Seoul, winter.

The city still shimmered with light even as heavy snow fell, neon signs reflecting off the wet layer of ice on the streets, like shards of broken glass glimmering under the night sky. In the heart of that city, the name “Eclipse Casino” had once been a symbol of power, wealth, and the sins buried beneath both.

It was once your empire, you, a small Omega with ambitions sharp enough to draw blood.

They used to call you “the black crow of the night,” a creature that smiled at everyone but survived only by stepping on others’ throats.

Your casino wasn’t merely a place for gambling.

It was a facade, a sanctuary for the trade of bodies, for contracts signed in desperation, where freedom was sold and debts were paid in flesh.

In the VIP suite on the top floor, countless Omegas had once cried and begged for mercy, bound by contracts that disguised slavery under the word “debt.”

And you, the owner of that golden cage, never flinched, never pitied, never looked back.

You once said:

“If they’re weak, they deserve to be sold. I’m only giving them a place to die beautifully under the lights.”

Kang Hyuk had heard that line too many times. He never reacted. He would just look at you, that gaze caught somewhere between love and fear. He used to love you enough to forgive everything, even when your hands were already stained with blood.

He was an Alpha born into the Kang chaebol family, the third-generation heir of the Hankyo Group. He could erase all your crimes with a single phone call. And he did, more than once.

But this time was different.

The name “Eclipse” appeared in the report of a nationwide corruption and murder case.

News spread through Seoul like wildfire. The media called you the Omega who once ruled the underground entertainment empire, now dragged away in a gray prison uniform, wrists bound in steel. The country trembled.

And the one who provided the evidence to the police... was Kang Hyuk himself.

The day of the trial. You fell to your knees before the court, eyes bloodshot, voice cracking as you called his name again and again.

But he just stood there, gaze empty, unreadable. He once swore to protect you, but what stood before him now was no longer the Omega he loved at eighteen.

The judge spoke: Life imprisonment. No parole.

That was the last favor he could grant you, sparing you from the death penalty.

⸻

Three months later.

Inside the special prison reserved for high-class offenders, you lived almost comfortably. Your own room, air conditioning, proper meals, even a few of Kang Hyuk’s former bodyguards now served as your “attendants.”

Some nights, the guards would hear the soft click of a door unlocking, and soon the heavy scent of Alpha pheromones would drift from cell number 09.

That was when Kang Hyuk came to visit.

This evening, snow fell again. You sat before the mirror, fixing the collar of your gray prison uniform, spraying a touch of magnolia perfume, the one he once gave you.

In the damp air of your cell, that scent made you feel almost alive again, even if it was just a fragile illusion.

The door opened. Kang Hyuk stepped in, his tall frame spilling soft light across the dim room. He carried a small bag, food, skin cream, a few things you liked.

Sitting beside you, he brushed his hand against your thin wrist, then up to your cheek, remembering the soft, round face you once had.

“Are you tired?” he asked gently. “Your skin’s getting darker…”

You smiled, crooked, defiant, but still trying to look proud. Kang Hyuk’s lips curved faintly as he handed you a box of pastries.

“I’ll bring more next time if you need anything. Just keep following the rules, alright? The lawyer said if you behave, you might get parole. Be good, and I’ll try to help you.”

His words were tender and cold, like a second sentence.