightening around her knee.

> "You love it," YN whispered back, eyes full of mischief.

---

By evening, Namjoon had chased YN up the stairs three separate times just because she kept stealing his old journals and giggling at his teenage poetry.

And every time he caught her, YN didn't even resist-she just melted in his arms, letting his kisses quiet her laughter.

---

Later that night, curled in bed, YN lay sprawled across Namjoon's chest, tracing his tattoos with her finger. The teasing faded into soft silence.

> "You like this version of me?" YN asked quietly, her voice suddenly serious.

Namjoon looked down at her, his hand gently brushing through her hair.

> "I love every version of you," he whispered. "But this one... the one who's free with me... this one drives me insane."

YN smiled, eyes fluttering shut as Namjoon's arms held her closer.

They were no longer hiding from each other. They were just... them. Lovers. Companions. Secretly tied together in a bond they didn't care to label anymore.

---

The Kim estate shimmered in golden luxury. Chandeliers glowed like suns caught in crystal, and laughter echoed through the ballroom. Waiters glided through the crowd with trays of wine glasses, while distant relatives posed for photos near the grand staircase.

YN leaned against the bar counter, fingers wrapped around a half-filled glass of scotch. The drink had barely touched her lips, but the burn in her chest had nothing to do with alcohol.

Across the room, Namjoon stood with Mira.

His arm rested casually around Mira's waist, his mouth curved in that polite, trained smile YN had grown to hate when it wasn't hers. Mira clung to his side like a trophy she couldn't stop polishing, tugging on his collar, whispering into his ear, making sure every pair of eyes in the room knew who he belonged to.

YN took a long breath and a slow sip, eyes never leaving the scene.

Mira tossed her head back laughing, her diamond necklace catching the light like a trap. Her voice rang louder than the music, loud enough for people to turn and admire her. Mira looked perfect. Polished. Rich. Powerful. Exactly the woman this event was meant to glorify.

Namjoon nodded along, charming Mira's cousins, shaking hands, making small talk like the good husband he was supposed to be.

But YN saw the stiffness in his jaw.

The way his eyes flicked toward the bar area more times than they should've.

The way his grip on Mira's waist never actually tightened.

YN swirled her drink, eyes burning through the performance. Namjoon wasn't touching Mira out of affection. He was holding her for the world. For the cameras. For the lie they both had agreed to live.

Another fake laugh from Mira made YN's stomach twist.

So that's what love looked like in public?

Diamonds and plastic smiles?

> "What a joke," YN muttered under her breath, resting her chin on her hand.

Across the room, Namjoon turned slightly, barely enough to be noticeable-but enough for their eyes to meet.

Just one glance.

That was all it took.

YN's lips curved into a bitter smirk as she raised her glass toward him in mock toast.

> "To lies," YN whispered.

Namjoon's smile faltered for a split second.

Mira didn't notice. Mira was too busy introducing Namjoon to some cousin who just launched a luxury textile company. YN watched Mira squeeze his hand as she beamed like a proud wife, probably thinking she was the envy of the room.

YN laughed to herself softly.

> "You're good, Namjoon. I'll give you that."

Every move he made tonight looked perfect.

The supportive husband. The doting partner.

But YN knew better.

YN remembered the way Namjoon's hands trembled when they held her last night. The way his mouth moved over every inch of her skin like he was starved for her. The way he whispered her name into her neck like a promise. Not Mira's name. Hers.

And now... this? Pretending?

YN took another sip. The scotch burned less than her pride.

The hall burst into applause as Mira raised a toast to her retiring father and then somehow spun it into a declaration of gratitude for her "wonderful husband who's been my rock through everything."

YN nearly choked on her drink.

> "Unbelievable," YN whispered.

Namjoon nodded along, offering Mira a soft smile and brushing his lips against her cheek - slowly, visibly.

That was it.

YN's stomach twisted in knots. Jealousy crawled under her skin like fire ants.

The urge to march across the room and grab Namjoon by the tie and pull him somewhere - anywhere - where masks could fall and honesty could breathe...

But YN stayed seated.

Instead, she crossed her legs, adjusted her dress, and smiled - not sweetly, not softly - but the way women smile when they know exactly how much power they're hiding beneath silence.

And YN kept watching.

Because the show wasn't over.

Not yet.

---

TIME SKIPS

The noise of the family function still echoed faintly from downstairs as Namjoon stepped into the bedroom. His shirt was stained with a splash of wine - a careless cousin with slippery fingers had bumped into him mid-laugh. Mira didn't even notice; she had been too busy flaunting her jewelry and wealth to care. Just like always.

