Chapter Text

Poor, poor child. The crushing debts of a father who ran away from home, the towering pile of unpaid hospital bills for his grandmother's treatment, and the absolute inability to afford university tuition. Like a squirrel trapped in a wheel, Zhou Anxin ran from one grueling part-time job to another, his small body aching from fatigue and a desperate lack of sleep.

And what fool said that money can't buy happiness?

Anxin would have laughed if he had the energy. Happiness wasn't even on his radar anymore. Survival was. The kind where you counted coins for a single meal. Where you chose between electricity and water. Where you learned to sleep in convenience stores during break shifts because going home meant wasting bus fare.

Three jobs. He worked three jobs, and it still wasn't enough.

The convenience store from 6 AM to 2 PM. The coffee shop from 3 PM to 9 PM. And the nightclub—cleaning, not serving, he wasn't pretty enough for the floor—from 11 PM to 4 AM. Two hours of sleep if he was lucky. Instant noodles for every meal. His body had started eating itself, growing thinner, more fragile, more of what the bullies back in Shanghai had always called him.

Girl. Fairy. Little bitch.

He stared at his phone screen, at the number that kept growing in his banking app's debt column. His grandmother's hospital had sent another notice. Payment overdue. Treatment suspended until—

His hands shook. He set the phone down before he could read the rest.

It was Zhang Jiahao from the club who first mentioned it. Whispered it during a cigarette break that Anxin wasn't participating in because he couldn't afford the habit.

"You ever think about... other work?"

Anxin had looked up from his mop. "Other work?"

Jiahao's eyes had traveled over him in a way that made his skin crawl. "You're pretty. In that... ambiguous way. There are people who'd pay a lot for that."

"I'm not—"

"Not prostitution," Jiahao interrupted, though his tone suggested that was exactly what he meant. "Just... companionship. One-time things. Rich people with specific tastes." He'd pulled out his phone, showing Anxin a website. Discreet. Encrypted. "I used to do it. Before I got this job. One night paid more than a month here."

Anxin should have walked away. Should have reported it. Should have done anything except take Jiahao's phone and scroll through listings of people advertising themselves like products.

But he thought of his grandmother. Of the medication she needed. Of her face when she'd told him not to worry, that she'd lived a long life already.

"How much?" he heard himself ask.

The profile Jiahao helped him create was sparse. No face photos—just his body, draped in shadows. Stats: 172cm, 47kg, 20 years old, inexperienced. Preferences: negotiable.

He'd expected nothing. Maybe a few creeps he could ignore.

Instead, his inbox exploded.

Apparently, there was a market for what he was. Small. Delicate. Androgynous enough to blur lines. The offers ranged from insulting to terrifying, and Anxin had nearly deleted the whole account when one message came through.

User: _LSW00

One night. Name your price. My place. I'll send a car.

No dick pics. No degrading requests. Just a simple transaction.

Anxin had checked the profile. Verified account. High rating from other users who'd... provided services. Discreet. Clean health records uploaded. Wealthy, from the penthouse address listed.

He'd typed back before he could stop himself.

User: Anxi_Z

5 million won.

It was an insane number. More than he'd make in four months at all three jobs combined. Enough to pay the hospital and buy time to figure out the rest.

He'd expected radio silence. A laugh react maybe.

Instead:

User: _LSW00

Done. Tomorrow night. Car picks you up at 8 PM. Location attached. Bring nothing. I'll provide everything you need.

And that was how Zhou Anxin found himself standing outside a luxury apartment complex in Gangnam, staring up at a building that looked like it cost more than his entire neighborhood in Shanghai.

The car had been a black Mercedes. The driver hadn't spoken. And now Anxin stood in front of a private elevator that required a keycard, feeling like he was about to walk into his own execution.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

Penthouse. Elevator code is 1026. Door's open. Come in.

Anxin's fingers trembled as he entered the code.

The elevator rose smoothly, silently, while his heart tried to punch through his ribs. This was insane. This was dangerous. He didn't know this person. Didn't know what they wanted beyond the obvious. Didn't know if he'd leave here in one piece.

But five million won.

Five million won meant his grandmother lived.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.

Anxin stepped into a space that looked like something from a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Expensive furniture in blacks and greys. Stained glass panels that caught the city lights and threw colors across marble floors.

And standing by the window, back turned, was a man.

Tall. Muscular in a way that suggested violence. Blonde hair that caught the light. When he turned, Anxin's breath caught.

