The contract [Yeongyu]

chapter-5

The mansion doors slammed shut as Yeonjun left for work, the echo still rattling in Beomgyu’s bones. The place was so big it felt like a goddamn museum, ceilings stretching so high they nearly scraped the sky. Chandeliers glared down at him like judges, glittering with a kind of cruelty.

Beomgyu stood frozen in the middle of the marble floor, staring at the endless rooms and hallways. His stomach twisted. How the fuck was he supposed to clean this entire place by himself? There had to be at least fifty rooms, each bigger than the apartment he used to live in.

On the polished oak table lay a neat stack of supplies rags, sprays, a mop, a bucket, even gloves. A note in Yeonjun’s sharp handwriting sat on top:

“Every surface spotless. Floors shining. Chandeliers dusted. Not a single stain. If I see dust when I come back, you’ll regret ever being alive. Don’t fuck this up.”

Beomgyu’s throat dried out as he read it. His hands shook. He didn’t even know where to start.

Dragging the heavy bucket, he began in the living room. His knees already ached from scrubbing the marble floor. Sweat trickled down his temples, dripping onto the polished stone. No matter how hard he rubbed, he kept imagining Yeonjun’s voice in his head, taunting him “Pathetic. Can’t even mop properly?”

By the time he got to the grand staircase, his body was trembling. He gripped the rail, coughing from the cleaning spray fumes. The chandelier above glimmered menacingly, so high up it felt impossible. He had no ladder, only a small stool shoved into the corner. His chest tightened.

But Yeonjun’s threat echoed like a knife in his skull. “You’ll regret ever being alive.”

His palms grew clammy as he dragged the stool under the chandelier, climbing up and stretching his arm until it shook. Dust clung to the rag as his heart pounded in his chest. The stool wobbled. He bit his lip to keep from crying out.

Hours passed. His arms screamed. His knees were raw. His clothes clung to his damp body. Yet every time he thought about stopping, Yeonjun’s cold smirk flashed in his mind.

By the time the sky outside turned dark, the mansion smelled like bleach and sweat, every surface shining. Beomgyu’s body gave out on the floor, chest heaving, eyelids heavy. But before he could close his eyes, the sound of the massive front door unlocking snapped him awake.

Yeonjun was home.

At 2 AM, the heavy double doors slammed open. The sound of footsteps echoed slow, unstable, powerful. Beomgyu froze on the floor, sponge in hand. His heart raced.

Yeonjun entered. His tie was loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess. The sharp scent of whiskey wrapped around him like poison. His eyes, bloodshot and darker than usual, locked immediately on Beomgyu.

“Fucking hell…” Yeonjun muttered, his voice deep, dangerous, dripping with intoxication. He kicked off his shoes, stumbling slightly, then smirked as his gaze traveled over Beomgyu’s trembling form. “What a sight. My little maid… still awake, still scrubbing floors like a good toy.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, pressing back against the wall. “I-I was just—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Yeonjun’s voice cut like a blade. He stalked forward, every step making Beomgyu’s chest tighten. “You don’t talk unless I say you can.”

In one motion, Yeonjun grabbed Beomgyu by the collar, yanking him up from the floor. Beomgyu gasped, stumbling into Yeonjun’s chest. The man reeked of alcohol, cologne, and power.

Yeonjun’s lips curled into a sinister grin as he tilted Beomgyu’s chin up roughly. “Pretty little face… You think I bought you just to fucking clean floors?” His thumb pressed hard against Beomgyu’s jaw, forcing his lips apart slightly. “No, baby. You’re mine for everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.”

Beomgyu whimpered, shaking his head. “P-please, I—”

Yeonjun shoved him against the wall, slamming a hand beside his head, making the crystal vases on a nearby table tremble. His other hand slid dangerously down Beomgyu’s waist, fingers digging into his hip.

“Don’t beg unless you’re begging me to fuck you,” Yeonjun growled, his mouth so close Beomgyu could feel the hot, whiskey-laced breath against his lips. He dragged his nose along Beomgyu’s cheek, inhaling like a predator savoring prey.

Beomgyu’s knees nearly gave out when Yeonjun pressed his body flush against him, trapping him completely.

Yeonjun chuckled darkly, biting down lightly on Beomgyu’s earlobe before whispering, “You’re shaking… fuck, I love when they shake. Makes me wanna ruin you even more.”

His hand slid up under Beomgyu’s thin shirt, palm cold and rough against his bare skin. Beomgyu gasped, squirming, but Yeonjun slammed his thigh between Beomgyu’s legs, pinning him harder.

“Stop moving baby do you Understand?” Yeonjun’s voice was low, dangerous, laced with curses. “This body, this face, those fucking tears everything. Mine.”

He pressed his forehead to Beomgyu’s, laughing softly, almost mockingly. Then, with terrifying calm, he murmured, “Now… you’re coming to bed with me.”

Before Beomgyu could protest, Yeonjun lifted him effortlessly, throwing him over his shoulder like a ragdoll. Beomgyu kicked weakly, fists pounding against Yeonjun’s back, tears spilling, but the CEO didn’t even flinch.

“Cry all you want, pretty boy,” Yeonjun said, voice cruel and husky. “I’ll enjoy it.”

He carried Beomgyu up the grand staircase, his hand gripping Beomgyu’s thigh possessively, until they disappeared into the darkness of the master bedroom. The door slammed shut.

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