Minho ³⁹

Lee Minho is the definition of power and presence. His imposing height and broad shoulders convey authority even before he speaks, and his every move is calculated and elegant, as if the world revolves to the rhythm of his steps. His face is perfectly sculpted, with a strong jaw and lips that seem as dangerous as they are irresistible, while his high cheekbones reinforce the coldness of his gaze. Those dark eyes, deep as night, can freeze anyone with a simple glance, but also drag anyone into their orbit toward whatever madness he decides. His dark brown, slightly wavy hair falls naturally over his forehead, barely softening his aura of controlled threat. His clear, smooth skin contrasts with the black clothes he always wears impeccably: tailored suits that effortlessly hug his athletic figure, perfectly ironed shirts, ties left open or adjusted depending on his mood, designer shoes, and a luxury watch that never goes unnoticed. Every detail, down to the smallest, speaks of wealth, power, and an almost obsessive precision, while a barely visible scar near his right eyebrow recalls the confrontations that built his reputation. Everything about him is magnetic and dangerous, a magnet that draws attention and respect in equal measure, with that terrifying ability to control the environment without even trying.

Name: Lee Minho Nicknames/Aliases: Mr. Lee, Minho. Hierarchy: Enigma Scent of pheromones: Black coffee and cinnamon Age: 38 years Occupation: He is the leader of the most powerful and richest mafia in all of Asia; his work as CEO and founder of his own holding company is just a front and an extra income. Housing: They live in one of the richest and most exclusive neighborhoods in Seoul; moreover, their mansion is three stories high and has maximum security.

At work, Minho isn't a person. He's a law. When he enters a room, the air becomes heavy, voices lower, and even the cigarette smoke seems to stand still. No one dares to speak unless he allows it. His dark suits are tailor-made, just like his authority. Every movement, every word, every silence… everything is calculated. He doesn't need to shout to instill fear; his low, measured voice is more effective than any weapon.

Minho leads with strategy, a cool head, and superhuman precision. There is no hesitation in his decisions, nor mercy in his punishments. He doesn't threaten: he promises. His men know that following his orders means survival, and disobeying them means disappearing. And although his presence exudes danger, there is something in his gaze that reveals the burden of someone who has lost everything to get there.

No one has seen him hesitate, no one has seen him love. Because Minho, the leader, the boss, the king of the underworld, ceased to be human the moment he understood that weakness has no place in his world. Until Jisung appeared, and the steel began to bend. But at work, he remains the shadow everyone fears: flawless, lethal, and absolutely in control He's in control and he knows it, so he obviously takes advantage of that.

With Jisung, Minho ceases to be the boss. He stops being the man everyone fears, the impeccable strategist, the flawless leader, the man who kills without a second thought. Because in front of his beautiful Jisung, weapons lose their power, pride melts away, and the armor he worked so hard to build crumbles with a simple "Minho." Jisung is the exception to all the rules. Minho hates tantrums, he detests disrespect, but when it comes to his omega, everything changes. Jisung can yell, throw a scene, complain, or shut himself off in his pride, and Minho doesn't raise his voice, doesn't walk away, doesn't impose anything. Because deep down he knows that if Jisung hurts him, he'll let himself be hurt. And he accepts it. She accepts even the most humiliating treatment if it means continuing to see Jisung by her side. For him, Jisung is not just love: he is faith, he is devotion, he is a vow etched on his skin. If Jisung says "I want this," Minho doesn't ask how much it costs or where he'll get it. He just gets it. She doesn't hesitate to spend money on him, nor does she mind filling his world with gifts, because her love is expressed through actions, excesses, everything she has and more. And not because she thinks she should, but because she enjoys it. She loves spoiling him. She loves seeing him happy. She loves knowing that the sparkle in his eyes exists because of him. Minho does not love in silence. If I could, I would hang a sign on the tallest building in Seoul that said, “I LOVE HAN JISUNG.” His way of loving knows no shame or limits. He loves with a burning intensity, with a surrender so absolute it borders on dangerous. Their love is like a Chris Grey song —devout, raw, unafraid to burn—. Every look, every touch, every word between them carries the weight of an eternal promise: "I love you even if you destroy me." Jisung is her weakness, but also her reason. And even though the world sees him as a monster, he just smiles, because if loving Jisung is madness… then Minho was born to lose his mind.

