Rain hammered against the cracked window of Jing’s tiny dorm room, slipping through the narrow gap she had stuffed with old lecture notes. The leaks were getting worse. The landlord had stopped pretending repairs were “coming soon.”

Another drip hit the floor.

Jing slid a pot under it and checked her dying phone.

Five minutes until her shift.

She pulled her fraying jacket tighter and grabbed her heavy bag. Her roommates were still asleep, unaware or unwilling to care that rent was overdue again.

The stairwell smelled like damp concrete. Halfway down, she stopped.

Mrs. Duo stood blocking the stairs, a broom stretched across the steps like a barrier.

“Jing,” the landlady said, eyes scanning her like she was assessing damaged goods. “We need to talk.”

Jing forced a smile. “I’m already late for work… Can it wait until tonight?”

“No.” Mrs. Duo pressed the broom against her chest. “Your rent is three weeks overdue. If you don’t pay by tonight, I’m changing the locks.”

Fear punched through her.

“I just need a little more time”

“No more time.” The woman’s gaze slid slowly down Jing’s body. “Pretty girls like you find ways to make money fast. If they stop acting so self-righteous.”

Heat burned Jing’s cheeks. She shoved past her and ran into the storm.

Rain soaked through her jacket instantly. Her stomach twisted as she checked her balance.

₩3,200.

Not even enough for dinner.

Her phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

Are you still looking for emergency financial opportunities?

Spam, she thought.

But another message followed.

We’re an elite private agency. We received your old application.

Discreet, safe, and extremely well-paid.

₩30,000,000 for one night.

Jing stopped dead in the rain.

₩30 million?

A third message came.

The client rejected three candidates today.

He insists on meeting you.

Tonight.

Her fingers shook as she typed.

What kind of arrangement?

The reply was instant.

One night.

No questions asked.

Client is safe, screened, and extremely high-profile.

You will never see him again.

Thirty million won…

Her debt. Her mother’s medicine. Her tuition.

She swallowed hard.

I’ll hear the details.

Her phone died.

Jing stood in the storm, clutching it against her chest.

One night.

No names.

₩30 million.

Lightning cracked overhead.

And somewhere across the city, a man with cold eyes waited for the girl desperate enough to say yes.

At exactly 8 p.m., a sleek black sedan pulled to the curb.

The tinted window rolled down an inch.

“Jing?” a man in a suit asked, expression unreadable.

She nodded.

“Get in.”

The ride was silent. The heater blew warm air over her soaked sleeves as the city outside shifted from run-down alleys to glittering towers.

They stopped in front of a private building with no sign, just a single lantern glowing above the door.

Inside was silent.

And empty.

Except for him.

The client sat at the far end of a long table, sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly messy in a way that looked more impatient than unkempt. A full dinner lay untouched in front of him.

He didn’t look up.

“You’re late.”

“I–I’m sorry. My phone”

He lifted a hand. “Sit.”

Jing sat, clutching her bag.

His gaze swept over her quick, clinical, distant. He wasn’t judging her.

He was assessing her.

“You applied last year,” he said quietly. “For modeling.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t get in.”

“I know.”

He poured himself another drink. His jaw was tight, his eyes unfocused. There was something cracked beneath the coldness, something sharp and dangerous.

He didn’t ask her name.

He didn’t offer his.

He didn’t ask if she understood the terms.

This wasn’t romance.

This was a transaction.

And Jing felt the ground tilt beneath her.

Dinner stayed untouched.

Neither of them ate.

The silence grew heavier. Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, the only sound was the soft clink of glass as he poured himself another drink.

One became two.

Two became three.

Something in his eyes shifted, the cold mask breaking at the edges, revealing exhaustion. Bitterness. Pain he refused to name.

And Jing understood.

They were both here for reasons they didn’t want to say out loud.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t cruel.

It wasn’t forced.

It was survival.

Two people drowning in different oceans, reaching for the same temporary air.

When she woke the next morning, sunlight filtered across unfamiliar sheets.

He was gone.

A white envelope lay on the bedside table.

Inside:

₩30,000,000.

Transfer complete.

No message.

No number.

No trace.

Exactly as promised.

It was over.

She would never see him again.

Three weeks later.

Jing knelt on the bathroom floor, staring at the test in her trembling hands.

Positive.

Her breath caught.

“No… No, no”

The second test slipped from her fingers and hit the tiles.

Positive.

Her vision blurred. Her pulse raced so fast she couldn’t breathe.

This couldn’t be happening.

She barely knew his name. She’d heard it only once, from the driver, after that night.

Zhiyu Chen.

The only surviving heir of the Chen Financial Empire.

A family so powerful they didn’t buy silence.

They commanded it.

A family whispered about it because no Chen heir had been born naturally in three generations.

Infertility carved into their bloodline.

Yet,

Jing pressed a shaking hand to her stomach.

There was no mistake.

She carried the child of a man who was never supposed to have one.

If he found out…

His world would shatter.

And hers would, too.