Minho Kang's POV
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I stood in front of the door, the weight of the box biting into my palms. For a moment, I hesitated, listening to the faint crackle of a cigarette burning inside. With a soft knock, I pushed the door open.
The scent hit me first—smoke, thick and bitter, curling lazily in the air, settling into the expensive leather and polished wood of the penthouse. My gaze lifted, and there he was.
Leon.
Tall and motionless, his back to me, shoulders squared as he stared through the vast floor-to-ceiling window of the fiftieth floor. The city lights sprawled beneath us like a jeweled blanket, but his eyes weren't on the skyline. They were fixed on the small, unassuming apartment building across the street.
Her apartment.
For three days now, since he purchased this fifty-story fortress of glass and steel, he had stood in that same spot, watching.
Watching Ms. Sze.
Watching her life play out through the windows across the street like it was a private theater meant for him alone.
I set the box down on the polished floor and approached quietly, my eyes following his line of sight. He had memorized her routine with the precision of a soldier: mornings at the convenience store, evenings jogging through the narrow streets, yesterday a short walk through the park. Nothing escaped him. Not a movement, not a breath.
It seemed, to me, he found more satisfaction in stalking her than signing papers in his office.
It was obsession disguised as observation.
"Did you bring it?" His voice cut through the silence. Deep. Low. Tired—but sharp as steel.
"Yes, young master. It's in the box."
He didn't look at me. Instead, he exhaled one last drag, the tip of his cigarette glowing faintly like an ember in the dusk. He crushed it into the ashtray on his desk with deliberate slowness before crossing the room.
I watched as he lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a collection of ordinary rags: scuffed sneakers with frayed laces, hoodies dulled with dust, jeans ripped at the knees, plain shirts softened from overuse. Clothes that carried no name, no history. Clothes meant for someone invisible.
A strange unease prickled the back of my neck.
What is he planning?
Tonight, Ms. Sze would begin her new job—a waitress at a modest bistro tucked between old buildings. A job that paid just enough, that aligned with her school schedule. A job that looked simple, but nothing about her ever truly was.
Sherina Sze was no ordinary woman. She was cunning in her own way. She chose workplaces like a strategist picking her battlefield. She used her beauty and wit as shields and weapons—drawing customers, securing money, all without ever cheapening herself. She knew the power she carried in her beauty, in her intellect, and she wielded it with calculation. She never sold herself—but she never gave herself for free either.
That was how she climbed so quickly years ago, rising as the top woman of Lea Rowe's exclusive lounge without ever surrendering her purity.
A woman like that… she's no fool.
To me, Sherina Sze had always been a dangerous woman.
"What do you think?"
Leon's voice snapped me back.
I turned—and froze.
He stood before me transformed.
The tailored suit, the gleaming shoes, the aura of cold aristocracy—gone. In their place: a faded hoodie that slouched carelessly on his frame, rugged jeans that looked borrowed from a street boy, sneakers worn to the bone. A single stud earring glinted faintly against the harsh light, and on his lips curved a smile I had rarely seen—mischievous.
But his eyes. His eyes betrayed the truth. Dark. Intense. Burning with something dangerous and unreadable.
"Do I look like an ordinary boy now?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, like an actor waiting for applause.
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Yes, young master."
He smirked at my response, satisfied, as though he had just shed his old skin and slipped into a new one.
Watching him, my chest tightened with dread.
Because Sherina Sze may be a frightening woman—sharp, calculating, endlessly dangerous.
But Leon…
Leon is far more terrifying.
A man whose mind no one could decipher.
I don't know which of the two is more despicable.
But I do know this—
Leon Hak is not a man to be underestimated.
He is a storm waiting to be unleashed.
He is unpredictable. And unpredictability, more than anything, is what makes me tremble.
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Sherina's POV
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Ring. Ring. Ring.
