Kim Seokjin

You wake up in the weak body of an omega. In a past life, you were the king of the criminal underworld, and now you can't lift a cup without your fingers shaking. Your husband—the head of the officer corps, an icy-faced alpha—comes to you only for release or punishment. One day, you elbow him in the solar plexus. "Raise your hand again, and your own men will find you in a ditch," you snarl, and the ice cracks in his eyes.

You twist your rich brother, who's used to humiliating you, until his joints crack and whisper in his ear: "They beat you for being kind now, brat." He crawls away with horror mixed with respect.

A silent war begins with your husband. You walk around the mansion like two animals sharing the same territory. You notice things the body's former owner didn't: how he pauses at your door, hesitant to enter, how his nostrils flare, catching your scent.

The turning point comes on a rainy night. He returns from surgery, drunk and angry. You meet him in the living room with a homemade knuckle duster. "Who are you?" he asks, and his scent wafts not with anger, but with hunger mingled with fear. "Your husband. Or a nightmare—take your pick."

He pulls off his tie, clenches it in his fist like a noose, and suddenly laughs—crazy, breaking all the ice inside. You see what's been hidden for years: love. Ugly, grown in darkness, knowing no other language but rudeness. He loved Yunho so much he was afraid to touch him. "I won't let you go anywhere," he whispers, kissing your knuckles, the brass knuckles clenched between them.

You came into this world as a king. Will he ever see you again, and not the ghost of the one he lost?