Once the father and mother finally left, only their feral, stone‑faced son remained at the table, eating alone. His parents had come all the way to see him, yet he hadn't even bothered to invite them to stay for a meal. His manners were beyond saving.
But then again, maybe he couldn't help it. The atmosphere around that family was a suffocating fog heavy, cold, and sharp enough to make breathing feel like a chore.
Every glance carried a sting, every word echoed with hidden ice, and the air itself felt dangerous, as if the chill of that household could freeze a person solid.
It was genuinely terrifying.
Star rubbed the goosebumps on his arms, still shaken from the presence of Rock's parents invading their son's territory.
He had started out terrified of Rock afraid he'd be dragged off, stomped on, used as an outlet for that man's temper after causing the car accident. But now he had to fear the parents too…
The entire family was dangerous.
It had been three days since the incident, and Star hadn't gone back to his room even once. Rock had simply said, "Don't go back. Stay here." And that was that.
Star's belongings had apparently become irrelevant, because Rock rummaged through his own closet and tossed Star a pile of old, oversized clothes. The t‑shirt swallowed him down to the knees, basically doubling as a robe.
Then Rock ordered a dozen bright red underwear from a shopping app without asking.
Rock liked the color, so Star had to wear it.
Dictator, through and through.
From a normal heartbroken guy, Star had somehow evolved into a premium‑level heartbroken guy extra trouble, extra chaos. He'd gone home on the verge of tears, only to nearly get run over. But he didn't die. The car swerved… straight into a streetlight.
That was when everything went to hell.
Because the car that swerved was a brand‑new, screaming‑red Lamborghini price tag: fifteen million baht.
…Fifteen million.
Million.
MILLION!!
The moment Star learned the number, he honestly wanted to dive under a truck and let fate take him.
The owner of the car?
None other than the man now sitting in the next room Rock, heir to a luxury import car empire. Loud, demanding, impossible to reason with, and insistent that Star pay him back.
Star, who had just emptied his savings for someone he loved and didn't even have enough left to buy a meal, had nearly fainted in the middle of the intersection.
Where, exactly, was he supposed to find that kind of money for the guy?!
Thought he was headed for a lifetime in jail, just like in those dramas no money to pay for damages. But this guy, this creditor, surprisingly made an offer… like he might show a little mercy. (Just a little.)
A servant? Version: debtor with no wages? Exactly that position.
Star would work as a personal servant, handling every aspect of Rock's life, just to pay off the fifteen‑million‑baht debt.
Fifteen million… a number that felt completely disconnected from the reality of being a servant. Not one iota of logic connected them.
Looking at it optimistically, it was probably a good thing. Busy all the time with endless errands and orders, Star didn't have the mental space to dwell on his heartache for the person he loved.
Oh—and the phone? Totally destroyed, crushed under the car. No need to contact anyone. Quit every other job just to work off this debt.
At least he had a place to sleep, food to eat, and didn't have to see Toy… maybe it wasn't so bad after all.
"Star!"
The hoarse shout cut through the air, making the small figure jump. The frowning creditor stood in the kitchen, shirt off, displaying tattoos that made him look terrifying head to toe, hands on his hips, eyebrows furrowed, ready to snap someone's head off.
He'd come all the way to the kitchen to find Star standing frozen, caught mid‑task arranging a plate of freshly cooked seafood Rock's choice. Star had gone out to fetch the ingredients and cook it fresh.
Rock's face was taut with impatience, almost like he was holding in a bowel movement, pressing Star to hurry up and place the food on the table. It forced Star to forget, even if only briefly, about someone else lingering in his thoughts.
No matter the situation, the only person who could help was himself.
"Hey!"
"Y‑yes, sir."
Even after setting the table, Star hadn't yet pleased Rock. A thick finger wagged impatiently, directing Star to sit across from him at the table.
"What are you spacing out for? Peel the shrimp for me!"
"Oh—y‑yes, sir."
"Today, I'm going out. You're coming with me. You're my bodyguard."
Rock said this while waiting for his little servant to use those small hands to peel the large shrimp. Star's hands turned red and sore, the shrimp pricking his skin, but he didn't complain once. He hoped his endurance would satisfy Rock, given the sheer magnitude of the debt.
Just a few days into this unexpected arrangement, Star found himself quietly grateful for whatever had made Rock ease his temper enough to propose a practical solution.
The deal: Star would work off the full fifteen‑million‑baht debt, using his labor in endless cycles, obeying every task without question.
And yet, in practice, it felt like a kind of poetic justice like running errands for ten different jobs in a single day.
It was just a comparison… but that was exactly how it felt.