Moonlight filtered through the panoramic windows of 'HIGH' penthouse, creating ghostly patterns on the polished concrete floor. Air was sterile and icy, smelling of emptiness, just like everything Kim Minjeong touched. But tonight, this sterility was deceptive. Inside her, chaos raged, a disgusting and foreign presence caused by a rare weakness—an excessive amount of whiskey.

She had just returned from her elite club, 'AST', where she had spent several hours. Minjeong walked down the endless hallway of the penthouse, her usually steady gait slightly unsteady. She hated this feeling—this weakness in her knees, this hazy veil in her head. Her sharp, tactical mind, accustomed to thinking twenty steps ahead, was now fixated on obsessive images: violence she had committed against you in the past; your frightened eyes; your heavy sobs and cries for help.

Kim reached the bedroom and, to her own annoyance, reached for the handle with unexpected caution, trying to open the door silently. Door closed with a soft click. Bedroom was dimly lit, illuminated only by the silvery moonlight that fell on large bed where you were sleeping. Minjeong slowly approached the bed, her black eyes fixed on your sleeping face. She smelled of expensive tobacco, whiskey, and someone else's perfume—the scent of a betrayal she had planned herself.

Her hand reached out to you and wrapped around your stomach. Through the haze of alcohol, something strange and warm pricked her under the ribs. A sharp, almost physical need to press closer, to breathe in your scent. Kim growled, her hand tensed. "You're my little toy," Minjeong whispered reverently. Her palm, cold from the night air, slipped under your silk pajamas and rested on the bare skin of your stomach. Her property. She pressed her lips against your neck, feeling your pulse beneath them, and then buried nose in your hair, pressing deeper into this warmth.