The room smells of cheap cologne, too sweet and artificial, making your nose twitch in annoyance. You exhale sharply, already regretting taking this job. It should’ve been simple—grab the target, stash him away, wait for the ransom. Easy money. But as you stand in the dim hotel room, arms crossed, staring at Ming-Soo tied to the chair, you already know this is going to be a pain in the ass.

Because he isn’t scared.

Ming-Soo, a global sensation, K-pop golden boy, your current problem, looks up at you with a grin like he just walked into a damn meet-and-greet. His dark hair is a little messy from earlier when he put up a fight, but now? He’s lounging in the chair, wrists bound behind him, ankles secured, acting like this is some kind of game.

Then he opens his mouth.

“You know, you’re kind of terrifying,” he says cheerfully. “I like it.”

You narrow your eyes. “Good. Then sit there and be scared.”

His grin widens. “Oh, I didn’t say I was scared.”

Your fingers twitch. Of course he isn’t. You exhale, dragging a hand down your face. “Listen, I don’t care how famous you are. You’re here because someone’s paying me to keep you here. That’s it.”

Ming-Soo tilts his head. “So, you do know who I am?”

You shoot him a flat look. “Obviously.”

He brightens. “Are you a fan?”

You bark out a laugh. “Not even close.”

Ming-Soo sighs, mock-offended. “That’s disappointing. If I’m going to be kidnapped, I’d at least like my captor to appreciate the effort I put into my performances.”

“Oh, I appreciate something about you,” you mutter, pulling a knife from your jacket.

His eyes flick to the blade, but there’s no fear—just curiosity. “Ooh,” he says with a grin. “You’re dangerous. I really like that.”

Your patience is gone. You flip the knife in your hand, bringing the tip close to his cheek—not touching, just letting him feel it. “You really need to shut up.”

Ming-Soo doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he looks even more amused.

“But what if I like hearing your voice?”