The contract [Yeongyu]

chapter-9

The mansion was quiet after Yeonjun left, the echo of his expensive shoes fading down the hallway until Beomgyu couldn’t hear them anymore. He sat up slowly, body still aching, his hand clutching Yeonjun’s black card like it was the most fragile treasure in the world. His chest thumped with nervous excitement.

He slipped out of bed, wincing as his legs protested, and padded across the cold marble floor toward the enormous walk-in closet Yeonjun had pointed out the night before. The doors slid open, and Beomgyu froze.

Inside was a world of clothing rows upon rows of tailored suits, leather shoes gleaming like mirrors, and shelves lined with perfumes in glass bottles. It smelled rich, intoxicating, nothing like the musty rags he used to wear when he was still on the streets.

At first, Beomgyu hesitated, clutching the oversized pajama shirt he’d been given after the bath. But curiosity overcame him. He wandered deeper, fingers brushing over the smooth fabrics, silk shirts and cashmere sweaters. And then, tucked in one corner, he found it: a smaller section, clearly filled for whoever Yeonjun wanted to dress delicate clothing, softer fabrics, thinner cuts.

Beomgyu’s breath caught. There were pastel-colored shirts, slim trousers, skirts, and even dresses hung neatly on hangers. His cheeks warmed as he reached out, letting the fabric slide through his fingers. He remembered the words Yeonjun had said last night—You’re mine. Everything about you is mine. Maybe this was what he meant.

He picked out a cream blouse, the fabric light and airy, with a ribbon tie at the collar. He paired it with a short pleated skirt in soft beige and slipped into a pair of shiny loafers with thin straps that looked far too pretty for him. When he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror, his face burned. The delicate outfit softened his features, made him look almost doll-like.

For a moment, he bit his lip. Would Yeonjun laugh if he saw me like this? Or… would he like it?

Shaking the thought away, Beomgyu quickly grabbed a small crossbody bag from the shelf, slipped the black card inside, and ran his fingers through his messy hair until it looked somewhat tamed. He looked like someone else entirely not the boy who had been starving and shivering in a crumbling room days ago, but someone who belonged in the polished walls of this mansion.

The chauffeur was already waiting downstairs by the sleek black car. Beomgyu approached nervously, his small frame almost swallowed by the enormous marble staircase. The driver bowed slightly.
“Mr. Choi?”

Beomgyu blinked at the formal address, his cheeks heating up. “Y-yes…”

“I’ve been instructed to take you wherever you wish. Please.” The man opened the car door.

Beomgyu climbed in, his heart racing. The leather seat was smooth under him, and the faint hum of the engine felt unreal compared to the rattling buses and dirty sidewalks he was used to.

The city greeted him with a blur of glass towers and flashing billboards. The car stopped in front of one of the most expensive shopping districts luxury stores lined the streets, mannequins dressed in gowns worth more than his entire life. Beomgyu stepped out cautiously, clutching the strap of his bag.

His stomach fluttered as he entered the first boutique. The moment he did, two shop assistants in black uniforms rushed forward, their smiles polished.

“Good afternoon, sir welcome,” one said, glancing at Beomgyu’s outfit and immediately straightening. “May we assist you today?”

Beomgyu hesitated, then pulled out Yeonjun’s card, holding it shyly. “I… I want clothes.”

The assistants’ eyes lit up instantly. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”