He spoke about catching a tiger with the same nonchalance as if it were as ordinary as plucking a fruit from a tree.

But Yul-hye knew better. Even four or five strong men, armed and skilled, would struggle to take down a tiger. And yet, this man had done it—barehanded. The wounds on his hands were proof of his strength, a testament to a feat that bordered on the impossible.

“I haven’t thanked you properly.”

“Thanked me? For what?”

“For saving me from the tiger.”

Yes. No matter what kind of man he was or what he had done to her, the truth remained: he had saved her life.

She hadn’t asked to be saved, hadn’t even wanted it at the time. But that didn’t change the reality—he had been her lifesaver. And for that, a part of her felt indebted.

“If you want me to rescue you again, go ahead and try running away.”

“You say that so easily, even though you’d never actually let me escape.”

Yul-hye replied, meeting his gaze steadily.

“Besides, I’ve given up on running away. I won’t run, so don’t waste your time provoking me.”

Ah-shin tilted his head, his smirk lingering.

“You’re not just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before you escape, are you?”

“No. I’ve decided to take the easier route—letting myself be discarded. That seems simpler and quicker. That’s why I’m going to make an effort to learn more about you, my lord.”

Her tone softened, almost contemplative.

“The more I know, the easier it will be to give you my heart. If I give you enough of my heart, I’ll eventually fall for you. And when that moment comes—when I truly fall for you—that’s when you’ll discard me.”

“Giving your heart just to be abandoned? That’s amusing.”

Ah-shin said, a faint trace of a smile playing on his lips.

“Not everything can be perfect.”

“And what if I don’t discard you after all?”

“You will.”

“And why are you so certain of that?”

“Because you coveted what belonged to someone else. Once it’s no longer someone else’s, it’ll lose its appeal to you.”

“You seem to know me well.”

“You’re easy to figure out.”

And it was true. Ah-shin was a man who was easy to understand. He didn’t bother hiding his emotions or masking his intentions—because he didn’t need to.

Stronger than anyone, and wielding a power more fearsome than most could comprehend, Ah-shin had no reason to conceal his thoughts or feelings.

Such was the privilege of the strong.

What others might hide out of fear that it could be used against them, Ah-shin left in plain view without hesitation. For him, there was no need for caution—absolute power rendered such precautions meaningless.

That was the kind of man he was. A man who didn’t need to hide anything because there was nothing, and no one, capable of threatening him.

Yul-hye wondered if there had ever been a moment in Ah-shin’s life when something hadn’t gone his way. Had there ever been anything he coveted but couldn’t claim as his own?

The answer was obvious—there hadn’t.

And that, she realized, was precisely why he was acting this way with her. Yul-hye understood it all too well.

It’s always the things that don’t come easily that consume people the most.

If she were to yield without resistance, if she gave him her heart as he seemed to desire, his interest would inevitably cool. His insatiable greed would subside, and she would become nothing more than a common, unremarkable presence in his life—forgotten, discarded, and meaningless.

As the thought crossed her mind, an involuntary laugh escaped Yul-hye’s lips.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It just… makes me laugh.”

She replied, though even she wasn’t entirely sure why.

Was it the absurdity of the situation? Or perhaps the realization that this man wasn’t as terrifying as she had once believed? Yul-hye couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

On the first day, she had been terrified of him. Everything about him had seemed overwhelmingly dreadful—his presence, his power, his very existence—and she had loathed every part of it.

But now, she saw him differently. He was still greedy and possessive, that much was clear. Yet, he wasn’t as fearsome as she had initially thought. Beneath the layers of strength and intimidation, there was something else—something that made her laugh instead of recoil.

She also knew, deep down, that this man wouldn’t harm her.

He was better than Jung Do-yoon, at the very least. Unlike Do-yoon, he wouldn’t sell her off like a mere commodity. While his tendency to covet what belonged to others was undeniably unpleasant, wasn’t that just part of human nature? Didn’t everyone harbor at least one selfish desire for something that wasn’t theirs to claim?

It wasn’t unique to him. Everyone carried some form of greed within their hearts—a yearning for something unattainable or something they had no right to possess. The only difference was that most people concealed it, kept it hidden behind walls of propriety and shame. But this man? He laid his greed bare for the world to see, unashamed and unapologetic.

That was the only distinction. At their core, people were all the same.

Even she wasn’t an exception. She, too, carried her own selfish desires, her own hidden greed. She, too, longed for something that wasn’t hers to have.

But she had kept it hidden from everyone.

She had always envied them.

No matter how much Jung Dae-in and his wife treated her as their own daughter, no matter how much care and affection they gave her, she could never truly be their child. That place belonged to Jung Do-yoon, their real son—a position she could never claim for herself.

And that was why she had always been envious of Do-yoon. Why she had tried so hard to be kind to him, hoping to win more of Jung Dae-in and his wife’s favor.

After losing her birth parents at the tender age of ten, she had been taken in and protected by the Jung family. In many ways, they had become her entire world.

Do-yoon, however, had never appreciated their love. To him, their affection was something to take for granted, something constant and undeservedly secure. But to her, that same affection was something precious, something she had desperately wanted for herself.

That longing only deepened her resentment toward Do-yoon, fueling a complicated anger that never fully extinguished. And yet, no matter how much she despised him, she couldn’t entirely let him go. That lingering bond wasn’t love but something messier—a mix of envy, frustration, and an unspoken yearning.

This, too, was a form of coveting what belonged to someone else. Everyone, it seemed, had at least one such yearning—a desire for something they could never truly call their own. Hers was no different.

For those who already have so much, such desires may be fleeting—something they can easily discard once obtained. But for someone like her, who had nothing, even if she were to grasp hold of such a thing, it would be something she could never let go of.