Dinner looked beautiful.Warm lights. Crystal-clear glasses catching reflections from the chandelier. A table set like a diplomatic peace treaty—only, the war hadn't ended. It had just put on a suit and showed up hungry.
Andrea sat at the far end of the table, her plate full, untouched. She held her fork like a weapon—loosely in her hand, pointed downward, tip barely tapping the side of a roasted carrot. Her shoulders were tight. Her posture, militant. Her eyes, still burning from the mission, hadn't cooled.
Eunwoo sat at the other end, posture equally rigid. He hadn't looked up once since she walked in—not fully. Not really. Just glanced. Measured. Calculated. His food disappeared bite by bite, mechanically, as if chewing kept him from saying something he'd regret.
Layla was seated awkwardly in the middle. Neutral ground. Not by choice. By necessity. She chewed her breadstick with more force than needed, glancing between them like someone trying to survive the last two tigers in a cage. Minjoon was no better—quiet, observant, his utensils moving in a slow dance. Everyone felt it: something inevitable loomed.
And then came the spark.
"Why are you doing that?"
Andrea's voice was low, nearly pleasant—but the air froze. Layla paused mid-chew. Minjoon set his knife down halfway through slicing a piece of meat.
"Doing what?" Eunwoo didn't look up. His tone was flat. Almost bored.
"That look. That silence. Like you're sitting on some throne made of judgment."
"You're imagining things."
Andrea's grip tightened on her fork. The sound of the metal creaking in her hand was louder than it should've been.
"No. I'm reading what's right in front of me."
Eunwoo finally lifted his eyes.
"You're in a country where you don't speak the language, where you don't know the streets, and you think you can run ops solo? That's not strategy, Andrea. That's recklessness disguised as ego."
His words hit hard. Not loud, but slicing. Layla blinked slowly and whispered something that never left her lips. Minjoon didn't move, but tension bloomed in his jaw.
Andrea smirked. Cold. Dark. She stabbed the carrot on her plate like it owed her money.
"I knew the target. I had the route. I didn't need hand-holding—"
"You needed clearance." Eunwoo's voice sharpened. "You needed to report movement. You don't just run off with a whisper from Maya and no backup."
Andrea didn't flinch. She looked up with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
"You just can't stand that I handled it better than you expected."
"Handled it?" Eunwoo leaned back, expression neutral but deadly. "You were seconds from collapsing in a drugged container, surrounded by gunmen, with your comm offline and your team unaware of your location."
Andrea took a slow bite of bread, chewing with more aggression than hunger.
"But I walked out."
"Barely."
Her chewing stopped. Her jaw twitched.
"You act like I owe you explanations for every breath I take."
"You're part of my team," he snapped now, louder. "You don't get to act like a solo agent when we're operating as one unit."
Andrea's fork dropped.
Not slipped—dropped.
The sound cracked like a gunshot in the room. Even the staff at the corner flinched. Layla's eyes widened. Minjoon stopped breathing.
"You think I'm some loose weapon?" Andrea's voice was sharp and tight, coiled like a spring. "Or are you just pissed you can't control me like you do everyone else?"
Eunwoo's expression didn't crack. He moved slowly, setting his knife down. The metal clicked softly against the porcelain. He folded his hands in front of him like he was preparing for execution—or giving one.
"If you were raised by a normal family," he said with quiet finality, "maybe you wouldn't act like the world is a battlefield and everyone's your enemy."
Silence.
True, suffocating silence.
The chandelier buzzed faintly. A fly hovered over the untouched fruit. No one moved.
Andrea didn't speak.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
She just looked down at her plate.
Dragged her fork once… twice across the vegetables.
Then placed it beside her plate.
Quiet.
Deliberate.
Her hands flattened on the table, and she stood.
Hard.
The table shook under the force. Layla flinched. Minjoon leaned back instinctively, eyes wide.
Andrea said nothing.
But her eyes met Eunwoo's with hurricane force.
And still—he didn't look away.
Her chest rose and fell once. Twice. Her face was cold now. Detached. Like the person who stood there wasn't Andrea anymore, but a shell trying to hold something burning inside.
Her fingers curled.
Her hand reached for the fork.
She picked it up again.
And before anyone could speak, stop her, or blink—
she threw it.
It sliced the air with deadly precision.
THUNK.
The fork stuck deep into the marble table just inches from Eunwoo's plate.
It stood straight, vibrating.
Like a blade stuck in bone.
Everyone froze.
Andrea turned on her heel.
No words. No glance back. Just the click of boots and the fury vibrating through the floor.
She disappeared around the corner and up the stairs, each step a declaration of war.
Layla's voice came out half-breathless. "Holy—"
"Shit," Minjoon finished.
Eunwoo didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He stared at the fork for a long time.
Its silver edges gleamed under the light. Still upright. Still trembling.
Then finally, quietly—
"I didn't mean it like that."
Layla turned toward him, arms crossed, anger boiling under restraint. "Then maybe don't insult her entire existence in front of her team, your staff… and dessert."
