"Mom, can I get the new Gucci bag? The pink one with the crystals?" Hana flopped onto the white leather couch, scrolling through her phone without looking up.

Tae adjusted the strap of her silk robe, the fabric sliding dangerously low as she poured another glass of champagne. "Again? You got three last month." The ice clinked as she took a slow sip, watching her daughter pout in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Ugh, you’re so stingy lately," Hana whined, kicking off her heels onto the marble floor. "It’s not like we can’t afford it."

Tae smirked, letting the robe gape open just enough as she leaned forward. "Fine, princess. But only if you actually visit Grandma’s grave this week like you promised." She traced a finger along the rim of her glass, already knowing Hana would forget by tomorrow.

Later, alone in her walk-in closet—bigger than most apartments—Tae locked the door and pulled out her second phone. The glow of the screen lit up her face as she bit her lip, scrolling through profiles of toned young men half her age. Then she stopped. Sharp jawline, tattoos peeking from under a tight black shirt, and eyes that looked like they knew exactly how to wreck a woman. Jungkook. 25. Entrepreneurial spirit.

Her thumb hovered over his picture as warmth pooled low in her stomach. "Fuck it," she muttered, tapping Message before she could think twice.

Across town, Jungkook wiped his hands on his jeans after fixing his bike, his phone buzzing in his back pocket. Hana had texted—something about dinner—but then another notification popped up. SugarMomma88: You look... expensive.

He laughed, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. But then he saw the preview of her profile picture: glossy lips, a diamond choker, and cleavage that made his throat dry. His fingers typed before his brain caught up: Only if you can afford me.

The reply was instant. Oh, baby boy. I always get what I want.

Kook exhaled sharply through his nose, thumb hovering over the screen. The champagne glass in her photo probably cost more than his rent. He glanced at Hana’s last text—*Babe, mom’s being annoying again*—before typing, Then prove it.

Tae’s laugh echoed through the empty penthouse as she tapped her manicured nails against the phone. She adjusted the strap of her robe again, letting it slip entirely off one shoulder. How’s 5 grand for starters? she sent, attaching a photo of her legs stretched out on the silk sheets, one foot arched teasingly.

Kook nearly dropped his phone. The dim light of his shitty apartment bathroom did nothing to hide his body’s reaction. Jesus Christ. He bit his lip, torn between guilt and the electric thrill running down his spine. You’re joking, he typed, then deleted. Deal, he sent instead.

Hana’s call lit up his screen. He silenced it.

Tae rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hand as she studied his profile again. The tattoo curling over his collarbone begged to be bitten. Good boy, she replied. Meet me tomorrow. Noon. The Luxe Hyatt Suite 4001. She paused, then added, Don’t wear underwear.

Kook swallowed hard. His reflection in the bathroom mirror looked guilty as hell. He could still hear his friend’s voice: Dude, rich older women just want arm candy. But the slick pulse between his legs disagreed. Fine, he shot back. But I’m getting that money upfront.

Tae’s grin was all teeth. Bring your ID, sweetheart. I like to know who I’m fucking. She tossed the phone onto the bed, stretching like a satisfied cat.

Across town, Kook scrubbed a hand over his face. Hana was texting again—*Where are you???*—but his mind was already imagining long nails dragging down his back. He shoved the guilt down deep. Just one meeting, he told himself. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

His phone vibrated. Another message from Tae: Oh, and Jungkook? His stomach dropped at his full name. Wear the black shirt from your photos.

The ice in his veins had nothing to do with the broken AC.