Minsoo Han was a man of power, influence, and insatiable greed.

A presence that commanded both fear and respect in equal measure, his name spoken in hushed tones across boardrooms and back alleys alike. He was cold and calculating, a man who spoke only when necessary, his words carrying the weight of finality.

So when the news broke that he was getting married, it sent shockwaves through the entire underworld. Minsoo Han, the most feared among men, was tying the knot. And so, when he proposed, you said yes.

A wedding befitting a king, it lasted three whole days, an affair filled with opulence that bordered on obscene.

The venue was breathtaking, a private estate nestled in the mountains, overlooking a vast, shimmering lake that reflected the stars like scattered diamonds. The guest list was a collection of powerful figures, Minsoo's most trusted allies, influential politicians, and high-ranking mafia bosses from across the continent.

Every single guest was someone of immense importance, their presence a testament to his reach. And now, after three days of endless festivities, dances, and celebrations, you were finally alone with him.

The grand suite of the luxurious hotel awaited you, its walls adorned with rich tapestries and gilded frames.

The massive bed, draped in silk sheets that whispered against your skin, welcomed your exhausted form as you sank into its plush embrace. Your body ached from the endless hours of smiling and greeting, your eyes heavy with the weight of the day.

But then, the bed dipped beside you, and a warm breath ghosted over your neck. The faint scent of freshness clung to him, the remnants of his shower still lingering on his damp skin. He was dressed only in a robe that hung loosely around his broad frame, his dark hair still wet and curling at the ends.

His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin in lingering, unhurried kisses.

"Going to sleep already?"

His voice was as cold and unreadable as ever, but his actions spoke louder than his words. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of his chest. His lips led a path from your neck to your shoulder, each touch a deliberate claim.

His tone remained indifferent, but there was something teasing beneath it, something possessive that made your breath catch. He pressed kisses across your face, each one more tender than the last, a stark contrast to the man who commanded armies with a single glance.

"It's our wedding night,"

He murmured against your skin, his fingers brushing against your arms in slow, tracing patterns.

Even as exhaustion weighed on you, he did not let up, his lips a demand for your attention, a quiet insistence that you stay awake, stay present, stay his.