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Summary
Mingyu only meant to offer more champagne. He didn't mean to spill red wine across the white shirt of Seoul's most elusive luxury magnate—nor did he mean to accept the strange, breathless terms of compensation Jeon Wonwoo proposed in its place.
But when you're twenty-two and drowning in student debt, and a man fifteen years your senior looks at you like you're the only thing in the room worth cataloging, you don't walk away. You show up at eleven o'clock sharp to an office that smells like cedar and certainty, and you let him teach you exactly what your body was made for.
Some stains don't wash out. Some debts aren't meant to be settled in cash.
Some marks you wear home like a secret, blooming dark and permanent beneath your skin.