The dinner party was going smoothly. Too smoothly, actually, which made Marcus a little more nervous than usual.
Eight guests sat around Dae-Jung's massive dining table—men in expensive suits, one woman in a dress that probably cost more than Marcus's entire year's rent. They spoke in Korean, occasionally switching to English, their conversations flowing between business and casual banter with the ease of people who'd known each other for years.
Marcus moved through the space like a ghost, refilling wine glasses, clearing plates, bringing out the next course. He'd perfected the art of being invisible. Being present but not intrusive, and efficient enough to not be noticeable.
Or at least, he'd thought he had. Every time he approached Dae-Jung's end of the table, he felt it. That gaze. It was heavy, ruthless and deliberate, tracking his movements even while Dae-Jung maintained a conversation about shipping routes and import taxes.
Marcus tried to ignore it but he failed spectacularly.
"This is incredible," one of the guests said in English, gesturing to the braised short ribs Marcus had spent hours preparing. "Jung-ah, where did you find this chef?"
Dae-Jung's lips quirked. "He's not a chef. Just my housekeeper."
"Just?" The woman, Min-seo, Marcus had learned laughed. "If my housekeeper could cook like this, I'd never eat out again."
Marcus felt his face heat as he set down a fresh basket of bread. Several pairs of eyes turned toward him, appraising.
"He's very efficient," Dae-Jung said, and there was something in his tone that made Marcus's stomach flip. "Good with his hands."
One of the men chuckled. Marcus kept his expression neutral, professional, even as his pulse kicked up.
"Are you single?" Min-seo asked Marcus directly, her smile warm. "I have a cousin, she's—"
"He's not interested," Dae-Jung cut in smoothly, taking a sip of wine.
Marcus's head snapped toward him. Dae-Jung wasn't looking at him, but there was a tightness around his jaw that hadn't been there a moment ago.
Min-seo raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do you know?"
"Well, because I pay attention." Dae-Jung set down his glass. "Marcus, we'll need more wine. The Châteauneuf-du-Pape, not the Bordeaux."
"Yes, sir."
Marcus escaped to the kitchen, his hands trembling slightly as he retrieved the wine from the cellar fridge.
"What the hell was that?" he thought.
He shouldn't have said anything. It wasn't his business whether Marcus was single or interested in anyone. And yet Dae-Jung had shut down Min-seo's question like he had a personal stake in the answer.
Marcus closed his eyes, steadying his breathing.
Stop reading into things. Stop making this into something it's not.
He grabbed the wine and headed back out. By 10 PM, the guests were starting to leave.
Marcus cleaned the kitchen while Dae-Jung saw them out, their voices carrying from the foyer; polite goodbyes, promises to meet again soon, the usual social niceties that came with this kind of life.
Finally, the door closed.
Silence.
Marcus scrubbed a pan, focusing on the rhythm of it. Soap, water, scrub. Soap, water, scrub. Don't think about…
"You can leave the rest for tomorrow."
Marcus jumped, spinning around. Dae-Jung stood in the kitchen doorway, tie loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He looked tired. And something else. Something Marcus couldn't quite name.
"I'm almost done," Marcus said.
"I said leave it."
It wasn't a request.
Marcus set down the pan and dried his hands, acutely aware of how alone they were now. No guests. No interruptions. Just the two of them in this too-big, too-quiet penthouse.
"The dinner was perfect," Dae-Jung said, moving to the bar cart and pouring himself a whiskey. "You did well."
"Thank you."
"Min-seo wasn't lying. You're wasted as a housekeeper."
Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "I like what I do."
"Do you?" Dae-Jung turned, leaning against the bar, glass in hand. His gaze was sharp, assessing. "Or is this just what you ended up with?"
The question caught Marcus off guard. "I…what do you mean?"
"I mean," Dae-Jung took a sip of whiskey. "...you're clearly capable of more. So why are you here, cleaning my house, cooking my food, keeping your head down like you're trying to disappear?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "Not everyone gets to choose their circumstances, Mr. Han."
"Dae-Jung."
"Sir?"
"Call me Dae-Jung. We're alone. The formality is exhausting."
Marcus swallowed. "That wouldn't be appropriate, Mr Han."
"Neither was yesterday, but that didn't stop it from happening."
