Chapter 64: Red Silk Confidence

Ji-hye walked home with her senior’s words gnawing at her mind. "Other women." The phrase echoed with every step, each syllable heavier than the last. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, the cool night air doing little to quiet the restlessness curling in her chest. Even though she got along well with Harin, the thought still unsettled her. Harin was easy to be around—playful, teasing, and oddly supportive—but what about the others? She didn’t know their faces, their personalities, their histories with him. What if they saw her as an outsider? What if she was just another warm body in his life, someone temporary who could be replaced without a second thought? She hated that the question lodged itself in her mind, stubborn and sharp. No matter how much she tried to focus on the rhythmic sound of her sneakers hitting the pavement, the unease only grew. By the time the villa came into view, her jaw was tight from clenching it, and she was no closer to an answer than when she left practice. Only Harin was in the living room, sprawled on the couch with the TV on low, one leg draped over the armrest. A half-empty glass of wine rested on the coffee table beside her. "Back late," Harin said without looking away from the screen, though her tone carried a knowing edge. "Where’s Joon-ho?" "With Coach Min," Ji-hye replied, shrugging off her jacket. "They’re still going over the team’s recovery program." She set her bag on a chair with more force than necessary. That small gesture made Harin’s gaze sharpen. She muted the TV and shifted upright, tucking one leg under her. "Alright... what’s going on in that head of yours?" Ji-hye hesitated, her lips pressing together before she finally sat down beside her. "At practice today... some of the girls were teasing me. About Joon-ho. About... other women." Her voice dipped at the last part. "I just... I don’t know if they’d accept me. Or if I even belong." Harin’s expression softened, though her eyes still carried their usual spark. She studied Ji-hye for a beat, then gave a small laugh. "Honestly? Even I haven’t met the other women." Ji-hye’s head tilted. "You haven’t?" "Nope," Harin said with a shrug, her bare shoulder catching the lamplight. "And I don’t care to. Not yet." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Because when I’m with him, I know what we have. That’s enough for me." Ji-hye frowned faintly. "But... what if—" "Stop." Harin reached over and tapped her forehead lightly. "If you want to feel secure, Ji-hye... stop thinking so much. Feel it." "...Feel it?" "Yeah," Harin’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Tonight, you should fuck him. Heart to heart. Make him yours in the way only you can." Ji-hye’s cheeks flamed so fast it almost made her dizzy. "I—Harin—" "Don’t overthink it." Harin leaned in slightly, her voice dipping into that husky, coaxing tone that always seemed to cut through Ji-hye’s doubts. "Wear the red set we bought last time. You’ll look like fire in it. And trust me—" her smirk deepened, "—he won’t see anyone else in that moment. Not Harin, not any of the others. Just you." Ji-hye’s lips parted, but no words came. Her pulse was thudding in her ears, a mix of nerves and something else she didn’t want to name out loud. She bit her lip, the flicker of uncertainty still in her eyes... but then she gave a small, deliberate nod. "Okay." Harin’s smile widened into something equal parts proud and wicked. "That’s my girl." She reached over and squeezed Ji-hye’s hand, giving it a reassuring pat before letting go. "Go get ready. Take your time. Make yourself feel beautiful first. That way, when he walks in..." she tilted her head, eyes glinting, "...he’ll know exactly whose woman you are." Ji-hye exhaled slowly, the knot in her chest loosening just enough to let a shy smile slip through. She stood, the faintest tremor in her hands as she headed upstairs—already picturing the set, the way the satin would feel against her skin, and how his eyes might look when he saw her in it. By the time Joon-ho came home, it was just past ten. The quiet click of the door lock had barely settled when Harin appeared in the entryway, padding over from the couch with a catlike smile. "Long day?" he asked, shrugging off his jacket and loosening the collar of his shirt. "You could say that," Harin replied, her smirk deepening. Her eyes flicked over him in a quick, assessing glance before she stepped close, fingers brushing his chest. "You’re working overtime tonight." One brow arched. "With you?" She shook her head, lips quirking. "Nope." The flat of her hand patted his chest once, slow and deliberate, before she moved past him toward the stairs. "Upstairs. Bedroom. Now." He half-turned after her, intrigued. "That’s... vague." "You’ll see." She was already heading toward the guest room door, glancing over her shoulder just long enough to give him a sly wink. "I’m sleeping down here tonight. Don’t keep her waiting." Something in the way she said it—"her"—made his steps slow for a moment, curiosity