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"The... the Underworld Gala?" Yunah's voice hitched, a stutter betraying her shock at his proposal.
"Yes," Noah replied flatly, his tone so casual he might as well have been inviting her to coffee.
"No... I can't. I won't," Yunah denied instantly, the reality of the request crashing down on her. Fear began to claw at her throat. "Just... just tell me how much I have to pay you in cash. Name your price."
Noah smiled, his eyes fixed on her silhouette through the balcony glass. "A million," he replied simply, his voice laced with a mischievous, dark edge.
"WHAT?!" Yunah jolted out of bed, her heart hammering against her ribs as she began to pace the small room. "A million? Are you kidding me right now?"
"Do I sound like I'm joking?" Noah countered, his fingers rhythmically tapping against the balcony railing. "You should have researched my rates before contacting me. On top of that, I handled this mission personally. My time is expensive, Miss Yunah. So, the choice is yours: do you have a million to spare, or will you accept my other offer?"
Silence fell over the line. Yunah collapsed into her desk chair, letting out a ragged sigh of defeat. A million was an impossible sum—a debt she couldn't pay in ten lifetimes. From the balcony, Noah watched her slumped shadow, that dangerous, playful smirk never leaving his face.
"I should never have gotten involved with someone like him," Yunah muttered to herself, her frustration boiling over.
Noah tilted his head, catching the faint murmur. "Do you regret calling me?" he asked, his voice suddenly dropping into a chillingly serious register.
"If I said no, would you even believe me?" Yunah snapped, her tone turning icy.
Noah let out a short, dry scoff. "Definitely not. But that doesn't change the situation. What have you decided?"
Yunah paused, her hand trembling as she held the phone. "Is it... is it dangerous?"
"Yes," Noah didn't lie. He wouldn't. "But you'll be under my protection. I won't let a single thing happen to you while I'm there. And don't worry about your reputation—everyone at the gala wears a mask. Your identity will remain a secret. Just come with me and leave the rest to me."
There was a sudden, unexpected softness in his voice—a protective warmth that felt strangely familiar. For a split second, the cold fear in Yunah's chest vanished, replaced by an instinctive urge to trust him. The way he spoke... it felt like a ghost of a memory she couldn't quite grasp.
"If you promise to keep my identity hidden... and to protect me... then I'll go," she conceded, her conditions barely a whisper.
Noah chuckled, the sound low and melodic. "I promise," he said, his tone turning intensely solemn. "I won't let anything happen to you. I'll protect you with my life."
The weight of that sentence sent Yunah's heart into a frantic rhythm. For a moment, he sounded exactly like Noah.
Why... why did I think of him just now? she wondered, her mind spinning.
"When is the gala? And where?" she asked, trying to force her brain back to the facts.
"This Sunday. At a private island. I'll send you the specific location and the pick-up time."
"Okay..." Yunah nodded to the empty room.
"Then I'll see you on Sunday, Miss Yunah. Until then, take care of yourself," he said in a gentle, almost flirtatious tone before hanging up.
Yunah sat frozen for a long time, processing the madness she had just agreed to. Then, she groaned and threw herself back onto the bed, rolling around in a panic. "What a mess... what a total mess!"
Outside, Noah stayed on the balcony, his gaze fixed on her window until the light finally clicked off. Only then did he turn and disappear back into his own room, a shadow returning to the dark.
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At Trends Company — One Day Before the Gala.
Yunah was hunched over her desk, her eyes straining against the glare of the computer screen, when her phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.
She opened the text, her heart skipping a beat as she read: "Go to the LV building. Choose a dress and a mask. I've already informed the stylist that you'll be there today for a fitting and tomorrow for the final styling."
Yunah stared at the screen, speechless. Her fingers flew across the keypad as she typed back: "Don't worry about it. I'll buy something myself. You don't have to do this."