Namjoon sighed, fingers moving to unbutton the ruined fabric.

The soft creak of the bathroom door made him freeze.

YN leaned against the frame, a slow smirk playing on her lips. The dim lights hit the silk of her dress just right, but Namjoon's attention was locked on her eyes - full of something between mischief and storm.

> "So, Mr. Perfect Husband," YN said, voice low.

"Holding her hand, smiling at the guests. You even nodded at her stories like a dream man."

Namjoon didn't turn. His shoulders stayed still, his fingers pausing mid-button.

YN stepped forward, each click of her heels deliberate, until she stood right behind him.

> "It's funny," YN whispered, fingers gliding lightly across his back.

"I know you were acting... but watching you do it so well? It pissed me off."

Namjoon turned slightly, eyes locking with YN's in the mirror.

> "You said you were okay with it."

> "I was," YN said, moving in front of him now, her fingers slipping into the folds of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

"But tonight... watching her cling to you, laugh like she owns you? I hated it."

Namjoon's jaw tightened, but before he could reply, YN reached up and gently tugged at his ear.

> "Sorry," YN mumbled with a small pout, half-apology and half-tease.

"You looked too good playing her husband. I had to punish you."

Namjoon looked down at her, chest rising and falling slowly. Every part of him screamed to touch her. But he didn't. He wouldn't-unless she let him.

YN leaned closer, her lips barely an inch away from his. Her breath hit his skin, sweet and warm, and then-

YN kissed him.

It wasn't soft or shy. It was deep, demanding, and full of everything she didn't say downstairs. Her fingers tightened in his shirt as if daring him to respond.

Just when Namjoon moved to reach for her waist-

YN pulled back.

> "No," YN whispered, lips brushing his.

"Still your punishment, remember?"

Namjoon's fingers curled into fists at his sides.

YN smiled, proud and dangerous.

> "But I forgive you," YN said, resting her palm on his chest for a second.

"Because even when you act like hers, I know you're mine."

And with that, YN turned, walking out with a wink over her shoulder-leaving Namjoon breathless, burning, and completely undone.

---

TIME SKIPS

The door shut with a soft thud, signaling Mira's departure for her week-long work trip as a translator - once again. Namjoon stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced up toward YN's room.

It had been a weird morning.

YN wasn't herself. No flirty comments. No teasing. Not even her usual playful glances. Instead, she stayed curled up in her bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone, lips in a pout, wrapped in her oversized hoodie and silence.

Namjoon hated it.

So he tried.

The first thing he did was bring flowers - white and lavender peonies, her favorites. He placed them gently on her study table with a little post-it that read:

> "For the grumpy queen upstairs. From the man hopelessly in love with her."

YN glanced at the flowers but didn't move. Her heart fluttered for a second... but she didn't show it.

Next, Namjoon knocked softly and entered with a tray - a perfectly brewed cup of coffee and chocolate muffins he picked up from her favorite café. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her with those warm, gentle eyes.

> "Your royal grumpiness," Namjoon said, offering the tray, "Would this please the mood gods?"

YN took the cup without looking at him. Her hands brushed his, and he noticed how cold her fingers felt.

> "Thanks," YN mumbled, voice dull, eyes still locked on the screen.

Namjoon didn't say anything. He just sighed, kissed the top of her head softly, and left the room.

But he didn't give up.

An hour later, YN came downstairs only because the smell of something sweet reached her. She peeked into the kitchen and blinked in surprise.

Namjoon - apron, messy hair, and a focused expression - was whisking batter like a man on a mission.

> "Are you... baking?" YN asked, eyebrow raised.

> "It's supposed to be a caramel sponge cake," Namjoon replied without looking back. "Unless it turns into disaster pie."

YN's lips twitched. Just a little.

The cake cooled. The sun dimmed. And Namjoon finally walked into the living room where YN was lying on the couch, arms crossed like a sulking child.

He sat next to her slowly, placing a tiny slice of cake on the table.

> "I don't know what's wrong today," Namjoon said gently, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"But I do know I can't stand seeing you like this."

YN looked at him - really looked.

The flowers. The coffee. The cake. The softness in his eyes. The way he didn't pressure her to talk. The way he stayed.

YN's throat tightened. All of a sudden, the sadness, the frustration - it wasn't about the day. It was about wanting him. Wanting to feel his arms around her. Wanting to melt into his chest and stay there forever.

