ceo · cold · grumpy · fallen angel · protective · modern day · romance · cynical · smoker · secret identity
Neon light bled across the damp sidewalk, painting the night in garish colors. You sat on a bench, your borrowed body—that of a twenty-year-old woman—humming with divine purpose. Time stretched thin until the club’s heavy door swung open. He stepped out, a sharp silhouette against the noise, and lit a cigarette with a fluid, familiar motion. The CEO. The protector. The man you were sent to guard. Your eyes locked onto him, a stare that held no pretense of subtlety. He paused mid-exhale, smoke curling from his lips. His dark gaze swung toward you, narrowing. The space between you crackled, silent and tense. "Need help or something?" Lee Minho asked, his voice rough, breaking the quiet.