Back in Time: The Best Actress Surrenders

He carries her dazed body into the condo unit.

Through the fog in her mind, she vaguely registers a girl's voice—followed by Sijin's sharp command.

"What is happening—"

"Get out. Now."

Maybe it's the girl who opened the door earlier. She can't be sure. Everything feels distant, muffled—like she's underwater.

Then, she feels her back press against something soft.

Blinking slowly, she looks around and realizes she's lying on a king-size bed.

Then it hits her—he had another girl here just moments ago.

The thought sobers her up instantly. Her mood dips, a hollow ache settling in her chest, threatening to spill into tears.

A moment later, warmth brushes her skin—his hand, large and slightly rough, gliding over her cheek and down the side of her neck.

She looks up.

He's hovering above her now, eyes dark and searching. The mattress dips under his weight as he leans in, closing the space between them.

Her expression must have given something away—maybe hurt, maybe hesitation—because his gaze narrows.

"You're regretting it, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice low and tense. "Saying all that… willing to do anything… You didn't mean it."

"No—I mean it," she says quickly, shaking her head. "It's just…"

She pauses, swallowing hard. The lump in her throat makes it hard to speak.

Telling him the truth—that she doesn't want to share him with anyone, that she wants him to be good only to her—is no different from admitting her jealousy, something she never allowed herself to do when he was still alive.

Her gaze drops for a moment as she gathers her courage, all while acutely aware of his eyes on her—watching her every movement, reading into every flicker of hesitation. It's clear he still has doubts—about her sudden change in attitude, her unexpected willingness. And she can't blame him. After all, she fought him at every turn—two years ago, and even three years from now.

If she hesitates now, he might never fully trust her—only fueling the anxiety and obsessive control that once consumed him in her past life. This time, she won't let it get that far.

"It upset me… that I'm lying in the same bed as your other girls," she says, her voice unsteady. She turns her face to the side, avoiding his gaze, letting her tears slip silently onto the bedsheet below. 

A storm brews inside her—grief, jealousy, and something even more fragile: the ache of vulnerability, laid bare in a way she had never allowed him to see before.

The old her would've brushed it off, pretended everything was fine, and acted like he didn't exist when upset—waiting silently for him to come and coax her, to prove he still cared. 

But that silence only made him feel unwanted, deepening his fear that she was growing apart, feeding the very anxiety that fuels his need to control. 

This time, she wants something different—a relationship built on trust, not guessing games. 

And that starts with honesty, no matter how exposed it makes her feel.

He shifts, pressing more of his weight onto her. His lips brush her cheek. Then, slowly, he kisses and licks the tears from her skin, his hand gently guiding her face back toward him—making her meet his gaze.

"Am I dreaming?" he whispers. "Can I believe what I'm seeing right now?"

There's uncertainty in his eyes, but his body tells a different story—pressing into her harder, as if afraid she'll disappear.

"Am I too selfish to think this means you have feelings for me?" he whispers. "Because it feels too good to be true."

In one swift motion, he flips her onto him, guiding her to straddle his lap. Her breath catches as she finds herself seated on top of him, his hands gripping her waist—firm, possessive, fondling into her skin as if trying to engrave the shape of her.

"Prove it," he breathes, eyes dark with desire, his voice dropping lower—needy, insistent. "Prove to me this is real."

Yul loses her voice, her mind spiraling as his restless hands roam her waist and thighs—paired with the unmistakable pressure of something hard beneath her, pressing against her most sensitive spot, sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through her. 

She instinctively props herself up, hands pressing against his firm abdomen in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

"Come on," he says, voice thick with need. "You said you were willing to do anything."

His hands tighten around her waist, locking her in place as he presses her down against him—making sure she feels every inch of his hardened desire, unapologetic and unrestrained.

Yul takes a moment to steady herself, gathering the fragments of her thoughts. Then slowly, she leans forward, letting her upper body sink fully against him, bringing their faces inches apart—close enough to feel each other's breath.

Sijin's breath hitches, caught in his throat. He doesn't move.

He can't.

He lies there frozen, as if trapped in a trance, overwhelmed by the sensation of her soft body pressing against his chest, her warmth sinking into him like a slow-burning flame.

She cups his face in her hands and brings her lips to his—soft at first, then bolder. She nibbles, bites gently, testing the edge of his restraint. He smells like a mix of rain, a faint scent of cologne clings to him—a familiar scent just like she remembers. She breathes him in, and the scent pulls her deeper, grounding her even as her head spins.

Then, after a breathless pause to gather her courage, she parts his lips with her tongue.

There's no mistaking the message. She's not running. Not this time.

Sijin's body tenses beneath her, like he's holding back a dam on the verge of breaking. Then a low groan escapes him, deep and involuntary, and his hands slide up her back, pulling her closer, tighter, as if he's afraid she'll disappear. 

His mouth answers hers—going in deeper, relentless. His tongue parts her lips without hesitation, slipping inside with shameless intent. Each stroke is deliberate, coaxing and demanding, exploring her with growing desperation. One hand settles at the nape of her neck, firm and possessive, holding her in place—as if daring her to try and pull away.

She doesn't pull away—if anything, she leans in closer, giving him full access, surrendering despite the onslaught of sensation threatening to drown her. Hoping her closeness could soothe the fear of abandonment still buried beneath his hunger. 

He groans low in his throat as she responds, the sound vibrating between them. The hand cradling the back of her neck loosens slightly, his fingers slipping into her hair with a gentler touch. His other hand remains firm at her waist, anchoring her to him as her body melts into his, pliant and trembling.

Without warning, he shifts his grip and gently slides one arm beneath her back. With a swift but controlled movement, he flips her beneath him—his other hand bracing the back of her head as she lands, shielding her from the jolt. His body follows immediately, lowering onto hers without crushing her, his forearm supporting most of his weight. Despite the urgency in his movements, there's a quiet protectiveness threaded through every motion—rough in need, but never careless.

And that's one of the things she loves about him—how even at his most unrestrained, she can still feel how much he cares.

She gasps, catching her breath, her large feline eyes shimmering with unshed tears clinging to thick lashes, her cheeks flushed like ripe fruit. He watches her—entranced, as if nothing else in the world could ever be more beautiful.

"Last chance," he says, voice low and taut. His eyes lock onto hers—dark, intense, searching for even the faintest flicker of doubt. "You can still say no," he murmurs, one hand sliding behind her neck, his grip firm—not painful, but resolute.

"Or I'll never let you go. Not even if you beg."