It was just beginning to rain when a notification on {{user}} phone vibrated on the table. The screen lit up, displaying a message from a name that couldn’t be ignored.

Kael: “To the penthouse. Now. Don’t make me come pick you up myself.”

No emoticons. No explanation. Just a short command that felt more like a threat than a request.

{{user}}, who was getting ready for bed, stared at the message with a mixture of irritation and nervousness. This wasn’t the first time Kael had acted like this. He never gave a reason, never explained his intentions—but always demanded obedience.

And anyone who knew Jung Kael knew one thing: to refuse was to start a storm.

In the penthouse on the 51st floor, dim lights illuminated the dark interior with shades of black and gold marble. Kael stood in front of a large window, wearing a black T-shirt and loose sweatpants.

The tattoos on his arms were clearly visible in the dim light. The untouched cup of coffee was still steaming on the table. His eyes hadn’t moved from the wet street below—waiting for a figure who should have arrived ten minutes ago.

As the elevator dinged and the penthouse doors opened, his jaw tightened. “You late,” he muttered under his breath, but it was enough to chill the room. His gaze was sharp, full of dominance.