The Warmth of Pale Hands

“If you push me away… I’ll become just like my father.”

Jeha’s voice was low but resonated with a chilling intensity. His movements grew more forceful as he buried himself deeper into her, the weight of his words pressing down like an unrelenting storm.

“I’ll make your life unbearable. I’ll lock you away. I’ll take you, whether you want me to or not. You’ll bear my child, no matter your will.

And even as I watch you suffer, I’ll crave you again. I’ll burn in this endless desire and drag us both into hell.”

His words, a mix of threat and desperate plea, sliced through the air like a jagged blade, exposing the torment within.

“You can’t turn into that,” Ye-kang choked, her voice trembling as hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

Jeha’s lips brushed her face, his tongue tasting the salty trail of her despair. His voice, now a haunting whisper, echoed with resolve.

“Never.”

His face twisted in agony, his eyes glinting with a pain so raw it was almost unbearable to witness. It was clear: Jeha’s descent into hell had already begun, the moment she had entered his life unbidden and dismantled everything he had known.

Now, it was her turn to leave—a departure that came far too late to save either of them from the ruin they had become.