The penthouse smelled like money—leather, espresso, and the sterile tang of air filtration. Taehyung scrolled quarterly reports on his tablet, fingers tapping glass. At 48, he’d built an empire from shipping logistics, but evenings dissolved into something darker. Loneliness clung like static. He muted the stock ticker, opened SluttyFans.

SweetKoo’s latest video loaded: Midnight Oil. She knelt on velvet, crimson lace straining against curves that defied physics. Taehyung’s breath caught—not at the oil gleaming on her thighs, but her face. Innocent eyes wide, candy-pink lips parted in faux surprise. A brutal contrast to the way she spread herself, fingers parting plush folds so pink they looked photoshopped. He’d seen hundreds, but her… She was real. Unhinged. His thumb hovered over the tip button. $1000. MAKE HER MOAN MY NAME.

He never did. Instead, he watched, transfixed, as she arched, the camera catching every jiggle, every gasp. His free hand slid beneath his waistband. Fantasies weren’t supposed to ache like this—her giggles, the way she bit her lip while circling her clit… It felt less like lust, more like hunger. He came fast, brutally, teeth gritted against her pixelated image. Pathetic. A man jerking off to a stranger girl who’d never know he existed.

—

Next morning assistant’s call shattered the silence. "Sir, your 8 AM helicopter to Busan is confirmed. Mr. Sehun expects you for lunch." Taehyung grunted, wiping his hands on a monogrammed towel. Sehun. Army days felt like another lifetime—mud, cheap soju, shared cigarettes. He’d forgotten the man’s laugh, but not how he took a bullet meant for Taehyung in ’98. Duty demanded this visit.

As his driver navigated Seoul’s sprawl, Taehyung reopened SweetKoo’s profile. Online Now. A live thumbnail showed her in a oversized hoodie, hair messy, no makeup—startlingly plain. He almost swiped past until she stretched, the hoodie riding up to reveal a sliver of that unmistakable pink lace. His pulse spiked. Still wearing last night’s thong under sweatpants, you filthy girl. He tipped $500 anonymously. Good morning, Kitten.