CHAPTER 4

The sleek black luxury car glided to a stop in the underground parking lot of one of the city’s most exclusive shopping malls. The engine purred softly before going silent, and Peach barely had the energy to question how his life had taken such a strange turn in less than twenty-four hours.

Too exhausted to argue, protest, or even internally scream anymore, he followed the mafia boss out of the car like a docile shadow. His movements were sluggish, his thoughts still foggy from a night without proper sleep. The guards flanked them quietly, their presence heavy but practiced, as if escorting a mafia boss through a luxury mall was just another mundane task on their daily schedule.

It wasn’t until Peach was standing inside a chic café, condensation beading down the side of a tall plastic cup, that he finally felt something resembling relief.

Iced Americano. Extra shot.

He took one long sip, then another. The bitterness jolted his senses awake, sending caffeine straight to his brain like a defibrillator. Slowly—painfully slowly—his thoughts began to reboot. His shoulders loosened, his grip on the cup relaxed, and his breathing evened out.

Okay. I’m alive. I’m not kidnapped. Yet.

Walking behind Thee, Peach blended almost seamlessly into the entourage. Anyone glancing their way would probably assume he was an assistant, a stylist, or some poor employee dragged along for a work-related lunch. He sipped his coffee occasionally, eyes wandering over glossy storefronts and towering displays, choosing to focus on the normalcy of the mall rather than the absurdity of walking beside a half-Russian mafia boss.

At some point, resignation settled in.

If I’m going to die, at least let it be caffeinated.

By the time his cup was half empty, Thee stopped in front of a high-end Japanese restaurant. Peach looked up at the sign, momentarily dazed. He recognized the name immediately—one of those places people wrote long blog posts about, complete with food photography and captions like worth every baht and once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Before he could process it fully, Thee spoke, his voice low and calm. With no real choice in the matter, Peach followed him inside.

The interior was elegant in a quiet, understated way—soft lighting, polished wood, minimal decor. It was beautiful. And expensive. Very expensive.

Peach felt a flicker of excitement bloom in his chest. He loved Japanese food. Loved it. And this wasn’t just any restaurant—it was the kind he had only ever admired from afar, saving photos on his phone and telling himself, One day, if I land a really big job.

Of course, that excitement came bundled with a deeply uncomfortable, out-of-place feeling.

Maybe it was the armed escorts. Maybe it was the private rooms. Maybe it was the fact that his lunch companion was a mafia boss.

Probably all of the above.

He stood frozen for a few seconds, mentally lamenting his fate, before one of the escorts gently nudged him forward. Peach flinched, took the hint, and walked deeper into the restaurant.

The door to a private dining room slid open.

Peach stepped inside—and then the door slid shut behind him.

The escorts didn’t follow.

They just… left.

He stared at the closed door, his soul screaming.

Seriously? You’re just going to leave me alone with him?

But what was he supposed to do? Throw a tantrum? Demand supervision? He wasn’t a beautiful model Thee might indulge with patience. He was just some photographer who had accidentally talked too much the night before.

Testing his luck felt like a terrible idea.

So he swallowed his nerves and focused on the table instead.

When the waiter placed the menu down, Peach opened it—and immediately froze when he saw the prices. His brows knitted together, discomfort creeping in.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford food. But this? Spending that much on a single meal felt wrong on a spiritual level.

He glanced up at Thee cautiously. “Uh… is this on you?”

The look he gave—wide eyes, hesitant tone—came out way more like a puppy than he intended.

Thee studied him for a moment, unreadable, before answering.

“I’m putting you to work,” he said. “Of course

I’m paying.”

Relief hit Peach instantly.

His face lit up, tension melting away as he dove back into the menu with renewed enthusiasm.

In another life, he had bookmarked reviews of this place, scrolling through photos late at night, promising himself that if he ever made it big, he’d come here. Now, the opportunity had dropped into his lap—completely free.

No way was he rushing this.

After much deliberation, he chose a large bowl of unagi don. He heard Thee order something expensive-sounding—a steak, probably. When the waiter left and the door slid shut again, reality hit Peach like a truck.

Private room. Closed door. Mafia boss.

Oh no.

The excitement evaporated instantly. His body tensed, mind spiraling.

How did I let this happen?

Sleep deprivation, anxiety, caffeine overload—everything crashed together. His brain felt blank, overloaded, useless. Whatever clever escape plan he might’ve had was gone.

Fine. Straight to the point.

“So,” he said finally, “what exactly did you need me for?”

Thee was quiet for a moment, as if weighing something.

“You said I should flirt,” he said at last. “How does that work?”

Peach blinked.

Then remembered.

Oh. That.

The conversation from the night before came flooding back. He had told Thee not to use force, not to intimidate—had suggested flirting as a normal alternative.

He hadn’t expected the man to take him seriously.

A mafia boss wanting to court someone felt surreal. But then again… Aran was ridiculously cute. The kind of soft, pretty face that could undo even the most hardened man.

Peach sighed.

“I’m not exactly an expert,” he admitted. “But courting is about interest. Getting to know someone. Seeing if you’re compatible.”

Thee frowned. “Why bother? It’s just sex.”

Peach’s patience thinned instantly.

“

Because the other person matters,” he said firmly. “If they don’t want it, you can’t force them.”

Thee scoffed. “Who would dare force me?”

Peach rolled his eyes.

“It’s hypothetical,” he snapped. “If it were me? I’d hate them forever.”

That seemed to give Thee pause.

When Peach turned to his food and took a bite, his mood lifted instantly. The eel was incredible. Sweet, rich, perfect.

They ate in silence until Thee spoke again.