The Return of the Emperor

The Innocent Troublemaker

7 years ago

Zane sat with John in his room, indulged in alcohol and a game of chess. "How can you trust a person you just picked off the streets?" John asked, his tone careful yet concerned. "She doesn't even have a name-"

"This is exactly why I can trust her," said Zane, smirking. He wasn't so naïve to trust a stranger without first evaluating all the possibilities. He had done his homework on her, and he knew why she was a solid candidate for the position he was searching for.

"She's a weapon, John," he replied, sipping his drink, his mind racing through calculations. "Untamed, raw. If trained well, she’ll become exactly what I need."

He moved his queen across the chessboard, claiming victory over John's king. "A queen," he added with a grin, "like on a chessboard—fierce and loyal. Who’d put her own life on the line to protect me, the king.”

"Excuse me, Mr. J-," a voice said, followed by a tap on the door, interrupting their conversation.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" Zane asked, his gaze narrowing at the brunette standing in the doorway, clad in a silk nightgown. Her peach lips parted, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him.

"I—" She hesitated, biting her lip, her gaze quickly dropping to the floor. Her hands moved behind her back, clearly hiding something.

Zane's sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. "You're hiding something," he accused, rising from the couch and stepping toward her.

"No—" she stammered, taking a step back, but her retreat only piqued his curiosity.

He paused, sniffing the air, his brows furrowing. "Wait," he said, blinking in surprise. "Is that my cologne?"

Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.

"You went into my room?" His voice held a scolding edge, but she met his gaze without flinching, looking up at him like a lost puppy.

What had possessed him to take in a thief? The thought crossed his mind, and for a moment, he regretted his decision. Yet, the irony of it all made him chuckle inwardly. After all, he wasn’t so different from her—not in his past.

"I read on the label, the perfume is unisex," she pouted.

"You dare not touch my belongings ever again, you get that?" He shouted at her, earning a meek nod from her.

"Does this imply I'm not permitted to touch myself either?" She exclaimed after a short contemplative pause. "Since you declared I was yours now-"

Zane choked on his breath. Damn her, he thought bitterly. Damn her for getting under my skin like this. Her words lit his nerves like a match. The image was instant, invasive—her beneath silk sheets, moaning into the dark with his scent on her skin. He tried to shake it off, clenching his fists, jaw tightening.

She was playing a game he wasn’t ready to lose.

"What’s behind your back?" he demanded, stepping toward her. He reached out, grabbing whatever she was hiding, and his fingers brushed against her waist, sending an unexpected shock through him. Her breath hitched, and he could feel the tension in her body as he wrestled with her.

He froze when he saw the object she’d been hiding. “Is that...”

“I found it in your drawer,” she said, holding it up like a child presenting a found treasure. “I didn’t know what it was.”

Zane blinked, unsure whether to laugh or be completely flabbergasted. Is she seriously this clueless? “You didn’t know?”

She nodded. “That’s why I came to ask Mr. John.”

Zane's laugh exploded into the room, ricocheting off the walls. “Mr. John! Oh, please—by all means—enlighten the lady!”

"But I-" John choked on his spit, his wide eyes pleading with his boss not to put him up to this.

"Tell me," she asked, looking at John.

“It—it’s a s*x toy,” he stammered, trying his best to avoid eye contact with her.

Her brows knitted. “A s*x toy? How do you play with that?”

Zane left them there, still laughing, but his amusement didn’t last. Not when around ten minutes later he felt her presence at his doorway.

"What?" he asked, smirking, "I thought Mr. John explained to you what it is."

"He did," she replied reluctantly as she entered the room.

He noticed the way her Adam's apple subtly bobbed as he stood from his study table, closing the book he had just opened to read. Her eyes were locked on his bare torso, or more specifically his abs.

"So, why else are you here? Do you want me to show you how to use it?" he asked, raising a brow.

"N-n-no," she stuttered, looking away. "I came to return it."

He snickered, accepting the object.

He watched as she turned around to finally leave but something stopped her.

"What do you use these for?" Her question amused him.

"To stimulate the women I f*ck," he answered flatly. "What brings you to this question?"

"Are you going to use them on me as well?" She questioned him again, this time looking him in the eyes.

"Would you like me to?" He questioned back, maintaining eye contact as he walked closer to her. She was certainly trying hard to end up on his bed, he thought.

"No," she blinked, her nervous eyes moving from left to right. "That's not what I meant. I just wanted to know if I-" She bit her lower lip before swallowing her fears. "Why did you bring me all the way to Seoul?"