He was beautiful. Harshly, cruelly beautiful. Sharp jawline, cold grey eyes, a face that belonged on billboards. There was a devil mask tattoo crawling up his left arm, visible beneath his rolled shirt sleeves.

"Zhou Anxin?" His voice was deep, rough, with a Seoul accent that turned the Chinese name awkward.

"Yes," Anxin whispered.

The man looked him over with the same clinical assessment a butcher might give meat. "You're smaller than your photos suggested."

"I didn't—"

"I don't care." He moved closer, and Anxin forced himself not to step back. "Rules. You do what I say, when I say it. You don't leave until I'm done. You don't speak unless I ask you a question. You take what I give you. Understand?"

Anxin's mouth was dry. "I... what exactly—"

"Do. You. Understand?"

There was something terrifying in those grey eyes. Something that suggested disobedience would have consequences.

Anxin nodded.

"Out loud."

"I understand."

The man smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Good. I'm Lee Sangwon."

And that was when Anxin realized he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Zhou Anxin stood in the center of the sprawling penthouse, the heavy silence of the room pressing in on him. 

The man circling him like a predator was nothing like the clean, professional profile suggested. Up close, Sangwon radiated danger. Those grey eyes assessed him with the cold calculation of someone evaluating merchandise, not a person.

"You're a virgin," Sangwon said. Not a question.

Anxin's throat went dry. "I... does it matter?"

"It matters because virgins are either annoying or profitable. Which are you?"

"I don't—"

"Strip."

The command cut through the air like a blade. Anxin's hands trembled as they went to the hem of his shirt.

"Wait." Sangwon held up a hand. "Slowly. I paid for the whole experience."

Shame burned through Anxin's chest, but he did as told. Pulled his shirt over his head slowly, revealing pale skin, visible ribs from too many skipped meals, and the faded scars on his arms from years ago. Self-harm marks he thought he'd hidden well.

Sangwon's eyes tracked over them without comment. "Keep going."

Pants next. The cheap jeans he'd worn, sliding down his too-thin legs. His hands hesitated at his underwear.

"Problem?" Sangwon asked, voice dangerously soft.

"I've never... no one's ever seen me..."

"I'm paying five million won. I'm seeing everything." Sangwon sat down on the expensive couch, legs spread, completely relaxed. "Underwear. Off."

Anxin squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his underwear down.

The air conditioning made his skin pebble. He was painfully aware of every flaw—the burn marks on his thigh from a childhood accident, the way his hip bones jutted out, how small and soft his cock looked, untouched and terrified.

"Open your eyes."

He did. Sangwon was staring at him with an expression that might have been satisfaction.

"Turn around. Slowly."

Anxin turned, face burning. He could feel those eyes on every part of him—his back, his ass, his legs. Being examined like livestock.

"You'll do," Sangwon said finally. "Bedroom. Last door on the right."

The bedroom was enormous. King-sized bed with black silk sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. And against one wall, a cabinet that Sangwon opened to reveal—

Anxin's stomach dropped.

Toys. So many toys. Dildos in various sizes, some realistic, some abstract. Vibrators. Plugs. Things with straps and buckles that Anxin didn't recognize. Bottles of lube. A whole arsenal of things meant to be put inside bodies.

"Ever used any of these?" Sangwon asked, running his fingers over the collection.

"No," Anxin whispered.

"Good. I like teaching." Sangwon selected a few items—a small bottle of lube, something slim and cylindrical, and a dildo that made Anxin's eyes widen with fear. It was thick, realistic, with prominent veins molded into the silicone.

"That won't—I can't—"

"Not yet," Sangwon agreed. "We'll work up to it. Get on the bed. On your back."

Anxin climbed onto the bed with shaking limbs. The silk was cool against his skin. He lay there, naked and vulnerable, while Sangwon undressed with casual efficiency.

When Sangwon's shirt came off, Anxin saw the full extent of his build. Heavily muscled—shoulders, chest, arms corded with strength. The devil tattoo seemed to writhe in the low light. His body was a weapon, honed and dangerous.

Then his pants came off.

Anxin's breath caught.

Sangwon was big. Proportional to his body, but big—thick and long, already half-hard and growing as he approached the bed. Anxin had nothing to compare it to except online porn he'd accidentally seen, but instinct told him this was going to hurt.

"You're scared," Sangwon observed, kneeling on the bed between Anxin's legs.

"Yes," Anxin admitted, because lying seemed pointless.