The shrill sound of my alarm clock yanked me from sleep. My hand slapped it off in one annoyed motion. Five in the evening. My first night at the bistro. No time to waste.
I shot up from bed, stumbled into the cramped bathroom, and let the cold shower wake me up completely. In less than an hour, I was dressed—faded jeans, a fitted turtleneck jacket zipped to my neck, my long hair still damp against my shoulders.
The bistro was barely ten minutes away, but the minutes felt like daggers stabbing at my back. I ran through the narrow alley, heart pounding, dodging stray cats and laundry lines that hung from windows.
By the time I slipped into the bistro, the place was already buzzing. Warm lights glowed against brick walls, laughter mixed with the clinking of glasses, and the faint aroma of grilled meat and garlic butter filled the air.
Sid, the owner, ran his small kingdom with sharp eyes and sharper commands.
I hurried into the locker room, changed into the uniform: a black skirt above the knee, a black polo shirt that buttoned neatly to my collarbone, a small red apron tied snug around my waist and a black cap with a touch of red on it. My long hair I gathered into a high ponytail. Not my preferred look, but neat enough to pass Sid's hawk-like inspection.
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"Sherina! Table twelve!" Sid barked.
"Yes, Boss!" I called, darting across the floor with drinks balanced on a tray.
The bistro thrummed with life, especially at night. Being just a block away from the towering BPO building, it became a refuge for night-shift workers spilling out after long hours under fluorescent lights. Some came in laughing with their teammates, still buzzing with leftover energy, while others dragged their feet, craving only food, alcohol, and a little distraction before heading home. The air smelled of grilled meat and beer foam, the hum of conversation rising and falling like waves, a rhythm I was already used to.
I was no stranger to this. I'd worked in call centers, smoky bars, crowded samgyupsal restaurants, even in exclusive clubs where the lights never dimmed.
Pressure was nothing new to me. Pressure was survival.
"Sherina! New customer!" Jenny called from the cashier's counter.
"On it!" I answered, balancing a heavy bucket of beer on one shoulder, a tray of steaming food in the other hand. I dropped off the orders at table twelve, plastered on a polite smile, and made my way to table ten.
A man in a plain hoodie sat alone, his gaze fixed on the window beside him. Something about his posture was… familiar. My steps slowed.
"Hi, sir. May I take your order?" I asked, keeping my tone crisp, professional.
"Yes. A glass of whiskey on the rocks… and pork ribs with mashed potatoes."
That voice.
The pen froze. My chest tightened. I slowly lifted my gaze.
"Le—" The name nearly tumbled out, but I stopped myself.
And there it was. That smirk. Bright. Knowing. Infuriating.
"Oh. So you work here? What a coincidence." His chin rested lazily on his hand, but his eyes burned holes straight into me.
Heat rushed to my face. My blood roared in my ears. He shouldn't be here. Not him.
Without thinking, I blurted, loud enough for half the staff to hear:
"Oh my gosh! Sir! You peed your pants! Hurry, the washroom is this way!"
A few curious heads turned. Leon's smirk faltered for the first time, replaced by genuine shock. Before he could recover, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the back exit, slamming the door shut behind us.
The door slammed behind us. I leaned on it, breathless, glaring at him. He stood a few feet away, still wearing that ridiculous hoodie—and that even more ridiculous smirk.
"Tell me. Why are you here? And why are you dressed like that?" My arms crossed tightly over my chest.
Leon tilted his head, studying me with maddening calm. Then he let out a low laugh. "What an introduction. I've been here for less than five minutes and you've already humiliated me in public."
"Answer me."
"Relax," he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "I happened to pass by. Haven't had dinner yet. Heard this little bistro was famous for good food at a cheap price."
I frowned, my chest tightening. "And the clothes? Don't tell me you lost all your millions in three days."
His laugh was soft, taunting. "And if I did? Would you adopt me?"
"Sherina!" Sid's voice cut through the air from inside.
