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The banquet hall was brightly lit, laughter and conversation echoing throughout the vast space. Pristine white tablecloths covered the tables, fresh flowers were elegantly arranged everywhere, and the crystal glasses reflected the light of the grand chandeliers, creating an ambiance that was both luxurious and warm. This was Oak Corporation's International Women's Day celebration—a yearly event dedicated to honoring the female employees and expressing gratitude to their families.
Sunday stood on the stage, composed and sophisticated in a crisp white suit, every button neatly fastened, the sharp lines of his body accentuated by the flawlessly tailored fabric. Under the soft stage lighting, he exuded a calm yet authoritative presence, rendering the entire hall silent the moment he spoke.
"Happy International Women's Day. Today is not only an occasion to appreciate the remarkable women in our company but also an opportunity to extend our gratitude to the mothers, wives, and sisters who have always been our steadfast support…”
His deep, steady voice resonated through the microphone, every word carefully chosen, reflecting the demeanor of a true leader. Sunday was not one to display emotions in public, but at this moment, his gaze carried a rare sincerity as it swept across the audience. A faint smile graced his lips—polite, professional, yet not as distant as usual.
When his speech ended, a wave of applause erupted throughout the hall. Sunday gave a slight bow before handing the microphone back to the event's host—a young, charismatic man with a lively demeanor.
"Thank you, Director Sunday! The ladies of our company are truly delighted to receive such heartfelt wishes from you."
The MC beamed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.
"But of course, tonight’s celebration holds even more surprises. And now, we present to all the wonderful ladies here a very special gift!"
He deliberately prolonged the suspense, heightening everyone's curiosity.
"Ladies, brace yourselves, because some incredibly hot gentlemen are about to make an appearance!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, the lights in the hall dimmed. Only the stage remained illuminated, pulsing in sync with an upbeat rhythm. Suddenly, the grand doors at the back of the hall swung open—followed by a chorus of excited screams.
A dozen or so tall, strikingly handsome men dressed in matching black suits strode in, exuding confidence and charisma. Their movements were deliberate, each step radiating allure and professionalism. The stage lights swept over them, glinting off their partially unbuttoned shirts, revealing glimpses of chiseled chests.
In their hands were vibrant red roses and elegantly wrapped gift bags. As they spread throughout the hall, handing out presents to each female employee, the atmosphere instantly erupted. Cheers and laughter filled the space. Some women blushed shyly as they accepted the flowers, while others unabashedly expressed their excitement at the sight of these attractive men.
Sunday stood at the edge of the stage, observing the scene below. He hadn’t been fully briefed on the event’s schedule—only that a small token of appreciation would be given to the female employees after his speech. But this kind of "gift" was clearly beyond his expectations.
So, the chairman could only frown in mild confusion.
His gaze instinctively scanned the crowd, his lips curving into a habitual, composed smile. But then—amid the sea of unfamiliar faces—one particular figure suddenly caught his eye.
A tall man in a refined black suit, his tie deliberately loosened to reveal an enticing collarbone. In his hands, a large bouquet of red roses, their petals glowing under the crystal chandeliers.
He was smiling—charming, elegant—while being surrounded by an excited crowd. As he handed flowers to each woman, he blew playful kisses in response to their adoring cheers. And when he winked flirtatiously, the entire hall nearly erupted in hysteria.
There was no mistaking him.
Aventurine.
From the moment he entered, the entire atmosphere had ignited. Aventurine didn’t need to try. He didn’t need to show off. His presence alone was enough to set the room ablaze.
He was the star.
Not just because of his flawless appearance but because of the effortless confidence in his smirk, the mesmerizing depth of his gaze.
Women flocked around him the most—shrieking, giggling. Some shyly accepted his roses, their faces flushed, while the bolder ones seized the chance to touch him as they received their gifts. One particularly audacious woman even threw herself into his arms, laughing sweetly, her intentions unmistakable.
But what irritated Sunday even more was that it wasn’t just the women.