stirring. But Harin didn’t elaborate. She just disappeared into the guest room, the door shutting softly behind her, leaving the upstairs hall waiting like a loaded spring. Joon-ho studied her for a second, reading the glint in her eyes—half-nerves, half-determination—then climbed the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. The faint creak of each tread was the only sound, his curiosity mounting with each one. When he pushed open the bedroom door, the sight waiting for him made him stop mid-step. Ji-hye sat on the edge of the bed, framed in the warm lamplight like some forbidden painting come to life. The red lingerie Harin had chosen for her clung in ways that felt almost unfair—lace cups so sheer they barely held her, delicate threads tracing along the swell of her breasts before vanishing into silk straps that kissed the slope of her shoulders. The panties were little more than a whisper of fabric, cut low enough to bare the elegant curve of her hipbones. The color wasn’t just red—it was molten, a living flame against the pale smoothness of her skin, a shade that made her look like heat itself. Her legs were drawn together, knees pressed in shyly, but her toes curled into the carpet as if she were bracing herself. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, fingers knotting and unknotting, but her eyes... her eyes didn’t break from his for a second. There was a flicker there—part hunger, part fear, part something that told him she had already decided and wouldn’t take it back. "You look..." he began, voice already thick, the rest of the sentence buried under the weight of his own pulse. She shook her head before he could finish. "Don’t say it." The words came out softer than she intended, but there was steel underneath. Her chest rose and fell in a sharp, uneven breath, and she spoke quickly, as though afraid the courage might drain out if she waited. "I want to... tonight... I want to be with you. Not just because I miss you, but because I need to feel it. That I’m yours." Her last word hung there like a match just struck, the sulfur tang of it sparking something in the air between them. The room seemed to hold its breath. Even the hum of the air conditioner felt distant, swallowed by the quiet thrum of something far more primal. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, could see the faint tremor in her thighs, the way her knuckles whitened where her hands clenched together—yet her gaze didn’t flinch. It wasn’t a look that begged; it was a look that claimed. And it rooted him to the spot. For a moment, Joon-ho didn’t move. He just looked at her—at the way her shoulders held that quiet resolve, at the vulnerability sitting just beneath it. Then, without a word, he crossed the room and sat beside her. The mattress dipped, tilting her slightly toward him, and she caught the faint warmth radiating from his body. "You already are, Ji-hye," he said softly, but with a certainty that made her stomach tighten. He reached for her hand, but she didn’t just hold it—she caught his fingers, guided them into her lap, then leaned forward until her forehead rested against his shoulder. Her scent, faint with the sweetness of her shower, mingled with the faint musk of his day. "I know you say that," she murmured, voice muffled against him, "but sometimes... I need more than words. I need to feel it. I need to know that, even if there are other women, I’m not just... another one." His free hand slid up her back, tracing the slope of her spine through the delicate fabric. "Is that what this is about?" She nodded, a small movement. "I don’t want to fight anyone. I just... I want to know where I stand." He leaned back slightly so she would look at him. Her eyes were wide but steady, a mix of desire and something more raw. "You stand here," he said simply, and when she frowned in confusion, he shifted closer, his thigh pressing into hers. "Right in front of me. And tonight, I’m going to make sure you don’t forget that." Her breath caught. Joon-ho’s fingers trailed from her hand to her thigh, skimming over the thin silk until his palm cupped the warm skin beneath. She didn’t shy away. Instead, she tilted toward him, her lips parting slightly, as if already anticipating the kiss she knew was coming. And when it came—slow at first, then deepening—it wasn’t just about hunger. It was about claiming, about reassurance, about every unspoken thing between them finally finding its place. Downstairs, Harin lay in the guest bed, one arm thrown over her eyes. She could hear faint, muffled sounds drifting from above—whispers, the creak of the bedframe, a soft gasp that didn’t belong to her. She smirked to herself. Upstairs, Ji-hye’s fingers curled into the sheets, Joon-ho’s voice low against her ear. Every touch was deliberate, every movement an answer to the doubts she hadn’t been able to silence all day. Neither of them noticed the phone on the nightstand, its screen lighting up with an incoming message from Kwon Mirae—a name that promised to shift the balance between them all.