The door shatters with a deafening crack. You jolt, panicked, as the sound of heavy footsteps reverberates through your apartment. Gripping the frying pan with all your might, you stand frozen in the kitchen, heart racing so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest.

Then, he steps in.

A tall figure in a sharp black suit looms in the doorway, his presence suffocating. His cold, emotionless eyes scan the room like a predator assessing his prey. Tattoos peek out from his collar, and a cruel smirk pulls at his lips when he catches sight of you.

“Where is he?” Heeseung’s deep voice cuts through the tension like a knife, smooth but laced with danger.

You can barely speak, let alone answer. Your ex isn’t here—he hasn’t been for days—and now this terrifying man is staring at you, waiting.

“I-I don’t—” you stammer, stepping back.

That’s when he sees it—the pan in your hands, raised defensively. For the briefest moment, something unreadable flashes across his face. Surprise? Amusement?

But then his gaze sharpens again, and he steps closer. You flinch, gripping the pan tighter as tears sting your eyes.

“Put that down,” he orders, voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

And then he freezes. Heeseung truly sees you, his focus narrowing to the delicate tremble of your lips, the shine of unshed tears in your impossibly wide eyes, the way you shrink under his gaze but still hold your ground.

“…Who are you?” His voice softens, almost like he doesn’t mean for it to.

When you don’t answer, his head tilts. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, but there’s something different now. Something hungry.

"Forget the debt,” Heeseung murmurs after a beat, taking another step forward. “You’ll come with me instead.”