EPISODE - 02
Bhang Jae-Sang (voice smooth but edged with warning):
"Did no one teach you it's rude to stare, little dove?"
His tone is laced with amusement, but his gaze is calculating, dissecting your every reaction.
I blink innocently, tilting your head.
"Did no one teach you it's rude to interrupt a woman's dessert?"
Bhang Jae-Sang leaned forward, closing the respectful distance the room had afforded me. His voice, when it came, was a velvet-wrapped blade, dripping with mock contrition.
"Ah, my deepest apologies," he purred, his gaze flicking to my forgotten dessert. "I didn't realize the pistachio kulfi was more intimidating than I am."
He gestured toward my bowl with a languid flick of his elegant fingers, as if presenting evidence at a trial.
"Though I must admit," he continued, the playful lilt in his voice not quite reaching his obsidian eyes, "you seem… oddly fearless. Sitting here, in a room teeming with people who would kill—quite literally—to have your last name scrubbed from the pages of history. And yet, you're focused on melting cream."
His eyes, however, held mine with an unblinking intensity—a hunter testing the nerves of his prey.
"Do you always make a habit of snacking so… nonchalantly in the lion's den, Yara Ghaznavi?"
I tilted my head, forcing a lightness into my own expression that I didn't feel.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, my voice purposely breezy, as if discussing the weather. Then, I waved a dismissive hand, the bangles on my wrist chiming a careless tune. "You know what, never mind. Duh. I suppose my fame precedes me."
I leaned back against my chair, mirroring his predatory ease, and let a slow, deliberately impish smile touch my lips. My eyes met his dead-on.
"A more interesting question is… what's your name, hmm?" I let the pause hang, sweet and taunting, before adding the final, insolent stroke. "Kitten~"
His eyes narrowed slightly—just enough to show he hadn't expected the question.
Then, slowly, a smirk curved at the corner of his mouth.
"Kitten?"
The single word rolled off his tongue with unmistakable amusement.
Behind him, his bodyguards stiffened. One of them shifted his stance, another's hand hovering just a little too close to where it shouldn't have been. The air changed—tightened.
His attention returned to me entirely. He tilted his head, studying me with a slow, deliberate intensity—as if I'm a puzzle he hadn't decided whether to solve or break.
"You're bolder than I thought," he said lightly. "Most people in this room would be scared out of their minds right now."
"And yet," he continued, voice smooth, "the only thing you seem concerned about is my name."
I exaggeratedly sighed, my face falling into dramatic misery.
"Well, yes," I said. "It's kind of awkward calling someone Sir Suspicious Mafia Vibes."
He blinked.
Once.
Then a low chuckle slipped out of him, quiet but genuine.
I pointed at him lightly.
"You still haven't told me your name, by the way."
He leaned closer, voice dropping as if sharing a dangerous secret.
"You don't let things go easily, do you?"
I shrugged.
"I like closure. And names."
For a moment, he just stared—then shook his head with a faint laugh.
"Fine," he said. "I'll tell you my name."
My eyes lit up immediately.
"But," he continued, raising a finger, "on one condition."
The tension returned instantly.
His bodyguards stiffened again. One of them mouthed Seriously?
He leaned in, close enough that she could smell mint and something dangerously expensive.
"You have to share the rest of your ice cream with me."
Hearing that I wiggled in my seat, seconds away from shouting a very enthusiastic Okii! SURE! MY PLEASURE !before he even finished his sentence.
Then I said to myself—
Control, Yara. Control. You are Ghaznavi.
You cannot fan-girl over a man like a starstruck teenager.
You have to look calm. Unimpressed. Regal
Took a dramatic pause Then
I looked at him.
Then at my previous ice cream.
Then back at him.
"Ah," I murmured, voice steady despite the chaos exploding in my chest.
"You greedy kitten. Always looking for treats, aren't you?"
His smirk deepened—slow, sharp, and entirely too satisfied, like he'd just won a game he hadn't even admitted he was playing.
"Greedy?" he echoed, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense."Me? Never."
One of the bodyguards looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.
I hugged the cup protectively.
