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    The man referred to as Shanti introduced himself to Jiwoon as the butler in charge of managing this house.

    Shanti, of Indian descent but British, was forty-five years old.

    Despite his skin color, race, and nationality clearly marking him as a foreigner, his Korean language skills were better than most Koreans.

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    “You can freely roam around inside the mansion, but you cannot go out without permission. However, it’s okay to go as far as the lake over there.”

    Shanti’s long index finger pointed out the window at the end of the corridor to a dark lake.

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    Jiwoon looked at Shanti intently and asked a question. Her hollow eyes gleamed oddly.

    “Can’t go out… Am I, perhaps, being held captive?”

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    Her face, uttering such a chilling statement, was full of anticipation, causing Shanti’s eyes to widen in surprise.

    “…Captive?”

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    “Yes, that man from earlier.”

    Oh, come to think of it, she hadn’t even asked for his name.

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    Jiwoon, her lips white, furrowed her brows. As if reading her mind, Shanti quickly responded.

    “That’s Director Baek Ishin.”

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    “Ah-.”

    Baek Ishin. My, oh my…

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    She liked his name too.

    “Director Baek Ishin, after abducting me, has he also imprisoned me?”

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    Abduction followed by imprisonment.

    The arrangement of these horrific words seemed to carry the excitement of “Did someone confess to me?”

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    “No, not imprisonment… but protection. Protection.”

    But to Jiwoon’s ears, Shanti’s answer didn’t register. The only thing that mattered was what the man who left her 10 minutes ago had said.

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    “Let’s get some sleep for the lady who enjoys playing house, by explaining the house rules calmly…”

    So, what that meant was, wasn’t it that he was willing to take her in?

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    Therefore, whether it’s protection or imprisonment, it didn’t matter. The fact that he decided to keep her here was what was important.

    A silent laugh parted her chapped lips.

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    “…That’s good, isn’t it?”

    Jiwoon, speaking in a dreamy voice, smiled brightly and calmly stepped on the marble stairs leading to the second floor, following Shanti. She even hummed to herself, enjoying the feel of the cold marble.

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    Hearing her soft humming, Shanti glanced back.

    “Then… I’ll show you to your room.”

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    Shanti’s voice sounded somewhat uneasy, but Jiwoon, with her usual expression, followed him with a smile.

    “Let’s rest for a bit. Your head, no, your face looks… terrible.”

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    Shanti kindly pointed out that Jiwoon’s face was in a dire state as he showed her to her room.

    Her sunken eyes with dark circles, hollow cheeks, and chapped lips – all due to lack of sleep.

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    It was a natural result since she hadn’t slept properly for nearly two weeks.

    The past two weeks had been hell for her, suffering from severe complex sleep disorders.

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    Her sensitive nature had driven sleep away, and stress had prolonged her sleepless nights. Even when she wanted to sleep, she couldn’t, making her even more sensitive. It was nothing short of a vicious cycle.

    But now?

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    Oddly, she had been feeling sleepy since a while ago, as if sleep was just within reach.

    It was different from narcolepsy. Not like collapsing into sleep, but a pure drowsiness. Even different from the drowsiness that comes from taking sleeping pills.

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    Ha, looks like I might finally get some sleep after two weeks.

    Jiwoon, with a drowsy look, let out a long yawn.

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    “Then I’ll sleep for a bit.”

    “If there’s anything you want to eat, or anything you need, feel free to tell us.”

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    As she walked almost hypnotically towards the large bed standing alone in the middle of the big room, Shanti quietly left the room.

    Click, the door closed, and Jiwoon immediately flopped down onto the bed. The soft mattress supported her entire body comfortably.

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    “Is it because of the bed? I’m really getting sleepy.”

    She laughed softly at her own words.

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    What nonsense. She had a bed in her studio in Florence and in Myungja’s apartment in Ichon-dong.

    “It’s not because of the bed.”

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    You know that, don’t you? It’s not that.

    There was another reason she was feeling sleepy.

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    That man, Baek Ishin.

    For some unknown reason, his voice, his scent, might be acting like some kind of sedative.

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    “Last time, it was the same. That’s why…”

    Even when the police were after him, she wanted to protect him, wanted to see him again. That’s why she was glad about the abduction.

