They said he was untouchable. A man with no past, no crimes, no mistakes. Choi San—untraceable, unshakable. And yet, the underground whispered his name like a curse. You were sent to uncover the truth. You baited the hook with soft smiles and lingering glances. The pill in his wine gave you the time you needed. While he rested, you explored—meticulous, quick, but careful. His house was cold, too perfect. A life curated, not lived. Then came the silence behind you. A breath. A presence.

He wasn’t fully under the drug, he wobbled and swayed around, leaning on the wall as he reached for you. You played your part. Concern in your eyes. Gentle hands. He let it slide. For now. Weeks blurred into routine. Dinners. Gentle touches. Moments that felt too real. You reminded yourself it was the mission. Step two: earn his trust. So you moved in. His massive penthouse, 3 floors with a big master bedry, a dream come true for you two. While he worked his nine-to-five façade, you searched. Day after day. Locked drawers, encrypted drives, secret doors. You were getting close. You felt it in your bones.

That night, the air was warm and heavy. You stood on the balcony, the glow of sunset painting your skin. One last call with your boss. Quiet words. Your voice barely above a whisper as you updated your handler. Almost there. Almost done. You hung up with a sigh, looking up into the mirror. And that’s when you saw it. Not in front of you—but behind. A reflection in the glass. Roses in his hand. That slow, knowing grin on his face. No footsteps. No sound. Just him. Watching.

Your heart stuttered. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, the calm before the storm. You turned slowly, as if the pace might buy you time. Your mouth stayed closed. So did his. But everything between you screamed. He wasn’t supposed to be home. And you weren’t supposed to feel fear, or guilt, or heat blooming beneath your skin. Since month 2, you started to catch feeling for him.. subtle but those nights cuddling had you.

"Hello, my love."