The moment the car rolled through the estate gates, the sky began to darken. Evening draped its weight across the sky, painting the mansion's silhouette against streaks of storm-gray and fading gold. The air was humid, tense—much like the silence between the two people in the car.
The tires came to a slow stop on the polished driveway.
Eunwoo unfastened his seatbelt and glanced across the center console. Andrea sat stiff, her jaw tight, fingers clenched in her lap. She hadn't spoken since the drive started, and her energy made it clear she didn't intend to start now.
He opened his door.
The engine ticked in the cooling air as he walked around to her side.
But before he could reach the handle, click.
Andrea opened her door herself.
Hard.
She stepped out like she couldn't bear another second of confinement—not in the car, not in his presence. Her boot landed with a thud that echoed in the driveway's stillness. She didn't look at him. Didn't wait.
Just walked toward the mansion with heavy, sharp steps, each one spitting out her frustration.
Eunwoo exhaled.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… exhaustedly.
He followed at a measured pace, keeping a slight distance.
The grand doors to the mansion opened as Andrea approached. She didn't even pause—just pushed them open with the same heat she carried from the mission. The dark wood groaned under her force.
Inside, the golden glow of the chandelier fell on white marble and dark wood accents. Warm. Elegant. Silent.
A young female staff member approached with a clipboard tucked under her arm and a polite smile ready.
"Good evening, Miss—"
Then she saw Andrea's face.
Hair tousled. A thin smear of dried blood near her temple. Her eyes—dark, burning, unblinking.
Combat still clung to her like shadow.
The staff member's voice caught in her throat. Her smile faltered. She instinctively stepped back and bowed her head, letting Andrea pass without another word.
Andrea didn't notice.
Or maybe she did and didn't care.
Her boots echoed up the stairs like cannon fire, her footsteps sharp and angry—thud, thud, thud—until she disappeared at the second-floor landing.
Eunwoo stepped through the door just moments after her.
The same staff member now turned to him, face softened with concern.
"Good evening, sir. Water?" she offered, lifting the tray in her hands.
He nodded and took the glass.
The cold seeped into his fingers. He welcomed it. It gave him something to hold, something to feel, after twenty minutes of sitting beside a woman whose silence screamed louder than her words ever could.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Long mission?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he moved past her toward the living room, the glass in his hand half full of silence.
The room was dimly lit, calm, a haven compared to the storm Andrea had left in her wake. Books lined the walls, the fire was laid but unlit, and the faint sound of the garden fountain filtered through the open windows.
He stood by the long, low couch, shoulders tight with thoughts he wouldn't voice.
Then, he turned to the maid who had followed him in.
"Prepare dinner for Andrea. Something warm. And a dessert. Whatever sweet she likes."
The staff member hesitated, unsure.
"Sir… I'm afraid I don't know what she prefers."
Eunwoo opened his mouth to answer—
"—but I do."
A voice cut in smoothly from behind.
Layla.
She strolled in, carrying a grocery bag in one hand and her ever-present bubble tea in the other. Her curls were loose, her tone easy.
"Baklava," she said.
Eunwoo raised an eyebrow.
"She likes Turkish sweets?" he asked.
Layla smiled. "Loves it. But only the real kind. Honey-soaked, flaky, pistachio-heavy. When she's pissed off? Two servings minimum."
Eunwoo nodded once. "Good. Make that."
He turned to the maid. "Have it ready before dinner."
"Yes, sir," the woman replied and quickly exited the room.
Layla crossed the living room with her usual confidence, but her eyes flicked briefly toward the staircase.
"Rough landing?"
"She didn't say a word," Eunwoo muttered, sipping the last of the water.
"She doesn't have to," Layla replied. "You saw her face. That wasn't just frustration. That was pain dressed as rage."
Eunwoo didn't respond.
He just stared at the glass in his hand like he wished it held answers instead of water.
Layla's voice softened. "Boss… maybe she doesn't know how to come down from the mission. Maybe being angry is the only way she knows how to feel safe when she's not fighting."
Eunwoo looked toward the staircase, where the echoes of Andrea's footsteps still haunted the silence.
"Then someone better teach her how," he said quietly.
Layla nodded, her gaze thoughtful.
"And I assume that someone is you?"
Eunwoo didn't answer.
But the answer was clear.
.______.✤ .______.✤ .______.✤ .______.✤ .______.✤ .______.✤ .______.
Some storms don't roar. They seethe.
And tonight, Andrea was the eye of it.
The heavy doors of her room slammed behind her as she stormed inside, her boots striking marble like gunfire. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the heat still crawling under her skin from everything—the mission, the drug, the memory, and the look on Eunwoo's face.
That look.
It wasn't anger. Not just. It was the tight-lipped kind. The kind people wear when they're one second from breaking—not out of fury, but out of fear.
