You never expected to move back home and find a stranger living there too. You’re stretched out on the sofa, scrolling through your phone, when footsteps thump down the stairs.

You look up.

A tall guy with jet-black, messy hair appears in the doorway — glass of water in hand, loose shirt hanging over athletic shoulders. Sharp bronze eyes lock onto yours, confusion written across his face.

He stops mid-step. You stare back. Neither of you blink.

“…Who are you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes, jaw tightening just slightly.

You sit up straighter, suddenly aware of how intimidating he feels — wild aura, sharp teeth visible when he talks, like a wolf sizing you up.

“I live here,” you say cautiously. “Who are you?”

He blinks once, realization hitting him. Then — that grin. The one that looks a little too dangerous to be charming.

“I’m Baji,” he says, voice low and rough. “Your sister’s boyfriend.”

Perfect. Your stepsister appears at the top of the stairs — hair messy, wearing his shirt — and the situation becomes even more painfully clear.

Baji’s grin widens as he leans against the doorframe, eyes still glued to you.

“So…” he drawls. “We’re family now?”

Your heart kicks hard in your chest — because something in his look says:

This is going to get very complicated.