"Good. Fear makes you honest." Sangwon's large hands gripped Anxin's knees, spreading them apart. "Rule one: You do what I say, when I say it. Rule two: You don't tell me to stop unless you're genuinely injured. Discomfort doesn't count. Rule three: I don't care if you cry, but I do care if you're loud enough to disturb neighbors. Understand?"

Anxin nodded, throat too tight for words.

"Out loud."

"I understand," he managed.

"Good boy."

Sangwon's hands weren't gentle as they explored Anxin's body. They mapped him with clinical interest—thumbs brushing over nipples, making Anxin gasp. Palms sliding down his ribs, over his concave stomach, gripping his thighs hard enough to leave marks.

"Responsive," Sangwon murmured. "That'll make this easier."

He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers generously. "Ever touched yourself here?" His finger circled Anxin's entrance, and Anxin jerked at the foreign sensation.

"No—"

"Never? Not even curious?"

"No, I—" Shame choked him. "I never had time, I was always working, I didn't—"

"Relax." Sangwon's finger pressed inside.

The intrusion was immediate and wrong. Anxin's body tensed, trying to reject it, but Sangwon's other hand came down on his stomach, holding him in place.

"I said relax. Breathe."

"It feels—it's too—"

"It's one finger. You're taking my cock before the night's over. This is mercy." Sangwon pushed deeper, and Anxin whimpered. "There we go. Not so bad, is it?"

It was bad. It felt invasive and uncomfortable and nothing like the vague pleasure people talked about. Just Sangwon's thick finger moving inside him, stretching virgin muscle that burned in protest.

A second finger joined the first.

Anxin cried out, hands fisting in the sheets. "Wait—please—"

"No waiting. You need to be opened up properly or this'll be much worse." Sangwon scissored his fingers, and Anxin sobbed at the stretch. "So tight. You really have never done this."

"I told you—"

"People lie." Sangwon's fingers crooked, pressing against something inside that made Anxin's back arch involuntarily. "There it is. Your prostate. Every time I touch it, you're going to feel—"

He pressed again, and pleasure sparked through the discomfort—sharp and confusing and overwhelming. Anxin's soft cock twitched, trying to fill.

"See? Your body knows what it wants even if you don't."

Three fingers. Anxin was crying now, tears sliding into his hairline. The stretch was too much, the burn intense, Sangwon's fingers were so thick and there were three of them moving inside him, pumping in and out, opening him up.

"Please—it hurts—"

"It's supposed to hurt. You're a virgin taking three fingers." Sangwon's voice was matter-of-fact. "But look—" He wrapped his other hand around Anxin's cock, now half-hard despite everything. "You're getting hard. Your body's adapting."

"I don't want—"

"What you want doesn't matter. I paid for this." Sangwon removed his fingers abruptly, and Anxin gasped at the sudden emptiness. "Time for the real preparation."

He reached for the slim cylindrical object—a small vibrator, Anxin realized with dawning horror.

"No—not that—"

"Yes, this." Sangwon slicked it with lube. "It'll help loosen you up. Make you wet inside." He pressed it against Anxin's entrance. "Deep breath."

It slid in easier than the fingers—narrower, smoother. Anxin felt it settle inside him, foreign and intrusive.

Then Sangwon turned it on.

The vibration was immediate and intense. Anxin's whole body jerked, sensations flooding him that he had no context for. It buzzed directly against his prostate, forcing his cock to harden against his will.

"There we go," Sangwon said with satisfaction. "Much better. Stay like that while I get ready."

"What—you're leaving it—"

"For ten minutes. Let it do its work." Sangwon stood, walked away to the bathroom.

Anxin lay there, vibrator buzzing inside him, body shaking. His cock was hard now, leaking against his stomach. The pleasure was constant and maddening, building something he didn't know how to handle. He'd never masturbated, never explored this, and now he was being forced into arousal by a machine inside him.

It was humiliating.

When Sangwon returned, Anxin was a mess. Breathing hard, cock fully erect, a small wet spot on the sheets from precome.

"Perfect," Sangwon said. He turned off the vibrator, removed it slowly. Anxin whimpered at the loss—hating that his body had adapted to the intrusion. "Now you're ready."

He selected the dildo from earlier—the thick, realistic one.

"No—" Anxin tried to sit up. "That's too big—"

Sangwon pushed him back down with one hand on his chest. "It's smaller than my cock. If you can't take this, you definitely can't take me." He positioned the dildo at Anxin's entrance. "Last chance to relax."

