The next morning, Noah had just finished his breakfast when he got a text.
It was from an unknown number:
[Sign today. Address sent.]
Below was a pinned location—an office building in the city center.
Noah stared at the message, his half-eaten piece of toast suddenly hard to swallow.
He knew who it was from.
And he knew what it meant.
He hadn't slept well after last night's dinner. He'd tossed and turned for hours, Asher's voice echoing in his head—
"You belong to me."
**
Still, he went.
His heart pounded wildly in the elevator. Not because he was signing a contract, but because he knew—this wasn't just about a contract.
This was a choice.
When the elevator chimed and opened, he barely had time to take a breath before he saw Asher standing by the window, sipping coffee.
The man wore a grey shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. Sunlight poured through the tall glass, casting him in a golden glow.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine.
But Noah knew—Asher wasn't just a picture-perfect man.
He was a wolf.
A real one—the kind that never lets go once it's found its prey.
"You came," Asher said softly, without turning around.
Noah pushed the door open and stepped in, speaking quietly: "What… do you want me to sign?"
Asher didn't answer directly.
He set down his coffee, walked to the desk, pulled out a document from a drawer, and laid it flat with a light thud.
"Agreement."
Noah approached. As he looked down, the first line jumped out at him:
Private Agreement
He blinked, thinking he misread.
But as he scanned further, his stomach dropped. The bolded clauses stared back at him like blades etched into the paper:
Monthly payment: Based on the level of resources provided during the period of collaboration.
Availability: No restriction on time or location.
Sleeping arrangement: No refusal. Full confidentiality required.
No emotional involvement: Romantic relationship not allowed.
At end of term: Priority recommendation for lead drama role and one music project.
Contract duration: 3 months.
Noah's hand shook. He nearly dropped the paper.
He stared at the words, throat tightening like something was stuck.
"What is this?" His voice was barely above a whisper, like he was afraid of waking up from a bad dream. "You… are you serious?"
Asher didn't smile. Instead, he nodded—seriously.
"You want fame," he said. "This is your fastest path."
Noah looked up at him, something finally burning behind his eyes.
"Trading sex for resources?" He clenched his jaw. "Don't you think… that's disgusting?"
Asher stepped closer, voice calm and cold:
"No. You're wrong."
"This world runs on exchange. You're just finally seeing it for what it is."
Noah took a step back, hitting the edge of the desk. The agreement lay open beside him, the bold lines still sharp in his eyes.
"You said I could think about it…" His voice trembled. "But this isn't cooperation."
Asher stared at him, voice unshaken: "This is cooperation. Just not in the way you imagined."
He pointed to the signature line at the bottom.
"You sign it, and it begins."
Noah bit down on his lip so hard it almost bled. "You want me to… be your bedmate?"
Asher lowered his gaze, eyes falling on Noah's pale lips. He suddenly leaned in, voice so soft it felt like coaxing:
"I don't touch people I feel nothing for."
"But you're different, Noah." He chuckled lowly. "You interest me."
Noah shivered, like someone had ripped his armor open.
He wasn't naive. He'd heard of deals like this. Knew how the industry worked.
But when it landed right on him—the shame crushed him like a wave, leaving him breathless.
He wanted to say no.
But he also knew the truth.
He was still new. His company wasn't strong. His contract had six months left. His team was undecided. Would directors still cast him? Would audiences remember him?
Everything was uncertain.
And the only person who could stabilize it all—was Asher.
The kind of man who ruled this industry.
Noah looked at the contract again, his fingers clenched until they turned red.
Finally, he asked in a low voice: "…What if I say no?"
Asher didn't pressure him.
He simply picked up the paper, folded it, and slid it back into the drawer.
"Then forget it," he said lightly. "I'll find someone else."
Noah froze.
"You said I was the right fit…"
"You are," Asher said. "But no one is irreplaceable."
"There's no shortage of pretty faces in this industry."
That line hit Noah like a slap.
He didn't know whether it was shame or disappointment, but it burned.
He had known this man was cold.
But it still hurt.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to take a step back, putting space between them.
"…I won't sign." He looked down, voice barely steady. "I want fame. But not like this."
Asher didn't stop him.
He just leaned against the desk, watching as Noah walked away, raising one brow slightly.
**
When Noah stepped outside, the sunlight stung his eyes.
He stood downstairs for a long time, holding his phone tightly, like he was waiting for it to ring with a threat.
But nothing came.
No text.
No call.
No damage control.
No one trying to stop him.
That's when he realized—
To Asher, he was nothing special.
Just one option.
Not even the only one.
Something in his chest ached. It hurt, but he didn't dare cry.
**
That night, back at his apartment, his phone rang again.
It was his agent.
"Did you piss off Asher?"
Noah blinked, confused. "W-What do you mean?"
"The director just pulled Kiss Me's workshop from the schedule," his agent said, voice anxious. "Also, the interview we had lined up next month? Canceled."
Noah felt his brain explode with a dull buzz.
"What did you do?" his agent pressed.
He couldn't answer a single word.
After the call ended, he collapsed onto the couch, feeling completely hollow inside.
Now he understood—Asher hadn't forced him.
But saying no… still had a price.
Turns out, not signing was an answer too.
And that answer?
It meant starting from zero.