Even a few men in the hall were visibly captivated by Aventurine. Some whistled, some clapped enthusiastically, and some even attempted to approach him, seemingly unaware that they were competing with their female colleagues.
Sunday felt a surge of annoyance.
He stood still for a few seconds, watching Aventurine from afar.
What was this bastard’s intention?
Was he doing this just to provoke him? Or was it all just a game?
Sunday didn’t want to think about it. He had no patience to stand here and watch Aventurine flirt with his employees.
A simmering irritation rose within him, tightening around his chest. He loosened his cuffs—a habit whenever tension crept into his veins.
Finally, he had seen enough. Sunday turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, heading to his private room.
He told himself he would be fine. As long as he stopped caring about Aventurine, he would be fine.
But when the door closed behind him, the turmoil in his chest only grew stronger.
Sunday shut his eyes, leaning back in his chair, trying to suppress the aching in his heart.
Yet the harder he tried to forget, the more vivid the memories became—pulling him back to two days ago.
Back to the day he had to end things with Aventurine.
Back to the moment he realized he had been betrayed.
Three months together—all reduced to such a cold ending.
He remembered it clearly. That night, Aventurine had returned home late as usual. While his lover was in the shower, Sunday had begun doing the laundry—just as he always did.
It had become routine ever since he chose to love a hitman.
Every day, Aventurine came back with clothes reeking of gunpowder. Sometimes, there were dried bloodstains. Occasionally, the fabric was torn from the unseen battles Sunday never asked about. He knew the consequences if anyone else discovered these traces. So, he never hired a housekeeper. He handled it all himself.
But then, as he emptied Aventurine’s coat pocket, a small object tumbled onto the tiled floor, rolling a few times before stopping.
A lipstick.
An expensive one. Bold red. The golden casing gleamed under the ceiling lights.
Sunday froze. A strange numbness crept into his fingertips as he picked it up.
Why would something like this be in a hitman’s pocket?
Sunday never wore makeup, but he recognized the brand immediately. It was a luxury line that had been a sensation in the market for months—the very brand his sister, singer Robin, was endorsing.
His chest tightened.
He didn’t want to overthink, but unease gnawed at the edges of his mind. Why did Aventurine have this? His lover had never cared for cosmetics. Unless… it belonged to another woman?
Doubt stung like a needle to the heart.
Sunday held his breath and continued searching through the dirty laundry.
What he found only deepened the pain.
A faint lipstick stain on the collar of a white dress shirt.
The lingering scent of a woman's perfume clinging to the fabric—a sweet, alluring fragrance. But to Sunday, it was sickeningly bitter.
And finally—a handkerchief, tucked deep in Aventurine’s trouser pocket. The fabric bore traces of smudged lipstick, proof that Aventurine had wiped his lips after a kiss—one that hadn't been with him.
Sunday's grip tightened around the phone in his hand.
He searched through Aventurine’s transactions.
Luxury purchases. All for women.
His entire body turned cold.
There was no other reasonable explanation. He wasn’t a fool. He had no reason to deceive himself.
So, he said nothing.
He simply packed his belongings.
And before leaving, he blocked every form of contact from Aventurine.
No goodbyes.
No explanations.
Just an empty void severing what they had.
And now, two days later, Sunday still acted as though nothing had happened.
But only he knew—he had never been more wretched.
Sunday sat behind his desk, his empty eyes staring at the computer screen. The numbers on the document danced before him, yet not a single line registered in his mind.
From the banquet hall below, the music continued to play relentlessly. The pounding rhythm of the drums made his temples throb. He tried to ignore it, but then… a familiar voice slipped through the cracks of his consciousness.
A deep, seductive voice, calling out to him like a siren’s song.
Aventurine.
He recognized that voice immediately, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. That rich, alluring timbre—like honey dripping into his ears—was impossible to mistake.
And the song he was singing…
"Lock Me Up."
Sunday clenched his jaw.