He pushed it in.

Anxin screamed.

The stretch was unbearable. The dildo was thick—thicker than the vibrator, thicker than three fingers. It forced him open, splitting him wide, and Anxin sobbed as it sank deeper, deeper, filling him in a way that felt impossible.

"Too much—stop—please stop—"

"Halfway," Sangwon said, unmoved by the tears streaming down Anxin's face. "You can take more."

"I can't—"

"You will." Another push. The dildo sank deeper. Anxin felt impossibly full, stretched beyond capacity. His rim burned, muscles screaming in protest. "Almost there."

When it was fully seated—balls deep, the base pressing against Anxin's perineum—Anxin was sobbing openly, chest heaving.

"Good boy," Sangwon murmured, almost gentle. "You took all of it. See? Your body can handle more than you think." He gripped the base, pulled it out slightly, then thrust it back in.

Anxin wailed.

Sangwon fucked him with the dildo slowly at first, then faster. Long strokes that dragged against his insides, that pressed his prostate, that made his cock leak even as he cried. His body was betraying him—clenching around the silicone, getting wetter from the lube and his own internal fluids, accepting the invasion even as his mind screamed.

"Look how well you take it," Sangwon said, voice rough now with his own arousal. "Natural talent. You were made for this."

"Please—please—" Anxin didn't even know what he was begging for anymore.

Sangwon pulled the dildo out completely. Anxin gasped at the emptiness, rim twitching, gaping slightly from the stretch.

"Now you're ready for me."

He positioned himself between Anxin's legs, gripping his thighs and pushing them up and back, folding Anxin nearly in half. The position exposed him completely—rim still loose and slick, cock hard against his stomach, face soaked with tears.

Sangwon's cock pressed against his entrance. Thick and hot and real.

"Wait—" Anxin tried one more time. "Please, can we—I need a minute—"

"No." Sangwon pushed inside.

The dildo hadn't prepared him enough. Sangwon was thicker, harder, and alive in a way that made everything worse. Anxin felt every inch as it forced him open, stretching him past what the toy had managed. His rim burned, inner walls clenching and failing to keep the intrusion out.

Sangwon didn't stop. Didn't pause. Just pushed steadily until he was fully seated, hips flush against Anxin's ass.

Anxin couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the massive presence inside him, splitting him open, filling him so completely he felt it in his stomach.

"Fuck," Sangwon groaned. "So tight. Virgin hole feels incredible."

He pulled back and thrust in hard.

Anxin's scream was broken, airless. The pleasure-pain was overwhelming—Sangwon's cock dragging against his prostate, his rim stretching with each thrust, the weight of Sangwon's body pinning him down.

Sangwon set a brutal pace. No gentleness, no building up. Just hard, deep thrusts that punched sounds out of Anxin—sobs, gasps, broken pleas that went ignored.

"Take it," Sangwon growled. "Earn your money."

His hands gripped Anxin's thighs hard enough to bruise, holding him in place. The bed shook with each thrust. The obscene slap of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with Anxin's crying and Sangwon's rough breathing.

It went on forever. Anxin's mind fragmented, splitting off from his body. He floated somewhere above himself, watching this happen to someone else. Watching a small, broken boy get fucked into a mattress by a man who didn't care if he was crying.

His cock was still hard. Still leaking. The prostate stimulation was constant, building something terrible in his gut.

"You're going to come," Sangwon said, reading his body. "From just my cock. Virgin slut."

"No—I don't want—"

But Sangwon angled his hips, hitting that spot dead-on with each thrust, and Anxin's body seized. He came untouched, cock spurting across his own stomach, orgasm ripping through him like violence. His muscles clenched around Sangwon's length, and he sobbed through it—pleasure and pain and shame mixing into something incomprehensible.

"There it is," Sangwon groaned. "Fuckkk—tight—"

He thrust harder, chasing his own finish. Anxin was limp beneath him, wrung out, body just taking it. When Sangwon finally came, he buried himself deep and stayed there, grinding against Anxin's prostate while he filled him with heat.

Anxin felt it. Felt the pulse of Sangwon's cock, the warmth flooding his insides. Felt claimed and used and completely destroyed.

Sangwon pulled out slowly. Anxin whimpered at the drag, at the emptiness that followed. He felt liquid leak from his gaping rim—lube and come mixing, sliding down to stain the sheets.

