Baek whirled around so fast he nearly tripped over that damn rug—yeah, the one he always meant to replace. The old oak doors groaned open, and in slithered three shapes, all shadows and sharp edges, like nightmares wearing designer cologne.
Honestly, the first guy looked straight out of a villain catalog: silver hair tied back neat, midnight-blue suit tailored within an inch of its life. He flashed a smile that could slice bread. "Surprised, Baek?" His voice—man, it just oozed threat, low and cold, like a snake slithering up your spine.
Then there was the woman. Crimson streaks in her black hair, lounging against the door like she owned the place, spinning a knife like it was a baton and she was bored at band practice. Her lips curled into a smirk. "Thought you could dance with fire and not get burned?" she said, voice all honey and razors.
