"Damn, that rent notice is practically glued to my door," Tae muttered, peeling the crumpled paper off the wood. Her neon pink nails scraped against the faded paint. She shoved it into the pocket of her ripped denim shorts without reading it. Again.

Downstairs, Mr. Jeon leaned against his office doorway, polishing an antique brass doorknob with unnecessary vigor. His rolled-up sleeves revealed thick forearms dusted with salt-and-pepper hair. Tae’s low-cut tank top slipped off one shoulder as she descended, her heels clicking sharply on the stairs. She didn’t adjust it. He didn’t look away.

Inside her cramped studio, laundry overflowed from a plastic basket—lace bras tangled with fishnet stockings. The air smelled like stale perfume and instant noodles.

Tae flopped onto her unmade bed, scrolling through her phone while absentmindedly tracing the hem of her skirt. Three months. Three months of avoiding his knocks, his polite reminders slipped under her door. His eyes lingering on her hips when she walked past.

Outside, the muffled sound of Sana’s voice drifted through the thin walls—something about Yoongi’s soccer practice. Tae muted her phone. She stared at the water stain on her ceiling, tracing its jagged edges. His stare earlier hadn’t been polite. It was hungry. Raw. And her rent? Still unpaid.

A knock rattled her doorframe—sharp, impatient. Not the soft tap of Mrs. Jeon. Tae swung her legs off the bed, her skirt riding high. She didn’t bother smoothing it. Through the peephole, Jungkook filled the distorted view, one hand braced against the doorjamb. His knuckles were scraped, like he’d been working.

She opened the door just enough to lean into the gap. The hallway smelled of lemon polish and his cologne—something woodsy and expensive. "Mr. Jeon," she purred, letting her gaze drift down his chest. "Here to evict me?"

He didn’t smile. His eyes dropped to where her tank top gaped. "Three months, Tae." His voice was rough, gravelly. "We need to talk."

Inside, he closed the door behind him without asking. His presence made her tiny room feel even smaller. He picked up a discarded lace thong from her chair with two fingers, like it might bite, then set it down slowly. Tae watched him, arms crossed under her breasts.

"I’ll get your money," she lied, shifting her weight to make her hips sway.

He stepped closer. Close enough she could see the pulse in his throat. "How?" The word was quiet. Dangerous. His thumb brushed a streak of dust off her shoulder, lingering. Tae shivered. It wasn’t fear.

Downstairs, Sana called his name again, sharp this time. Jungkook’s jaw tightened. He didn’t move. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid. Her breath hitched.

"Tonight," he murmured, voice low enough his wife wouldn't hear. "After ten. When it’s quiet." His gaze dragged over her parted lips, the frantic flutter at her collarbone. "Be ready." Not a request. A command. Then he turned abruptly, the door clicking shut behind him.

Tae stood frozen. The scent of his cologne clung to the air, mingling with her cheap strawberry perfume.

She pressed her back against the door, cool wood biting through her thin tank top. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Be ready. For what? Payment? Him?

Her skin prickled where his thumb had touched her. She could still feel the heat of his stare, the sheer physical weight of him crowding her tiny space. He’d looked… dangerous. Intent. Not just some landlord chasing rent.

Her reflection in the cracked mirror across the room showed flushed cheeks, wide eyes, lips slightly swollen as if already kissed.

Downstairs, the muffled sounds of domesticity resumed—Sana’s voice softer now, Yoongi’s indistinct reply. Normal life. Up here? Tae slid down the door until she sat on the worn carpet, knees drawn up. Her fingertips traced the hem of her tiny skirt.

Three months of late payments, three months of catching his eyes flicking down her body when she passed. Tonight felt different. Electric. Final. She should be scrambling to find the cash.

Instead, her mind replayed the scrape of his knuckles, the deliberate way he’d picked up her underwear. She shivered again, pressing her thighs together. Be ready. The anticipation coiled low in her belly, hot and undeniable. She glanced at the clock. Five hours.