The penthouse suite was an island of oppressive luxury, and for Min-seo, it had become a place of profound psychological tension. As she moved through the suite, her footsteps were silent, her expression a mask of professional composure, but her mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. She had spent her entire career perfecting the art of being the invisible facilitator, the ghost who ensured the seamless comfort of the elite. But as she moved toward the master bathroom to prepare the evening's bath, the words Mirae had whispered to her earlier continued to echo in her mind.
"Do you really think he would?"
The question had been a seed, planted in the fertile soil of Min-seo's secret desires, and it was now growing into a sprawling, uncontrollable vine. For the first time in years, Min-seo was allowing herself to envision a life where she wasn't just the one who opened the door or poured the wine. She imagined herself as the one being held, claimed, and desired.
