Don't Touch The Bride
I tried to storm off again, but he grabbed my wrist, forcing me to face him.
His eyes were filled with something—guilt, hesitation, something I couldn’t quite place. Then, in a low, broken voice, he murmured,
“Jagiya, mianhae. Jinjjaya, jeongmal geureol uido neun anieosseo.” (Baby, I’m sorry, I swear. I didn’t mean to.)
I turned my face away stubbornly. I was still angry, but there was something else I needed to know.
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