Jong Kook’s punch was hard and and wicked.

And well deserved.

It connected with Min Ho’s jaw, snapping his head back and sending him back into a wooden post at the edge of the boxing ring in the basement of The Angel. He caught himself before he fell to the floor, his eyes meeting In Sung’s over the top rope of the ring before he pulled himself up and turned to face his sparta partner.

Jong Kook danced from one foot to the other as Min ho advanced. “Yah, come on you fool.”

Min Ho ignored the words and the truth in them, throwing a punch that would have splintered an oak.

Jong Kook ducked and feinted away before flashing a grin. “You’re a fool, and you’re losing your touch. With the ladies as well don’t you think?”

Min Ho landed a quick blow to Jong Kook’s cheek, enjoying the sound of fist on flesh. “What do you have to say about my touch now hyung?”

“Half-decent punch,” He offered with a grin, swerving left, out of the way of Min Ho’s second blow. “Kuende.. your wife did go home with Woo Bin, so I can’t speak to that.”

Min Ho swore and went after his hyung, shorter by several inches and wider by half a foot, but Min Ho more than made up for the difference in speed and agility and, tonight, with pure will.

He attacked with no hesitation, his fists, wrapped in a length of linen, eager to connect with the larger man’s bare chest. First left, then right. The movements were punctuated with Jong Kook’s short grunts before the larger man danced away.

“Don’t , Jong Kook,” In Sung said from beyond the ring, shuffling through a pile of papers, only half paying attention to the sparring. “He’s already having a difficult day.”

God knew it was true. He’d let her go home. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Because what he’d really wanted to do was make love to her on the floor of the owners’ suite, with the light from beyond the stained glass bathing her in a myriad of colours. He’d wanted to prove that he had never once intended to dishonour her.

The idea that he had dishonoured her made him feel like a dozen kinds of . Jong Kook’s fist connected with his jaw in a perfect straight right, and he rocked back on his heels.

“Why didn’t you go after her?” Jong Kook asked, bending away from Min Ho’s fists and coming back to land a quick blow to his chest. “Take her to bed. That usually makes them feel better, ani?”

Min Ho couldn’t tell him that taking his wife to bed had landed him in this mess to begin with. “Hyung, when you find yourself with a wife of your own, you can offer all the advice you like.”

“Ha, by that time I won’t have to. You’ll have driven Shin Hye away for good.” He dodged back. “I like the girl.”

Sadly, so did he. “You don’t even know her.”

“Don’t have to.”

Min Ho’s right hook would have knocked out a lesser man, but the blow had no effect on Jong Kook. Unfortunately. He simply pressed on. “Anyone who sets you off the way she does deserves my admiration. yah, she’s gained my loyalty for her courage to come here tonight. And... I bet that Woo Bin will be half in love with her by the time he returns.”

The words were meant to provoke, and they did. With a growl, Min Ho charged at him, who blocked two quick punches before getting in a jab to the stomach. Min Ho cursed, and leaned into the other man, his breath coming as fast as his perspiration for one second, two. Five. Finally, Jong Kook pulled back, and before he had a chance to move, the larger man jabbed once, twice, sending him reeling into the ropes, blood pouring from his nose.

This time, he was not fast enough to catch himself. He landed on his knees.

“That’s enough,” In Sung called, and Min Ho swore wickedly as Jong Kook came forward to help him up.

“Ani,” he snapped, coming to his feet and making his way to the chair at one corner of the ring, finding a hankerchief. “Thirty-eight seconds,” he said, ripping the cloth from the post, holding it to his nose, and tilting his head back. “Prepare yourself for the next round hyung”

Jong Kook went to get a bottle of water and drank deep before leaning against the ropes, widespread arms covering nearly half the length of the ring. “What did she say that made you all worked up?”

He ignored the question, the explosion of pain in his cheek not doing its job, failing to take away all thought of what had happened earlier with his wife. Of how her eyes had flashed as she’d accused him of using her body to secure his interests. Of how she’d squared her shoulders and defended her own honour.

Of how she’d looked at him, truth and tears in her eyes, and told him that she’d missed him. The words had taken his breath away—the idea that pure, perfect Shin Hye had thought of him, had worried about him.

Because he had missed her, too.

It had taken him years to forget—years that were erased in one moment of honesty, when she’d looked into his eyes and accused him of leaving her.

Of dishonouring her.

And there, in the pit of his stomach, still unmasked by the pain of hyung’s beating, was the emotion he’d feared since the beginning of this pretence.

Guilt.

She’d been right. He’d misused her. He’d treated her as less than she deserved. And she’d defended herself with strength and pride. Remarkably.

And even as he’d tried to let her go, to push her from him, he’d known that he wanted her. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that the desire was new. He’d wanted her when he saw her first in Gyeonggi land, when she’d stood in the darkness with nothing but a torch to protect her. But now . . . want had become something more serious. More primitive. More dangerous. Now, he wanted her—his strong, intelligent, kind hearted wife, who became more tempting e