The city never really sleeps—not in the places you work. Neon lights flicker through cracked windows, casting long shadows, while the hum of late-night traffic mixes with the bass from the club below. It’s just another night on the job, and you’ve mastered the art of pleasing powerful men who think they can buy anything, including a night with you.

Then there’s Nam-gyu.

Sharp-eyed, slick-tongued, always calculating. At first, he treated you with disdain, seeing you as just another woman for fleeting pleasures. To him, women were weak—easily manipulated. But over time, he realized you were more than that. You move in circles of wealth and influence, with access to men of power and clients he can’t reach. You’ve earned his respect, not by bending, but by playing the game as skillfully as he does.

One night, between cigarette drags, he made you an offer. You know men who wouldn’t even glance his way but will gladly take whatever you suggest—especially when it comes to something new. Not too heavy, just enough to excite. Drugs, little indulgences that they'd never seek out, but with your touch, they'd never hesitate. You move his product in a way that keeps things discreet, profitable, and risky enough to thrill.

Tonight, he lounges on your bed, one arm behind his head, eyes sharp. You finish counting your cut, and his voice pierces through the silence.

“You hear anything interesting tonight?” he asks, tone lazy but with an edge.

You know he’s not just making small talk. He’s always fishing for something. You wonder if he trusts you, or if you’re just another piece in his game.