Chapter 1 🍏 Under the bizarre cascade of multicolored neon lights, youthful faces shimmered in the crowded bar, their expressions flushed with excitement and alcohol. Arms flailed in the air, bodies swayed and twisted to the pulsing beat of the music—this was their escape, a final celebration before the impending pressures of university life swallowed them whole.
Among them was Milim, her skin damp with sweat from dancing, her breath uneven. She pulled herself out of the writhing crowd and returned to the high bar table, where her glass of wine waited. She took a sip, then turned to the boy seated nearby. "I'm going to the bathroom. Don't leave without me, okay?"
The boy, too busy joking around with friends, barely glanced at her. "Yeah, yeah. Go."
Milim scoffed, curling her lips in slight annoyance. "Bummer," she muttered, turning away. The night had felt more exhausting than enjoyable. Hanging out with the girls was boring—what she really loved was dancing.
But Milim didn't notice the man who had been watching her since she entered the bar. Standing at a distance, his eyes hadn't left her once. When she passed by him earlier, her slim figure and youthful charm had stirred something dark in him. His gaze lingered lasciviously on her retreating figure, and as she made her way toward the restroom, he followed without hesitation.
She entered the bathroom, unaware of the predator trailing behind her.
Inside the restroom, Milim felt her body growing hotter by the second. She entered a cubicle, splashed water on her face, and stumbled to the sink, turning the faucet to full blast. Her reflection stared back from the mirror—cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. A terrible realization struck her.
The wine had been drugged.
Panic clutched her chest. She looked around, heart pounding. Then she saw it: a shadowy figure lingering suspiciously by one of the cubicles, pretending not to notice her but watching intently. Her instincts screamed danger.
She clenched her teeth. Scum.
Turning sharply, her eyes landed on another man—tall, poised, and well-dressed, leaning against the sink. He looked like someone important, refined even. Milim didn't know if she could make it out of the bathroom alone. Desperation overrode fear.
Dragging her feet toward him, she whispered, "Big brother… help me."
Dylan, half-dazed from his own drinking, thought he was imagining the voice—until he turned and saw a delicate girl clutching his shirt, her eyes pleading.
"What's the matter?" he asked, voice deep and calm.
Milim gripped his shirt tighter. "Someone's… staring at me. Please, take me out…"
His sharp eyes swept the room. When he spotted the man lurking in the cubicle, his gaze turned cold. "I know," he muttered.
Milim tried to speak more, to explain that her classmates were waiting for her, but her legs buckled. She collapsed into Dylan's arms.
Dylan, towering at nearly two meters, lifted her effortlessly. Milim's small frame—barely reaching his chest—felt light in his arms. As he turned to leave, the man from the cubicle stepped out, his face dark.
"She's with me," the man lied, reaching out.
Dylan didn't even break stride. He walked right past him.
"Sir, I said—!"
Dylan stopped. He looked down at the man, his voice low and deadly: "Get. Lost."
The man's face paled at the terrifying look in Dylan's eyes, and he froze in place.
Milim clung to Dylan like a frightened kitten, her body writhing with discomfort. Her breaths were shallow and feverish. "So… hot…"
A fruity sweetness lingered on her breath, mingled with the scent of alcohol. Oddly enough, Dylan wasn't repulsed. At twenty-nine, he'd yet to meet a woman whose scent didn't make him recoil. His friends often joked he'd die a picky old virgin.
Curious, he held her tighter, assessing her scent. Strangely… it didn't disgust him.
He booked a room at the nearest hotel without a second thought. Along the way, Milim clung to him, rubbing her face against his chest, twitching restlessly like a helpless animal. Dylan remained impassive—ignoring the hotel clerk's suspicious gaze.
Milim didn't understand what was happening. She was driven purely by instinct, acting on whatever gave her the slightest relief. But as someone easily bruised and afraid of pain, she didn't thrash violently. Instead, she balled her small fist and feebly pounded against Dylan's chest.
He turned off the shower, grabbed her wrist gently, and said, "Enough."
He had no intention of taking advantage of her—not just because she seemed so young, but because there was no lust in his heart, only curiosity and caution.
Lifting her into the bathtub, he wrapped her in a towel. Yet just as he relaxed, her small mouth latched onto his shoulder and bit down.
He grunted softly, not letting go. Sighing, he looked at the damp hair pressed against him. Her features were delicate, her expression twisted with discomfort.
If someone else had found her in that bathroom…
It was a miracle she had ended up with someone like him.
After placing her on the bed, Dylan gently pinched her cheek to stop her from biting. She whimpered, eyes still shut, clearly suffering.
Without hesitation, Dylan fetched a hairdryer and began drying her soaked hair.
Milim, dazed, clung to his arm, resting her cheek against it. Dylan, surprisingly at ease with her weight, allowed it and continued blow-drying her hair in silence.
But it wasn't enough.
She reached out from beneath the quilt, tugging his sleeve weakly. "Please… help me. I feel so uncomfortable…"
Her eyes, glazed with tears, met his. Dylan froze.
"I'm not that kind of man," he said sternly, backing away and tucking the quilt around her tighter.
Milim let out a broken sob. Why did she have such terrible luck? Was it too late to ask this man to find someone else for her?
"Then… can you find someone for me?"
Dylan leaned in, straining to hear her slurred voice. After a long pause, he frowned.
Truthfully, he felt no emotional attachment to the girl—only a strange tolerance for her scent and presence. But despite her pleas, his morals held fast.
And so he stood there, conflicted, staring down at the fragile girl who had unknowingly stirred something dormant inside him.