The steam in the massive walk-in was nearly opaque, clinging to the black obsidian tiles. Ji-ho stood under the heavy spray, his palms flat against the stone, his fingers splaying wide as he braced himself. The water carved a path through his muscles, slicking over his defined abs and the dark ink of the tattoos that painted his chest and arms.
His satisfied eyes stared down between his legs, watching the vision of focused hunger through the steam, observing her head bob with a steady, punishing rhythm. Her mouth stretched wide, her lips slick and tight around his cock as she took him deep, the sounds of her gagging and the wet, heavy suction echoing off the wet walls. One of her hands was buried between her own thighs, her fingers moving in a frantic, blurred motion as she rubbed herself, her clit slick against her palm.
Ji-ho let out a low, gravelly growl, his hips jerking forward with a mind of their own, driving deeper into her throat. He watched the way her sultry eyes remained locked on his even as she struggled to take all of him, her gaze defiant and needy at the same time. He reached down, his wet fingers tangling in her hair to steady her as he thrust at a punishing pace, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
He took a moment to appreciate the view—the way the shower spray caught the curve of her spine, the water pooling in the small of her back before disappearing into the deep crack of her ass. She was perfect, a high-end toy providing exactly what he needed. A self-satisfied, arrogant smile spread across his face as he watched her work, his breath hitching as the friction of her tongue and the pressure of her hand sent a jolt of heat straight to his gut.
"That's it," he rasped, his voice vibrating in the humid air as he thrust again, the sounds of her throat working around him becoming the only thing he could hear over the hiss of the water.
In the bedroom, the silence was broken by the sharp, persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. It vibrated against the dark cedar surface of the low-profile bed platform. The phone went quiet just as the first heavy thud hit the front door.
Outside, Ming Lee was radiating irritation. He checked his tourbillon watch, the gears clicking silently as he glared at the grain of the wood.
"Open it," Ming commanded, his voice cold.
The condo manager didn't hesitate. He looked at the six massive bodyguards standing like pillars behind Ming and reached for his master key. He knew the Lee family's reputation in the underworld; he wasn't about to risk a "disappearance" over a privacy policy. He swiped the card, pushed the door open, and vanished down the hall.
Ming stepped into the apartment, his dress shoes silent on the marble. He didn't need to be a detective to see how his brother had spent the morning. A lace bra lay discarded like a trophy near the foyer; a silk dress and two champagne glasses sat on the table nearby.
Ming walked into the living room and dropped onto the leather sofa. From this height, the entire Greenwood cityscape was laid out behind him, the hotel and casino towers gleaming in the light. He pulled out his phone and opened PikFlip, mindlessly scrolling through the feed while the distant hiss of the shower finally stopped.
"Go," Ming said to two of the guards. "Hurry him up before Mom loses it."
Right on cue, his phone lit up. With Eomma (Mom).
"Where is your brother?" she demanded the second he picked up.
"He's getting dressed, Eomma," Ming replied seamlessly. "We'll be there soon."
"I am getting impatient, Ming," she snapped, and the line went dead.
A few minutes later, Ji-ho sauntered into the living room. He looked entirely unbothered, wrapped in a heavy charcoal bathrobe with his glasses on, his damp hair messy but dark. He held his phone out, shaking his head as it vibrated again.
"Mom," Ming said, guessing who the caller was.
"Mom," Ji-ho repeated, as Ming stood up and smoothed out his black polo.
"Go. I'll meet you there," Ji-ho told him, his voice still husky from the shower.
Ming paused, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the closed bedroom door. "What's her name? Is she a nice woman, Mom, with a multitude of talents?" He smirked while picking at his brother.
"Get out," Ji-ho said, his tone flat but with a trace of a smile. Ming laughed as he left his brother's apartment.
The red Ferrari screamed as it tore through the North Gates of The Hill Estates. The security team barely had time to wave him through before the car was a speck in the distance, weaving through the sprawling estates of the ultra-wealthy.
Ji-ho brought the car to a screeching halt right in the center of the estate's circular driveway. He didn't bother turning it off; he left the engine idling and the keys in the ignition, stepping out just as Ming reached the doorstep.
As the brothers entered the house, a valet was already sliding into the Ferrari's leather seat to park it properly. The two men moved through the foyer and into the Tea Room, where the atmosphere was thick with the scent of bitter tea and unspoken reprimands.
Their parents were already seated. Ji-ho didn't say a word; he simply stepped forward and bowed deeply, a perfect display of filial respect, before taking his seat on the couch opposite them.
Inside the tea room, the air was brittle. Veda didn't offer a greeting to her son. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, flicked toward her younger son.
"Ming. Out," she commanded.
