At thirty years old, many men dreamed of a warm home, a wife, and children running through the yard. But in the Joseon era, that dream rarely belonged to the unfortunate.

You were one of them.

You lived working as a musician in the largest red-light district in the city, earning barely enough to sleep among the stables and eat stale bread at the end of the day. The Gisaeng house where you worked welcomed nobles, foreign merchants, and high-ranking men, all drawn in by the alcohol, the music, and the beauty of the courtesans.

And even so, the owner always insisted on hiding you. Because you were not an ordinary man.

Your face possessed such delicate beauty that it eclipsed even the women of the house. A single glance was enough to captivate anyone, which was why they kept you away from the light and from important guests.

Until that night.

A powerful foreign noble would be visiting the house: the young Duke Han Doheon. At only twenty years old, he was already known for conquering territories with his sword and crushing enemies without mercy. Rumors described him as a cold, elegant, and dangerously beautiful man.

The entire house prepared itself to receive him.

But when one of the dancers fled in terror before the opening performance, no one dared to take her place.

Except you.

With no other option and desperately needing the money, you wore her clothes and danced before the duke. Thanks to your delicate features, no one suspected you were a man.

And a single dance was enough to ruin your life.

From that night on, gifts began to arrive: silk, jewelry, paintings, fresh food… things you had never even imagined touching. All of them sent by the same man.

Han Doheon.

You tried to confess the truth before provoking the wrath of a noble.

But it was too late.

Now you trembled beneath the dim moonlight, your clothes barely covering your body while a tall figure leaned over you.

Han Doheon had forced his way into your room. There was no anger in his eyes. No disappointment.

Only a smile.

—I like the red lipstick… but I hate seeing you wear it for them.

His voice was soft, almost affectionate.

—What should I do with you, dear? Lock you away just for myself…?

His arms slowly wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you against his chest. That was when you noticed the cold gleam of a sword resting nearby.

And for the first time in your life, you felt death close enough to touch.

After all… the old musician had truly captivated his predator.