He'd been thoroughly fucked. Thoroughly opened. His first time, and he'd been split apart by a stranger who'd paid for the privilege.

Sangwon stood, breathing hard, looking down at the wreckage he'd made.

"You did well," he said, like it was a compliment.

Then he tossed a robe at Anxin's shaking form. "Bathroom's there. Clean up."

And Anxin, moving on autopilot, gathered the robe and stumbled to the bathroom on legs that didn't work right. He locked the door, turned on the shower, and vomited into the toilet until there was nothing left.

When he looked in the mirror, he didn't recognize himself.

The person staring back was hollowed out. Used. Nothing left behind the eyes.

He showered in water too hot, scrubbing at his skin until it was red, but couldn't wash away the feeling of being owned.

When he emerged, dressed in his own clothes that felt wrong now, Sangwon was on the couch, scrolling his phone.

He looked up. Studied Anxin's tear-stained face.

"You did well," he repeated. Then he transferred the money. Five million won. Blood money. "Car will take you home."

Anxin fled.

And in the Mercedes, staring at his phone screen showing the deposit, he finally understood what he'd sold.

Not just his body.

His soul.

He didn't remember all of it. His mind had fractured somewhere between the bedroom and the pain, splitting into pieces that wouldn't quite reconnect.

He remembered Sangwon's hands—large, calloused, strong enough to bruise. Remembered being pushed onto a bed that was too soft, too expensive. Remembered his clothes being removed with efficiency rather than tenderness.

Remembered toys. So many toys, in a cabinet that opened like a treasure chest of nightmares.

Remembered Sangwon's voice, low and commanding, telling him to hold still, to take it, to stop making those sounds unless he wanted the neighbors to hear.

Remembered crying. Begging. Being told that he'd agreed to this, that he was being paid for this, that he'd better earn every won.

Remembered pain that eclipsed anything he'd ever felt. Remembered pleasure that felt like drowning. Remembered his body betraying him over and over while his mind screamed.

Remembered Sangwon's face above him, eyes dark and focused, chasing a high that had nothing to do with Anxin at all.

He'd paid the hospital that night. Paid his rent. Bought actual food. And then he'd collapsed in his tiny apartment and cried for six hours straight.

His body hurt everywhere. Inside and out. Bruises bloomed across his thighs, his hips, his wrists. He couldn't sit properly for three days.

But his grandmother was alive.

And that was supposed to make it worth it.

When the messages started coming, Anxin ignored them.

Unknown Number:

Same time next week?

Unknown Number:

I'll double the payment.

Unknown Number:

Answer me.

He blocked the number. Then blocked the next one. And the next.

He deleted his profile from the website. Changed his normal number. Picked up extra shifts at the convenience store to avoid going home, to avoid thinking, to avoid the nightmares that came every time he closed his eyes.

Two weeks.

He'd managed two weeks of pretending that night had never happened.

And then Lee Sangwon walked into his convenience store at 2 AM, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him out into the street.

"Let go!" Anxin struggled, but it was like fighting iron. "I'll scream—"

"Scream," Sangwon said flatly. "No one gives a shit at this hour."

He wasn't wrong. The street was empty except for a few drunk salarymen stumbling home.

"I don't want to—I'm not doing that again—"

Sangwon shoved him into the back of the same black Mercedes. Climbed in after him. The door locks clicked.

"Drive," Sangwon told the driver.

"No—" Anxin grabbed for the door handle. Locked. "Let me out!"

Sangwon caught his wrist, yanked him back hard enough that Anxin's shoulder screamed. "You've been ignoring me."

"I don't owe you anything!"

"You took my money. Did the job half-assed and ran." Those grey eyes were cold as winter. "I had the best match of my fucking career after that night. Knocked my opponent out in the second round. Every punch landed perfectly. Every move was flawless." He leaned closer, and Anxin could smell his cologne—expensive, overwhelming. "You know what I think? I think you're my good luck charm. My perfect little jinx-breaker."

"I don't know what you're—"

"So here's what's going to happen." Sangwon released his wrist, pulled out his phone, and opened a document. "You're going to sign this. A contract. Your body, whenever I need it before a match, in exchange for complete financial security. I pay your debts. I pay your bills. I give you an allowance. You live comfortably, and all you have to do is spread your legs when I tell you to."

Anxin stared at him. "You're insane."

"I'm practical." Sangwon scrolled through the contract. "Ten million won a month. All your grandmother's medical bills covered. An apartment in a better neighborhood. You quit those shit jobs and focus on whatever you want—finish university, learn a skill, I don't care."

