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Summary
Yeosang was sixteen.
Too pretty for his own good. Too quiet. Too polite. The kind of beauty that drew unwanted eyes, even when he was dressed in plain clothes and bowed so low his forehead kissed the floor.
He belonged to no one.
And that was dangerous.
San met him in Kyoto.
In the home of a politician who liked to "collect" pretty things. Yeosang had been brought out to serve tea—to smile, bow, and disappear into the background. Like a vase. Like a doll.
San was already wealthy then. Already feared.
And the moment Yeosang stepped into the room—elegant, silent, too composed for someone so young—San didn’t look away.
Not once.
“Who’s that?” San had asked, even though he never asked about servants.
The politician laughed. “That one? Korean. Abandoned in the city years ago. I keep him around for display.”San’s eyes didn’t move. “I’ll take him.”
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