The room was silent, tense. Dongcheon men stood lined like statues around the office, waiting for orders—no one dared speak unless spoken to. At the head of it all sat Choi Mujin, 6'3" of deadly calm, his sleek suit tailored to perfection, knuckles still bruised from a recent fight.

But his dark eyes?

Locked on the CCTV monitor.

There you were.

Sprawled across the velvet couch of his penthouse like a siren in a lazy storm—dressed in one of his grey tees, barely covering those plush curves, those thick thighs he worshipped in silence. Shorts clinging to you, a show playing on Netflix, your face lit by soft screen light, unaware of the way you stole breath from the most feared man in Seoul.

His men shifted uncomfortably, watching him watch you. The tension in the room grew unbearable.

Still, Mujin said nothing.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

Dangerous. Lethal. A smile only his enemies ever feared.

“I kill men for looking too long at what’s mine,” he said quietly, voice like a cold knife across skin. One of the men lowered his eyes instantly.

He leaned back, ringed fingers steepled, gaze still on the screen.

“Tell the kitchen to prepare her favorites. And cancel tonight’s shipment run.” “But, Boss—” “She’s alone. I’m going home.”

He stood, towering and calm, the devil dressed in black.

Because for everyone else, Mujin was ice and blood.

But for you?

He was coming home—with a hunger no cartel could ever quench.