"We have only a few minutes to grab something before I have to go, Lia."
Aira's voice carried that mix of patience and mild urgency as she checked her watch for what felt like the tenth time. They'd already gone through three shops, and Lia still hadn't decided.
"Are you sure I can pick whatever I want?" Lia asked, her tiny voice barely audible above the chatter.
"Yes," Aira sighed, smiling despite herself. "But if you don't pick in the next two minutes, I'm changing my mind."
Lia's eyes darted from rack to rack until they landed on a pair of glittery shoes near the counter — sparkling like they had a pulse of their own.
"These shoes look nice," she said, pointing, her voice trembling with excitement.
Aira lifted one, flipped the tag — ₩80,000.????!!!!!
She nearly swallowed her tongue. That was half their grocery budget for the week. Her mind screamed no, but Lia's hopeful eyes silenced the thought. That child had already seen too much disappointment.
"Yeah," Aira said, forcing brightness into her tone. "They're perfect."
Lia's grin was pure sunlight. "Really?!"
"Really."
As the cashier scanned the shoes, Aira watched the price blink on the screen. ₩80,000. Her chest tightened, but she slid her card anyway.
Guess I'm bankrupt today, she thought bitterly.
When they stepped out, Lia hugged the box like a treasure.
"You better wear those every day," Aira teased. "Even to sleep."
Lia giggled. "You're so dramatic, unnie."
Aira smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
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The bass at Red Velvet Club was a heartbeat gone wrong: too loud, too fast, too dirty. Smoke coiled in the air, mixing with perfume and sweat.
Ha-joon had been there for hours. Watching. Waiting.
Same crowd. Same filth. And still no sign of the man he was after.
His patience was thinning. The flashing lights made everyone look the same — drunk, desperate, disposable.
Then a tap on his shoulder.
"Sir," one of his men murmured. "Is that not him?"
Ha-joon followed his gaze, and there he was. The bastard himself. A scar cutting across his jaw, a serpent tattoo crawling up his neck. Laughing. Tossing cash at the stage like a king in a brothel.
Ha-joon's lips twisted. Found you.
He signaled his men. They melted into the crowd, silent and precise. The air buzzed with tension.
Ha-joon started moving in, slow and steady. Just a few steps closer and—
BANG!
Someone slammed into him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. A glass crashed to the floor.
"Ah!" a soft voice gasped.
Ha-joon's hand shot out, gripping the stranger's waist before she could hit the ground.
Then their eyes met.
Her.
That same girl from Aya Café.
Aira froze. So did he. The world narrowed down to the space between their faces. Her perfume: faint vanilla and something floral, lingered between them. Her lipstick smeared faintly on his collar.
Ha-joon's brow twitched. "You again?"
Of course. The clumsy girl who'd ruined his shirt last week. But this time… she looked different. The outfit — black lace, neckline too low, heels too high — made his stomach twist.
What the hell is she doing here?
He turned back,
The target was gone.
His pulse spiked. "Where is he?" he barked into his comm.
"Sir, he escaped through the side door! We tried to follow but—"
"Useless!" Ha-joon snapped releasing Aira letting her fall to the ground and slamming his fist against the counter that was beside him.
Aira's back collided with the dirty marble floor and let out a yelp as she winced. Ha-joon looked down at her and Something in him snapped.
"You!" His voice cut through the music. "Do you exist just to ruin my plans? Do you follow me to piss me off?"
Aira blinked, stunned, her mouth parting in disbelief.
"Every time you appear, you bring chaos! Can't you walk straight for once?"
People had started watching.
Ha-joon's glare hardened. "So this is what you do now? Strip for cash?" His words dripped venom. "The poles are over there. Or do you crawl for attention down here too?"
Gasps. Laughter. The sting of humiliation burned her skin.
Aira's cheeks flushed crimson. Her pride — fragile but fierce — snapped in half.
She stood, voice steady but trembling with rage.
"Stop talking like you know me!" she fired back. "You don't get to throw labels around like you're some god of morality!"
A ripple moved through the crowd. Ha-joon froze, surprised by her fire.
"And by the way," she added, venom lacing her tone, "you bumped into me! Don't act all holy — you're in a strip club too, remember? Guess that makes us both trash in your eyes, huh?"
That one landed.
Even the DJ slowed the track. All eyes were on them.
Ha-joon's jaw flexed, the muscle ticking in his cheek. He wanted to roar, to put her in her place — but damn it, she wasn't wrong.
Then—
"Enough!"
Ms. Wong's voice sliced through the tension. The manager stomped toward them, heels clicking like a countdown.
"Aira!" she snapped. "That's not how you talk to paying customers!"
Then, in the blink of an eye, she was all smiles toward Ha-joon. "Sir, please forgive her! She's new. I'll handle it."
Her hand dug into Aira's arm, nails biting into flesh. "Apologize," she hissed under her breath.
Aira's chest heaved, but she forced the words out, her pride bleeding with every syllable. "I'm sorry."
Ha-joon stared at her for a moment. Her chin was lifted, her eyes glossy with restrained fury.
He turned away without a word. But inside, his mind was chaos.
The mission was blown. His target — gone. His men — incompetent. The police — circling. And the one person who shouldn't matter — that damn girl — had somehow gotten under his skin again.
He walked out into the freezing night, the club's bass fading behind him.
Back to square one, he thought bitterly. All because of her.
He slammed his car door shut, the sound echoing in the dark.
But as the engine hummed to life, her voice lingered — sharp, fearless, and maddeningly unforgettable.
And for the first time in a long time, Ha-joon realized something he didn't want to admit.
He wasn't angry because she ruined his mission.
He was angry because she'd gotten to him.