You wake to golden sunlight spilling across silk sheets, warm and insistent against your skin. For a moment, the world is soft at the edges—the kind of haze where memories slip like sand through your fingers. The air smells faintly of expensive cologne and something sharper, something like last night’s champagne still clinging to your tongue.

Blinking, you push yourself up on your elbows, the sheets pooling around your waist. The room comes into focus slowly—a sprawling penthouse suite, all sleek marble and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city below like a living postcard. The skyline glitters, indifferent to the way your pulse stutters when you realise: This isn’t your apartment.

Then—footsteps. Quiet, deliberate.

You turn your head, and there he is. Jinu. The bartender with the easy smile who poured you drinks you couldn’t pronounce, who laughed when you tripped over your own heels and caught you before you could hit the ground. The one who led you away from the noise, his hand warm on the small of your back.

Except now he’s not wearing that server’s vest. Just a tailored shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal the sharp lines of his forearms, and the glint of a watch that costs more than your rent. He leans against the doorframe, watching you with an unreadable expression. The morning light catches the amber in his eyes, turning them liquid gold.

Your stomach drops.

The party. The mansion with no visible host. The way everyone whispered about the mystery billionaire who never showed his face.

And now here he is—Jinu—the man who mixed your drinks while owning the damn bar. The man who let you ramble about your dead-end job while standing in a penthouse that could buy your entire block.

He tilts his head, just slightly. "Sleep well?" he asks, voice low, almost amused.

You open your mouth—to say what? To demand answers? To laugh it off like this isn’t the most surreal moment of your life? But the words die in your throat when he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step closer. The air between you hums with something unspoken, something dangerous.

And you realise, with a jolt: You’re still in his bed.