A few moments later, the phone buzzed again. Jay's reply was blunt: "No, you can't. You are going as my partner, which means you need to look the part. If you could afford luxury, you would have paid my fee by now."
Yunah felt a surge of annoyance at his arrogance, but she couldn't deny the logic. To enter a world of masks and millionaires, she couldn't show up in a store-bought dress. She wouldn't just look out of place; she'd be a target. With a heavy sigh, she gave in.
"Fine," she texted back—a single word that carried all of her resignation.
High above the open-plan office, behind the tinted glass of the Director's suite, Chewang watched her every move. He saw the way she sighed, the way her shoulders slumped, and the way she bit her lip in frustration. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick update to the man he knew only as Jay.
"She looks annoyed," he sent.
Seconds later, his phone vibrated with a command: "Send her a cold coffee. It'll lighten her mood."
Chewang leaned back in his leather chair and let out a long, weary breath. He looked at the high-end espresso machine in his office and then back at the door.
"Why do I always have to come up with new excuses to give her coffee and snacks?" he muttered to the empty room, shaking his head. "I'm the Director of this company, yet I feel like a high-stakes delivery man."
Resigned to his fate, he pressed the intercom. "Come in," he called out to his secretary. "I have another... 'random act of kindness' for the staffs."
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After her shift ended, Yunah hailed a taxi and gave the address for the LV building. As the car pulled up in front of the towering glass-and-steel structure, her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She stepped out onto the pavement, feeling small against the backdrop of the world's most prestigious luxury brand. She had never set foot in a place like this; to her, LV was a name on a screen, not a place where someone like her belonged.
The moment she pushed through the heavy glass doors, the cool, scent-filled air of the lobby hit her. Before she could even take three steps, the floor manager appeared, moving with a polished, predatory grace.
"Welcome, Miss Yunah," she said, her voice like silk. She joined her hands in a deep, respectful greeting, her eyes shining with practiced professional warmth. "We have been expecting you. Everything is prepared."
Yunah froze, her breath catching in her throat. The sheer weight of their politeness was suffocating; it made her feel more like a specimen under a microscope than a valued guest. She was acutely aware of her work clothes and the way her pulse was visible in her neck.
As she was led further into the showroom, she felt the weight of a dozen gazes. The other staff and the elite shoppers turned their heads, their silent, appraising stares cutting through her like a blade. Every eye in the room seemed to be asking the same question: Who is she, and why is the manager treating her like royalty? Yunah tightened her grip on her bag, her skin prickling with discomfort. She felt like an intruder in a golden cage, and for the first time, the reality of the "Underworld Gala" felt terrifyingly real.
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Deep within the surveillance hub of the building, the air was cold and hummed with the sound of a dozen servers. Noah sat in the center of the dark room, his face illuminated by a wall of high-definition monitors. His eyes were fixed on one screen in particular: Yunah.
He watched the way her shoulders hunched, the way her fingers gripped the strap of her bag, and the flickering hesitation in her eyes. He didn't need her to speak; he could read her like a familiar book, every line of her discomfort etched into her posture. He understood her better than she understood herself—and he didn't like what he saw.
He tapped the Bluetooth earpiece resting against his jaw. "You're making her nervous," he said, his voice dropping into a lethal, low-frequency chill.
The manager, standing miles away in the plush showroom, visibly flinched as Noah's voice exploded in her wireless earbud.
"I'm giving you exactly one minute to make her feel relaxed and comfortable," Noah warned, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "If she remains this tense, consider this your last day on the floor."
The manager's professional mask shattered. A bead of cold sweat rolled down her temple, and her hands began to tremble. The sudden, suffocating pressure from the "Young Master" was enough to make her knees weak.
Yunah blinked, her own anxiety momentarily forgotten as she watched the manager's face turn a ghostly shade of pale.
"Are... are you okay?" Yunah asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. She reached out slightly, confused by how the confident, poised woman had suddenly started shaking in front of her.