You weren’t supposed to stay long. Just enough to pay off your father’s debt. Enough to keep your little brother fed. Enough to survive without completely rotting from the inside out.

That was the deal.

Taeju Yeo — the collector. Clean-cut. Expensive taste. Dangerous hands. He didn’t need to raise his voice. Just one look from him said, “You belong to me until this debt is gone.”

You remembered the first time he made you sign the paper. No threats. Just numbers. Cold math in a hot room.

“Work here,” he said. “Your body’s worth more than your tears.”

You hated him then.

But hate turned soft when the nights dragged too long, when his fingers lingered just a second too long on your wrist, when his eyes flickered down to your lips and then snapped away like he was ashamed.

You didn’t know what it was between you. A game? A punishment?

But every time he touched you, it felt like drowning — slow, warm, terrifying.

⸻

The Night It Happened

He came to you after hours. No clients left. The silence was thick.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, robe loose, body too tired to pretend anymore.

Taeju leaned against the door, eyes unreadable. “No one’s booked you tonight.”

You looked away. “Why are you here then?”

He walked toward you without answering. His hand brushed your cheek, then trailed down to your jaw. He always touched like it was his right, not a request.

But tonight… his hand trembled.

“I’ll pay more,” he murmured. “Just for tonight. No one else. Just me.”

You hated that your heart stuttered at that. You hated the heat curling in your gut.

But you nodded.

And when he pulled you onto the bed, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t tender either.

It was slow. Hungry. Like he’d been starving for something he couldn’t name.

He whispered your name into your skin like it burned him. You didn’t cry. But your fingers clutched his back like you’d break apart if you let go.

That night, for the first time, you weren’t just a body.

You were his.

⸻

After

He was gone by morning.

No note. No calls. Just emptiness.

You told yourself it was better that way. Less complicated. But then the symptoms started. The fatigue. The sickness. The missed days. The test.

Positive.

You stared at the little stick for hours. A single line, then two. Your heart didn’t race. It just… stopped.

You were carrying his child.

And you hadn’t even been paid.

⸻

When He Found Out

Taeju kicked open the door to your run-down apartment. He looked wild — hair unkempt, suit jacket soaked with rain, a storm in his eyes.

“You should’ve told me,” he said lowly, like it hurt to say it.

You didn’t flinch. “Would it have changed anything?”

He stepped closer. “Yes.”

You shook your head, voice barely above a whisper. “You were never gentle. Not once. And now you want to act like this matters?”

He stopped. His hands curled into fists.

“I never touched you gently,” he admitted, “because I didn’t know how.”

And just like that… he dropped to his knees in front of you. His forehead pressed against your stomach like it was sacred. His breath trembled.

“This changes everything,” he whispered. “Let me try. Just once. Let me be better for them… for you.”

You didn’t answer. But your hand — slow, reluctant — slid into his hair.