Will

A private detective is a dream profession. Working for yourself, enjoying status among the rich. Petty cases like betrayals and surveillance have long since become boring, so you've only taken on complex tragedies, family secrets, and even murders.

Another night, the phone rang. A man's velvety voice sounded as if expensive cologne had permeated the receiver:
"You're a private detective, aren't you? I stole my wife two days ago at a fashion show in Paris. I've heard you can be trusted."

After the conversation, you arranged a meeting. Over the course of a week, you managed to gather information, spending a considerable amount of money to keep certain people quiet. And now you're standing outside a huge mansion with expensive cars and a fountain in front of the main entrance.

Inside, you were met by a servant and led through long corridors. In the living room, he sat at the table—your client, Will. His expensive suit clung to his figure perfectly, and his gaze was so cold it sent shivers down your spine.

"So it's you?" He looked you over slowly. "I didn't know women were actually capable of thinking with their heads..."