"But, I did pay for this."
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"So?"
I sighed, scooped a spoonful, and held it out dramatically.
"Fine. But just so you know—You look like a fancy high-fashion cat in a tuxedo , this makes you officially less scary."
Then his brows knit together, not in anger, but in pure disbelief—as if his brain was rebooting to process the sentence. One of his bodyguards inhaled sharply. Another looked away, shoulders shaking, clearly fighting the urge to laugh.
"A… cat?" he repeated slowly.
His gaze dropped to the spoon hovering between them, then returned to her face. A dangerous pause settled in the air—thick, deliberate.
Then something unexpected happened.
He took the spoon without breaking eye contact.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Once.
Twice.
And just like that, the smirk broke free.
"High-fashion?" he echoed, voice amused despite himself. "In a tuxedo?"
He straightened slightly, adjusting his cuff with exaggerated elegance, as if suddenly aware of his own outfit.
"I suppose," he said dryly, "that's the strangest downgrade I've ever received."
He leaned in just enough to take the spoon, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Careful, little Ghaznavi," he said lightly. "If you keep talking to me like that, I might start expecting dessert privileges."
I scoffed and, without thinking, reached out and lightly tapped under his chin—like scolding a misbehaving cat.
"Easy, kitty," she said. "Treats are earned."
The room froze.
One bodyguard actually looked like he was about to faint.
Jae-Sang blinked.
Behind him, one of the bodyguards muttered under his breath,
"She just compared him to a cat…"
Jae-Sang ignored them completely.
Instead, he tasted the ice cream—then looked back at her, expression unreadable, amused, and entirely too entertained.
"…You're unbelievable," he said, eyes gleaming.
I smirked.
"So I've been told."
He tilted his head, studying her like she'd just rewritten all his rules.
Then, finally—
"Bhang Jae-Sang."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"Huh. Not bad."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And you are?"
I smirked,
"The girl who just made the most dangerous man in the room beg for ice cream."
For the first time, his grin widened—slow, sharp, and entirely unplanned.
"Mr. Bhang Jae-Sang," i said solemnly, lifting the spoon like a medical instrument,
"open your mouth and say aaaaaaa~~~"
He stared at me.
Not the intimidating mafia boss stare.
The I-am-reconsidering-my-entire-existence stare.
His jaw worked like it was buffering.
Jae-Sang (slowly):
"…You want me to—
open my mouth—
and say aaaa?"
A beat.
"…Like a child?"
One of the bodyguards subtly turned his head away, as if pretending not to exist anymore.
I nodded seriously, eyes full of fake concern.
"Yes. For inspection."
He crossed his arms, clearly offended on a philosophical level.
"I negotiate with cartels. I threaten CEOs. I do not—"
I leaned closer, whispering dramatically,
"I need to check for cavities."
Silence.
Dead. Absolute. Silence.
"…Cavities," he repeated.
"Yes," continued, gasping softly like I'd just had a tragic realization.
"What if you already have one? Then our little ice-cream party could hurt your teeth later."
I placed a hand on her chest.
"And I would never forgive myself."
One bodyguard blinked.
Twice.
Another looked at the ceiling like, God, if you're there—help.
Jae-Sang rubbed his face, fighting a laugh like it was a losing battle.
"…This," he said, shaking his head,
"is officially the strangest threat I've ever faced."
She wiggled the spoon again, threatening with the spoon.
"Open up, Fancy Cat. This is for your own good."
A long pause.
Then—very slowly—he leaned forward.
"…If anyone asks," he muttered,
"I was blackmailed."
I grinned victoriously.
"Aaaaaaaa~ please."
The bodyguards simultaneously decided they had seen too much.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, a slow exhale escaping him that sounded suspiciously like a man questioning every life choice that had led him to this dessert station. Between the sharp lines of his suit and the icy aura he radiated, he looked like a god of war; yet here I was, treating him like a particularly difficult pet.
"You are truly insufferable," Jae-Sang muttered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "First, you insult my clan's honor, then you threaten me with that spoon, and now you want to inspect my teeth as if I'm some prize stallion at an auction?"