"If you're afraid, I've brought you here to sleep with you," he answered, his eyes still fixed on her but his expressions unreadable. "Then rest assured. I have more than enough ladies around me to do the job."

"Then why-" she began, only to be cut off by him.

"Because it's not your body I'm interested in," he said, as his feet ceased a few inches away from her. "I'd want to buy your loyalty. I'm giving you branded clothing, a huge house, and every luxury you could possibly want. But all I ask in return is that you devote your life and loyalty to me."

"See me as your god," he whispered into her ears. "I give you complete freedom in your everyday life. You'll have my money, and you're free to do anything you want with it. Go to clubs and drink as much as you want. I won't mind if you f*ck as many guys as you like, even my henchman Jonathan, if you want him. But-"

"Never forget who you serve," he emphasized, his brow furrowed. "You must be ready to die for me if it is necessary to protect me."

Zane was ready to spoil her with money and comforts, and he hesitated to engage in s****l relations with her. What could be more enticing than this deal? He thought.

"If that's all you want," she replied, a faint smile on her lips. "I'd gladly die for you, Mr. Kang. This is the least I could do in return for your hospitality."

"And please," he added, as the fragrance of his cologne on her bothered him. "Please do not wear my perfume again. Otherwise, I'll end up f*cking your senses out."

"But you just said you're not interested in-" he cut her off with a finger on her lips. A shudder ran down his spine as he admired how silky her lips felt on his fingertips, and he couldn't help but wonder how they would feel pressed against his own.

"If you want to sleep with me that desperately, just say so," he gulped, before hissing into her ears, his bare chest brushing against her defensive hands as she attempted to keep him out of her personal space. "You don't have to play dumb for it."

She tried to step back, muttering some protest about not playing dumb. But Zane wasn’t listening anymore.

She’d already pushed him too far.

No one wore his scent and walked out untouched. No one toyed with his composure. But this girl—this untamed, wild-hearted girl—wasn’t playing games. And maybe that made it worse.

Still, he didn’t move.

He leaned in, inhaled her scent again, and this time—he kissed her. Deeply. Brutally. As if punishing her for something she hadn’t done. Her lips were soft, yielding, and for a second—just a second—he let himself taste the temptation.

Then he broke away with a groan, his restraint fighting its way back into place.

"I do not wish to make you my wh*re," he growled, their lips just one inch apart as he stared at her. "You'd better not push my buttons again."

She stared at him, breathless, but not broken.

“I don’t care for your luxuries,” she said, voice steady. “Or your freedom. I’ve lived my life without either. I don’t crave wealth.”

Zane’s eyebrows lifted. “Then what do you want? My throne?”

“No,” she said simply.

He scoffed. “You’re seriously rejecting everything I’ve offered? You could have the world.”

“I don’t want the world. If anything, I’ve always wanted a family.”

Zane blinked in disbelief.

One tear escaped her, catching the dim light before vanishing into the nightgown’s fabric.

Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t look away. “Even if it’s a mafia family, I’d serve it with loyalty. You don’t have to buy me, Mr. Kang. I’m not for sale...” Her words faltered as she sniffled, hastily wiping the tears.

She struggled to steady her breath, her chest rising and falling with each sob. While his eyes remained cold—void of any visible emotion—he was far from unaffected. Every tear she shed chipped at something he had long buried. He stood motionless, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists by his side, as if holding himself back from something—he wasn’t sure what.

"No human can be a god," she whispered, her voice soft yet unflinching. "And neither can you. But I see you as something more than a man who gave me food or shelter. You didn’t just save my life, Mr. Kang… you gave me a reason to live it. And that’s enough of a reason for me to die for you.”

Her voice trembled at the end, and still, she bowed her head, wiping her tears. That final act—so simple, so human—pierced through the armor he had worn for years.

She turned and walked away, her bare feet padding softly against the cold marble floor, the door closing gently behind her.

Zane remained frozen in place, the silence of the room now deafening. The scent of his cologne still lingered in the air—on her skin, in his mind—like a ghost that refused to leave.

His fists finally unclenched as he sat down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair.

He could no longer deny it.

Something about her disturbed him.

She wasn’t the weapon he thought he’d found in the slums. She wasn’t emotionless. She wasn’t unthinking. She wasn’t predictable.

She felt. She spoke. She cried.

And yet, he couldn’t dismiss her.

Not because she was useful—but because she was dangerous in a way no assassin or spy could ever be.

Because she made him feel something.

Something ancient. Something visceral. Something he hadn’t felt since the days before he learned to bury himself beneath layers of strategy and blood.