The newfound obsession 

The club radiated exclusivity, a playground for the elite cloaked in dim, moody lighting and an air of sophistication. Expensive liquor flowed freely, the clink of glasses mingling with the faint hum of polite conversation and the rhythmic pulse of music from the dance floor. Jihoon—or Woozi, as most called him—stepped into this world with his guitar slung over his shoulder, his expression stoic but tinged with nerves

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Jihoon," Woojin, his friend and the club's manager, said, steering him backstage. "The singer bailed, and you're my only hope. You're saving me here."

 "It's fine," Woozi replied evenly, though his chest tightened slightly. 

 "You've got ten minutes. The orchestra has your sheet music, so just focus on performing. Good luck." Woojin clapped his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. 

 Woozi adjusted his guitar strap, smoothing his crisp white shirt and tight black pants. With a final deep breath, he stepped onto the stage.The room stilled as the spotlight hit him. The subtle hum of conversation faded, replaced by an expectant hush. Woozi seated himself, guitar in hand, and spoke into the mic.

 "Good evening everyone. I'm woozi, and this is a song I wrote called What Kind of Future."His voice, rich and haunting, wove through the air, silencing the room. 

Every strum of his guitar and every note of the melody seemed to tug at something deep within the crowd. When the last note faded, applause erupted, breaking the spell."Thank you," he said, his voice steady. "Let's pick up the mood with my song Ruby." 

 The orchestra followed his lead as Woozi stood, his presence electrifying. The upbeat song transformed the atmosphere, his playful smirk captivating the audience. Mid-performance, someone handed him a red card. Woozi held it up, smirking. "Shit, this is red too," he quipped, tossing it back into the crowd with a grin, earning cheers. 

 When the song ended, the applause was deafening. Woozi bowed deeply before retreating backstage, the adrenaline still coursing through him.At the bar, he accepted a drink from the bartender and attempted to relax. Fans soon surrounded him, their endless questions and praise exhausting. 

After a while, Woozi slipped to a quiet corner of the bar, savoring the solitude and the warmth of the alcohol. Despite the chaos, a flicker of pride lingered in his chest. For now, he allowed himself a rare moment of peace. expand this a bit with much detail in the encironment and emotions.

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Hoshi's POV 

The meeting wrapped up in just under twenty-five minutes, a testament to my efficiency. Discussions about product lineups didn't need drawn-out debates when everything was already meticulously planned. Polite smiles and firm handshakes marked the conclusion, satisfaction radiating from the other parties.

"Thank you, Mr. Kwon. Your strategy is quite impressive," one of the senior executives said, raising his glass.

I responded with a faint nod. "Efficiency is key. Let's ensure the execution is just as seamless."

They laughed lightly, clearly eager to unwind with drinks, while I excused myself from the circle. Small talk and networking weren't my style. Observing from a distance always held more appeal. Drink in hand, I found my way to the balcony overlooking the club.

The air outside was cooler, a refreshing contrast to the heat and chaos below. The rhythmic pulse of the music drifted up from the dance floor, where lights flashed in hypnotic patterns over bodies moving in indulgent abandon. The scene was typical opulence draped in sweat, laughter too loud, and extravagance taken to the edge of excess.

My gaze wandered idly, passing over the sea of faces and movements, until it stopped. Frozen.

Someone had stepped onto the stage.

The sight of him. no, the presence of him—stole my breath. He was captivating, exuding an ethereal quality that demanded attention without effort. His pale skin glowed under the spotlight, the sharp contrast of his loose white shirt and tight black pants only amplifying his allure. The shirt moved with him, a delicate tease against his body, while the pants clung like a second skin, emphasizing every line, every curve.

Is this my angelic creature?

But angels weren't meant to remain untouched. No, they were meant to fall, to be corrupted. Something dark and primal stirred within me, a hunger I rarely indulged. My eyes traced the soft curve of his jaw, the delicate line of his throat, and the almost mocking tilt of his small smile. I wanted to ruin him. Destroy that softness. Leave marks on his pale skin that screamed he belonged to me, body and soul.

And then, he began to play.

The first strum of his guitar silenced the noise of the room, and his voice—haunting and rich—cut through the chaos. He looked delicate, fragile even, seated with his guitar, his eyes half-lidded as though the crowd didn't exist. The music was raw, emotional, pulling the audience into the palm of his hand. My pulse quickened as I watched him, my fists clenching involuntarily.

The song shifted, and with it, so did his aura. Gone was the angelic calm, replaced by fire and command. He stood, the stage lights catching the mischief in his smirk. His voice deepened, teasing the crowd, his confidence now palpable. Midway through the song, someone handed him a red card. He held it up, tilting his head in mock annoyance before tossing it back with a flick of his wrist, earning loud cheers.

I felt a sharp jolt of something—frustration, lust, need. That smirk, that voice, that presence. It was maddening. My mind raced with images, my imagination indulging in scenarios that were as cruel as they were satisfying. His defiance, his beauty, his perfect body—I wanted to see it break. To see his confident smirk replaced by tears, to hear that commanding voice reduced to helpless pleas.

I wanted to own him.

I knew him well—Lee Jihoon, or Woozi as they called him. I'd first seen him in Jeonghan's intel, his face an arresting mix of innocence and mystery. At a glance, he seemed soft, harmless, but the details beneath told a different story: a sharp, meticulous mind, a man not easily undone.

That contrast fascinated me. His delicate appearance masked layers of complexity, while his compact, sinful frame begged to be marked, owned, and ruined. He was a perfect contradiction—innocence wrapped in temptation—and I couldn't stop imagining those wide eyes clouded with something darker, his defiance crumbling beneath my touch.

Lee Jihoon wasn't just a man; he was a puzzle begging to be unraveled.

As Woozi left the stage, slipping through the crowd like a shadow, my gaze followed him. His every movement was fluid, deliberate, as he rejected hands that reached for him without even glancing back. He eventually found a corner at the bar, leaning against it with an air of indifference. But I saw it—how his posture guarded him, the faint crease in his brow betraying his discomfort in the chaos.

I smirked, finishing the drink I'd been neglecting. Running won't help you, Jihoon.

The alcohol buzzed through my veins, amplifying the rush building in my chest. My footsteps were slow, calculated, as I descended the stairs, my eyes never leaving him. The thought of his pale skin marked with bruises of my making sent a shiver of satisfaction through me. I could already imagine his small body under mine, trembling yet defiant, his sharp tongue silenced under my control.

As I approached, Woozi's gaze flicked toward me, catching me from the corner of his eye, but he didn't look up fully. Good. Let him pretend not to notice. Let him think he's safe.

This chase was only beginning, and I intended to savor every moment of it. Every layer of his resistance, every ounce of his pride—I would strip it away, piece by piece, until he was mine.

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And here comes a new genre of love story........

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