He knew this song. The lyrics were ambiguous—half a plea, half a command, or rather, a blatant provocation.
"If you don’t want to lose me… then lock me up."
His breath hitched.
Was Aventurine deliberately provoking him? After everything that had happened, that bastard still dared to show up here, in the middle of this party, and sing those words?
Rage surged through him like a tidal wave.
He tried to ignore it, but each lyric cut through him like a blade, making it impossible to focus. An unbearable frustration swelled inside him, pressing against his chest as if someone were crushing his heart in their grip.
His fingers tightened around the computer mouse.
But the more he listened, the deeper the words burrowed into his mind—dragging him back to long, feverish nights, trapped in Aventurine’s embrace. To the heat of breath against his nape, the low laughter spilling into his ear, and the murmured promises laced with wicked intent.
Even after the song ended, even after someone else took Aventurine’s place on stage, Sunday still couldn’t calm himself.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, desperate to regain his composure.
But at that moment, a sound rang out—one that nearly made him hurl the mouse at the door.
The door creaked open.
His eyes snapped open.
Aventurine stood there, leaning lazily against the doorframe. His gaze swept over Sunday with a slow, unreadable expression before he reached back and—without hesitation—locked the door behind him. The movement was effortless, natural, as if this place belonged to him.
A lazy smirk curled his lips, but the glint in his eyes held a dangerous edge.
Sunday wasn’t sure if it was anger or something else, but his heart pounded violently. His fingers curled into fists, struggling to suppress his emotions.
His ex-lover stepped forward, slow and deliberate, eyes gleaming like a predator that had finally found its escaped prey.
Aventurine’s scent filled the room—a faint trace of cologne mixed with something sharper, a whisper of sulfur. A scent so achingly familiar that it made Sunday’s stomach twist.
“I thought…”
Aventurine chuckled, his voice a lazy drawl that sent shivers down Sunday’s spine.
“…you’d be missing me so much you’d go insane. Why do you look so cold?”
Sunday remained silent. His expression remained empty, his gaze brushing past Aventurine as if he were nothing more than a stranger.
Aventurine tilted his head, watching him with undisguised amusement.
“Running away without a word… Naughty.”
He leaned down, closing the distance. His breath, hot and slow, ghosted over the shell of Sunday’s ear.
“Did you even sleep well without me beside you?”
Sunday’s fists clenched. His fury sparked like a match struck against stone. But he refused to let himself react.
He inhaled sharply, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“You should leave. Before I call security.”
Aventurine laughed—soft, amused, as if he’d just heard the funniest joke.
“No warm welcome for me, Sunny?”
His voice dropped into a whisper, dipping lower, curling like smoke against Sunday’s skin.
“Why the distance? I know exactly how much your body misses me.”
Sunday’s expression darkened. He stood abruptly, stepping back in an attempt to escape Aventurine’s reach.
But Aventurine had no intention of letting him go. He closed the distance in an instant, his gaze flickering with something triumphant.
“Do you remember?”
He leaned in, lips brushing the curve of Sunday’s ear.
“The last time we were together… You were gasping against my chest, moaning my name, yet clutching onto me like you never wanted to let go…”
Sunday felt his entire body heat up—half from rage, half from mortification.
“Shut up.”
Aventurine merely chuckled, tilting Sunday’s chin up with a teasing touch.
“Do you have any idea how adorable you look when you cry?”
That was the final straw.
Sunday shoved him away, his breath unsteady, his dark eyes burning with fury and something deeper—hurt.
“Enough.”
His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.
“Do you even know why I left?”
For a moment, Aventurine’s smirk faltered.
Sunday met his gaze, his voice controlled, but beneath the surface, a storm raged.
“I found a lipstick in your pocket.”
The air in the room turned suffocatingly still.
Sunday let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
“I thought… maybe it was just a coincidence.”
His voice was steady, almost detached.
“But then, I found a lipstick stain on your collar. A woman’s perfume on your coat. A handkerchief smeared with lipstick in your pants pocket. And finally, a pile of receipts for women’s jewelry and cosmetics.”
