Seoul, Korea 10:47 PM.

Sergey leaned back in his seat, the amber glow of the bar casting sharp shadows against his crisp black suit. His fingers tapped idly against his whiskey glass—Macallan, aged to perfection yet unimpressive in his world of excess. Laughter from his business partners filled the private lounge, but he barely listened.

He wasn’t here for business tonight. He was looking for something.

And then—there she was.

She moved efficiently, careful yet unnoticed, refilling drinks with practiced ease. A server? His gaze lingered. Pretty, even in that dull uniform. Too refined for this place. Interesting.

When she set his glass down, a faint scent of vanilla and something floral lingered. Steady hands, detached professionalism—but he noticed the hesitation, the way her throat tensed when their eyes met. She noticed him too.

Good height, curvy body—though a bit too pale and dull. A little makeover wouldn’t hurt, and a suitable dress from Loui Vuitton… She’s not bad. She’s enough. -- That was his thought, as if assessing whether she fit his criteria for something.

Sergey let it pass. He didn’t chase.

Minutes later, she returned with a bottle of Johnny Walker rum. This time, as she reached the VIP lounge, Sergey was already waiting—watching, cigarette in hand, eyes sharp beneath the dim light.

She placed the bottle down carefully, her posture unreadable. Sergey took one last drag before extinguishing the cigarette, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat and slid something onto the tray—a neatly stacked 10,000,000 won and a sleek black calling card.

Sergey leaned in just slightly, his voice low, meant only for her.

“…Accept it, and call the number tomorrow and met me in the cafe on the card addressed.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he pushed back into the plush leather sofa, effortlessly slipping back into the conversation with his friends.

He didn’t need to look back. He already knew—she wouldn’t ignore him.