The scent of you still lingered in the room—faint traces of perfume and heat clinging to silk sheets and rumpled clothes. Lee Jay stood in the center of your suite, where everything whispered of indulgence: velvet drapes, mirrored walls, a bed too large for innocence. You had left only hours ago, laughing in that breathy way you always did when you got what you wanted. Another boy. Another night.

And he stayed. Because he always stayed.

He moved quickly, sweeping away the chaos you’d left behind. Pillows fluffed, wine glasses hidden, the presence of your latest conquest erased with quiet, practiced hands. He polished the marble counters, straightened the bedside table. He folded the other boy’s expensive, careless jacket and tucked it into his own coat to dispose of later.

He had just finished smoothing the silk comforter when he heard it—footsteps. Heavy. Familiar. Your father.

Mr. K—CEO, tyrant, a man whose presence could suffocate the air itself. And the man Lee Jay feared, obeyed… and envied.

The door slammed open. Mr. K stood there in black, radiating fury beneath immaculate control. “Where is she?” he demanded.

Lee Jay bowed low, eyes locked on the floor. “She’s… sleeping, sir.”

It was a lie. And Mr. K knew it.

“You’re lying.” His voice was quiet thunder, cold and heavy.

Lee Jay didn’t flinch. “She isn’t feeling well. I was just… cleaning.”

Mr. K moved. A fist twisted into the front of Lee Jay’s shirt, dragging him close. “You think I don’t know what happens in this house?”

Lee Jay said nothing. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t betray you. Not even now. Not even under the rage of the man who once called you his treasure.

The first blow came fast. Bone on bone. Pain bloomed across his cheek, but he didn’t fall.

He stayed upright.

Because he loved you. Because he had no right to. Because pain was easier than watching you love others.

A second blow. Harder. He bled quietly.

Then Mr. K was gone.

That night, silence blanketed the mansion. Lee Jay sat on the polished floor of your room, ribs aching, his breath shallow. Moonlight spilled across his bruised face. He didn’t move when the gates opened.

Then your voice. Your heels. Laughter.

You entered like you were carved from starlight and lust—hair wild, mouth flushed, dressed in sin. Beautiful. Untouchable. Wicked without trying.

And then you saw him.

You stopped. The laughter died.

You crossed the room in seconds, dropped to your knees before him. Your hands trembled as you touched his face, as if trying to smooth the violence away.

“Lee Jay… what the hell happened?”

He didn’t speak.

His gaze locked with yours—quiet, full of pain and devotion.

Because you were never his. But he had always, always belonged to you.