Despite the terrifying authority he carried, I saw his lips twitch."Tell me, Ghaznavi," he leaned in, his shadow looming over me, "is this how your family starts wars? Because I might just have to declare a blood feud over this blatant disrespect."
I didn't flinch. Instead, I smoothed down my maroon silk skirt with a dramatic, exaggerated calmness. I looked him dead in the eye, my expression as serene as a saint's.
"War? Oh, please," I waved a hand dismissively. "My Abba and brothers handle that sector. I'm just the... let's call it 'Public Relations.' And besides," I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a playful conspiratorial whisper, "you're perfectly safe with me kitten . Away from wars and dangers . I've got you🎀"
A sharp sound escaped his nose—a huff that was dangerously close to a genuine laugh—before he quickly schooled his face back into a mask of cold indifference. But his dark, feline eyes glinted with a reluctant, shimmering fascination.
"Safe with you?" he muttered, looking at me as if I were a puzzle he couldn't solve. "I've survived three assassination attempts this year, yet I've never felt more in danger in my life."
I leaned in, my chin propped on my hand, and looked at him with the most wide-eyed, angelic innocence I could muster. "Ummm... can I pet you? Just once? On the head?"
Jae-Sang's entire body stiffened like a startled predator. For a second, I thought I'd actually broken him. His eyes widened, then narrowed into dangerous, golden slits.
Jae-Sang's voice dropped to a low, visceral growl, each word dipped in frost and warning.
"Touch one strand of my hair," he enunciated with deadly clarity, "and I will personally feed your delicate little fingers to the koi in the garden pond. Starting with the pinky."
Despite the threat of literal dismemberment, he didn't move an inch. In fact, he stayed perfectly still, hovering just within my reach, as if he were a feral cat daring me to test my luck. Behind him, his bodyguards had officially stopped breathing. I'm pretty sure one of them was clutching his holster, not for me, but to protect his boss's dignity.
I sighed dramatically, pulling my hands back and folding them neatly in my lap with a disappointed pout. "Fine, keep your head. You look like a cute kitten, but you certainly don't sound like one. Honestly, it's such a regretful waste of potential."
"Cute?" he scoffed, the word sounding like a curse in his mouth. "Ghaznavi, you must be legally blind. I am terrifying. I am the nightmare people have when they sleep with the lights on. Grown men lose control of their bladders at the mere mention of my name."
He leaned back in his chair with a sharp exhale.
"And for the record," he added stiffly,
"if anyone ever pets my head—"
"Yes?" she prompted innocently.
"…I will end them."
She nodded solemnly.
"Understood."
A beat.
"…Still cute, though."
Somewhere behind them, a bodyguard whispered,
"This is it. This is how legends fall."
Suddenly, a sharp ping interrupted the air. Jae-sang pulled out his phone, the glow of the screen reflecting briefly in his eyes as he skimmed a newly arrived text.
A flash of faint irritation crossed his features—a slight knitting of the brows that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Without typing a single word in response, he coolly slid the device back into his pocket. With an effortless transition, he locked eyes with Yara again.
I decided to grace him with some cultural enlightenment, leaning in with maximum sass. "Do you even know what Yara means?" I asked, punctuating the air with a literal 💅 energy. "It means Little Butterfly. You know... like me."
I waited for the spark of realization, the compliment, or at least a smirk. Nothing. So, I pushed further: "And what about you? What's the profound meaning behind Bhang Jae-sang?"
I was ready for a poetic breakdown of his lineage. Instead, he looked at me with the emotional depth of a dry piece of toast and muttered,
"I don't know."
When the words "I don't know" left his lips, the silence was deafening.
I simply closed my eyes and began a slow, rhythmic shake of the head—the kind of look a parent gives when they see a "D" on a report card they paid a fortune for.
It was the ultimate "I'm not mad, just disappointed" vibe. I looked at him like he was a lost cause, a tragic waste of a cool name. My head-shaking was so intense you could practically hear the imaginary "tchk-tchk-tchk" of my tongue. It was a silent funeral for his lack of self-awareness.
"Truly, honestly... really bad. I'm disappointed"