West Sea Pavilion

“What’s wrong with me? How could I have acted so impulsively like that?”

Kazue Iinoue sat on the sofa, her voluptuous figure sinking deep into the leather cushion, molding it to her shape. Her gaze drifted hazily toward the glittering cityscape beyond the window as memories of recent days surfaced.

Ever since that night, fragments of the private room incident would flicker through her mind even during work.

The first time he leaned close to take her order—his face in view, the faint clean scent reaching her—she’d felt a sudden urge to pull him into her arms.

That thought took root.

By the second approach, the impulse surged stronger.

She’d always been self-willed, never one to overthink.

So when the feeling returned, it bloomed fiercely.

Without hesitation—though she’d never done this before—her hand moved with eerie familiarity. Possessive. Confident. One arm wrapped his waist; the other cradled the curve of his back. A gentle pull, and he was in her embrace.

Smooth. Instinctive. As if coded in her blood.

She leaned back slowly, burgundy hair spilling across the sofa, adding a hint of allure.

Kazue lifted her slender, well-defined hand, as if tracing the ghost of his touch.

Strange… yet deeply missed. As if holding him meant never wanting to let go—to keep him close, secured.

Her captivating phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, a dreamy haze in them. Fingertips drifted toward her crimson lips, searching for lingering warmth.

But the moment they touched, her eyes snapped open.

No warmth remained. She knew.

While holding him, she’d watched him look up—eyes bright and innocent like a startled fawn, clutching the wine bottle, flustered, helpless. She’d grown captivated.

Her thought shifted: from holding him on her lap… to *kissing him*.

The instant the idea sparked, she lowered her head. Natural. Effortless.

Yet the motion startled him. He struggled like prey sensing the hunter’s final move.

Kazue pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath.

Thump-thump-thump!

Slumped on the sofa, her dress clung to every curve. Between the perfectly perky peaks of her chest, a faint thrill pulsed—born purely from memory.

“Am I… craving him?”

Him pulling away, hugging the bottle, panicked eyes, flushed cheeks—each detail replayed vividly in her mind.

His retreating silhouette marked the memory’s end.

Under the chandelier’s soft glow, the slit in her dress revealed a gleaming stretch of smooth thigh.

After lying there for what felt like ages, Kazue finally named the restless flutter in her heart.

Craving.

She wasn’t truly indifferent to men. Nor cold by nature. She simply hadn’t met *the one*.

Her parents showed little warmth. No one taught her love. Even her grandmother—the one who raised her—was ruthlessly pragmatic.

But she wasn’t naive. These past days clarified everything.

This unfamiliar tremor? Craving. A woman’s raw, instinctive desire upon seeing a man who stirs her.

A faint, teasing smile touched Kazue’s icy-captivating lips—like spotting a fascinating new toy.

“I heard he has a girlfriend…”

The mischief in her eyes deepened. Twisted upbringing bred twisted curiosity.

What if she played with him behind his girlfriend’s back…

Just like before.

“I wonder… will he tell her?”

Kazue licked her lips. A flicker of excitement danced in her phoenix eyes.

-------

“What? He quit?”

Just as Kazue prepared to reserve the entire restaurant, Park Seok-min delivered the news: Leng Shuang had resigned.

She straightened, crossed her legs with a subtle sway, and frowned slightly.

Like a toy vanishing before play—annoying.

“Why?”

“The owner said his performance dropped. He resigned voluntarily.”

Noticing the faint concern on her mistress’s face, Park Seok-min hid a subtle smile.

“But he’s found a new job—at a film company under Lotte’s branch.”

Park supplied what Kazue needed.

“I investigated. He shares an apartment. One roommate still works at the restaurant; the other two are at that company. Those two earn high commissions—a simple ad photoshoot pays three thousand. Tasks come from other Lotte subsidiaries. Suspicious.”

“I bribed an insider. Truth is: the Lotte branch—the Ueno family’s young master—is interested in Leng Shuang. They’re staging scenes, using the ‘boiling frog’ tactic to slowly lure him in.”

Kazue’s gaze turned glacial. Her legs stilled. A silent cue: *Continue.*

“Seven days from now—month-end, usually their party day—they secretly gave staff red envelopes to celebrate elsewhere…”

“But Leng Shuang and his two roommates were still told it’s a company gathering.”

“Deceiving three with a crowd… intentions are clear.”

Park Seok-min fell silent, awaiting orders.

The room seemed to chill. Kazue’s lips curved into a razor-thin smirk.

*My toy doesn’t mean anyone can play with him.*

Park Seok-min recognized that smile. She already knew the plan.

*Tap, tap, tap!*

Kazue rose, footsteps crisp. She lifted a wineglass, paused by the floor-to-ceiling window, then murmured, “How long since you last stretched your limbs?”

“Hmm… About two years,” Park replied after a beat.

“Come with me this time. Don’t let yourself rust.”

Kazue’s phoenix eyes narrowed. “Bring his roommate. Make him the witness.”

Her fingers tightened around the stem. The pads flushed faintly red.