Chapter : 0.80 Are they pink

The slice of mana-infused beef tasted like ash on Rina's tongue.

She chewed slowly, trying to focus on the rich flavor—the delicate sear, the umami burst of magic laced into the fibers, the warmth spreading through her chest—but all of it paled under the fiery tension still burning beneath her skin.

Across the small obsidian kitchen table, the same table where they'd shared a strange, quiet moment just nights ago, sat Jin Rotschy—her husband. His crimson eyes shimmered with amusement, his black hair falling slightly over his gaze, just enough to veil the devilish glint she'd come to know too well.

He rested one elbow lazily on the table, his cheek pressing gently into the curve of his gloved hand. His other hand toyed with the handle of a ceramic cup, fingers spinning it in slow circles, as if his mind were already conjuring new ways to get under her skin.

Rina kept her eyes glued to her plate.

She could still feel her cheeks burning, the echo of his earlier question—*What color are your undergarments?*—ringing in her mind like an insult and a dare at once. Her fingers gripped the fork just a little tighter.

"What's wrong, my sweet wife?" Jin's voice floated across the table like velvet lined with thorns. "You've gone awfully quiet. Still thinking about what I asked? Was it that bad?"

Rina raised her golden eyes and met his gaze with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "That kind of question is completely inappropriate."

His lips curved upward.

"Is it?" he asked softly. "I was just curious. As your husband, I thought maybe I'd be allowed a little imagination."

"You don't need to ask a woman something like that just to satisfy your 'imagination,'" she replied coldly. "You should have enough of it on your own."

Jin tilted his head, mock thoughtfulness plastered on his face. "True," he mused. "So... shall I imagine you in lace? Silk? Or—ah—nothing at all? With your hair down, like now..... and perhaps..." He tapped his chin with a single gloved finger, his crimson eyes glinting. "What do you think? Are they pink?"

Rina stared at him, lips parted in disbelief, her fork slowly lowering to the plate.

She *knew* what this was. A game. A war of words dressed as flirtation. A test of her reactions. He was poking her, pushing her—trying to stir that fire in her belly just to see it dance.

He *enjoyed* this.

She exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of her fiery red hair over her shoulder and straightening in her seat.

"Why don't you imagine whatever you want," she said sweetly. "And when you're done, you can write it all down in your little fantasy journal. I'm sure your mother would be proud."

The grin that split across Jin's face was dangerous.

"Well said," he chuckled. "But now I'm even more curious. You have such sharp claws when you're defensive, Rina. It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Before she could retort, Jin leaned in.

He reached toward her, slowly, deliberately.

For a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

His hand moved toward her chest—but at the last moment, swerved upward and pinched her cheek instead.

Her jaw dropped, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Still not answering my other question," he said with mock disappointment. "The kiss, remember? Do you want it slow and sweet... or deep and breathless?"

Rina's blush deepened, but her voice didn't waver this time.

She smiled.

Feral. Dangerous.

"Oh, Jin," she said with honeyed sarcasm. "Why settle for just one kiss when I can punch you instead?"

He laughed. Truly laughed. His voice echoed across the kitchen, rich and amused.

She crossed her arms, arching a brow. "You act like a ten-year-old boy who just discovered flirting."

"And you react like a girl who's trying *very hard* not to be charmed," he teased back.

"You're mistaking tolerance for affection."

Jin leaned back, crossing his legs. "No, no. I think I've struck a nerve."

Rina took another bite of beef, chewing slowly.

*He's infuriating,* she thought. *Utterly, unapologetically infuriating.*

But there was a warmth beneath her irritation—something she hated admitting even to herself. Not attraction. Not yet. But... the way he looked at her, the way he *listened* when she spoke, even when he was being a menace—it stirred something. Something she didn't want to name.

He was unlike anyone she'd met. Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Shameless.

And behind all that mischief, she could sense something else—some kind of emotional armor. Like all this teasing, all this bravado, was a wall. Or a mask.

Maybe he needed it.

Maybe she did, too.

"I'm going to finish this breakfast," she said coolly, cutting into her eggs, "and pretend you didn't say half the things you said."

"Excellent. I'll say them again tomorrow," he replied without missing a beat.

She rolled her eyes.

"You really are the worst."

"I've been told that. By gods, demons, and now my beautiful wife."

Rina hid her smile behind the rim of her juice glass.

*Don't encourage him,* she warned herself.

But it was too late.

He had already seen it—the twitch of her lip, the momentary break in her icy composure.

He had won this round.

She hated that. But she also… didn't.

........ 

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