[2]

[Dylan: She’ll arrive in five minutes. As requested,—black outfit, brown hair worn loose. Enjoy your night.]

The man barely glanced at the message on his phone.

In a dimly lit corner of Pamalove Bar, Josh Miller slowly turned the crystal tumbler in his hand, watching the golden liquid swirl lazily. The glass held a third of The Macallan Fine & Rare 1926—one of the rarest and most expensive whiskies in the world. Just the way he liked it. Its aroma, a subtle blend of aged oak and dried fruit, rose gently into the air, mingling with the soft jazz melodies floating through the room.

He took a slow sip, letting the warmth of the whisky glide down his throat. It didn’t just burn—it harmonized with the night, as though syncing his senses with the secrets that always lingered after dark. His sharp eyes scanned the room, searching. For what—or for whom—he wasn’t entirely sure.

In a place like this, where neon lights tangled with the scent of designer perfumes and the hum of laughter, Josh looked like he belonged. His cream-colored suit hugged his frame to perfection, and a Patek Philippe watch glinted subtly on his wrist. He was the kind of man who looked like he had it all—or at the very least, knew how to fake it flawlessly.

But beneath the smooth exterior, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. The drink, the music, even his presence here—it was all just a distraction. A temporary smokescreen for the emptiness he carried.

If it weren’t for his brother, he wouldn’t be anywhere near this country, let alone in the heart of Seoul.

Then, his eyes caught her.

A woman, seated at the far end of the bar. Her black outfit hugged her figure with quiet elegance, while her dark brown hair fell freely around her shoulders, partly veiling a face that tried—but failed—to mask the storm behind her eyes. One handheld an empty martini glass, the other propped up her chin.

A faint smile touched Josh’s lips. “Dylan’s choices never disappoint,” he murmured before making his way toward her.

Meanwhile, Ivy pushed her glass forward again, her voice low but firm. "One more, please."

The bartender let out a slow sigh. “You’ve had enough, miss.”

Ivy offered a crooked grin. “And what makes you think this counts as drunk?”

Her face rested lazily on her right hand as she fixed her sparkling eyes on the bartender without blinking. “Just one last glass. Then I swear I’ll call it a night.”

The bartender chuckled. “You really are trouble.”

Still, he refilled her glass without hesitation. “Enjoy your next Martini.”

“Hello.”

A scent.

Not your typical cologne—nothing sharp or overbearing. It was smooth. Deep. A subtle harmony of warm sandalwood, a trace of spice, and the clean finish of citrus. It wasn’t just a smell—it was a signature. The kind that lingered, that made you want to lean in closer, to figure out the man behind it.

Ivy turned without thinking. Her eyes met his—The man who had just spoken now stood beside her. Her lips parted slightly, words catching on the edge of her tongue. But before she could say anything, that scent had already made an impression, stirring a curiosity she couldn’t quite suppress.

The man gave a slight, confident nod, his smile understated but disarming.

“May I sit?”

His voice was deep, as smooth and captivating as the fragrance that still lingered in the air between them.

"Oh, go ahead. I don’t mind," Ivy replied politely. Her head was beginning to spin, but good manners had to be maintained—no matter what.

"What fun is there in drinking a Martini alone?" Josh asked with a light chuckle, swirling his glass again, deliberately catching the attention of the woman Dylan had arranged to keep him company.

Oddly enough, she hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to flirt or engage—not the usual behavior. Still, Josh wasn’t bothered. A bit of conversation over a drink before ending up in bed didn’t sound like a bad way to spend the night.

"Truthfully, I wasn’t looking for company," Ivy said, offering a faint smile. "But the bar’s got a nice, quiet vibe tonight. So… being alone doesn’t feel so bad."

"People who drink alone usually have something they’re trying to forget," Josh remarked, shifting his seat so he was facing her more directly.

Ivy said nothing, just smiled again and took another sip of her Martini.

"I wouldn’t mind if you shared a little," he added gently.

"Are you always this talkative? Even with strangers?" Ivy quipped, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk. Then she downed the rest of her drink in one go.

"Bartender, like I said—this is the last one." She pulled a few bills from her purse and handed them over.

The bartender gave her a worried look. "Shall I call you a taxi?"

"No need," Ivy declined with a small smile.

