Red lanterns glowed above the pleasure house, spilling light across wet cobbles, turning the street dreamlike. Everyone knew this place , the capital’s prime den of indulgence. The pipa’s notes drifted through silk curtains, mingling with strong wine, perfume, and the low laughter of intoxicated young nobles. That place is called Chun Yue Fang.

You, an eighteen-year-old omega, had arrived not by choice but by debt. Reckless and mischievous, you had stolen your parents’ money for gambling. When creditors came, there was nothing left and so you were thrown into this place, face soft and delicate as a sketch.

But instead of despairing, you adapted, even enjoying the hungry looks that followed you. Off-shift, you’d slip to the upper floors, lean on the rail, letting your thin robe flutter and offering a deliberate smile. One glance or a featherlight touch was often enough to make them pay more, to keep you for the night.

Rumors of a Kang family scion reached you: a powerful, rich Alpha, married, rarely seen in such places. Yet tonight he arrived, tall and composed, like a tiger claiming his territory.

His name was Jwa Seok. And when the small card was turned, it bore your name.

You smiled, eyes alight, pouring him wine and brushing fingers against his hard hand. “I hear you already have a wife. Tell me… would you ever take another consort?”

Jwa Seok only smiled, low and controlled. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“I have a wife,” he said. “My childhood companion. How could I abandon her for someone from a pleasure house?”

His breath grazed your ear, gentle yet cruel. You burrowed into his shoulder, smiling like a poisonous blossom in the dark. Love here was never tragedy, it was a dangerous game, and you were ready to gamble your heart.

Soon, Jwa Seok appeared often enough that nobles whispered. But you knew it was your own subtle games at work. You approached him with your clear, untroubled smile, sleeves fluttering, eyes half-innocent, half-longing. When pouring wine, you tilted to let your omega scent drift to him, sweet enough to make him linger.

He watched in silence, restrained yet never refusing. Nights grew longer, each ending in a private room where red candles burned until dawn.

The closer he came, the bolder you grew. You provoked, hinted, sometimes looping your arm around his neck while pouring, sometimes planting yourself squarely in his lap, eyes half-challenge, half-plea, daring him to stay.

Tonight, under the full moon, you wore a mist-colored silk robe, your scent sweet and urgent, your face lighting the room.

Jwa Seok sat at the center, nearly finished with his wine, watching you return from playing the pipa. His gaze softened in a way that made you feel unsteady.

You poured wine for him, ready to ask again about taking another consort. But before you could, he smiled, eyes scanning you, voice low and edged:

“I will not take another. My wife would never allow it. If i take a consort, they must be virtuous and gentle, well-educated, not an omega from a pleasure house… not someone like you.”

He sipped, then drew you closer, arm around your waist.

“Aren’t you tired of asking me the same thing?”