With him came black cards, secret elite teams, and probably a private helicopter named "Vengeance."
"Young Master Keir," she said formally, maintaining a respectful one-meter distance. "I'd like to return the black card you lent me. When would be convenient?"
Shin didn't answer, but his brow twitched. He knew the card was unused.
Yeri pressed on. "Also...Let's break up."
Shin nearly choked on his cigarette. Tristan, you cursed idiot! How to coax?
However, Shin Keir recovered fast, face indifferent that Yeri couldn't tell if he was suppressing rage, grief, or just processing.
"I don't think I'm suitable for this... kind of compensation arrangement," she continued. "Don't get me wrong—it's not you. I just don't know how dating works."
Shin wasn't listening. He was spiraling.
Why? Was it his face? His wealth? Had he not given her enough attention?
He ran multiple corporations but couldn't figure out one tiny girlfriend? Unacceptable.
"Young Master Keir?" Yeri frowned. "Are you even listening?"
He stepped closer, crushed his cigarette underfoot, and murmured, "Aren't you sleepy? Let's talk tomorrow."
"I don't have time tomorrow," Yeri retorted. What kind of shallow excuse is this?
"If I can make time, so can you," he replied smoothly, as if she'd just requested a meeting with the Pope.
"Fine, let's do it now! Compensation, right? I'll pay with my body. I'm sober now, I can perform better!" she declared dramatically.
Shin: "..."
He reached out and patted her head like a misbehaving pet. "Don't make trouble. I know you're desperate to sleep with me, but when it happened last time, I didn't know you were freshly eighteen. Let's wait until your mind matured."
Yeri sputtered. Who is desperate? Shameless!
Sure, she had been impulsive. The first time was a drunken haze. She remembered flashes—warm skin, broad shoulders, unfairly good form.
"What are you saying? My mind is fully matured, no need to wait. I mean it, let's break up," she insisted.
Shin's expression finally cracked. "Why?" he asked, voice low and heated.
Yeri's gaze wavered. Why did his Adam's apple look so seductive all of a sudden?
"Because... because you had me chased down like a fugitive! Do you know the trouble I caused Jj? I'm just a normal student. I rely on my parents! I'm not cut out to be the girlfriend of Young Master Keir."
Shin frowned. "So you belittle yourself hoping I'll let you go? Yeri, ignoring my messages and running away—that was your solution? That's maturity?"
She gulped. Oh no. She forgot he was a professional manipulator. A weaponized narcissist. A gaslight grandmaster.
"I already explained!" she protested. "I couldn't reply in time. And if I told you I was at a bar for a birthday, wouldn't you assume I was out fooling around? I lied to avoid a misunderstanding! That's a white lie."
For a moment, surprise flashed in Shin's eyes. Wait... she lied to protect my feelings?
Suddenly, he leaned in, hands deep in his pockets, gaze locked on her. The distance between them sizzled. Anyone watching from the wrong angle would assume they were about to kiss—or duel.
"I see," Shin murmured. "You lied because you care about how I feel. So that means you don't want to break up. You're just upset."
"..."
Yeri's brain shut down like a Windows XP crash screen. When did I say that!?
Why is this conversation so confusing?
Shin, delighted, beamed. "Don't worry. Your boyfriend isn't narrow-minded. From now on, I'll be more thoughtful, so you don't feel the need to lie."
"…"
'I feel so wronged!' Yeri wanted to scream. Logic had no place here.
"You broke our agreement to keep our relationship secret," she muttered. "Jj's not an idiot. What do I tell him now?"
"If he's a good brother, he'll keep it secret. If not, send him to me. Anyway, you met my cousin, I met your brother—we're even."
"..."
Should I thank you?
Yeri sighed, exhausted. Arguing with Shin Keir was like trying to wrestle fog: emotionally draining and completely ineffective.
Shin watched her expression soften, her shoulders slump, and his heart clenched. He had no idea how to coax her... so he just kept winning the argument otherwise, just agree to break up?
Not on his watch.
"Since it's late, you can stay at my place tonight. Don't go back to your dorm."
Shin removed his black coat and draped it over Yeri's shoulders with a gentlemanly flair. His voice, deep and magnetic, held a kind of warmth that could melt glaciers.