"Coming!" I called back, not breaking eye contact with Leon.
"Fine," I hissed. "But you'd better explain yourself later." I turned, yanking open the door, leaving him leaning casually against the wall, that smile still plastered on his face.
Inside, Sid's sharp eyes darted toward me. "Where did you go? Where's the customer?"
"Stomach ache," I said quickly, slipping past him and dropping an order slip on Jenny's counter. "Table ten's order. He's still in the washroom."
When I returned to the dining area, Leon was already back at his table, as though nothing had happened. He sat there, whiskey glass untouched, elbow propped on the table, head tilted, eyes locked on me.
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End of POV
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Hours slipped by until the clock finally struck three in the morning—Sherina's shift was over. She changed back into her jeans and jacket, waving a quick goodnight to her coworkers before pushing open the bistro's back door.
The night air was cool, but what greeted her wasn't just the breeze.
Leon was there, leaning casually against the wall as though he had been waiting all along. Both his hands were buried in his hoodie pockets, a lollipop resting lazily between his lips in place of the cigarette she half-expected. His eyes met hers the instant she stepped outside, calm yet unreadable, and somehow, too focused.
Sherina sighed, deliberately ignoring him, and kept walking. Naturally, Leon fell into step beside her. Without asking, he slipped her bag off her shoulder as if it belonged to him, then held out a handful of lollipops.
"Good work today. Want some?" he said lightly, his tone half-playful.
She blinked at the candy, then at the lollipop in his mouth. "You're chewing on sugar instead of smoke?"
"I quit," Leon replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Her voice dropped into a mutter, words she didn't mean for him to catch.
You can't quit a habit that fast… and a wealthy man can't turn into an ordinary one overnight.'
But when she glanced at him, Leon was already watching her, that faint, infuriating smirk tugging at his lips, as if he had heard everything.
She stopped walking, arms crossing over her chest. "So… why are you here?"
Leon slipped the lollipops back into his pocket and turned to face her fully.
"Like I said, I was just passing by."
Her tone sharpened. "Then why are you still here?"
He tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. "Because you told me to wait. Remember? You said I owed you an explanation. 'Later.'"
Sherina groaned, dragging her palm across her forehead.
So to him, 'later' means after my shift?
Unbelievable.
"Fine. You can go home now," she muttered, grabbing her bag back and striding ahead. But a few meters away, something pulled her to stop. She turned—and sure enough, Leon was still there, unmoving, staring at her with that same unreadable expression.
"What is it?" she demanded, walking back toward him.
"I can't go home," he said quietly.
Sherina's brows knit. "Why?"
She stopped herself, waving the question away with a shake of her head.
"You know what? Never mind."
'I'm not going to ask him any further,' Sherina told herself, tightening her grip on her bag. 'Whatever reasons he has for not going home tonight, it's none of my business. Besides… it's already three in the morning. Dangerous for anyone to be out alone at this hour. I'd never forgive myself if something happened.'
Sherina gently pointed her finger at Leon's chest, her brows knitting together as she spoke.
"If you can't go home tonight, then come to my place. Just—don't complain about how small it is. You're the one who's too damn big for it."
He let out a faint smirk "Okay.."
She rubbed her temple, releasing another sigh. "Are you hungry?"
Leon paused for a moment, then gave a slight nod.
"Alright. We'll buy cup noodles at the convenience store. Do you have any allergies?"
"None," he replied in a low voice.
"Good."
she said firmly, already turning her back on him. But just so you know—you're only staying for tonight. Understood?"
Her words were sharp, but Leon only smiled faintly, as if the decision had already been his. He closed the gap between them in a few long strides and—without waiting for permission—took her bag again, carrying it with casual possession.
As they walked side by side beneath the flickering lights of the quiet street, Sherina couldn't shake the unease pressing against her ribs. He was too calm. Too steady. And that smirk, faint but constant, lingered like he knew something she didn't.