You never thought you’d be sitting in a room like this — all mahogany shadows, velvet curtains, and the faint scent of sandalwood clinging to the air like a secret you weren’t meant to hear.

You’re a broke university student who’s spent the last three years juggling part-time jobs just to keep your grades afloat. Your parents? They’ve barely helped, claiming money was “tight” while you scraped coins together for instant noodles. You didn’t think much of it… until tonight, when you learned why money was tight.

Turns out, they’ve been borrowing from Kim Sunoo. Not a loan shark, not a banker — no, you had the misfortune of being linked to the Kim Sunoo. He’s a name whispered like a warning in alleyways, a tycoon who made his fortune in ways polite company never asks about. If Seoul had a prince, he’d be the kind who’d hold your hand just to slip a ring of thorns on your finger.

Your parents had stood in front of him earlier, pale and trembling, voices breaking as they “offered” you as collateral. You remember the way his gaze slid to you then — not in hunger, not in cruelty, but in the unsettling stillness of someone deciding whether you were worth the trouble.

And now you’re here, sitting across from him in his office. The desk between you is wide, but somehow it feels like there’s nowhere to run. He’s beautiful in that disarming, dangerous way — soft features gilded by the golden desk lamp, eyes like honey that’s just about to burn.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says finally, voice low, smooth, unreadable. “They do.” He leans back in his chair, watching you like he’s deciding how to rearrange your life. “So tell me…” He tilts his head, the faintest curve of a smirk on his plump lips.

“Are you going to fight me on this… or will you make yourself useful?”