The Cha estate had ninety-three rooms.
Ha Yoori had explored twenty-seven of them.
Twenty-eight, if you counted the pantry she got locked in once while trying to smuggle out imported almond snacks.
But none of those rooms belonged to her.
Technically, she had a room in the staff quarters behind the east garden—a tiny studio her grandfather used to live in, now half-filled with his old coats and tools. But there was no heating, the pipes creaked like ghosts, and the floor turned into a glacier every winter.
Which was why she showed up outside Haekyung's private wing at eleven p.m. with a pink travel pillow and zero shame.
She knocked twice. Then three times for dramatic effect.
The door opened almost immediately.
Cha Haekyung looked like he hadn't been sleeping either. His black T-shirt clung to his chest, hair slightly mussed, glasses perched on his nose. He didn't even look surprised to see her.
She held up the pillow.
"Your future trophy wife has arrived."
His brow twitched. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes. I'm cold, I'm poor, and I'm offended that no one's brought me hot chocolate."
"I'll order some."
"And I want to sleep here."
There was a beat of silence. His gaze lowered to her travel pillow.
"On your couch," she clarified. "Not your bed. You're way too uptight for cuddles."
"Correct."
He stepped aside without further question. She slipped in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Haekyung's private wing wasn't a room—it was a small apartment. Minimalist, modern, and sterile enough to be a hospital suite. The only personal touches were the rare books on his shelves and a small cactus she'd bought him as a joke two years ago.
(He still watered it.)
She dropped her pillow on the oversized cream sofa and flopped down dramatically.
"You know," she said, staring at the ceiling. "If you really wanted to seduce me, you could start with underfloor heating. This place is paradise."
"I'm not trying to seduce you."
"Tragic."
She turned her head to look at him. He was still standing by the door, arms crossed, watching her like she was a puzzle with no solution.
"You're the only person who thinks this is normal," he said quietly. "Showing up in the middle of the night to crash in the heir's private residence."
"I'm not 'people.' I'm Yoori." She smiled sweetly. "The exception to all your rules."
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he walked into the kitchen area, poured her a glass of warm milk, and brought it to her without asking.
Yoori sat up and accepted it with both hands.
"See?" she said, blowing gently over the rim. "You're practically husband material."
"You're practically a con artist."
"I *am* a con artist," she said proudly. "And you're my favorite mark."
Haekyung sat across from her, elbows resting on his knees. He didn't look tired, but there was something in his eyes—something unreadable. Like he was always thinking five moves ahead, even with her.
"Why don't you just move in?" he asked, suddenly.
Yoori blinked. "Here?"
He nodded. "The room next to mine is empty. I can have it remodeled. You'd have your own bathroom, closet, separate entrance. Heated floors. Security."
She looked at him carefully. "You serious?"
"When am I not?"
"You're asking me to move in with you."
"I'm offering to take care of you properly."
Yoori stared at him.
Her instinct was to laugh, to make a joke, to brush it off like always. But this time, something about his tone stopped her.
He meant it. Fully. Completely.
As if this was just the next logical step in a plan he'd already written years ago.
Her lips curled.
"Only if you throw in free laundry service and room service every morning."
Haekyung's mouth twitched. "Done."
"And a walk-in closet."
"You don't own enough clothes for one."
"Not *yet*."
He exhaled. "Fine."
Yoori grinned, heart beating fast. Not from the offer—but from how casually he said *fine*. As if moving her into his life had never been a question. As if he'd just been waiting for her to say yes.
She leaned back again, victorious.
"Congratulations, Cha Haekyung. You've officially adopted a parasite."
"You've always been mine," he murmured.
She paused. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, standing. "Go to sleep."
But Yoori didn't sleep right away.
She laid awake on the soft sofa, warm milk still in her hands, heart full of something too rich to name.
Whatever this was, she wasn't sure she could afford to lose it—even if she'd never paid for it in the first place.