The city lights blurred in Han Minwoo's teary eyes as he stood on the edge of the bridge, the wind brushing past his skin like invisible fingers pulling him toward the fall. His breath reeked of alcohol, and the half-empty wine bottle in his hand trembled as tightly as his grip on reality.
The headlines had played on repeat in his mind for days:
"Cha Yejun Drops Out of BL Drama, Blames Co-Star for Poor Chemistry."
"Han Minwoo Accused of Lacking Emotion—Dropped From Cast."
"Kang Harin and Yejun: The Visual Couple We Deserve!"
He bit his lip, the sting of betrayal piercing sharper than the cold night air.
Cha Yejun had looked him in the eye and said,
"Minwoo, your acting skills are low. We can't work together anymore."
Then just like that, he was replaced. Replaced and forgotten.
Yejun's name trended for days—this time as half of the industry's new golden ship with Kang Harin, the nation's sweetheart.
And Minwoo?
He was slaughtered online.
Mocked.
Cancelled.
Forgotten.
The contracts disappeared.
The producers who once praised him turned silent.
The fans who used to scream his name… didn't even defend him.
Now, all he had left was this moment—standing on a high bridge, cars racing behind him, none of them noticing the man on the edge.
Minwoo stared into the glowing skyline. The city was still beautiful. Cruel, but beautiful.
"I worked hard… too hard," Minwoo whispered, his voice trembling. "But in the end, I have nothing."
He threw the wine bottle.
It shattered far below—like the last piece of himself.
He took one slow step forward.
Eyes closed.
He saw flashes—
The lights of the award stage.
The cheers of his fans.
The warmth of past scenes.
The feeling of finally being enough.
Then—
A hand.
Strong. Firm.
Wrapping around his waist and dragging him back with force.
He gasped as his back slammed against a chest. The scent of cologne cut through the alcohol haze, crisp and unfamiliar.
Minwoo blinked through the blur. His heart pounded as he turned his head.
The man holding him stood tall, eyes calm and unreadable beneath the city lights.
Ryu Jihan.
The biggest name in the industry.
Untouchable. Cold. Brilliant.
And here he was—his hand still gripping Minwoo's trembling wrist.
"What are you trying to do?"
Ryu Jihan's voice was low—dangerous, sharp enough to slice through the fog in Minwoo's mind.
Minwoo stumbled upright, heart still racing from the sudden pull. He turned his head, eyes widening in disbelief as they locked onto the man's face.
He whispered, barely breathing,
"Is he really... Ryu Jihan?"
The man didn't answer.
Without another word, Jihan grabbed Minwoo's wrist again—firm, unrelenting—and led him away from the edge. Minwoo was too stunned, too drunk to resist. He followed in a daze, each step dragging him closer to reality and farther from the fall.
Jihan opened the door of a sleek black car and gently pushed him inside.
Minwoo blinked, head spinning, the night air replaced by warm leather seats and the faint scent of luxury.
He looked around in confusion, his thoughts hazy.
"Did... a hot top superstar just save me?"
"And take me to his car?"
The idea sounded too absurd to be real.
He leaned his head back, eyelids fluttering shut.
"What a beautiful dream," Minwoo murmured to himself, his voice soft, almost childlike. Then, with a faint sigh, he closed his eyes.
Minwoo's eyes fluttered open slowly, his head pounding from the aftermath of too much alcohol. A low groan escaped his lips as he sat up, pressing a hand against his throbbing temple.
His gaze swept across the room.
"This… isn't mine."
He whispered the words as confusion settled deep in his chest.
The room was massive—too big, too perfect. Velvet curtains swayed gently by the tall windows. Designer furniture. Marble floors. The faint scent of fresh linen and cologne. Everything screamed luxury.
He stood up shakily, his legs weak beneath him, and wandered toward the door. Stepping into the hallway, he found more of the same—refined, silent, expensive.
No one was around.
This house—no, mansion—looked like it belonged in a drama. Every step he took felt like walking deeper into someone else's world. His fingertips grazed along the polished wood railing as he descended the stairs, careful not to make a sound.
Then he heard it.
A soft clatter of pans. The faint sizzle of something frying.
Minwoo paused.
He moved closer, the sound drawing him in like a thread pulling him toward reality.
Peeking around the corner into the kitchen, he froze.
There, in the center of the bright, modern kitchen, stood a man in an apron—calmly cooking. His hair slightly tousled, sleeves rolled up, movements efficient and graceful.
Ryu Jihan.
Minwoo's eyes widened in disbelief. He quickly ducked behind the wall, his breath catching in his throat.
"Is it really true?" he whispered, heart pounding.
"Did Ryu Jihan really save me… and bring me to his home?"
He leaned against the wall, face flushed with shock.
"Isn't this all just a dream?"
Minwoo whispered to himself,
"What should I do…?"
He cautiously peeked around the corner again—but this time, he froze.
Ryu Jihan was standing right in front of him.
His tall figure cast a long shadow, and those cold, unreadable eyes locked onto Minwoo like he had seen right through him.
"Are you trying to run?" Jihan asked, voice low and sharp.
Minwoo stumbled over his words, unsure how to respond.
"I… I was just thinking where I am because last night I…"
"Because last night, you were trying to kill yourself," Jihan cut him off flatly. "You were drunk. I saved you."
Minwoo looked down, shame burning in his chest.
"Thanks… for helping me. I should go now. Where are my belongings? Can you give me my phone?"
Jihan didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed Minwoo's wrist again and pulled him firmly toward the dining table.
"Sit down," he ordered.
Minwoo blinked in confusion but followed, unable to resist the authority in Jihan's voice. He sat at the table as told, watching silently as Jihan placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him.
"It'll help with your hangover headache," Jihan said.
Minwoo stared at the bowl. He hesitated at first… but eventually picked up the spoon. The soup was warm, comforting—and surprisingly delicious.
"Thanks again… for saving me," Minwoo said nervously. "And I'm sorry if I caused any trouble last night."
Jihan's eyes didn't soften.
"I know you were dumped by your partner actor and lost all your reputation," he said bluntly.
Minwoo looked up at him, startled by his cold, matter-of-fact tone.
Then Jihan added,
"I have an offer for you. If you accept it, I'll give you back what you lost."
Minwoo blinked, his spoon pausing mid-air.
"What…? What kind of offer?"
Jihan stared straight into his eyes.
"Sleep with me."
"I'll make you a rising star again."
Minwoo froze, heart pounding.
"What…? Did I hear that wrong?"
But Jihan's face remained calm, detached.
"You didn't. I'll give you back your reputation, your fame, your status. And in return… give me your body."
Minwoo's breath hitched. His thoughts raced.
"You're completely doomed, Han Minwoo. There's no chance for you to succeed again."
"But with me… you can. Just accept the offer. I'm your last hope."
Minwoo's mind swirled.
He's really asking this…? Ryu Jihan wants to sleep with me?
How I was scolded by the media… dumped and humiliated. I wanted to shine again.
Is this… my last chance?
He looked at Jihan, eyes trembling.
Then quietly, he said,
"I'm ready."
Jihan stood up and leaned in. His lips brushed softly against Minwoo's—light, but possessive.
"The rules are simple," he whispered coldly. "Do what I say. You're mine now."