"Mmmmm..Ahhh…ahh"
The young man's eyes shot open.
For half a second, there was only sensation.
Heat. Pressure. Movement.
Then awareness crashed into him.
His heart raced as he took in the sight before him. A mature woman, her dark brown hair tied in a messy bun that had since come undone, strands clinging to damp skin was straddling him, her ample breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hips. He felt his hardened cock twitch inside her warm pussy.
His body responded before his mind could.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Wasn't I dead?
The thought came fractured, distant , drowned beneath the overwhelming reality of flesh and warmth and the intimate grip surrounding him. His body was fully aroused, reacting instinctively to the friction, the heat, the way she moved.
He felt her tighten around him.
His breath hitched.
This isn't—
This isn't my body.
"Ohh..my.."
The realization flickered just as she moaned, her face flushed, her breathing heavy. The sound vibrated through him, dragging him back into the present. Confusion tangled with something far more primal , raw, uncontrollable instinct.
He was eighteen.
He had never—
His fingers moved on their own, gripping her hips. The sensation of guiding her , of controlling the pace , sent a sharp current through him. She responded immediately, adjusting to the shift, riding him harder.
"Krrk.."
The bed creaked beneath them.
Her hands moved behind her head, giving a clear view of her majestic breasts, arching in a way that made his thoughts scatter completely. The position was shameless, intimate, overwhelming.
It felt wrong.
It felt intoxicating.
He tried to speak — to demand answers — but all that escaped was a strained breath as his body matched her rhythm.
It felt so wrong yet so right at the same time. As they moved together in perfect sync, the young man couldn't help but match her rhythm, thrusting upward into her wet heat.
Wasn't I dying?
Wine.
Poison.
Yuna—
The memory flashed , his chest tightening, the world tilting.
For a split second, panic clawed up his spine.
Then she clenched around him again.
And panic dissolved into sensation.
"Mmmmm…..ahhhh.."
Her skin glistened with sweat, and the sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room.
His mind struggled to stabilize, but his body betrayed him completely.
Too much.
Too fast.
He wasn't in control.
He could feel pressure building rapidly, unfamiliar and unstoppable. He gritted his teeth, trying desperately to anchor himself in logic.
Where am I?
Who is this woman?
Why does this feel—
"Grr.."
With a loud groan, he surrendered to the sensations, letting himself fall deeper into the moment.
His cock slipped easily into her slick folds, filling her completely. She cried out again, arching her back as waves of pleasure washed over her. The young man's hips bucked upward, meeting her downstroke, and suddenly, they were both overtaken by their desires. He felt her walls clench tightly around him, and with one final push, he released himself inside her.
As he came, she leaned forward, her breasts pressed against his chest. Their heavy breathing filled the air as they caught their collective breaths. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, still impaling herself on his now-softening cock. The young man wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.
Her weight pressed against him as both of them tried to steady their breathing.
His chest rose and fell unevenly.
For a few seconds, he simply lay there, arms around her waist, the aftershock pulsing faintly through him.
Alive.
I am alive.
And then clarity returned like a blade.
This isn't my room.
The ceiling was wrong.
The scent was wrong.
The body beneath his hands was not the one he knew.
His pulse spiked violently.
He sat up abruptly.
"No.."
The movement sent her slipping sideways onto the mattress with a soft thud. She caught herself quickly, hair falling around her shoulders as she stared at him.
Her eyes weren't seduced now.
They were searching.
Concerned.
"What… what happened?" she asked, voice low but steady.
He stared at her.
Not with lust.
Not with anger.
But with dawning realization.
Alex forced air into his lungs, the weight of confusion pressing harder against him than the lingering heat in his body.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice rough from exertion and disbelief. "Where am I?"
The woman did not react with shock or panic.
Instead, she regarded him calmly, almost patiently, as though he were the one behaving strangely.
She slid off the bed without haste and began gathering her inner garments from the floor, movements fluid and unembarrassed. There was no fluster in her posture, no attempt to conceal herself in awkward modesty. She dressed with the ease of someone who had long ago shed any sense of romantic expectation from such encounters.
"I never expected you to take any responsibility, Young Master," she said evenly, fastening her undergarments before reaching for the neatly folded maid uniform draped over the nearby chair. "You don't need to act like this."
The words struck him harder than they should have.
Young Master?
His breathing had not yet steadied. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed, muscles tense, eyes tracking her every movement with guarded sharpness. Even in his disorientation, instinct told him not to lower his guard.
Responsibility for what?
She stepped into her uniform smoothly, the dark fabric fitting her figure with structured precision. As she buttoned it up, the softness of earlier moments seemed to retreat behind a professional composure. She tied the apron with practiced fingers, then lifted her arms to gather her hair, twisting the loose strands back into a messy but controlled bun at the nape of her neck.
Only then did she look at him properly.
And for the first time, he truly saw her.
She was not young , not in the fragile way girls were. There was maturity in the shape of her face, in the steady confidence of her gaze. Her features were soft yet defined, cheekbones subtly sculpted beneath warm-toned skin. Her lips were naturally full, still faintly flushed, but no longer parted in breathless abandon. Her eyes were a deep, earthy brown, observant and unhurried, framed by lashes slightly damp from earlier exertion. There was something grounding about her presence ,not delicate, not sharp, but solid.
