Back in Time: The Best Actress Surrenders

The hiss of steaming water fills the bathroom, soft and rhythmic as it spills from the showerhead above. Baek Sijin stands beneath it, head lowers, dark hair slicked to his scalp. Droplets cling to his lashes like dew on silk, trailing down the elegant line of his jaw before dripping off the curve of his throat.

From behind, his form looks almost too perfect to be real—broad shoulders, a lean back inked with intricate tattoos, and a firm body carved from discipline. Water streams down the ridges of his spine, the taper of his waist, gliding in rivulets over the strong lines of his legs.

As he lifts his face slightly to meet the falling water, his features emerge through the mist—sharp, pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful. His eyes, muted brown, are shadowed with sleepless nights and unreadable thoughts. Long lashes frame them like brushstrokes of charcoal, giving him a look both delicate and dangerous.

His beauty is gentle yet commanding—a dissonance that leaves people momentarily lost, unsure how to react.

He leans forward, both hands braced against the slick wall. Muscles flex, veins taut with tension.

He had just received news.

She's back.

Seo Yul.

A sharp breath catches in his throat. His hands tighten into fists against the tile as restrained fury and longing surge through him in equal measure.

Why now?

Why not stay away—further, longer?

She has no idea how hard he works to control himself since she left—how every day, every hour, is a war against the parts of himself he fears the most. The darker parts.

His urge to possess her. To take her. By force, if necessary.

In the two years since she left, he tried to keep himself distracted. He threw himself into work, drowning in codes and calculations, building Sentricon from scratch—an AI surveillance software firm that quickly drew the attention of the military and private defense sectors. 

He tried to justify it—to lie to himself. Told himself he built the system for national security, to serve the greater good, to strengthen military intelligence.

That it was ambition. Vision. Purpose.

And that's exactly how everyone around him saw it.

But those reasons couldn't contain him for long—eventually, the obsession leaked through.

On the day he gave the order to monitor her location using Sentricon's systems, he knew he'd lost. The command had left his mouth before he could stop it.

Deep down, he knew the truth. Sentricon was always about her.

He'd built it with her in mind. Every sleepless night, every risk, every breakthrough in surveillance AI had been driven by one single desire: to keep his eyes on her.

Then, as soon as Sentricon began to stabilize, he got started on Kairox Security, an elite security service that trained and deployed operatives for hire. 

And now, with Kairox Security, it is no different. 

A private agency masks as a defense contractor, but at its core, it exists for one purpose: to keep her safe. To ensure people follow her from the shadows, silently eliminating danger before it reaches her.

To give him eyes everywhere she went.

The irony isn't lost on him. The very companies he used to distract himself from going after her had become the tools to further his obsession.

Worse, after discovering that she's majoring in acting and plans to pursue it as a career, he began researching acquisition opportunities in the entertainment industry. Another path to get closer. Another way in.

Another excuse to own a part of her world.

He wants to believe he can still let go. That his obsession is just a phase. That all his restraint meant something.

But it has been two years—and instead of fading, his fixation has only grown stronger. More consuming. As if the more he denies it, the deeper it burrows under his skin.

It's just a matter of time before he loses control completely.

Maybe it's time to stop pretending.

To stop holding back.

The thoughts rise again—and he forces them down, harder each time.

He numbed himself with work, parties, drinks, cigarettes, and brutal workouts. Anything to quiet the noise in his head and the endless pit in his chest.

But when the ache grows too loud, when the nights stretch too long, and the memory of her body, her scent, her heartbeat pressed against his chest becomes too vivid to ignore—he turns to sex.

He would call women who look like her, even if only vaguely—girls with similar hair, a similar height.

He would tell them to turn around. Tell them not to speak.

And then he imagined—pretend—they were her.

Only then could he feel aroused. Only then could he forget—for a moment—the pit inside him that never seemed to be filled.

He hates how much he still wants her, even after she vanished without a word. Even after she left him when he needed her the most.

He tried to summon anger, but no rage could outweigh the fullness she once brought into his life.

So when his university dormmate—who also doubled as his assistant—informed him that she had returned, and asked if he wanted her real-time location, he gave only one response:

"No."

His teeth clench so hard, he can taste blood. It was the most difficult "no" he could utter.

Frustration surges through him as he drags a hand roughly through his wet hair, the motion sharp and restless.

If he knows where she is… he isn't sure he will be able to stop himself.

Knock, knock.

"Can I come in?"

It's Yoon Serin—one of the women he calls most often. She resembles Seo Yul more than the others—especially from behind.

When he doesn't respond, she enters anyway, hips swaying seductively. Her thin, damp bathrobe clings to her curves, and droplets from her damp hair slide down her ample chest, making her skin glisten in the low light.

Serin's features are striking—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and almond-shaped eyes accentuated with subtle makeup. Her full lips are glossed to catch the light, and her gaze holds a knowing boldness, like she is always a step ahead of everyone else.

She leans against the sink, her eyes roaming over him with a quiet hunger. He had that rare blend of beauty and masculinity that seizes one's gaze and refuses to let go.

She can look at him for hours and still never grow used to it. 

She slips off her robe and steps into the shower, completely bare. Her hands glide down his back, her blood-red nails a stark contrast against the pale canvas of his skin and the dark ink of his tattoos.

"Why do you seem so restless lately?" she purrs. "You even called another girl while I'm still here."

Her hands slide lower, skimming the edge of his pelvis before gliding toward the front—bold, unhurried, and expectant.

He didn't react.

Instead, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower.

"I haven't."

His voice is low, quiet. It echoes across the stone tiles.

For a moment, she thought she sensed his irritation—but his face gives nothing away. Just a polite, closed-lip smile as he towel-dries his hair.

Even when he smiles, there is always something off—something a little too practiced, a little too empty, like a man who learned to perform happiness but never quite felt it.

But that is part of what draws her to him—the mystery wrapped in allure, the sense that he is always just a little out of reach.

Hot yet cold, it leaves her breathless.

And, of course, it doesn't hurt that he is rich.

"Really?" she said lightly, her smile teasing, though her stomach was twisting. "Then who was the girl standing outside your door just now?"

She tries to keep it playful. But her insides churn.

What disturbs her isn't that he had another woman. As long as she is the one he spends the most time with, the one he calls the most, she has the patience to wait.

What unsettles her is something else entirely.

Cheongdam Aria's security is airtight. No visitor can access a resident's floor without a registered keycard. And these keycards aren't something you can duplicate or casually hand out. Each one has to be personally approved and issued by the unit's owner, with the cardholder's legal information—ID number and fingerprint scans—officially registered in the system.

The keycard grants access to only two places: the resident's floor and the shared amenities.

And that girl—not only has she reached this floor, but she even asked if Baek Sijin is here.

That can mean only one thing.

Sijin has given her a personal keycard.

He went that far… for her?

Serin bites the inside of her cheek, eyes lowering to hide to turbulence within.

She is the one who spends the most time with him—his most frequent call, the one who lingers in his space longer than anyone else.

And yet… he's never given her a keycard.

But some girl she has never seen before—has?

While he always had to come down to the parking lot to pick her up, another girl can come and go directly from his condo unit whenever she wants?

She has investigated every woman in his orbit over the past two years. Every fling, every passing face.

But this one?

This one is new. Unknown. And that unsettles her more than she cares to admit.

She hopes—desperately—that he'll deny it. That he'll say he doesn't know the girl. That it's all just a misunderstanding.

But when she finally looks up, he's already gone.