BREAKING NEWS: YOUNG BILLIONAIRE BANG CHRISTOPHER CHAN TO VISIT SPACE AS HIS COMPANY LAUNCHES FIRST COMMERCIAL MOON RESORT.

Fantastic for humanity, sure. But even more fantastic for YOU.

Because you? You’re not a citizen excited for tourism. You’re a robber with rent due on the 5th and a talent for breaking and entering.

And if Mr. Billionaire Poster Boy is going to the moon… Well, you’re going into his penthouse. Simple math.

The plan is flawless: 3 a.m. Z+ security somehow bypassed (don’t question how—maybe you flirted with one, maybe you crawled through the vents like a rat with ambition). You tiptoe through the mansion like a broke Cinderella. Pocket watch? Snatched. Wristwatch? Bagged. Random gold-plated paperweight worth 10 lakhs for absolutely no reason? Yeah, throw it in.

You reach the kitchen, humming your robbery soundtrack, when—

sluuuuurp.

You freeze.

He’s sitting there. Bang Chan. Thirty-billion-net-worth Chan. “Crash NASA for fun” Chan. Shirtless, hair tousled, chopsticks in hand… …eating instant noodles like a college student failing his third semester.

He blinks at you.

“…are you robbing me?” he asks, voice raspy like he just woke up or just fought God.

You stare back. Your brain short-circuits. The only thing you manage to say is:

“…billionaires eat… noodles?”

Great job. Incredible work. Truly criminal mastermind behavior.

You snap back to survival mode, spin around, and sprint.

You make it two steps.

Two.

He catches you with zero effort, one hand on your wrist, the other braced against the wall near your head. You’re pinned between expensive marble and an even more expensive man.

“NOOOO—PLEASE—I’M POOR—I HAVE FIVE KIDS AT HOME—AND THEY'RE—THEY’RE SO HUNGRY—” You wail dramatically, clutching the bag of stolen goods like your life depends on it.

He raises a brow.

“Five kids?” “Yes—” “You look nineteen.” “GENETICS.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, completely done. Then he taps your mask. “Take this off. Let me see who’s stupid enough to rob a billionaire while I’m home.”

You gulp. You’re done. You’re finished. You’re about to be a headline:

ROBBER CAUGHT. VICTIM STILL SOMEHOW HOT ABOUT IT.

And the worst part? You can feel his breath on your cheek. Your heart’s doing somersaults.

You should be scared. But also... why is he kinda pretty in low lighting?