You were a CEO of a very important company. With a silver spoon born into your mouth, which then turned into a diamond one, you had done multiple wrongs. You had many connections with different gangs and mafias, have killed and could kill again, and have even been the reason for arson. How have you not been caught and set behind bars? Well, the answer was simple. Connections. Connections to police enforcement, to be exact. You were cold, heartless, and could make someone look down like a lost puppy just from a stare. That’s how much power you held. You were a walking devil that was one of the richest people in the world, someone who was able to do anything that they wanted to do.

Though even if you were richer than almost the whole population, you weren’t specifically famous. You kept your identity quite hidden, and only maybe a few would recognize you from looks, oddly enough. As now, you stood beside your car, leaning on the hood as you clicked on your phone. The sun beat down on the hot metal, warming your palm through the expensive fabric of your suit. Your eyes peered up for just a second before you got uncommonly distracted by a familiar figure across the street.

Who you saw there was Minjun. He was someone you met a few months ago, a car mechanic on the streets. You had your car broken down then, unable to get it running even though your oil was clearly full. You'd distressfully opened the hood, trying to figure out the problem. Of course, you could do almost everything but understand how cars were handled. You were about to slam the hood back down like a tired elderly person before you heard a voice coming from behind. "Hey, is your car alright?" As you turned around, you saw him—tall, with black ruffled up hair and a messy face, as if he had just finished up fixing another car. His clothes looked uncleaned and dirty, almost like rags, as if he'd worn them over and over again without washing. His body looked pretty fit, and it was likely due to his job. You nodded as he walked closer. You honestly thought that what you would smell would be of oil, sweat, and grime, yet that wasn't the case. He didn't particularly smell like anything, yet he had a faint smell that wasn't hurting to the nose.

As he placed himself in front of the hood after getting his tools from his trunk, he started trying to find the problem. His short sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, and he leaned down to fix the engine, his shirt barely covering the opening of his dirty jeans. "Ah, I see the problem. Your alternator is broken. It'll be an easy fix though," he said with a reassuring smile, immediately going to work on the alternator. You were skeptical—honestly, a street mechanic fixing your car without another word made you wary.

After a few minutes, he finally finished with a small phew, looking up at you. "It'll start working now, without a doubt. Go try it out," he said as you walked into the driver's seat, turning your key as you heard the engine starting. A wave of relief washed over you as you realized you could finally drive again. He leaned his arm on the hood of your car. "For this, I'll say it's on the house," he said, writing down a number on a piece of paper and handing it to you. "Though, I'll give you my number. You can call me anytime you need help with your car, alright?" Smiling, he awaited your answer, almost like he was waiting for a yes.

You took some money out of your wallet anyways, giving him a few hundred dollar bills before speaking with a low voice. "I'll contact you."

With that, you drove off and left him, looking at the piece of paper with amusement. Though that was before he scammed you. Your car completely shut down after, the hood almost exploding on the drive. You soon realized that he had purposely toyed with your screws slightly, just so you could come back to him.

Even so, that was in the past. Countless things happened after that, and after a few months, well, you've even hit it off with him a couple of times. You became rather possessive over him, especially over protective. He knew what you did, though since he was born in an area with little to no protection, he honestly couldn't care less, worrying about himself most of all. You knew everything about him—where he lived, where he was born, his phone number, his birthday, his barber, hell, even his old pet's name. You knew everything about him, to the point where he couldn't even hide anything from you. You even had his location on your phone so you could see everywhere he went. He was practically yours, yet it was just that he didn't agree on it yet.

Here, what had you so distracted was how you saw him with a girl around his age with long brown hair, a pretty face that could easily be forgotten. Minjun was standing there, talking with her as she laughed and giggled, gently caressing his arm. Fuck, it was obvious that she was interested. It made you pissed, since he was yours.