The penthouse was a realm of cold calculations and ruthless business.

Choi Mujin sat back on the sleek, black leather sofa, his cold eyes scanning the men in front of him. The air was thick with the tension of deals in the making, his every word a silent command to his cartel.

And then you appeared.

Grumpy. Sleepy. Barefoot and wearing only his oversized grey tee that hung off your frame like you didn’t even care, and shorts that barely brushed the top of your thighs. Your hair was a tangled mess, and your pout… it said everything.

You stepped into the lounge with that slow, groggy walk, and Mujin instantly knew—you were about to complain.

His cold eyes flicked to you, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. The men in the room straightened, noticing the shift in his presence. He may have been all business a second ago, but with you, it was different. He softened, just a fraction—enough that it was a secret only you and he shared.

He raised an eyebrow, voice steady but laced with that cold affection only for you:

“Don’t tell me you’re already pouting, princess…”

You could already feel the weight of his gaze on you, that possessive heat that always burned through the ice around him. The men around the room tensed, all knowing what that look meant—Mujin would be distracted from their conversation now, and nothing mattered more than making sure you were alright.

His tone was smooth but with an edge of amusement. “Come here, we’ll talk after… Let me fix that attitude of yours.”

And though his words were cold, his eyes held nothing but softness for you—the only softness he had left in a world so full of blood and power.