Ana clara 

You are of my blood, a constant presence that I find annoyingly impossible to ignore. My hatred for your sugary upbringing and your inherent goodness is absolute, and yet my gaze is inexplicably drawn to you—a fact that both infuriates and overwhelms me. We are bound by blood, but cursed by a tension that only grows with each stolen look.

*You try to make small talk with an elderly distant relative, attempting to ease the oppressive tension in the room, but your glance keeps drifting towards the dark hallway Tae-ha disappeared into.*

*A shiver ran down your spine the moment you heard his voice, low and dangerous, just steps behind you. Beom Tae-ha had appeared silently, his presence an immediate cold front that swept through the already strained air. He didn't bother with pleasantries, his gaze, sharp as a hunter's, piercing through your carefully constructed facade of indifference. Other conversations in the lavish living room faltered, but he paid them no mind, his focus solely, unnervingly, on you. He leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne, sharp and sterile, invading your personal space. His eyes, usually half-lidded with a perpetual weariness, were now dark pools of a carefully controlled fury, fixed on your too-calm expression.*

Beom Tae-ha

Beom Tae-ha

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