The golden cages of Seoul's elite were never built for comfort; they were built for display. As Vivian stepped out of the elevator and into the sprawling luxury of Baek Soryeon's penthouse, the silence of the marble floors felt heavier than the fatigue in her bones. The city skyline shimmered through the floor-to-ceiling windows—a million lights representing a million lives, none of which were hers
The living room was bathed in the cool, blue glow of the midnight horizon. Vivian moved like a shadow, her footsteps swallowed by the plush rugs. Her phone vibrated against her hip, a sudden, warm pulse that felt entirely out of place in this cold house.
TEXT (from Corvus): Get home safe?
Vivian stopped in the middle of the dark room, the glow of the screen illuminating her tired face. A tiny, fragile smile tugged at the corners of her lips—a secret flame she shielded from the wind. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the glass, before typing a brief reply.
VIVIAN: Yes. Thank you.
She tucked the phone away, the heat of the message still lingering. She began to tiptoe toward the master suite, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She prayed to a God she no longer trusted that Soryeon was already asleep, lost in the wine-induced slumber that occasionally gave her peace.
She pushed the bedroom door open, the hinges silent. But the peace she sought wasn't there.
Soryeon was lying on the bed, fully dressed in his silk shirt, his eyes wide open and fixed on the door. He had been waiting.
"You're late," he said. The words were flat, devoid of emotion, which was always when he was at his most dangerous.
Vivian bowed her head, her gaze fixed on her own toes. "I… practice ran longer—"
"With him?" Soryeon interrupted, sitting up slowly. The movement was predatory, fluid.
Vivian froze. The air in the room seemed to vanish. "…It was work," she whispered, her voice barely a thread.
Soryeon studied her face for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes searching for the lie, for the spark of the smile she had shared with her phone just minutes ago. Finally, he turned away, his interest seemingly spent. "Go wash up."
Vivian didn't wait for a second command. She escaped into the bathroom, leaning against the cold tile of the door once it clicked shut. Behind her, in the dim bedroom, Soryeon's jaw tightened—a storm brewing in the silence of his own mind.
The next morning, the company dance room was an oven of effort and soaring melodies. Vivian and Shin Corvus were deep into their harmonies, their voices weaving together in a way that felt more honest than any conversation they'd ever had. Because of the heat, the room was stifling, yet Vivian wore a long-sleeved athletic shirt, the fabric a shield against the world.
Corvus stepped closer to her, his movements careful, almost clinical, as he reached out to adjust her posture. "Try relaxing your shoulders, Bear," he murmured.
Vivian forced a small smile. For a moment, the walls of her life felt a little thinner, a little less suffocating.
Unbeknownst to them, the world was watching. Soryeon stood outside the soundproofed observation window, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His expression was a mask of unreadable glass, but his eyes sharpened into blades the second he saw how close Corvus was standing. He didn't see a teacher and a student; he saw a thief touching his gold.
The door swung open with a violence that made the air in the room jump. Vivian flinched, her shoulders hunching instinctively. Corvus, however, remained calm, stepping back with a slow, deliberate grace that showed no fear—only a quiet, simmering defiance.
"Vivian. My office. Now," Soryeon commanded.
She didn't dare look at Corvus. She offered a quick, apologetic bow and followed the heavy tread of her husband out of the room. Corvus watched her leave, his brow creasing with a worry he couldn't hide.
Inside the CEO's office, the door clicked shut with a finality that felt like a gavel. Soryeon stood in front of her, his presence overwhelming the small space between them.
"You're smiling a lot these days," he observed, his voice a deadly quiet.
"I wasn't—" Vivian started, her voice shaking.
"Don't lie." Soryeon reached out and grabbed her chin. He didn't squeeze hard enough to leave a mark—not today—but the grip was firm enough to force her to meet his cold, black eyes. "You belong to me. Remember that."
He released her as if she were an object he'd grown bored of holding. "Go back to practice. But keep your distance."
Vivian stepped out into the hallway, her vision blurred by unshed tears. She took a ragged breath, trying to pull herself together, when a shadow moved against the wall.
Corvus was there, leaning against the paint, waiting for her. He saw the faint redness on her chin where Soryeon's fingers had been.
"…Did he do something?" his voice was tight, vibrating with an anger he was trying to suppress.
Vivian shook her head far too quickly. "No. I'm okay."
"You're shaking," Corvus pointed out, his eyes dropping to her hands. She immediately hid them behind her back, her knuckles white.
"Let's just… finish practice," she pleaded. Corvus didn't push. He knew the rules of the game they were playing, but his eyes darkened with a concern that promised he was no longer a bystander.
That night, the penthouse was a tomb. Vivian unlocked the door and stepped into the silence, heading straight for the bedroom. She paused at the threshold when she heard the faint, rhythmic swirl of liquid in a glass.
Soryeon was sitting in the dark, a half-empty bottle of wine on the table beside him. He looked up lazily. "You're avoiding our bed."
Vivian froze, her hand gripping the doorframe.
"Come here," he said, patting the seat beside him.
She obeyed, moving like a puppet. He reached out, his thumb brushing across her cheek with a tenderness that felt more threatening than a blow. "You only breathe because I allow it," he whispered, his voice thick with wine and malice. "Don't forget."
Vivian closed her eyes, forcing the tears back until her throat ached.
Later that night, after the sound of Soryeon's heavy breathing filled the room, Vivian slipped out onto the balcony. The cold night air was a mercy. Her phone lit up in her hand, a small beacon in the dark.
TEXT (from Corvus): You okay?
Vivian's fingers shook as she stared at the words. She wanted to type everything—the fear, the bruises, the way she felt like she was disappearing. Instead, she typed two words of finality.
VIVIAN: Good night.
She pressed send and watched the city. In a different part of Seoul, Corvus sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the brief message, his heart heavy with the weight of the silence she was forced to keep.
[Fear kept her silent. But silence never lasts forever.]