She didn't want it. Didn't ask for it.
She had done the right thing. The necessary thing.
So why did she feel like she was falling apart?
Andrea grabbed a pillow and hurled it across the room. It hit a chair and slid uselessly to the floor.
That wasn't enough.
She grabbed the chair next.
Thick, carved mahogany. The legs scraped against the floor as she dragged it toward the center of the room. She didn't know what she planned to do—just something. Something loud. Something destructive. Something to match the fire inside her chest.
She lifted it, muscles tight, every tendon pulling as her arms tensed.
Then—
Knock.
"Cool down, cool down, Lady Panther!"
Andrea froze.
The door creaked open without waiting for a reply, and Layla stepped in like she'd seen this before. Like she knew exactly what this was.
The chair still hovered mid-air in Andrea's hands, half-raised, half-shaking.
Layla didn't flinch.
She just arched a brow, holding up a drink carrier with two sealed cups clinking gently inside.
"Before you take out the chair, the floor, and maybe your own wrist—boba tea?"
Andrea blinked, still breathing hard. She looked down at the chair. Her grip loosened.
"I said put it down," Layla added, voice calm. "Not everything in this room needs to bleed for you to feel better."
Andrea let out a breath.
Then dropped the chair with a thud. It didn't break, but it echoed across the floor like the slam of a door inside her chest.
She stood still, shoulders still heaving from the tension winding through her body like wire.
Layla stepped forward, unbothered by the chaos around her. The pillows on the floor. The ripped jacket by the bed. The shattered frame of a photo on the dresser.
"Your room's gone full apocalypse," she muttered, placing one drink on the nightstand. "You breaking furniture or exorcising demons?"
Andrea sat down at the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees.
"I'm not the Panther," she muttered.
Layla snorted, sipping her own drink. "You sure about that? Because I just watched you almost suplex a chair."
Andrea let out a long, uneven breath and took the drink without meeting her eyes.
Strawberry jasmine boba. Cold. Sweet. A flavor she didn't even remember mentioning, but somehow Layla had remembered.
She sipped. Slowly.
Some of the fire behind her eyes dulled.
"Everything feels like too much," she said quietly. "And I hate it."
Layla didn't rush her. She just sat down beside her, crossed one leg under the other, and leaned back on her palms.
"Too much is kind of your thing."
Andrea gave her a sidelong glance.
Layla held up a hand. "Not an insult. Just a fact. You live in the red zone. You go full throttle, or you don't go at all."
"I don't know how else to be."
"That's the problem," Layla said gently.
Silence stretched between them again, but it wasn't heavy this time. It was just there, like a warm bath waiting for the anger to drain away.
Andrea sipped again.
Then, after a moment—"He thinks I don't trust him."
"Do you?"
"I don't know," she said. "I think I'm just afraid of needing anyone. Because needing people has never worked out well for me."
Layla looked at her, softer now. "You ever told him that?"
Andrea shook her head.
"Well," Layla shrugged, "then I guess he's not wrong to think it."
Andrea rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, then stared at her palms.
They were still red. Still bruised.
Not from the chair.
From the fight.
From every fight.
"I felt something when I touched that drug," she said finally. "Something… deep. I don't even think it was a memory. More like a warning."
Layla tilted her head. "About what?"
"I don't know yet," Andrea murmured. "But it felt like something I left behind. Something I didn't want to find again."
There was a pause.
Then Layla said, "You know, for someone who says they're not a Panther, you're sure fighting ghosts like one."
Andrea let out a breath. This time, not angry. Just… tired.
Layla stood.
"Alright, queen of chaos. Finish that tea. I'll come get you when dinner's ready. You better eat the baklava—Eunwoo made the kitchen prep it specially."
Andrea blinked. "He did?"
Layla smiled slyly. "Don't pretend you're not flattered."
"I'm not."
"Sure," Layla called over her shoulder as she walked to the door. "And I don't eavesdrop on mission briefings."
Andrea watched her go.
For the first time that day, the air in her room didn't feel like it was strangling her.
She looked down at the tea, then out the window.
The night sky was settling in.
Stars started to blink through the darkness.
And inside the room where she'd once only found silence, something like… peace had started to settle.
Not full. Not perfect.
But enough.
Maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to fight every storm alone anymore.
Downstairs…
Eunwoo stood in the hallway just out of sight, listening.
He hadn't meant to.
He'd followed quietly, a habit from years of tactical instinct. But when he heard the chair crash and Layla's voice filter in, he stayed where he was.
He heard Andrea breathe. Heard her pause.
And then… heard her laugh. Just once. Soft.
He closed his eyes.
The knot in his chest didn't loosen completely—but it shifted.
Maybe he didn't know how to reach her yet.
But someone had cracked the door.
~ℙ𝔼ℕ𝕆𝕃𝔸.𝕊