The air between them shifted, tension crackling like static electricity.
"Nothing happened yesterda—," Marcus started to say and suddenly stopped because his voice lacked conviction.
Damnit.
Dae-Jung smiled. It was a slow but dangerous smile. "You keep saying that. Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"
Marcus looked away. "Sir, i should go."
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Run." Dae-Jung pushed off the bar, closing the distance between them. "Every time things get uncomfortable, every time I get too close, you run."
"I'm not running, sir. I'm just maintaining professional boundaries."
"Boundaries?" Dae-Jung laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Is that what we're calling it?"
He was close now. Too close. Marcus could smell the whiskey on his breath, could see the flecks of dark pink in his lighter hair, could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"Why did you tell Min-seo I wasn't interested?" Marcus asked, the question tumbling out before he could stop it.
Dae-Jung's expression shifted. Something possessive flickering across his features. "Because you're not."
"You don't know that."
"Don't I?" Dae-Jung's voice dropped lower. "Tell me, Marcus. Are you interested in Min-seo's cousin? Someone you've never met who she thinks would be 'perfect' for you?"
Marcus's heart hammered. "That's not…"
"Are you interested in dating? In going out? In letting some stranger touch you?" Dae-Jung's hand came up, fingers ghosting along Marcus's forearm. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it set Marcus's skin on fire. "Or are you too busy thinking about something— or someone—else?"
"Stop," Marcus breathed.
"Stop what?"
"This. Whatever this is."
"And what is this, Marcus?" Dae-Jung's thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of Marcus's wrist. "Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
Marcus's breath came in short, shallow bursts. He should pull away. Should leave. Should do literally anything other than stand here, drowning in the intensity of Dae-Jung's gaze.
"I can't," Marcus whispered.
"Can't what?"
"I can't—" His voice broke. "You don't understand."
Dae-Jung's expression softened slightly, his hand moving from Marcus's wrist to his jaw, tilting his face up. "Then help me understand."
For a moment, Marcus almost did. Almost told him everything—about his body, his past, the reasons he kept people at arm's length. Almost let himself believe that maybe, impossibly, this could be something.
But reality crashed back in. This was Dae-Jung Han. A mafia boss. A man who controlled empires and made people disappear. A man who could have anyone he wanted. Who probably did have anyone he wanted.
And Marcus was just the housekeeper with a secret that would end this before it even began.
"I should go," Marcus said again, stepping back. Dae-Jung's hand fell away.
"Marcus—"
"Goodnight, Mr. Han."
He grabbed his backpack and left, practically running to the elevator, feeling Dae-Jung's eyes on him the entire way.
—
Marcus made it three blocks before he had to stop. He leaned against a building, hands shaking, breath coming in gasps that had nothing to do with the walk and everything to do with what had almost happened.
What the hell am I doing?
He couldn't keep working there. Couldn't keep putting himself in situations where Dae-Jung looked at him like that, touched him like that, spoke to him like every word was a promise of something more.
It was too dangerous.
Not because of who Dae-Jung was, though that was certainly part of it, but because of how Marcus felt. The way his body responded. The way his heart raced. The way he wanted, desperately and stupidly, to believe this could be real. Then his phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
Unknown: You forgot your jacket.
Marcus's heart stopped. How did Dae-Jung get his number? Right. The employment paperwork.
Shit.
Unknown: Come get it tomorrow. Early. Before you start your shift.
Unknown: We need to talk.
Marcus stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
He should quit. Should text back right now and say he wouldn't be coming back.
But he needed this job. He needed the money. And more than that—god help him—he needed to see Dae-Jung again, even if it was the worst possible idea.
Marcus: Okay, sir.
The response came immediately.
Unknown: Good. 7 AM. Don't be late.
Unknown: And Marcus?
Marcus: Yes?
Unknown: Stop running. Whatever you're afraid of, we'll figure it out.
Marcus's vision blurred. He wasn't sure if it was from fear or something else entirely.
—
He didn't sleep again that night.
At 6:45 AM, Marcus stood outside Dae-Jung's building, stomach in knots, staring up at the top floor.
You can do this. Just get your jacket and get the hell out. Quick. In and out.
"But wait, I have to work till 6PM." He sighed mentally slapping his forehead.
Lord, why was this happening to me.