Katubari

* At night
He was rugged and untamed. That one steamy night left Grace utterly captivated. She coyly stretched out her dainty, snow-white feet, hooking them around his waist as she softly laid down her terms:
For the first time, no staying overnight.
The second time, the moment he got himself a significant other, she'd vanish from his side.
Later on, their liaison would remain strictly on a physical level.
No strings of money attached, no emotional fetters, just the most primal and unadulterated desires that flared up when night fell, entwining them like a web spun by countless spiders.
And once the moment had passed, she'd straighten her skirt and turn her back on him, cold as ice.
*During daytime
He was the heir to a vast business empire, now impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, exuding an air of aristocratic reserve. He extended his hand to her with a polite smile, 
“Hello, Grace.”
Grace gritted her teeth in secret dismay. She hastened to call off whatever was brewing between them, only to find herself cornered against the dressing room by the man, with no way out.
In that cramped space, he was a relentless predator, and she, his irresistible quarry. His firmness pressed against her soft curves, setting every inch ablaze.
Outside the door, her female colleagues were swooning over his chiseled abs.
Just a thin partition away, he locked his arm around her willowy waist, seized her delicate hand, and guided it to rest on his taut abdomen, his voice dripping with a sultry allure, “Thought you could slip away? It's far too late for that.”

Dangerous: Don't cross the line!

The black umbrella tilted toward Grace, shielding her from the storm. Raindrops slid off the sleek satin surface, exploding like shattered glass against the pavement.

Grace's fox-like eyes glistened with tears as she stared up at the tall, impeccably suited man before her. "Why does he always appear when I'm at my weakest?"

If she'd known John's true status that first day—his wealth, his power—she'd never have dared make that reckless request. Now, he stood like a statue carved from ice and privilege, untouched by the chaos around him.

John crouched slowly, his gaze dark and unreadable. Rain dripped from his hair as he studied her. Gold paint streaked her cheeks, mixing with tear tracks. Her dress clung to her, torn and glittering. She looked like a ruined masterpiece—a mermaid dragged ashore, beautiful enough to drown in, fragile enough to crush.

No where to go