CHAPTER 2

The man stood only an arm’s length away, and at this distance, his height became impossible to ignore—nearly brushing one hundred ninety centimeters. Broad shoulders and a solid, athletic frame gave him the presence of someone built for dominance, the kind of mixed-race physique that looked more suited to a battlefield than a bar parking lot.

Under the clearer lights, his smoky gray eyes were even more striking—unnervingly so. They held a depth that felt almost hypnotic, as if staring too long might pull you under. His sharp jaw was shadowed with a few days’ worth of stubble, lending him an intimidating, rough edge that made Peach’s instincts scream danger.

Yes, he was undeniably handsome. But it wasn’t the kind of beauty that made your heart flutter—it was the kind that made you consider running for your life.

“You’re not opening that with your injured hand,” the man said calmly, extending his palm as if the matter was already settled.

Peach blinked, momentarily thrown off. His guard remained high, but after a brief hesitation, he handed over the bottle. The man twisted the cap open effortlessly and returned it.

“Thanks,” Peach murmured, stepping aside as he poured water over the cut, washing away the dried blood.

“That’s what you get for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” the man remarked coolly.

Peach paused, then smiled faintly and continued rinsing the wound. “You’re not wrong. It wasn’t my business. But I couldn’t just leave that kid there. If I can help someone, I probably will.”

He dried his arm with tissues, inspecting the scratch. It wasn’t deep, but a tetanus shot would be necessary.

“Helping people like that will only get you into trouble,” the man said, crossing his arms.

“I’m always in trouble,” Peach replied lightly. “I’m used to it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added with a resigned sigh, “But seriously—could you not hit on the kid? Every time there’s drama, I’m the one stuck in the middle.”

The man’s expression darkened instantly.

“There is nothing I want that I cannot have.”

The words landed heavily in the air.

Then Peach burst out laughing.

He tried to hold it back, but it only made him cough, laughter spilling out until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. The darker the man’s glare became, the harder Peach laughed.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, lifting a hand in surrender. “I didn’t mean to laugh—it just caught me off guard. Who actually talks like that? It’s so over-the-top. Straight out of a tyrant’s handbook.”

The scowl deepened, forcing Peach to tone it down quickly.

“Look, if you like Ran, why not approach him properly?” Peach suggested. “He’s still single. Try being… normal?”

The man looked unimpressed. “Why would I waste my time?”

The sheer arrogance of it made Peach nod slowly. Ah. One of those.

This guy was a walking trope—dominant, controlling, aggressive. The kind of man romance novels labeled mafia boss in bold letters.

“Control yourself,” Peach said casually, leaning against his car. “No one enjoys being pressured or bossed around—unless they’re into pain.”

The man scoffed. “It’s just sex.”

“Even more reason to do it right,” Peach countered, his tone turning serious. “Sex is supposed to be mutual. Enjoyed by both people. Not something you force or bargain for.”

He spoke with confidence, though his own experience was limited. Three failed relationships, a few distant one-night stands. Still, the principle mattered.

The man fell silent, brows furrowing as if grappling with a foreign concept.

Peach yawned quietly. He was exhausted—beyond exhausted.

“Give me your phone.”

Peach snapped awake. Confused but too tired to argue—and far too aware of the armed bodyguards nearby—he handed it over.

The man tapped on the screen briefly before returning it.

Peach hesitated, then blurted, “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

The man froze. Something flickered in his eyes before he scoffed.

“That’s the dumbest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

Peach laughed again—full, genuine, uncontrollable.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I swear I’m not flirting. You just… really look familiar. Especially your eyes.”

The tension eased slightly.

“I’ll think about it,” the man finally said, turning away.

Only after he disappeared did Peach release the breath he’d been holding.

Elsewhere

Theerakit Kian Arseny sat behind his desk, fingers tapping slowly.

Few knew the truth behind the Arseny name. What began as arms trafficking had evolved into technology, then luxury—perfume and jewelry serving as a pristine front for an empire built on power.

He was used to taking what he wanted.

Yet tonight, something felt… off.

The model had caught his attention—but it was the photographer who lingered in his thoughts. Calm. Warm. Unafraid. Laughing at him.

No one ever laughed and survived.

And yet Peach had.

When the background reports arrived, Thee skipped over the model’s file and opened the photographer’s instead.

Clean. Ordinary. Simple.

Annoyingly interesting.

He dialed the number without hesitation.

“I’ll be downstairs in an hour,” he said. “We’re having breakfast.”

Confusion crackled on the other end of the line—but Thee hung up, already smiling faintly.

For the first time, work felt… easy.