The elevator doors slid open with a muffled chime. Mr. Kim stood there, holding a leather suitcase. He wore a crisp linen shirt tucked into trousers that hinted at disciplined gym habits. His silver hair was combed back neatly, and his eyes—sharp, assessing—scanned the hallway before landing on Koo. He didn’t smile. "Koo," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Still brightening up this building, I see."

Koo shifted her weight, the thin fabric of her sundress clinging to her thighs in the humid hallway air. She’d chosen it because Namjoon loved the way the straps showed off her shoulders. Now she regretted it. His father’s gaze lingered too long on her collarbone.

"Welcome," she managed, stepping aside. The scent of his cologne—something woody and expensive—filled the space between them. She focused on the scuff marks near the apartment door’s threshold.

Inside, Namjoon beamed, pulling his father into a back-thumping hug. "Dad! How was the journey?"

The apartment smelled like the lemon-roasted chicken Koo had spent hours preparing. Steam still fogged the kitchen window. Namjoon took the suitcase, his enthusiasm softening the tension coiling in Koo’s shoulders. She watched her husband’s easy smile. He adored this man. Loved him.

Taehyung’s hand brushed the small of Koo’s back as he passed her to enter the living room. A casual touch, maybe accidental. Her skin prickled. She remembered the last family dinner, his fingers "slipping" against her waist while reaching for the wine. The way he’d murmured such a tight dress when Namjoon stepped away.

Now, as Taehyung settled onto their sofa, stretching his long legs, his eyes trailed her movements. Koo busied herself with the place settings. Knives. Forks. Napkins folded just so. Anything to avoid looking up. Namjoon chatted about work promotions, oblivious. The chicken sizzled faintly in the oven—a ticking clock.

---

The lemon scent from the chicken suddenly tasted sour in Koo’s mouth as Taehyung’s fingers—thick and deliberate—lingered on her wrist while she poured his water. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, his voice rough like gravel under tires. “Wouldn’t want you spilling on that pretty dress.” His knuckles grazed the inside of her arm, warm and intrusive. She jerked back, water sloshing onto the tablecloth. Namjoon laughed from across the table. “Clumsy today, baby?”

Dinner crawled like a trapped fly against glass. Taehyung’s gaze never left Koo’s neckline, even as he praised her cooking. His steak knife scraped loudly against the plate, each sound making her flinch. She pushed peas around with her fork, her sundress sticking to her lower back with nervous sweat.

When Namjoon excused himself to fetch more wine from the kitchen, Taehyung leaned forward instantly. “Two years married to my son,” he said lowly, tracing his thumb over the table’s edge toward her hand. “Still so... tense around me.” Koo’s skin went cold. She gripped her napkin until her knuckles whitened, staring at the grease stain blooming on the linen.

Namjoon returned, humming, oblivious to the thick quiet. He refilled glasses, his fingers brushing Koo’s shoulder affectionately. She forced a smile, focusing on the way his wedding band caught the light—solid, real.

But Taehyung chuckled, swirling his wine. “Your wife’s quiet tonight, son.” The words slithered between them. Namjoon grinned. “She’s just shy, Dad.” Koo’s stomach twisted. Shy? She remembered Taehyung’s breath against her ear last Christmas: I know what you want.

Later, clearing plates, Koo dropped a fork. It clattered loudly on the tiles. As she bent to pick it up, Taehyung’s polished shoe nudged her bare ankle—a slow, deliberate pressure. His shadow fell over her like a cage. She froze, crouched low, the kitchen’s fluorescent light buzzing overhead. From the living room, Namjoon’s cheerful voice called out, “Need help, honey?” Taehyung’s eyes gleamed. He didn’t move. Koo’s breath hitched. The fork felt slick in her palm.