Run Away If You Can

“If I don’t do it this way, you’d just start spouting off insults right away too, you fucking idiot.”
At the sudden profanity, I couldn’t help but widen my eyes. What had I just heard? I was so stunned that I couldn’t form a reply, and he switched back to that soft tone.
“Right?”
His question snapped me back to reality. A flash of having been taken advantage of crossed my mind, followed by an incredulous sigh. Seeing him driving so casually as if he enjoyed my reaction only made my irritation flare again.
“You could insult me all you want without my help.”
Even though I knew how ridiculous it sounded, I stubbornly replied, and he answered in the same calm voice.
“Go ahead—if you want to die.”
I clamped my mouth shut and said nothing more.
By the time I finally made it home, I couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. It would have been polite to say thank you, but I ignored him and climbed out of the car. All I could think about was getting into bed. I hurried up the stairs and reached for my front door when I caught sight of a man standing at the edge of my vision, looking up at me.
Nathaniel Miller stood on the landing, leaning on his cane and watching me. I held my keys in my hand and looked down at him, as if to ask what else he wanted. As if on cue, he spoke.
“Aren’t you even going to offer me coffee?”
His leisurely tone made me frown. I had no desire to turn him down nicely.
“You’ve got plenty of money—why don’t you just buy your own?”

I spat out, but a corner of my mind felt deeply uncomfortable. Rationally, I knew I’d been overly rude; after all, he had helped me. I might still be stuck on the curb waiting for a taxi that never came.
Besides, he had quietly let me into his passenger seat even though I was covered in blood and dust, and he hadn’t cared about scratching the upholstery. Sure, you could argue that a rich man like him would have someone else clean his car, but taking advantage of my debt to him felt shameless.
And yet I still couldn’t bring myself to be polite to him. He was the man who tried to rape me, after all. But my hostility toward Nathaniel Miller had taken root long before that—since the moment I first saw him.
How could it not? He was clearly defending the perpetrator, actively helping the man who humiliated the victim I was supposed to protect.
But that was only part of it. I also realized I was lying to myself, refusing to face a deeper truth.
I know you’re aware of it too—what the root of the problem really is.
Thinking that made me feel even worse. Ignoring the uneasy knot in my stomach, I clenched my mouth shut and waited for his next move. So, how would this arrogant man respond now?
I jadedly mocked him with a rough tone, but Nathaniel said nothing for a moment. Then, as I recalled his warning, I heard him shift his weight and tap his cane on a step. I simply watched him climb the stairs toward me. With each step, his gaze rose until, when he finally reached me, I had to tilt my head back to look up at the face of this man over two meters tall.
“Christy Jin.”
For the first time, he called my name in a lower register than usual, his violet eyes darkening.
“You do understand what I mean, don’t you?”
His voice was so low I couldn’t tell whether he was mocking me or sneering. I glared back stubbornly and replied,
“You do understand that ‘no’ means no, right?”
Mimicking his tone perfectly, I threw his words back at him. He crooked his lips and let out a short laugh that sounded like air escaping a tire. He stared at me, his gaze fixed relentlessly on my face, so I tightened my eyes and glared right back. Then Nathaniel Miller slowly tilted his head and whispered in that low voice,
“Isn’t that why you went looking for someone to fuck? In that case, doing it with me shouldn’t matter.”
The faint sweet scent that had been lingering around him grew stronger. Was he aroused? His darker-than-usual violet eyes were so close I could feel his breath as I spoke.
“Aren’t you usually this bad at seduction?”
My voice came out as softly as his. He stared at my face for a moment, then murmured,
“I haven’t tried.”
Of course he hadn’t. Hearing that strangely amused tone, I thought: Why would a man like him ever need to ask someone for sex? He wouldn’t have to go to any pheromone parties when he could take his pick of willing partners.
I knew it would be right to turn away and mock him to hell—never to meet him again or hear another word from him. All I had to do was step inside.
But I didn’t. I pressed my back against the door and continued glaring at his arrogant face. My lips parted, against my will. No, maybe I wanted this.
“When I win at trial, you can at least suck my cock.”
Nathaniel Miller looked down at {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} me without a flicker of change in his expression. Yet somehow it felt as though he was surprised.
Perhaps it was the first time he’d ever heard language that crude.
No wonder—I hadn’t uttered such vulgar words since I graduated high school, and someone like Nathaniel Miller, who’d grown up with the sons of gentlemen, had probably never heard anything like it. I understood: the word ‘surprise’ didn’t suit him, but it was the only word for it.
Why did I expose myself like this in front of him?
Just then, I caught the movement of his lips. As I came back to myself, I heard him mutter,
“This is interesting.”
His face didn’t change at all—whether he truly found it amusing, was merely speaking, or was annoyed, I couldn’t tell. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke in his characteristically slow tone.
“If you win.”
Then the unthinkable happened. He looked into my eyes and said,
“I’ll suck your… cock.”
The moment he repeated the exact word I had used, I thought I must be mishearing him. But Nathaniel Miller had intentionally stressed it so forcefully that there was no mistaking it. I blinked in surprise, and he asked,