"I won't—"

"Or," Sangwon continued, voice dropping, "I make one phone call to immigration about your expired visa. Another call to the website about your profile—I screenshotted everything before you deleted it. Send it to your mother in Shanghai. Your friends. Everyone you've ever known." He smiled, and it was cruel. "You think you have nothing to lose? Everyone has something to lose, Zhou Anxin."

The car was moving through the city, heading toward Gangnam. Toward that building. That penthouse.

Anxin's hands fisted in his lap. "This is illegal. You can't—"

"Can't I?" Sangwon tilted his head. "You came to me. You sold yourself. I'm just proposing a long-term business arrangement instead of one-time transactions." He held out his phone. "Sign. Or get out and go back to your pathetic life. But know that if you walk away, I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what you did to earn that five million won."

Tears burned in Anxin's eyes. "I hate you."

"You don't have to like me. You just have to fuck me."

The car pulled up to the building. The driver got out, opened Sangwon's door. Sangwon stepped out, then looked back at Anxin, still frozen in the seat.

"Coming? Or should I start making calls?"

Anxin looked at the phone in Sangwon's hand. At the contract glowing on the screen. At the building that loomed above them like a prison.

He thought of his grandmother. Of her medication. Of the debts that would never end. Of the wheel he'd been running on for so long that his legs had forgotten how to stop.

Money can't buy happiness.

But maybe it could buy survival.

Anxin got out of the car.

Followed Lee Sangwon into the elevator.

Rode up to the penthouse in silence while his heart broke into smaller and smaller pieces.

The door opened. Sangwon walked in, tossed his jacket aside, and gestured to the contract now pulled up on a tablet sitting on the coffee table.

"Read it. Sign it. Then we'll discuss exactly what I expect from you."

Anxin picked up the tablet with shaking hands. The contract was detailed. Horrifically detailed. Specifying frequency, duration, acts, boundaries (or lack thereof), payment schedules, termination clauses.

At the bottom, a line for his signature.

He looked up. Sangwon was watching him with those cold grey eyes, expression unreadable.

"Why me?" Anxin whispered. "There are thousands of people who would do this. Prettier people. More experienced people."

Sangwon was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Because after I fucked you, I won. And I haven't lost since that night." He moved closer, reached out, and Anxin flinched. Sangwon's hand caught his chin anyway, tilting his face up. "I don't believe in luck. But I believe in patterns. And you, Anxin, are my pattern."

"This isn't... you can't keep me like a—"

"Like a what? A pet?" Sangwon's thumb brushed across his lower lip. "You can leave anytime. Just sign the termination clause, pay back everything I've spent on you, and walk away." His smile was razor-sharp. "Of course, that means your grandmother loses her treatment. You lose your apartment. You go back to that wheel."

He released Anxin's chin, stepped back.

"Your choice. It's always your choice."

But they both knew that was a lie.

Anxin looked at the contract. At the numbers that would save his family. At the words that would sell his body.

He thought about happiness. About dignity. About all the things he'd already sacrificed just to survive.

What's one more?

His hand moved. Found the stylus. Hovered over the signature line.

"If I sign this," he said softly, "what happens to me?"

Sangwon considered the question. "You become mine. And I take care of what's mine."

Anxin closed his eyes. Took a breath that tasted like defeat.

And signed his name.

The contract pinged, finalized, legally binding.

Sangwon's smile widened. "Good boy." He picked up the tablet, set it aside, and looked at Anxin like a predator that had just secured its prey. "Now. Let's discuss your first payment."

"I thought—you don't have a match for—"

"Consider this," Sangwon interrupted, already moving toward the bedroom, "a training session. You were sloppy last time. Loud. Undisciplined." He glanced back over his shoulder. "If you're going to be my jinx-breaker, you need to learn how to take me properly."

Anxin's blood ran cold.

"Strip," Sangwon ordered. "And come here."

For a moment—one brief, shining moment—Anxin considered running. Tearing up the contract. Throwing himself out the window. Anything but following Lee Sangwon into that bedroom again.

But then he thought of his grandmother's smile. Of his mother's rare moments of softness. Of the hospital bills that were now paid.

This is the price, he thought. This is what survival costs.

So Zhou Anxin, poor child with nothing left to lose, began to undress.

And Lee Sangwon, the Emperor, watched with eyes like winter and smiled.