Castillian #1: Sinner's Formula

The velvet curtain to the hidden lounge swayed slightly—unnoticed by anyone but time itself.

Inside, the music from the bar had faded to a low, pulsing echo—more like a heartbeat now, syncing with the wild rhythm of two bodies tangled on the dark leather couch.

Mico Cein Esguerra, stripped of his usual cold control, had Scarlet beneath him—her cardigan long discarded, shirt bunched up to her ribs, skirt pushed high enough to reveal skin only he had ever touched. His belt was undone, jeans halfway open, his hips moving in sharp, restrained thrusts. His jaw clenched, sweat forming at his temple.

One hand gripped her waist, anchoring her, while the other covered her mouth.

Scarlet's muffled moans escaped through the gaps in his fingers, her back arched beneath him, eyes shut tight as she clung to his biceps like her life depended on it.

"Stay quiet," he growled against her ear, voice rough and tight with control. "Someone's outside."

She whimpered beneath his hand, legs trembling, but nodded—obedient.

Mico buried his face in the crook of her neck, trying to steady his heartbeat. He was usually calculated, composed—but Scarlet undid all of that. With her clumsy sweetness, with the way she looked at him like he wasn't dangerous. Like he was just… Mico.

He couldn't stop.

Didn't want to.

But fate, as always, had a bad sense of timing.

The curtain rustled—and someone stepped in.

"Bro, I left—" Lynx froze.

Time didn't just stop—it crashed.

His eyes went wide at the scene in front of him: Mico hovering over a flushed Scarlet, his belt undone, Scarlet's leg hooked high around his hip, her lips red and swollen, Mico's hand still over her mouth.

The two of them flinched, realizing they were no longer alone.

Mico slowly lifted his head—his expression unreadable, chillingly calm. He didn't even move to fix his belt. He just stared at Lynx like a warning.

Lynx blinked.

"...Oh." He raised both hands and backed away. "I—uh. I didn't see anything. Didn't hear anything. I'm gone."

He turned and slipped back through the curtain before anyone could speak.

Silence.

Still beneath Mico, Scarlet let out a breathless, mortified noise as he slowly removed his hand from her mouth.

"Kill me," she whispered. "Now. Please."

But Mico?

He was smirking. Not because they were caught—but because even now, the way she looked up at him—wrecked and breathless—she still looked so innocent.

"Later," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. "I'm not finished with you yet."

The bass thumps in the bar. The floor shakes with every beat of the music. Outside the VIP lounge, the crowd is dancing, the women are flirting, and the friends are laughing. But inside the dimly lit VIP section, Mico and Scarlet are in their own world.

Their bodies are pressed together on the leather couch, covered by a thick velvet curtain and shadows. Almost nothing can be heard except Scarlet's soft moans and Mico's heavy breathing as he thrusts himself into her.

"Mico—" Scarlet whispered, clinging to his shoulders, her body trembling with each thrust of the young man.

"Keep your voice down," Mico whispered, sternly. One of his hands covered her mouth while the other held her head, forcing it up as he pulled her from beneath him. "I don't want anyone to hear."

Scarlet was drenched. Sweat, saliva, and whatever else was coating them. Mico, with the zipper of his slacks open, just pushed it down enough to get in. No romantic undressing. Just raw tension and that dangerous magnetism between chaos and control.

And with every move he made, Scarlet seemed to lose herself. She trembled. She shivered.

"Still with me?" Mico asked, close to her ear. His tongue traced her skin, his voice low, husky, trembling with self-control.

Scarlet could only nod. Barely functioning, barely breathing.

"Good. Because I won't stop until I fill you up."

He thrust into her.

And with one last deep thrust, when he felt he was at the deepest point, Mico stopped. He pulled her close, whispering, "Damn, I'm coming inside."

And he did. Hot. Heavy. Thick. Scarlet felt his thrusts inside her—one after another, without pause, while he held her body tightly.

She didn't move. Neither did Mico. For a second, everything stopped. No sound. No light. No world outside that space.

And then, slowly, Mico pulled out. He gently pulled his penis out of Scarlet's body.

He helped her fix her dress. He didn't say anything. He didn't smile. He just kissed her briefly before standing up and composing himself.

His composure returned. The infamous Mico Cein Esguerra mode—cold, unreadable, composed.

"Rest here for now," he said softly. "I'll handle the rest."

After that, he left the VIP lounge as if nothing had happened. His gait was straight, his hair was neat, his eyes were cold.

Castillian Bar Area – Minutes Later

"Where did you come from, Captain?" Uno asked as he handed him a beer.

"VIP," Mico replied, without explanation. "I'll bring Scarlet home after this."

"VIP?" Felix asked, shaking his head. "Why does it seem like—"

The conversation was interrupted when they noticed Scarlet following from behind, walking slowly, holding onto the arm of the chair so she wouldn't fall.

Mico was silent. But he looked back. He looked at her. Straight at her shaky legs.

Uno blinked. "Wait."

Lynx whispered. "Fucking hell—"

Felix spilled his beer. "The fuck. Wait. VIP? Shaky legs? That look? THAT LOOK?!"

Mico turned back to them, voice calm. "I'll go ahead."

As they all watched, they could do nothing but stare at their captain, who looked like a man who had just been hit, while he escorted the sweetest, most innocent girl in the entire university that night, unable to look away without flashbacks.

No one asked any questions. No one spoke.

Traumatized. Shocked. Blown away.