Iris Angelo stared at the clock for the fifth time in seven minutes. 9:37 PM. Her brother should have been home by now. Normally, she wouldn't worry—Isaiah was more responsible at eighteen than most adults would be in their forties—but something was off.
Ever since he'd come home Sunday night with that weird look on his face, everything had changed. The way he moved around the apartment, checking his phone constantly, zoning out mid-conversation. The distracted half-smiles when he thought she wasn't looking.
Iris knew that look. She'd seen it in enough manhwa to recognize it instantly.
Her brother had been kissed.
Not just kissed—the kind of kiss that rewired your brain. The kind that made smart people stupid and careful people reckless. The kind that spelled absolute disaster for someone like Isaiah, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and refused to put it down for even a second.