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    Ah, finally that man has come for me, she thought.

    “Even his name… was that of a magnificent man.”

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    Her murmur stretched out languidly.

    “Baek, Ishin.”

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    Calling the man’s name slowly, Jiwoon fell into a deep sleep. It was exactly two weeks since she had last fallen asleep in the man’s embrace.

    🐬🌊🐳

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    Two weeks ago.

    The Disciplinary Committee was held at the Florence Art Restoration Association, and as a result, she was…

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    Fired from the workshop where she had spent eight years.

    Her colleagues, with whom she had worked for eight years, turned their backs on her coldly.

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    “You should have been more restrained.”

    What do you mean by restrained? They used to sing praises of how well she did.

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    “There’s a limit to art restoration. What you did wasn’t restoration; it was just dirty forgery. It’s a disgrace to restorers.”

    According to international art restoration regulations, it should be clear upon close inspection (within one meter) that the work has been restored and not the original.

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    “You violated international regulations. Not once, but three times.”

    “What did I violate? I clearly…”

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    Made it obvious that it was a restored piece. It was because they couldn’t see that.

    She didn’t say the rest out loud because, as a restorer, some semblance of conscience was still knocking at her heart.

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    She did make it obvious, but just a little… just the amount of a chick’s pee, so shouldn’t they recognize that to some extent?

    “But it’s too much, suspending my license for something like that.”

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    What am I supposed to do if I can’t touch paintings?

    Jiwoon’s skinny legs quickly stepped over what must have been 1500-year-old stone steps.

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    She didn’t have any appointments or a busy schedule; she just had an obsession that she needed to be near paintings to control her occasionally manic emotions.

    Her mind was already in chaos, but her legs instinctively sought out paintings.

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    “Damn it.”

    A curse rose to the tip of her chin and exploded.

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    “Damn.”

    It seemed like she had uttered every curse she knew aloud.

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    Despite being out of breath, Jiwoon didn’t stop crossing the city and the bridge. The cold, damp wind of November, entering the rainy season, whipped her cheeks, but she paid no mind.

    Paintings.

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    Only paintings.

    Especially when her heart felt like it was sinking deep underwater, she needed to touch paintings even more.

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    Leaving the bustling downtown area, Jiwoon ran through winding alleyways and steep inclines, thinking only of the paintings.

    Had she run for more than 30 minutes?

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    Finally reaching her destination, she bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for air.

    Her thin, dried-out shoulders rose and fell with each breath. The feeling of wanting to die, which she had felt when accepting the disciplinary outcome, was gone.

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    Now, only the exhilarating thrill in her palms remained because her painting awaited her.

    After catching her breath, Jiwoon straightened up and walked towards her own sanctuary.

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    Arriving at the warehouse, as always, Jiwoon slipped her hand through the broken window to unlock the door from the inside.

    “…?”

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    Had she not locked the door last time?

    Impossible, yet the door was open.

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    A chill ran through her heart as an ominous feeling crept up.

    The warehouse door had never been locked from the start. It was even wide open as if inviting her in, and she couldn’t help but step inside.

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    There, she fatefully met the painting she named ‘Guinevere.’

    Since then, Jiwoon had made sure to lock the door tightly, fearful of someone stealing Guinevere.

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    But with the door open now, had there been a burglar?

    “Damn, my painting!”

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    Holding her breath, Jiwoon slowly opened the door.

    Beyond the soundlessly opening door, the interior of the warehouse gradually came into view. As she opened the door halfway:

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    “…?”

    She almost screamed. Instead of the painting where it should have been, there was an unfamiliar man standing.

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    The man, tall, wearing a black luxury suit beneath a high-quality cashmere coat, seemed to know Jiwoon was coming or perhaps had sensed her presence; he stood facing the door, staring at her while deeply inhaling from the cigarette in his mouth.

    The cigarette between his long fingers glowed red.

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    His slightly raised chin and lowered eyelids gave him an air of arrogance mixed with an ominous danger.

    Even the way he slowly exhaled white smoke exuded a lazy sensuality. At first glance, it was clear he was not an ordinary person.

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