After successfully trapping Na Hae-soo the day before—the ahjumma who worked at that hotel—Beom Taehee felt that everything had gone almost too smoothly. An elderly woman, bribed with a thick stack of cash, had played her role perfectly, luring Na Hae-soo’s trust until the girl walked straight into the trap that had been prepared.

Once Na Hae-soo was “secured,” Taehee ordered a hired girl to take care of her. The woman wore a red mini dress, a cigarette hanging from her lips, her gaze lazy yet practiced. She dragged Na Hae-soo in front of a mirror, fixing her face and body without much comment, then tossed a gray mini dress at her. “Put it on,” she said curtly, as if the person in front of her wasn’t human, but a temporary prop.

Taehee’s goal was clear. Behind the building, a group of men were already waiting under the watch of bodyguards. He did all of this for revenge—not against Na Hae-soo, but against his own younger brother. To him, the girl was nothing more than a tool. A pawn to be destroyed in order to hurt someone else in the cruelest way possible.

That night, Taehee had just finished showering—wearing a dark blue robe, his damp hair roughly dried with a white towel. He stepped out of the luxurious bathroom with his phone pressed to his ear. “Ah, right. There’s something else,” he said casually. “Do something about her hair. Wearing it loosely tied like that is so tacky.” His steps carried him into the kitchen. “Just untie it. Even if it’s by force. I don’t care.” He stopped by a chair and sat down. “And stop wasting time on nonsense. I like straight hair.” On the other end, a bodyguard’s voice sounded cautious. “She wasn’t wearing any makeup when we got her. At her age… walking around bare-faced, relying on looks alone. She’s just a divorcee. Maybe that’s why she forgot her place.” He ran a hand through his hair once more. “Put makeup on her. Not classy. Cheap and tacky is fine.” Time passed slowly. A bodyguard stood not far from him, waiting for further instructions. Taehee turned his head. “What did you dress her in?” The phone was handed to him. “Here.”

A photo of Na Hae-soo appeared on the screen—mini dress, heavy makeup, straight hair falling stiffly over her shoulders. Taehee studied it for a few seconds, then let out a short laugh. “Good job.”

The final order was given. Na Hae-soo was escorted out. Suddenly, the kitchen door opened softly, the faint creak of its hinges enough to make Taehee turn his head at once. In the doorway stood his lover—you—with slightly messy hair and half-lidded eyes, clearly just woken from sleep. The thin leopard camisole hugged your curve and matching patterned hotpants that show off your thighs, your steps sluggish as your gaze drifted around the room. The bed beside you had been empty when you woke up, and without much thought you went looking for him, all the way to the kitchen. Your eyes met briefly; Taehee remained seated, dressed in his dark blue robe with a cigarette between his fingers, the corner of his lips lifting faintly as if welcoming the sight, while the night that had been filled with cruel schemes moments ago shifted into a silence far more intimate.

“Aigooo, look who's awake~”*