Eunwoo exhaled hard, one hand rubbing his face. "I was trying to make her stop acting like she's invincible."
"She's not acting," Layla shot back. "She is invincible. Because she has to be. Because no one ever gave her another option."
"She walks into danger like she's looking for it."
"Because it's all she's ever known," Layla said, voice lower now. "And you? You were the one place she didn't have to wear armor. And tonight, you shoved the knife in instead."
Eunwoo didn't answer.
His eyes stayed fixed on the table.
The fork. The absence.
Then he stood. Slow. Rigid.
Minjoon followed suit. "Boss—"
"I'm fine."
But he wasn't.
And everyone knew it.
He left the dining room with the same silence she had. Only his wasn't rage.
It was regret.
But his voice was hollow.
He walked out of the dining room, steps controlled, but the tension in his spine said everything.
The mansion was too quiet now.
The storm had hit.
And everyone had felt the quake.
💕💕💕.______..______..______.💕💕💕
Andrea didn't slam the door behind her.
She didn't shout.
She didn't even curse under her breath.
She just walked away.
And somehow, that silence screamed louder than anything she could've thrown.
Her boots thudded against the marble floor, steady and sharp, each step ringing with defiance. Eunwoo stood frozen, eyes still locked on the fork stabbed into the dining table—still standing upright like it had chosen sides.
But it wasn't the fork that kept him rooted.
It was what he saw just before she turned.
A flicker.
In her eyes.
Not rage. Not pain.
Something else.
For the briefest second as she turned from the table, the soft gold of the chandelier hit her face—and her irises shifted. From their usual deep, brown-black hue to something pale. Cold. Almost… silver. It was gone before he could blink.
But it was there.
And it wasn't human.
Eunwoo's jaw tightened. "Did I say too much?" he murmured to himself, almost a whisper, voice flat but splintering inside.
From beside him, Minjoon finally let out a breath. His fork clinked against his plate. "Hyung," he muttered in Korean, half-joking, half-serious, "you just got murdered by your fiancée."
Eunwoo turned slightly. "Fiancée?"
Minjoon shrugged, chewing slowly. "I mean, if she doesn't kill you first."
Layla, who had resumed eating her baklava without shame, didn't even look up. "Yeah. The fiancée with next-level anger issues," she said coolly, still licking honey off her finger. "Your boss. Your chaos. Your problem."
Minjoon glanced at her, squinting. "Shut up," he muttered in Korean, faking irritation.
Layla only grinned, nodding toward Eunwoo. "You better check on her before she burns the house down. Or you."
Eunwoo's eyes narrowed, still watching the top of the staircase where Andrea had disappeared. "There was something in her eyes," he said quietly. "Something wasn't right."
Layla's smile faded.
Minjoon sat straighter.
"What do you mean?" Layla asked.
Eunwoo didn't answer.
Instead, he pushed back his chair, murmured a curt "Excuse me," and walked out of the dining room with the quiet urgency of a man carrying too much inside.
The hallway to the private quarters was dim now, evening light sliding in through tall windows, casting pale lines across the floor. Eunwoo walked slowly, his footsteps silent, his mind not.
Every word he'd said at dinner kept circling back—every glare, every glance, every silence Andrea didn't break.
He hadn't meant to go that far.
He was angry. Protective. Cornered.
But still—he knew better than to bring up her past in front of others.
She never asked to be rescued. And he treated her like a rebellion instead of a person.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself as he reached the end of the hall.
His own door was just across from Andrea's.
He passed his room—then stopped.
Andrea's door was open.
Not wide, just slightly ajar.
He frowned.
She always closed her door. Always locked it. Always sealed herself away like the walls were safer than people.
Cautiously, he stepped toward it.
"...Andrea?"
No answer.
He pushed the door gently.
The lights inside were dimmed. Her bedside lamp was on, casting a warm amber glow across the bed.
The bed was untouched.
The bathroom door was open, empty.
The room was silent.
But the long curtain over the massive floor-to-ceiling window to the backyard fluttered softly.
Open.
The window was open.
Eunwoo's brows drew together as he stepped in fully now, boots sinking into the plush cream carpet. He approached the window slowly, quietly.
Beyond the glass was the mansion's sprawling back garden—an open space framed by hedges and old oak trees, moonlight washing over the stone paths and trimmed lawn.
She wasn't inside.
And that window was definitely not opened for fresh air.
Eunwoo stepped closer, voice low, tense. "Why is this open…?" he murmured, leaning near the frame.
He stared out into the backyard, scanning the paths, the trees, the moon-drenched silence.
No movement.
No sign of Andrea.
Just that flickering feeling in his gut that said something is wrong.
She was mad—furious—but she wouldn't just vanish.
Unless she wasn't fully in control anymore.
Unless something else had triggered inside her.
He remembered the look in her eyes.
That flash of silver.
And it wasn't just anger.
It was a warning.
A flare before a breakdown.
Or worse—a shift.
He stepped back from the window and reached for his comm device, already dialing Minjoon on the secure line.
As the dial tone rang in his ear, he stared into the dark yard again.
"Where the hell did you go?" he whispered.