If he'd just agreed to break up, Yeri might've nodded sweetly and followed him like a lamb to the lion's den.
"No need," she declared, folding her arms. "I'll stay at a nearby hotel. Otherwise, someone might get the wrong idea and think I'm desperate to sleep with you."
Shin chuckled, low and rich, clearly entertained. "Hotels aren't safe around here. Especially downtown. Do you even have money or an ID on you?"
He got her there. Yeri blinked. She wasn't actually planning on going to a hotel. She was planning to hop in a taxi and ride off into the moonlight—back to the safety of her tiny dorm room, a cup of instant seafood noodles, and her favourite game.
"Then I'll go home. Goodbye!"
She spun on her heel dramatically, but Shin's hand shot out to stop her.
"I'll take you back," he offered, reaching for her hand.
She hissed. Actually hissed. Like a cat.
Shin raised an eyebrow. "You just hissed at me. Are you a cat?"
"Cat or not, I'm not nice when I'm tired." she warned, squinting at him and puffing out her cheeks in what she thought was a fearsome glare.
Shin stared for a moment.
The next second, she was swept off the ground in a full princess carry. Yeri's eyes went wide with disbelief.
"Put me down, you villain!"
She was deposited into the passenger seat of a sleek Lamborghini before she could even process what was happening. The door clicked shut with cold finality.
"…I hate how comfortable this seat is," she muttered.
Shin buckled her seatbelt for her—gentle, efficient, and entirely ignoring her glare—then took the driver's seat and started the engine. The soft hum of luxury drowned her protest.
She sulked. She pouted. She even yawned mid-glare. But sleep crept up like a patient mugger, and the soft leather seat cradled her into slumber faster than she could plan her escape.
---
Sunlight filtered through unfamiliar curtains. Yeri blinked awake, her lashes fluttering as she sat up slowly.
The ceiling above her was high and elegant, painted in tasteful neutrals. The walls were a sleek mix of black and gray, and everything—from the trim to the tasteful wall art—screamed "rich man's minimalist dream."
"This…isn't my dorm," she muttered.
In fact, this wasn't even a hotel room. She'd woken up in a stranger's bed. Again. That made two times in one month. Not exactly a streak she was proud of.
Still groggy, Yeri padded to the en-suite bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. As the fog lifted, she noticed something odd—she wasn't in her dress anymore.
She was now wearing a large, soft, white button-down shirt. It was clearly tailored, clearly expensive, and smelled distinctly of Shin Keir. That same luxurious blend of bergamot and subtle musk that had wafted around him since the day they met.
Yeri froze.
"…Who changed my clothes?" she muttered to her reflection, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
She clenched her fists at her sides, mimicking Shin's tone from the night before. "'Let's wait till your mind matured,' he said. Tsk! And how would I know you didn't sneak a peek while I was sleeping?"
She glanced down at the shirt again. It hung off her like a designer tent. Yep. Definitely his. This man probably had his shirts hand-stitched by angels.
Her gaze shifted toward the massive walk-in closet she passed on the way out. From the immaculately folded clothes and military-level organization, there was no doubt. She had woken up in Shin Keir's bedroom.
"…It was that easy to climb his bed?" she gasped.
Yeri slapped a hand over her mouth. She, a mere mortal, had defiled the temple of the nation's dream heartthrob!
If his legion of fangirls ever found out…
A shiver ran down her spine. Nope, on second thought she's innocent!
Rumble…
Her stomach betrayed her. Loudly.
She hadn't eaten since that orange juice at the party. And after being princess-carried and chauffeured in a luxury car, her body had the audacity to be hungry now?
Fine. Food first. Panic later.
She tiptoed out of the bedroom like a burglar in slippers. The villa was open-plan and spacious, sunlight streaming through tall windows. It was sleek, modern, and utterly intimidating—like walking into a luxury magazine.
From down the hallway, she heard raised voices. Male voices.
Creeping forward, she peered into the living room. There sat Shin, looking infuriatingly calm in a black shirt and pants, sipping coffee while scanning documents on a sleek laptop. An untouched croissant lay beside him, innocent and flaky.
Meanwhile, another man—tall and visibly fuming—paced back and forth like a cartoon villain mid-breakdown.