Her beauty was not the fragile bloom of youth.
There was no nervous flutter in her expression, no romantic softness, only calm awareness.
And that made it more dangerous in its own way.
She should be around late 20's to early 30's.
Alex felt a flicker of unwanted awareness stir in his chest , which he quickly suppressed. Attraction was secondary. Information came first.
His thoughts spiraled violently.
What exactly happened?
Where am I?
And what did she mean by responsibility?
The woman adjusted the cuffs of her sleeves, expression unreadable now.
"Don't forget to meet Master as soon as you can," she said calmly, smoothing down the front of her uniform. "Or you will be scolded again."
Again.
Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the door with quiet efficiency. Her footsteps were measured, neither hurried nor hesitant.
Alex's eyes followed her until she stepped beyond the threshold.
The door clicked shut.
Silence filled the room.
For several seconds, he simply sat there, breath finally beginning to slow, mind racing faster than it ever had in a boardroom.
Young Master.
Master.
Scolded again.
Is this a dream?
His gaze drifted absently across the unfamiliar furnishings the heavy drapes, the carved wardrobe, the dark polished floor—
And then it stopped abruptly.
At the far end of the room stood a tall, ornate mirror framed in silver filigree.
His eyes widened.
Because the man staring back at him…
Was not Alexander Sterling.
He pushed himself off the bed in one abrupt motion—
—and immediately froze.
A sharp soreness pulled at his hips and lower back, forcing a strained breath from his throat.
"…Ah."
The realization dawned half a second later, and heat climbed up his neck for an entirely different reason.
Right.
Of course.
Ignoring the lingering ache, he strode toward the mirror with controlled urgency, though his steps were not quite as steady as he would have liked. The ornate frame loomed before him, tall and imposing, silver filigree curling along its edges like frost captured in metal.
He stopped and stared.
The body standing in the mirror was taller , broader across the shoulders, the lines of muscle more defined than his old frame had ever been. A chiseled torso bore the kind of disciplined musculature forged through rigorous training rather than gym vanity. Defined abs, powerful chest, lean but unmistakably strong arms , this was a body built for combat and command.
His gaze lifted slowly.
The face was refined, aristocratic ,sharp jawline, straight nose, lips set naturally in a faintly severe line even in shock. And above it all—
Wild white hair fell in loose, untamed strands around his forehead and ears, framing eyes that gleamed with striking, unnatural intensity.
Golden. Sharp. Assessing.
They stared back at him with a predatory brilliance that did not belong to the boy who had died in a hotel room.
"W–who is this?" he muttered under his breath.
The reflection's lips moved in perfect synchronization.
He lifted a trembling hand and touched his cheek.
The mirrored hand did the same.
His fingers slid into the white strands of hair, tugging lightly as if expecting them to dissolve into illusion.
His breathing grew heavier, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
"Whose body is this…?"
He ran his hand down over his chest, across the firm planes of muscle as though confirming they were real.
This isn't a dream.
"H-have I reincarnated somehow…?"
The word felt absurd even as it left his mouth.
His gaze darted away from the mirror, scanning the room for answers.
The space was expansive, the ceiling high and adorned with intricate carvings painted in muted white and navy. Long velvet drapes in deep blue framed tall windows that allowed pale daylight to spill across polished marble flooring. A four-poster bed stood behind him, carved from pale wood and accented with silver detailing. A large wardrobe, equally ornate, rested against the far wall, and a long writing desk sat neatly arranged near the window.
White and navy.
He swallowed.
"Have I… been reborn into royalty or something?"
His eyes returned to the mirror.
The golden gaze in the reflection felt disturbingly familiar.
He leaned closer, studying the sharp features, the cold intensity embedded within them.
"I… I've seen this face before…"
His hand moved slowly to his forehead as he tried to grasp the memory.
Where?
The—
Knock. Knock.
The sharp sound shattered his concentration.
He turned abruptly toward the door just as it opened without waiting for permission.
An older man stepped inside with measured composure.
He appeared to be in his late sixties, tall despite the slight stoop of age. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his attire was immaculate , a black tailcoat trimmed with subtle navy accents, crisp white gloves, and a silver pocket watch chain glinting faintly at his waist. His posture radiated discipline refined through decades of service.
His eyes briefly scanned the room—
—and landed on Alex.
Then shifted upward immediately, staring pointedly at the far wall with impressive professionalism.
Alex followed his gaze down instinctively.
And froze.
Damn it.
Heat flared across his face as he hastily covered himself with both hands.
I–I am naked?!
The butler cleared his throat softly, still looking in the opposite direction with impeccable restraint.
"Master has been expecting you for some time," he said in a cold, measured tone.
Alex's mind raced.
Master….Again!?
"Get out," Alex snapped reflexively, still half in shock.
The butler did not flinch.
"I will be waiting outside," he replied evenly. "Please hurry."
He paused at the threshold, voice lowering just slightly.
"At the very least… look presentable, Young Master."
The door closed with quiet finality.
Alex stood there, still clutching himself, staring at the door as realization settled like ice in his veins.