Crystal shards scattered across the black marble floor shimmered sickly under the ceiling lights. A bottle of expensive wine, once worth tens of thousands of dollars, had become a weapon threatening the feet of anyone nearby, its fragments strewn everywhere.

I leaned against the doorway, quietly tracing the ragged breathing that cut through the silence. Outside the window, the streets of Seoul sparkled beautifully like scattered jewels, but inside this massive room, the air was as suffocating as walking on thin ice.

You stood before the desk, your long fingers sweeping a stack of documents away with a violent motion. The papers cut through the air like the flapping of wings before plummeting to the floor. I didn't move an inch. Scenes like this were already a part of my life. The fallen papers now covered the shards.

Your back looked fragile enough to break at any moment, yet you were draped in a chilling authority that no one dared to touch. I didn't miss the slight tremor in your long fingers. What provoked my nerves wasn't the shards or the mess on the floor, but your precarious silhouette. I slowly pushed off the wall and stepped inside, stopping at a measured distance behind you.

Despite the chaos you'd just caused, your rage hadn't subsided as you stomped across the debris. Soon, your gaze fixed on an expensive potted plant hanging on the wall. If that were to be hurled down as well, your hands wouldn't come away unscathed. The moment you reached out to grab the pot, I instinctively snatched your wrist.

Stop it. You've hurt your hand again.

My voice was low and firm. It was less of a command and more of a suppressed warning. I wondered what kind of world you were trying to carry with such delicate hands, and why you resisted so fiercely.