Ming let out a long, theatrical sigh of irritation, but he didn't argue. He pushed off the sofa and retreated, pulling the heavy double doors shut with a definitive click. In the hallway, his sister Himari was already waiting, her hands raised in a silent, frantic "What's the deal?" gesture. Ming just shrugged, and as if choreographed, the two of them leaned forward, pressing their ears against the dark wood of the door, desperate to catch a stray word.
Inside, the silence was heavy. Chen, Ji-ho's father, sat perfectly still. His long gray hair was loose, draping over his shoulders like silk. Without saying a word, he reached for a leather dossier on the low table and slid it toward his son.
"Sign it," Veda said, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel.
Ji-ho looked at them skeptically. He picked up the folder, his eyes darting across the legalese of the contract. With every page he flipped, his brow furrowed deeper. By the time he reached the end, his jaw was clamped so tight the muscles in his face jumped. He was vibrating with a suppressed rage, held back only by the deep-seated respect he had for the two people across from him.
"Nala is a baby," he gritted out, his voice low.
"She is a woman. Twenty-four," Veda countered. "The perfect age for a wife. Sign the contract."
"Please! I don't want this. I don't want her," Ji-ho pleaded. He slid off the couch, dropping to his knees on the floor. His head hung low, his pride discarded. He didn't want to be tied to Nala Beckford; he didn't want to be tied to anyone. He'd rather spend his life alone than be a piece on a chessboard.
Chen's nostrils flared. He made a sharp tisk sound before his palm slammed down on the coffee table. The impact made the hand-painted China cups rattle in their saucers.
"You do as you are told," Chen barked. "Marry her."
"Please," Ji-ho tried one last time, his voice thick with desperation. He searched for a logical exit, any way to change their minds. "I don't understand. Why me? Ming is closer to her age."
Veda's eyes flashed with genuine anger. "You would push your responsibilities onto your brother? Are you not his protector? Get up."
Defeated, Ji-ho rose and sank back into his seat. His shoulders slumped, the fire in him extinguished by the weight of his duty.
"The Beckfords are a good family," Veda said, her tone softening slightly but remaining firm. "Even if their eldest was a daughter, you still would not have the choice. You will marry Nala. She is a sweet girl—kind, smart, with strong family values. You will be a good husband to her."
Ji-ho stared at the floor. "How long? Until I must marry?"
"Nala requested a year," Veda answered. "Very fair-minded."
A year. Ji-ho pulled the pen free from its leather casing. His hand was steady, though his heart was racing as he signed and initialed every single page. He had twelve months to change the Beckfords' minds. He could only hope that Nala was just as resistant to this forced match as he was.
As soon as the last signature was dried, Veda snatched the dossier back, tucking it away like a prize. "You whine for no reason," she said with a dismissive wave. "You will be very happy."
"Go," Chen dismissed him, his irritation still visible in the set of his mouth.
Ji-ho stood, gave his parents one last polite, stiff bow, and turned for the door. The moment he pulled it open, the weight of his siblings vanished as Himari and Ming came tumbling into the room in a tangled heap.
The two scrambled to their feet, looking sheepish as they brushed off their clothes, their eyes darting anywhere but at their father. Veda couldn't help it—a small, rare chuckle escaped her lips at the sheer silliness of her children.
"Do you have so much free time that you seek out gossip?" Chen asked, his voice returning to its authoritative rumble.
"It's not gossip, Dad," Himari chirped, trying to regain her dignity. "Because we're all family... it's vicarious observation of familiar yapping!"
"Go. Now," Chen sighed deeply, reaching for his tea as the three of them fled the room. He took a slow sip, muttering under his breath, "Such troublemakers. Vicarious observation of familiar yapping." Repeating his daughter's words made his lip curve upwards ever so slightly.
Once the door was firmly shut again, he looked at his wife. "Are you convinced he will come around to Nala?"
Veda's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. "I am. She's not nearly as mild as he may think."
"We cannot allow ourselves to fall behind," she continued, her voice dropping into a more calculating tone. "There are only so many matches to be had on the Hill. And with the recent entanglement of the Westbrooks and the Kane family, we must secure our dynasty now."
Chen stared into the depths of his teacup, his expression unreadable. "Are you sure we are not jumping to conclusions?"
"You saw them at the auction," Veda reminded him, her eyes flashing with the memory of their rivals' public posturing. "That was a statement. We cannot afford to wait for Ji-ho to decide he is ready to be a man."
Chen let out a slow, measured breath, the weight of the family's future settling on his shoulders. "True."
He took another sip of tea, the decision final. The clock on Ji-ho's bachelorhood had officially run out.
Author's note:
See you next Saturday!