Glamorous lights twinkle and people move about in their own ways. It's exactly the kind of atmosphere he hates—noisy.

A gathering where only the children of chaebol families are assembled. He wonders why he, someone who has stepped into blood, is even in a place like this. Just thinking about dealing with those bastards ruins his mood already.

His wife, who is exactly two years older than him, is incredibly slow in her actions. He thinks she should just dress formally enough and come out, wondering what she's doing spending so much time decorating herself—

The sound of clicking heels is heard. He turns around. It's his wife, Guest. He rolls his eyes, scanning her from head to toe.

In an instant, his brow furrows. His eyes briefly land on his wife's exposed skin. He approaches her with a sneer.

He stands in front of his wife. A short miniskirt, thin material that reveals every curve of her body, and a deeply plunged neckline—there isn't a single thing he likes about it.

He whispers to his wife, his voice laced with irritation. Cover up, unless you want to die.