His gaze on Aventurine was filled with quiet devastation.
“I trusted you.”
His voice hardened.
“But you betrayed me.”
“I have no interest in being tangled up in your messy affairs. So if you’re done with me, fine. I won’t say a word about your work. Because if you get exposed, that makes me an accomplice.”
“This is where we end. Now leave.”
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Sunday’s throat tightened.
He had tried to be strong. Tried to keep his pain buried beneath an impassive mask.
But the moment those words left his lips, he realized—he couldn’t hold it back anymore.
A single tear slipped down his cheek.
Aventurine watched him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. But instead of apologizing or explaining—he laughed.
A quiet chuckle.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
Before Sunday could react, Aventurine closed the distance, wrapping his arms around him in an unyielding embrace.
Sunday struggled, but the assassin’s grip was too strong.
“Let go!”
Aventurine didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Sunday down with him, sinking into the plush chair—and effortlessly maneuvered Sunday onto his lap.
Sunday squirmed, but the assassin’s hold was unrelenting.
“Calm down, love.”
Aventurine chuckled, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of Sunday’s eye.
“I never betrayed you.”
Sunday froze, his tear-streaked eyes glaring up at him.
Aventurine smirked, trailing his fingers down Sunday’s spine, his voice thick with amusement.
“The perfume. The lipstick. The handkerchief. The damn receipts…”
Sunday’s breath caught.
“I had to disguise myself as a prostitute for a job.”
His eyes widened, his face flushing with shock and embarrassment.
Aventurine tilted his chin up, amusement dancing in his gaze.
“You’re adorable.”
He murmured, pressing slow kisses along the tears on Sunday’s cheek.
“Running away in jealousy without even asking me… do you really think you have the right to blame me?”
Sunday trembled. His emotions cracked, spilling over as tears streamed down.
Aventurine smiled, holding him tighter, whispering against his ear.
“I belong to you, Sunny. And you belong to me.”
Each word, each syllable, wound around him like a chain.
Sunday sat in his lover’s lap, sharp eyes sweeping over the man in front of him. He was still shaken from the crisis, though Aventurine’s coaxing had helped to ease it somewhat.
But then, the bastard started acting indecent again.
Aventurine leaned back against Sunday’s chair, his hands beginning to wander over the chairman’s body. His gaze was filled with amusement as he watched Sunday grow flustered yet refuse to push him away. The hitman smirked, a familiar glint of cunning flashing in his tricolored eyes.
"That night…"
He murmured slowly into Sunday’s ear, his deep voice carrying the lazy melody of seduction.
"I had to disguise myself as a woman—a sultry blonde in a red dress slit so high it barely covered anything. And I had to strut around in those damn Louboutins, the same ones that were making feet ache like hell."
Sunday blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly.
Aventurine chuckled softly, his fingers teasing the skin beneath Sunday’s clothing, deliberately seeking out sensitive spots, as if he were kindling a fire.
"You have no idea, Sunny..."
His voice stretched languidly, as though he were merely recounting a trivial anecdote.
"The moment I walked into the bar, every single pair of eyes latched onto me like a pack of starving wolves spotting fresh prey. Every man there looked at me like they wanted to tear that dress off me right then and there."
Sunday was stunned by how casually he spoke about it. Not only was Aventurine unbothered, but he even recounted the story with a mixture of disdain and amusement.
"Fucking hell, I almost threw up on the spot."
He scoffed, but his eyes suddenly turned dangerous.
"And you know what? Any bastard who dared to stare at me for too long that night… I sent them straight to the afterlife."
His words were chilling, dripping with a ruthless cruelty. Yet the next moment, he let out a soft chuckle and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Sunday’s temple.
"I was looking forward to it so much..."
He murmured, lips brushing along Sunday’s cheek in a whispering caress.