Without saying anything, YN shifted, moving closer, crawling into his lap like it was the most natural place in the world.

Namjoon didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close, letting her rest her head against his neck.

YN didn't cry. She just closed her eyes and whispered against his skin.

> "I don't need flowers or coffee or cake, Joon."

> "I just... want you."

Namjoon held her tighter, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. No words. Just presence.

YN finally smiled - a real one. The kind that made her eyes light up again.

> "I'm so blessed you're mine," YN whispered, fingers brushing his jaw as she leaned back enough to kiss him softly.

"Even when I'm a mess... you make me feel like magic."

Namjoon kissed her again, slow and warm, like they had all the time in the world.

And for that moment... they did.

---

The old library room smelled like paper, wood polish, and something uniquely comforting-like memories tucked between pages. The sunlight filtered lazily through half-drawn curtains, casting golden stripes on the wooden floor and the shelves stacked with books Namjoon barely had time to read anymore.

Namjoon stood near the tall bookshelf, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a cleaning cloth in one hand, wiping the dust off the spines.

"You're not even listening to me..." YN's voice came from behind, low and pouty.

Namjoon didn't turn. "Because for the fourth time, YN, I told you-this place is a mess. Let me clean first."

YN sat cross-legged on the floor cushion, her chin resting on her knee, eyes glued to his back. "But I'm bored," she whispered, dragging the syllables.

He heard the way she said it.

The way her voice softened just enough to make it sound like a dare.

Namjoon sighed, shaking his head with a small smile, still wiping.

YN stood and tiptoed toward him, her hands brushing the edge of his shirt. "Let's play hide and seek."

"Hide and seek? Here?" He turned, one brow raised. "This place barely has four shelves and a sofa."

YN smirked, tilting her head. "Then let's find other ways to play..."

Namjoon froze.

There was that look in her eyes again.

The one that never asked for permission because it already knew the answer.

Without breaking the gaze, YN leaned forward, her hands flattening against his chest. "You've been ignoring me all morning," she whispered, brushing her lips just short of touching his.

Namjoon's jaw tensed.

"YN," he warned quietly.

"Yes?" she replied, innocent but dangerous.

"I told you, I need to-"

"You need to kiss me," YN cut him off, finally closing the gap between their mouths.

It was slow at first-lips brushing softly, teasingly. Namjoon gripped the edge of the shelf behind him, trying to stay grounded. But YN didn't give him that chance. Her fingers traced his jaw, her lips pulling him deeper, hungrier.

The cloth in Namjoon's hand dropped to the floor.

His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until her chest pressed into his. He walked her backward until her spine met the bookshelf behind her, books rattling slightly from the movement.

YN gasped softly as Namjoon's lips trailed down to her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "So this is what it takes to get your attention..." she murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

Namjoon chuckled against her throat. "You're impossible to ignore, YN."

His hands roamed slowly-never rushing, always knowing. YN arched into his touch, pulling his face back to hers and kissing him again, deeper this time, her fingers tangling in his hair.

The world outside the library ceased to exist.

There was only his heartbeat against hers, the quiet thump of a forgotten book falling from the shelf, and their names whispered between kisses.

Eventually, Namjoon pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, his forehead resting against hers. "You win," he whispered.

YN grinned. "I always do."

---

AUTHOR'S POV

Namjoon and YN continued living their lives quietly, holding on to their secret, hidden from Mira-YN's mother and Namjoon's wife. To the world, everything seemed perfect. But behind closed doors, a different truth existed.

It had only been a month since Namjoon and YN had first acted on the feelings they tried so hard to resist-feelings that grew stronger with every stolen glance, every late-night conversation, every accidental touch that lingered too long.

And just a month after their forbidden connection began, Namjoon discovered the truth: Mira had been cheating on him. She had been secretly meeting another man-someone namjoon recognized from one of her translation projects. The betrayal hit him hard, but it also gave him clarity.

He realized what he shared with YN wasn't wrong... not compared to the lies he'd been living with Mira. His marriage had long lost its warmth. Mira was obsessed with her social image, with the luxury, the parties, and the praise-not with love, not with him.

YN, on the other hand, made him feel alive again. Seen. Wanted.

So they kept their secret close, tucked safely in glances and quiet smiles across rooms. They didn't talk about the future too much. They didn't dare make promises.

But in the silence of their shared moments-in the library, the kitchen, stolen evenings on the rooftop-they lived their truth.

And for now, that was enough.

---

THE END

Words count:- 9.9k