What she really needed was some fresh air before heading to Luna’s place. The pounding in her head was worsening, but maybe—just maybe—that pain would dull the sting of the disappointment she’d just been dealt.

Unfortunately... that plan never came to life.

As Ivy turned, she stumbled, her foot catching on a nearby stool. She would have crashed to the floor if not for Josh, who caught her just in time.

"You really should watch your step," he said smoothly. In one fluid motion, he pulled her into his arms.

She barely reached his chest. When their eyes met, she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

"Care to have a little fun?" Josh offered, his tone teasing. "I guarantee it’ll chase that dizziness right out of you."

Ivy narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Don’t look at me like that," Josh laughed. "Come on, wouldn’t want to waste it without some fun, right?"

***

"Ugh!"

The only things Ivy could remember were the Martinis, the deafening music that somehow felt exhilarating… and—

"Oh God!"

She yanked the blanket off her body. Her eyes darted down, panic rising fast.

"This… this can’t be right!"

She was completely naked. Not a single stitch of clothing on her body. A faint red mark on her inner thigh—another on her breast.

"What the hell did I do last night?!" She raked both hands through her hair in frustration.

When she turned her head, she saw him. The man with black hair was fast asleep next to her, looking as though he hadn’t had a care in the world. Ivy rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the growing tension in her head. Memories, fragmented and blurry, began to piece themselves together.

Dancing.

Her body pressed close to his as the music pounded through the club.Vodka—how many glasses had she downed between dances? Then the hotel room.

She’d teased him—provoked him on purpose. She remembered peeling her clothes off with a laugh, the way she’d gasped at his touch, the heated rhythm of their bodies tangled on the bed.

"Damn, your body is incredible," she’d murmured, running her hand along his bare chest. Her fingers had traced the hard lines of muscle carved by regular workouts.

"Can I touch you as much as I want?"

He’d grinned wide.

"Should I take off my pants too? Let you touch everything?"

Ivy had giggled, her eyes fluttering shut against the dizziness. "God, my head’s still spinning. And it’s so hot."

"Need help getting out of those clothes?" Josh had offered with a wicked smirk, eyes gleaming with amusement as Ivy, straddling him, continued her playful provocation.

"No," Ivy murmured, shaking her head. Her fingers began to undo the buttons on her shirt one by one. "It’s only fair you get to enjoy my chest too. Even if it’s not that impressive."

Josh chuckled. "Not impressive? How could it not be?"

He shifted his position slightly, just enough to bring his mouth to her breast. "I’ve been wanting to do this," he whispered, then softly ran his tongue over her nipple.

A breathy moan escaped Ivy’s lips, sensual and unrestrained. Her back arched instinctively in response to the warm flick of his tongue.

She tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut, lost in the tingling sensation spreading across her chest.

"Don’t end the night too soon, beautiful. You’re with me on that, right?"

Josh's tongue trailed upward, licking a slow path along the curve of her neck. "What do you say?"

"Do whatever you want," Ivy replied, her voice low and inviting.

***

"Oh God! What the hell did I do last night?!" Ivy shouted, no longer able to contain the panic rising in her chest.

Fragments of their conversation—their bodies tangled together, the way she offered herself so freely—came crashing back into her mind like a flood.

"Shit!"

Just then, the shrill ring of an unfamiliar phone shattered the silence, making her jump. Ivy scrambled, eyes darting around for the source.

The sound stirred the man beside her, who had still been peacefully asleep until now.

"Damn it," he grumbled, running a hand through his messy black hair.

He reached for his phone, which was buzzing inside the pocket of his blazer tossed on a nearby chair. Still groggy, and clearly unaware of his own nakedness—or of the woman sitting just beside him—he answered the call.

"If this isn't important, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up!"

…

Ivy remained seated at the edge of the bed, but her eyes never left him—watching his every move, her heart hammering in her chest.

And when he finally turned to face her, locking eyes with hers, all Ivy wanted in that moment… was to disappear.

"I-I’m sorry, Sir—"

"So... you’re not an escort?" he interrupted, his tone flat, unreadable.

His hair was tousled, but the careless dishevelment did nothing to hide how stunning he was.

Ivy’s jaw dropped at his words. "What did you just say?"