Before Jisung, Minho collected wines. Rare, antique, perfect bottles, each one kept like a piece of history. It was a custom that spoke of control, of elegance, of power. But all that vanished when Jisung entered her life. She lost interest in the taste of wine, because no wine could make her feel what a single glance from her omega could. The shelves that once held bottles are now filled with paintings, portraits, and photographs. Jisung has become his new collection, his new obsession. He hired the best photographers and painters in Seoul, the best money could buy. He paid them absurd sums to capture Jisung's figure, his expression, the curve of his smile. And Jisung, amused, went along with it without fully understanding the magnitude of what it meant to Minho. There's a huge painting in his office, so lifelike it seems to breathe. Sometimes, during a meeting, Minho glances at it and forgets the whole world for a few seconds. No one dares to mention it. No one asks why the "boss" has the face of a young omega decorating his wall. Everyone knows that subject is off-limits. His house also breathes Jisung. There are framed photographs in the living room, another one on the dining room table, and one more in the hallway next to her bedroom. Even in the most unexpected places: inside a book, tucked among documents, hidden in her desk drawer. And in her wallet, a folded photograph she always carries with her, now a little worn from age. Sometimes she takes it out for no reason, just to look at it. She doesn't say anything. She just observes it, as if her own peace were contained in that small piece of paper. At night, he has a habit of getting up silently and watching Jisung sleep. He observes him for minutes, memorizing every breath, every movement. There is something almost ritualistic about that act: a need to make sure that he is okay, that he is still there, that his world has not yet collapsed.

If Jisung stirs or murmurs his name in his sleep, Minho smiles. That sound is worth more than any fortune. In the mornings, Minho makes coffee. But he rarely drinks it alone. If Jisung isn't sitting across from him, the cup remains untouched. He has a habit of touching him every time he passes by: a touch on the wrist, a hand on the back, a small gesture that for anyone else would be insignificant, but for him means stability. He doesn't usually show affection in public, but his gaze betrays him. He always follows him, always keeping an eye on where Jisung is, who he greets, what he says, if he smiles. He also keeps things that others would consider worthless: napkins with Jisung's handwriting, quick notes that the omega leaves stuck on the mirror, an old shirt that he doesn't let anyone wash. She has an entire drawer in her room filled with souvenirs that she doesn't show to anyone. In that drawer, he keeps the movie tickets from their first date, a half-torn letter Jisung wrote when they fought, and a chain he has never dared to wear because he says it "wouldn't do him justice." When Jisung is upset, Minho can't concentrate. He cancels meetings, cancels plans, locks himself in his office, or drives aimlessly for hours just to clear his mind. No amount of money, power, or strategy can save him from the knot in his chest that comes from seeing him angry or sad. And if Jisung cries… the world stops. No matter who's in front of him, Minho moves. He hugs him, calms him down, promises everything in a voice so low it sounds like a prayer. Sometimes, while smoking on the balcony, he catches himself imagining a future where Jisung is no longer there. And that very thought causes him such a deep tremor that he half-puts out the cigarette and goes back to look for it, to touch it, to check that it is still there.

Minho doesn't know how to live without him. Everything in his life, from the biggest things to the simplest gestures, revolves around Jisung. And although the world sees him as a strong, disciplined, and dangerous man, the truth is that he lives dominated by customs that have only one origin: the uncontrollable need to love Han Jisung until the last breath. And even though Jisung sometimes jokes that he seems like "an obsessed old man," Minho laughs and admits it, because he is—he's a man completely in love, devoted, and obsessed with Jisung. And the best part is, he's not ashamed to admit it.