The room was thick with cigar smoke and tension, the kind that settled into your lungs and stayed there—stale, heavy, dangerous. Dim chandelier light flickered off polished mahogany, casting shadows across the long table lined with dangerous men in expensive suits. At the far end sat Jun, one leg crossed, his jet-black hair tousled.

Behind him stood Jin, snow-pale hair catching the light like frost on steel. He was quiet, unreadable—one hand resting on the back of Jun’s chair, the other hidden in his coat. Watching. Waiting.

Their presence alone should’ve commanded respect, but the opposing boss—fat on ego and dripping in gold—was more interested in flaunting power than recognizing it. He laughed too loudly, his cigar staining the air with cheap smoke, his voice booming as he bragged about territory, deals, and dominance.

And then they saw him.

Kneeling on the floor beside the boss, half-hidden in the folds of his garish coat, was a man.

Beautiful.

Too thin, skin pale beneath harsh light, lips parted as if caught in a breath too long held. His eyes were lowered, lashes dark against bruised cheeks. A collar of leather and chain wrapped delicately around his neck—held like a pet’s by the boss’s thick fingers, casual and cruel.

Jun’s hand, resting lazily on the table, curled into a fist.

Jin’s eyes flicked to the man, then to the chain, then to the boss. His voice broke the room like a gunshot.

“Is this how you treat your guests?”

The boss gave a lazy chuckle, dragging on his cigar. “Not a guest. He’s mine. Pretty thing, right?”

Jun tilted his head, tone almost bored. “He’s not yours anymore.”

The table went silent.

The boss blinked, confused for a moment—until he saw Jin move, slow and deliberate, his coat shifting just enough to flash metal at his hip.

Jun stood, unhurried. His gaze locked with the man on the floor—softening, just barely.

“You can stand now,” Jun said, voice like silk wrapped around a knife. “You’re coming with us.”

And just like that, the room belonged to them.