Tae pulled the Porsche up to the curb outside Koo’s penthouse building, the engine’s low purr cutting through the humid night air like a threat. The clock on the dash glowed 11:47 p.m.—late enough for the streets to feel conspiratorial, empty save for the distant hum of traffic. Koo was a mess in the passenger seat: dress still hiked scandalously high, thighs slick and trembling, her fat pussy a throbbing, denied ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. Mascara streaked her cheeks from the tears of frustration, lips swollen from biting them raw during the drive. She couldn’t look at him—couldn’t even speak—just clutched the door handle like it was a lifeline, body humming with unspent need.

He killed the ignition, turning to her with that infuriating smirk, midnight eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “Home sweet home, Aunt Koo. You good?”