I CULTIVATED YOU

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"Because I can, and I want to, I've been longing for you, since the day I first saw you in the park."

"Park…?" Her voice cracked—small, trembling, fragile. "Th-that was…"

But the words never fully formed. The moment he said it, the memory had already gutted her.

That park.

That day.

The carousel. The laughter and blood.

The place where her father died in front of her, shielding her from the speeding car she never saw coming.

The place her mother stopped looking at her the same way.

The place everything began to rot.

Min-soo's voice, smooth as a blade, slipped through the haze.

"You were so little. So fragile."

Ji-hyun's breath hitched. Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her dress beneath the table, knuckles whitening.

"I fell in love with you," he continued, and this time there was no coldness to soften it—only the blunt, horrifying truth laid bare. "I was eighteen. You were five."

Her blood turned to ice.

"Poor thing," he added, his gaze unmoved, watching her crumple like paper. "Your father had to die the same day."

Ji-hyun's head dropped, her hair sliding forward like a veil, shielding her eyes.

But it couldn't hide the pain.

Her lashes fluttered, heavy with unshed tears, her entire body a storm of shame, fear, and something she didn't want to name.

"I…" She tried to smile, her voice too sweet to be real. "I think I've eaten too much. I'll head to my room now."

She dabbed at the corner of her lips with a linen napkin, carefully folded it, and pushed her chair back. Her body rose with mechanical grace—an actress exiting the stage.

She turned.

But in a blink, she was yanked back.

His hand—hot, hard, inescapable—snatched her waist and reeled her into him.

She gasped.

How did he move that fast?

She was sure he'd still been seated. Hadn't he been sitting just a moment ago?

Min-soo's breath was steady. His expression unreadable. His arm locked around her waist like a steel band, dragging her close until her body collided softly with his.

Then he moved slowly and deliberately.

He pressed her back, step by step, his touch firm but never frantic, until the edge of the dining table caught the backs of her thighs. The cold marble dug into her skin.

Ji-hyun's hands gripped his sleeves, her breath shallow.

"Min-soo…" she whispered, barely audible. Not a protest. Not quite a plea. More like disbelief wrapped in dread.

His other hand slid past her waist, fingers brushing the edge of the plate beside her.

Without breaking eye contact, he shoved it.

The porcelain shattered on the floor with a vicious crack.

Ji-hyun flinched.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She felt it in her throat, in her ears.

She wasn't expecting that.

Min-soo's hand slipped behind her thighs. With practiced strength, he lifted her effortlessly onto the table, sitting her on the linen-draped surface like she was made of glass—or maybe something far more breakable.

She didn't resist, she couldn't.

He stepped between her legs, the space between them gone. His hands rested on either side of her—caging her in without touching her skin. His face hovered inches from hers, eyes locked on hers like he was reading a sacred text only he could understand.

Ji-hyun tried to speak.

But her voice clung to the back of her throat, paralyzed.

Min-soo said nothing. Not at first. His eyes lingered on her face, searching, dissecting, memorizing.

Then he leaned closer—his breath warm against her jawline, his voice deceptively quiet.

"I cultivated you." he said.

Ji-hyun froze.

His words sliced deeper than any threat could.

"You think this is coincidence?" he continued, each word unhurried, deliberate. "That you ended up here, with me, because fate tripped over itself?"

He smiled faintly, and the expression was worse than cruelty—it was certainty.

"I placed every stone in your path. Every detour. Every misfortune. I didn't wait for you to grow into what I wanted."

His fingers brushed the silk at her waist, feather-light.

"I made sure you had no other choice but to become it."

Ji-hyun's eyes widened.

The table beneath her felt suddenly too solid, too cold, like a slab meant for sacrifice. Her heart pounded, panic clawing at the edges of her chest—but her body remained still.

He was no longer just a man obsessed.

He was a man who had orchestrated her fall.

Min-soo tilted his head slightly, as if examining his masterpiece.

"I wonder," he murmured, almost to himself. "If your father had survived that day… would you still be mine?"

She felt sick.

"That day…" she whispered.

Min-soo's gaze never wavered.

"I was always near."

He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, like he was soothing a frightened child.

"I learned long ago," he said softly, "that love isn't about finding. It's about shaping. And you, Ji-hyun… you were always meant to be shaped."

Tears stung her eyes, hot and sharp—but she forced herself to hold his gaze. To not let him see her break. Not yet.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear again, voice lower than breath:

"Now eat, or I'll feed you myself."

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