The neon lights of Seoul flickered against the rain-slicked streets, their reflections pooling like melted gemstones in the dark alleys of Itaewon. The city never slept, but for those who thrived in the shadows, night was more than just a time—it was a veil, a sanctuary.

Jung Haneul adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black suit, his fingers briefly grazing the concealed dagger strapped beneath his jacket. He had always preferred precision over brutality. A single bullet, a single cut—clean, efficient, untraceable. That was his reputation, the reason his name was spoken only in whispers among those who dealt in death.

Tonight was no different.

His latest contract had come from an anonymous client, as they always did. A name, a face, a location—nothing more, nothing less. This time, it was Min Jisoo, heiress to one of South Korea's most powerful conglomerates. The file had described her in clinical terms: age 24, daughter of Min Taejun, CEO of Min Group, currently residing at the Imperial Hotel, Suite 1702. But the attached photograph had been something else entirely.

She wasn't what he expected.

Dark brown eyes framed by long lashes, a sharp yet delicate jawline, and lips curved in an almost knowing smile, as if she had seen through the camera lens and into the soul of the one who would one day come for her. Her beauty wasn't just striking—it was disarming.

Haneul had dismissed the feeling as momentary weakness. She is just another target. No different from the others.

But as he stepped into the grand lobby of the Imperial Hotel, something in the air felt different. He had killed in luxury before, slipping through silk-draped corridors, his presence nothing more than a shadow. Yet tonight, the opulence around him felt suffocating. The marble floors gleamed under chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air.

He made his way to the elevator, his reflection momentarily catching in the polished doors before they slid open. Suite 1702. The number repeated in his mind like a drumbeat.

The ride up was silent, save for the faint hum of the elevator. His heartbeat was steady. It always was before a kill.

When the doors opened, the hallway stretched before him, quiet and empty. He moved with practiced ease, reaching the suite's door in seconds. His gloved hand retrieved a small device from his pocket—a custom signal jammer. With a simple click, the electronic lock blinked green.

The door opened with a soft click.

Haneul stepped inside.

The suite was dimly lit, the glow of the city spilling in through floor-to-ceiling windows. A faint floral scent hung in the air—something light, feminine, yet not overpowering. Jasmine, perhaps. His sharp gaze swept the space. The living area was empty, the furniture untouched. He moved forward, silent as death itself, toward the bedroom door that stood slightly ajar.

And then he heard it.

A voice—soft, melodic, yet laced with something unreadable.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Haneul froze.

Min Jisoo stood by the window, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable, her dark eyes meeting his without fear.

For the first time in his career, Jung Haneul hesitated.