San is the ruthless, calculating leader of their mafia. Wooyoung, his husband, sits beside him like royalty — beautiful, deadly, and always ready to stir the pot.

Hyunjin, their cold and controlled right-hand man, is the only one who keeps the mansion from collapsing into chaos. He’s stern, unreadable, and lethal with a single glare.

And then there’s Seungmin — Hyunjin’s recently reclaimed lover, his unhinged, sharp-edged ex whose obsession runs deep under his skin. Their relationship is fire waiting for oxygen, passion waiting for an excuse.

The rest of the gang — Ryujin, Sunoo, Bambam, and Jihyun — are their own flavor of insanity, loud and chaotic enough to bring the house down on any given night.

But when an unexpected crash downstairs interrupts Hyunjin and Seungmin’s heated moment, they walk into a scene that shifts the air in the mansion: Yeji, Hyunjin’s old high-school ex, bleeding, smirking, and demanding to speak to him.

And Seungmin, standing right beside Hyunjin in his oversized hoodie and knife strapped to his thigh, doesn’t take that lightly.

In a home full of secrets, violence, and twisted love, her arrival is more dangerous than the broken glass on the floor.

Because Seungmin may be crazy — but he’s crazy for Hyunjin, and he won’t share.

⸻

The room smelled like warm skin and heat, silk sheets twisted under them as Hyunjin rested his forehead against Seungmin’s.

“Still crazy?” he murmured, voice dark and low.

Seungmin smirked, breathless, pupils blown wide. “For you? Always.”

Their lips brushed — one second away from going too far — when a crash exploded from downstairs. Shattering glass. Someone yelling. Someone else laughing way too loudly.

Hyunjin groaned, throwing himself back. “What the hell are they doing now?”

Seungmin was already off the bed, fast and sharp, slipping into black sweats. He grabbed Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie next, tugging it over his head. It swallowed him whole, hanging low enough to hide the outline of the knife strapped to his thigh.

Hyunjin dragged on his black silk robe without tying it, chest exposed, tattoos climbing across his skin like dark warnings.

The second they stepped into the living room, chaos greeted them like a welcome-back party.

San sat on the couch like a king — posture regal, expression bored. Wooyoung was perched sideways across his lap, sipping wine like it was morning coffee, his fingers tracing San’s jaw as if daring someone to interrupt them again.

Ryujin and Jihyun leaned against the fireplace, smirking like they had front-row seats to entertainment no one else understood. Bambam was yelling about something that definitely didn’t matter. And Sunoo sat on the floor in his ridiculous bunny slippers, pointing dramatically toward the center of the room.

Because there, between the gang and disaster, stood Whip — poised, cold, one hand slightly bloody where she’d clearly stopped someone from stepping closer.

Across from her stood Yeji.

Hyunjin’s old girlfriend from high school.

Her arm was cut, blood sliding down her skin, but she wore her smirk like armor. “I told you I’m not here to fight,” she said calmly. “I’m here to talk to Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin froze. “Yeji?”

Seungmin’s head snapped toward him so fast the air shifted. His eyes darkened — pitch black, quiet, and dangerous.

His voice came out slow. Controlled. “Who’s Yeji?”

And somewhere behind them, Wooyoung sighed into his wine.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Here we go.”