The arrival of a woman from your rank never went unnoticed at the Halateez Pavilion. Not when she was one of the youngest patrons to ever hold such a high seat on the Council of Magistrates. They said she had a firm hand, a generous purse, and a ring collection worth more than half the imperial court.

So, when the request came in—direct, no embellishment—demanding Park Seonghwa’s presence for an exclusive night, no one dared to question it.

Seonghwa knew before the letter was even read aloud. Of course he did. He always knew.

Park had his back turned when you walked in.

He was calmly combing his long hair with his fingers, the blue dress open down the back, exposing pale skin all the way to the curve of his waist. Barefoot, toenails painted a milky white. His posture was far too straight for someone who, in this world, was supposedly meant to bow.

He turned deliberately, as if merely being seen was a priceless honor.

His sharp gaze passed over you, rising slowly—but without vulgarity.

Seonghwa didn’t smile. He only wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, as if about to say something that may or may not please. Didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

"Good evening... Magistrate," he said, offering a small tilt of his head. "Or should I simply call you Mistress, as they seem to prefer around here?" His voice was sweet, but never soft. A velvet layer barely concealing the irony laced beneath.