His body was a masterpiece of masculine perfection. Every muscle was defined without being bulky, like a Greek statue carved by a master sculptor who understood both power and aesthetic beauty. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his abs forming perfect ridges that disappeared into a V-shaped cut that made her mouth water.
But when her eyes traveled lower...
The energy drink slipped from her trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a loud clatter.
His cock hung between his legs like something out of her most indulgent fantasies. Even completely soft, it was thick and long, with prominent veins running along its length. The way it curved slightly created that perfect aesthetic she'd only ever been able to draw from imagination.
"Is... is he really real?" she whispered, her hand unconsciously moving toward the computer screen.
Everything about him screamed "fantasy romance hero"—the kind of male lead she used to draw before reality crushed her artistic dreams.
The impossible standard that existed only in fantasy, yet here he was, standing in an ordinary dressing room like any other man.
She watched, hypnotized, as he ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.
Then, without warning, his purple eyes seemed to look directly at the camera.
No... it was more like directly into her soul.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and spoke in a voice that was both casual and terrifying:
"It's my first time seeing a camera hidden inside a male dressing room."
Min-jung's chair toppled backward as she shot to her feet, popcorn scattering everywhere. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stared at the screen in pure panic.
"Impossible," she breathed, backing away from the desk. "No one can see those cameras. They're custom-made, invisible—"
No one should be able to see it.
"!?!"
But her blood turned to ice as she watched him move closer to the mirror.
His magnificent cock swayed like a pendulum as he walked, and she found herself unable to look away even in her panic.
He placed one hand against the mirror's surface, as if touching the glass that separated them. Those purple eyes seemed to bore directly into her soul through the camera feed.
"Run, you little punk," he said with a smile that was equal parts charming and terrifying. "Because I'm definitely coming for you."
"—Hieek—!—kyaaa~"
The reaction was instant as her body staggered back, chair sliding as she directly fell on the floor, her glasses sliding on her face and her butt directly hitting the floor.
Thud.
Clearly making her blink looking towards the camera from where now the dressing room was empty. And as if her words came from both the pain in her butt and the realization how screwed she was, she muttered, "Oww..."
And there as if feeling something, even though she knew it was impossible to track her back. Her hand holding her hoodie as she thought.
"Sh-should I run?"
Min-jung stared at the black screen for several heartbeats, her rapid breathing the only sound in the cramped apartment. The silence stretched on until she finally shook her head and forced out a nervous laugh.
"What nonsense," she muttered, standing up and rubbing her stomach where it had been pressed against the desk. "He's not coming here."
She tried to ease the tension with another laugh, the sound hollow in the small space. "I got worried for a moment there. Like he could actually track me down from a hidden camera feed."
Pulling at her oversized hoodie, she stretched the fabric upward to relieve some of the tightness. The movement caused the loose material to pull taut against her body for just a moment, clearly outlining the curves she usually kept hidden beneath baggy clothes—the swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
"Just some perverted exhibitionist trying to scare me," she continued, talking to herself to fill the silence. "Probably gets off on—"
"Wasn't it supposed to be a gay guy?"
The masculine voice cut through her apartment like a blade, coming from the darkness near her bedroom door. Min-jung's body went rigid, every muscle freezing as the words registered in her brain.
Slowly, like a horror movie victim, she turned toward the voice. In the shadows stood a silhouette—tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakably male. The figure began moving forward, and her eyes widened as details became visible in the dim light from her computer screen.
"GHOST!" she screamed, her voice cracking with terror. Her knees buckled immediately and she dropped to the floor, eyes squeezed shut and hands covering her face. "GHOST! GHOST! THERE'S A GHOST IN MY APARTMENT!"
She knelt there trembling, waiting for cold spectral hands or some otherworldly attack. Instead, she heard something unexpected—a deep, masculine chuckle.
Raven stood in her living room, one hand covering his face as he shook his head. The anger that had driven him here—the fury at thinking some gay voyeur had been recording him—evaporated as he realized the truth.
"A perverted woman," he thought, his enhanced vision taking in the apartment's contents. Multiple computer screens showed paused adult content. Posters of scantily clad anime characters covered the walls alongside professional art supplies. Graphic design tablets, drawing pencils, reference books on anatomy—everything pointed to one conclusion.
Walking over to the still-kneeling woman, he stopped directly in front of her trembling form.
"Are you a porn artist?"
The question made Min-jung's trembling slow. That voice—it was the same one from her computer, but now it was here, in her apartment, real and impossibly close. She slowly lifted her eyes from behind her hands.
The first thing she saw were feet. Large, masculine feet in expensive-looking shoes. Her gaze traveled upward—past muscled calves visible beneath well-fitted pants, past narrow hips, past a chest that belonged on a Renaissance sculpture.
Then she reached his face, and her breath caught.
Being this close, she could see details that hadn't been visible on her grainy camera feed. His features were sharp and aristocratic, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His purple eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, and his dark hair fell in perfect waves that begged to be touched.
But what made her gasp and fall backward onto her butt were the other details she could now see at eye level—and the scent that hit her like a physical force.
His cock, clearly outlined against his pants, hung heavy and impressive even in its relaxed state. And the smell—to her, that smell. It was pure, concentrated masculinity. Musk and sweat and something indefinably male that made her nostrils flare and her thighs clench involuntarily.
"Please don't come near me," she gasped, both hands flying up to cover her face as her body betrayed her with a sudden, intense arousal.
Raven observed her reaction with narrowed eyes. Technically, he hadn't come here for anything sexual. He'd arrived because he thought some gay pervert was planning to masturbate to footage of him, and his enhanced senses had easily tracked the camera's signal back to its source.
But seeing the woman now—sprawled on the floor in that oversized hoodie that couldn't quite hide her curves, her thighs pressed together, her face flushed and eyes teary—something stirred in him.
He was about to turn and leave when his gaze fell on her phone, which had fallen beside her during her panic. The screen showed multiple payment notifications, and the amounts made him smirk.
This perverted woman had money. Lots of it.