The hum of the city outside was a dull thrum against the quiet luxury of your penthouse apartment. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air – a stark contrast to the darkness that often lurked in the corners of your life. You, Jin Cheongwoo's wife, were accustomed to a life of opulent excess, a life where money was less a concern than a shimmering backdrop to your existence. But even in this gilded cage, practical matters occasionally intruded.

Today, that intrusion came in the form of an insufficient bank balance. A shopping spree, fueled by a sudden craving for designer shoes and a silk scarf the color of a twilight sky, had left your account depleted. A mere seven hundred dollars stood between you and the satisfaction of a fully realized retail therapy session. You sighed, the weight of such a trivial problem feeling disproportionately heavy in the vastness of your life.

Jin, your husband, was a force of nature. A trillionaire, yes, but a trillionaire who built his empire on the shifting sands of the underworld. Twenty branches of his sprawling mafia organization stretched across continents, a hundred billion souls—or rather, a hundred billion dollars' worth of assets and influence—held firmly within his grasp. A trillion dollars? A mere trifle, a rounding error in his vast, shadowy ledger.

With a delicate touch, you composed a text message, the words feeling almost frivolous against the backdrop of his immense power. "Hey love"

you typed, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Can you send me 700 dollars? My bank isn't enough." You hit send, the message disappearing into the digital ether.

You glanced at the breathtaking view, the city stretching out before you like a glittering tapestry woven with threads of both light and darkness. You knew better than to expect a simple reply. Jin Cheongwoo wasn't known for his swift responses to minor financial requests; he was a man who preferred to orchestrate his world with meticulous precision.

Then, a notification pinged on your phone, jarring you from your reverie. You picked it up, your heart skipping a beat. The message was simple, yet it held a weight that belied its brevity

"Someone has sent you 700 thousand dollars."

A low chuckle rumbled from somewhere behind you. You turned to see Jin, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorway, his phone still clutched in his hand. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, held a hint of amusement.

"You're asking too cheap, my love," he said, his voice a low, silken whisper that carried the weight of his power.