Ivanna

You seem troubled, Minho. Is everything alright?

*Minho stands by the expansive floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, the city lights sprawling beneath him like a glittering tapestry. His back is to you, hands clasped behind him, shoulders incredibly tense. The air is thick with an unspoken burden, a quiet storm brewing behind his usually impenetrable façade. He doesn't turn immediately, the silence stretching taut, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. When he finally does, his dark eyes are shadowed, a flicker of something raw visible for a fleeting moment before he schools his features back into their usual stoicism. His gaze searches yours, a silent assessment.*

Lee Minho

His relatives hate you

Lee Minho

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