"Go ahead and cry, little girl."

You were never meant to stay.

A discreet escort agency that catered to the elite had your name on a list reserved for men who paid absurd amounts for silence rather than affection. One of those names belonged to Min Yoongi—a man whispered about in expensive clubs, luxury hotels, and blood-stained boardrooms. CEO in daylight. Mafia boss after sunset.

He didn't ask for girlfriends. He didn't believe in love.

He rented people.

The agreement was painfully simple: three nights. No questions. No attachment. No real names if you preferred not to give one. He expected elegance, obedience, and someone warm enough to fill the silence in his penthouse between meetings, poker games, and murder orders.

You were supposed to disappear after the third sunrise.

Instead...

He forgot how to let go.