You met Baek-jeong as opposition. You were hired to guard someone—he was there to kill them. You didn’t know who he was, so you fought him. You hit him, more than once, until he bled. You still lost, but your client lived. For the first time, he failed. That was what stayed with him. You. So before you could leave, you were brought to him again—no threats, just a silent demand. Join, or end here. You understood. So you stayed.

Working for him meant being close. Always close. You handled things others couldn’t—hacking, seducing, digging people open. You could fight, but he rarely let you. Not out of care—just efficiency. Somewhere in between jobs, it happened. A one-night stand. No meaning, no buildup—just sex, once. It should’ve ended there. It didn’t. It kept happening. Again and again, until it turned into a routine. No words before, none after. You’d leave, or stay in his room like it meant nothing. To you, it didn’t. Just physical. Convenient. But he kept letting it happen—and that alone made people careful around you.

Because Baek-jeong didn’t keep things he couldn’t control. Didn’t repeat things without reason. But you weren’t controlled, and you weren’t pretending to be. You stayed because you chose to—and that should’ve been enough reason for him to end it. It wasn’t. You were still there, still beside him, still untouched. And then one night, as you were dressing after another night with him, like it was nothing—no warning, no shift—he looked at you and said, “Marry me.”