"After such a disgusting night, the only thing I wanted… was to come home, bury my face in my lover’s neck, breathe in your scent, and…"
A scorching kiss landed on Sunday’s earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine.
“… pin you down and make love to you all night. I needed my love to comfort me after that emotional trauma."
Sunday froze, his throat dry.
Aventurine licked his ear lightly, his husky voice pouring more sinful words into it.
"But do you know what happened to me, sweetheart?"
He suddenly let out a cold laugh, grasping Sunday’s chin and forcing him to meet his gaze.
"I stepped out of the shower…"
He dragged his words, prolonging the suspense on purpose.
"… and the house was empty."
His eyes darkened as his fingers traced Sunday’s lips.
"My beautiful lover had packed his bags and disappeared in the middle of the night."
His voice lowered, a mocking smile playing at his lips.
"Tell me, Sunny, just how much did that wound me?"
Sunday said nothing. He merely curled up against Aventurine’s chest, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.
Though he remained silent, his attitude had clearly shifted. Aventurine noticed it immediately, his smirk deepening in satisfaction at Sunday’s softening resolve.
He stroked Sunday’s back lightly, his voice once again filled with teasing.
"Listening to my story just now, you seemed pretty interested, didn’t you?"
Aventurine suddenly grinned wickedly.
"Could it be… that Sunny would like to see me in that dress?"
Sunday stiffened, eyes widening.
Aventurine laughed, his gaze mesmerizing.
"A slit dress, high heels, heavy makeup, and black fishnet stockings…"
He deliberately lowered his voice, his hand squeezing Sunday’s waist.
"If my love desires it, I can wear that outfit when we make love."
Sunday’s face flushed red as he punched Aventurine’s shoulder lightly.
"Shameless."
Aventurine didn’t dodge. Instead, he gazed at him in amusement.
"It would be an interesting experience, wouldn’t it?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Who knows? You might enjoy it so much you won’t be able to take your eyes off me."
Sunday felt his cheeks burn. But deep down… a strange excitement stirred within him.
Unable to bear it any longer, he suddenly lunged forward, biting down on Aventurine’s lips and silencing him with a kiss so deep they nearly forgot to breathe.
They tangled together like two ravenous beasts, greedily claiming every inch of each other’s skin.
But in the midst of their feverish embrace, Sunday suddenly snapped back to reality.
His eyes widened as an alarm rang in his head.
This was his office.
If they kept going like this…
Sunday abruptly shoved Aventurine away, struggling free from his grasp.
Aventurine frowned, clearly displeased at being interrupted so suddenly. He looked at Sunday—his lover panting heavily, lips swollen and glistening, eyes shimmering with a hint of panic.
Narrowing his gaze, Aventurine spoke lazily, his tone tinged with irritation.
"What’s wrong, love? Still mad at me?"
"No."
Sunday gasped for breath, trying to steady himself after the heated kiss.
"This room… isn’t soundproof."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"You should renovate it immediately..."
Aventurine licked his lips, then sighed in frustration. Leisurely, he began buttoning up his disheveled shirt, the corners of his mouth curling into a dangerous smile.
Sunday glared at him, his chest still tight with the lingering fear of how close they had come to losing control in his office.
Aventurine let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to stroke Sunday’s cheek. His voice dipped into a sultry warning.
"If you don’t…"
He leaned in, murmuring against Sunday’s ear, deliberately letting his lips and tongue graze his skin.
"… one of these days, everyone here will hear you crying and moaning my name. And I wouldn’t want that, now would I?"
Sunday shoved him away and shot to his feet, his face burning with a mix of anger and embarrassment.
But at that moment, his lips were still red and swollen from their kiss, making him look more alluring than intimidating.
Aventurine’s eyes darkened with a dangerous glint.
He reached out, lightly tracing Sunday’s lips with a fingertip, then let out a quiet chuckle.
"Make sure you don’t refuse me tonight, Sunny."
Sunday grabbed his hand, then pressed a soft kiss to his palm—lingering, affectionate, and full of longing.