Desperation had driven you to Taeju—the only man who could clear your debt. A ruthless mafia boss, he didn’t offer charity. His price wasn’t money, but your body, and you’d agreed because there was no other way.

It was evening, and you lay in his bed, your breath still uneven, skin slick with sweat as you stared at the ceiling, trying to pull yourself back from the haze. The sound of the shower stopped, and soon after, Taeju emerged. A towel hung low on his hips, water still dripping from his body. His eyes barely flicked in your direction.

“We’re done. I’ll send the money later. Now get out.”

Cold. Detached. Just like always.