Beep, beep, beep. The steady mechanical sound drilled into Choi Kang-woo's skull like a cheap alarm clock he couldn't smash. His eyelids felt glued shut. When he finally forced them open, the first thing he saw was a pure white ceiling that looked expensive enough to pay off three of his debts. Then a woman's face popped into view—starched nurse uniform, wide eyes, gone in a flash.
"Doctor! The patient is awake!"
Kang-woo's brain slogged through the fog. Alive. Somehow the river hadn't finished him. God or Buddha or whoever had listened to his last pathetic prayer and decided to fuck with him instead.
A man in a white coat appeared, shining a penlight straight into his eyes like he was checking for loose change.
"Mr. Han Seung-ho? Can you hear me? If you can, blink twice."
Kang-woo blinked. Twice. The doctor nodded, muttered something to the nurse, and disappeared again. He tried to move. Couldn't. His body felt wrong—too light, too soft, like someone had hollowed him out and replaced the insides with cotton. What the hell happened? Who pulled him out? Did the pretty idiot in the coat survive?
He turned his head, slow and painful, and saw the IV bag hanging beside the bed. Clear fluid dripping like liquid gold. Expensive shit. His gaze followed the tube down to his arm and stopped dead.
The wrist was slim. Delicate. No scars. No tattoos. Nails neatly trimmed like some rich kid who'd never thrown a punch in his life. He squeezed what little strength he had and lifted the hospital gown.
Flat stomach. Slim waist. Skin so pale and smooth it made him want to puke. Where the fuck were his abs? The knife scars he'd collected like trophies? Gone. And lower… he reached down, heart hammering.
No balls. No dick. Just smooth skin and a soft slit that definitely did not belong to Choi Kang-woo.
"Shit…" The word came out in a voice like bells. Soft. Pretty. Nothing like the gravel he was used to.
He racked his brain—the one he rarely used on purpose. Drowning too long could mess with your head, right? Hallucinations, the bends, whatever. He pinched his cheek hard. It hurt. Pinched harder. Still hurt, and the skin felt like warm dough. Not a dream.
Kang-woo forced himself upright, dragging the IV stand like a ball and chain. This wasn't some back-alley clinic. The room was bigger than his entire apartment. Marble, flowers that probably cost more than a month's collection, and a window overlooking the Han River glittering in the distance like it hadn't just tried to kill him.
No way his boss would spring for a place like this. Unless… unless he actually saved that rich pretty-boy. The coat, the face, the way the guy glowed under the streetlight like money itself. This could be the score of a lifetime. Squeeze the family for gratitude money and disappear before anyone asked questions.
He shuffled to the bathroom, IV pole clacking behind him, and stopped in front of the mirror.
"..."
Kang-woo rubbed his face like he could scrub the reflection off. Rubbed his eyes until they stung. The man staring back wasn't Choi Kang-woo. It was the suicidal bastard from the pier—pale, elegant, mouth hanging open like a dead fish. Same haunting face. Same fragile build. Same everything except now it was his.
He touched the cheek. The reflection touched it back. He grabbed his throat and tried to speak. "What the fuck is this?" The voice that came out was still soft and musical. He slapped his own face. Hard. Then harder. His cheeks turned pink, but he didn't wake up. The mirror didn't shatter when he punched it; instead pain shot up his arm like he'd hit a wall.
"Ugh… fuck…"
Cursing in that pretty voice felt disgusting. He staggered back to the bed and slammed the call button. The nurse rushed in, startled to see him standing.
"You shouldn't be moving yet. Please, rest."
She tried to guide him back down. Kang-woo shook her off.
"Lady, something's seriously wrong with me."
"What feels wrong?"
"I think I've lost my goddamn mind."
The nurse flinched, then gave him a professional smile. "That can happen after being in the water too long. It's normal."
Normal? His cock was gone. His scars were gone. His entire body was gone. He was about to demand she call his boss—Moon Ho-cheol or whoever the hell ran the crew now—when the door burst open.
A tall man strode in wearing an oatmeal-colored coat and black sunglasses that hid half his face. Looked like money and trouble rolled into one.
"Oh good, the guardian is here," the nurse said, and practically ran out.
Guardian? Kang-woo stared up at the guy. He wasn't short by any means, but this bastard was built like a damn skyscraper.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man's eyebrow twitched behind the shades. "This is unsettling."
You're telling me.
The man reached out and cupped Kang-woo's cheek without asking. Kang-woo smacked the hand away hard.
"What the hell, you bastard."
"Honey… did you just say that to me?"
Honey? HONEY?
Before Kang-woo could lose his shit, an elderly doctor hurried in, flipping through a chart.
"What's going on, Director Kwon? He doesn't recognize you."
Director Kwon? The old man gave a respectful little bow and kept reading. "Tests show nothing abnormal. But it seems he's experiencing memory loss from the shock."
Memory loss my ass. Kang-woo remembered collecting 9.85 million won yesterday, pissing in a crate, and diving into the Han River like an idiot. His memories were crystal clear. The only thing lost was his dick.
He ripped the IV out of his arm. Blood welled up. The nurse gasped. The doctor tried to stop him.
"Mr. Han Seung-ho, you can't—"
Han Seung-ho. The nameplate at the foot of the bed said the same thing: Han Seung-ho, 27.
Kang-woo's stomach dropped. The doctors had been calling him that since he woke up. Not a hallucination. Not a dream. He was inside this soft, rich, Omega body now.
The tall man—Director Kwon, apparently—asked everyone to leave. Once the room was empty he took off the sunglasses.
Kang-woo's jaw hit the floor.
He'd seen this face on billboards. Kwon Ji-woon. Eldest son of the Kwon Group. Coldest Alpha in the business world. The kind of man who bought and sold empires before breakfast. The same sharp jaw, same piercing eyes that had been burning into him from the porn video less than an hour ago.
Ji-woon grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. Nuzzled the side of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. The scent hit Kang-woo like a truck—dark, expensive, Alpha—and his traitor legs went weak.
"What are you—"
Ji-woon smiled, sad and dangerous, while stroking his cheek. "Why can't you remember me, Seung-ho?"
Seung-ho? Me?
"You can forget everyone else. But not me."
The low voice and those big hands sliding under the hospital gown made something twist low in Kang-woo's stomach. Before he could shove the man off, Ji-woon's mouth was on his—deep, possessive, tongue pushing in like he owned the place. Fingers brushed a nipple and Kang-woo jerked back, heart slamming.
He wiped his mouth, disgusted. "Shit, you scared me. Not even using a turn signal before entering?"
Ji-woon just smiled like the crude words were cute.
The doctor returned, talking discharge papers and rest. Kang-woo exploded.
"Wait! Discharge? In this situation? Hey, doc, look at me! Something's wrong! I'm not Han Seung-ho!"
Ji-woon wrapped an arm around his shoulders, soothing. "Shh. It'll be fine with time. Don't get angry, okay?"
Kang-woo shrugged him off. What kind of twisted marriage was this? The way Ji-woon touched him, the way he looked at him… lover? Husband?
Then Ji-woon said it, calm as ordering coffee.
"So let's go home now, sister-in-law."
Kang-woo froze harder than when he saw the wrong face in the mirror.
Sister-in-law?
This rich, terrifying Alpha bastard had just called him sister-in-law.
The room spun. Kang-woo's new, soft body felt like it might collapse.
What the actual fuck had he woken up into?