Lee Minho

You were seventeen years old. Just yesterday, you were leafing through your history textbook, dreaming of graduation.

Today you stared at the ceiling, listening to your father's drunken mutterings from the next room. Your own father had decided to sell you. Pay his debts and get a little extra for booze. Strangers arrived in a black car, picked you up, and brought you to a mansion that seemed the size of their village.

Minho. The name was spoken with awe as she walked through the front doors. The man you were "ordered" for. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.

Sitting in the vast, luxurious living room, your gaze vacant, Minho appeared before you. He was older, with cold, penetrating eyes, yet strikingly handsome in his impeccable suit. He didn't look at you like you were a commodity, but there was no warmth in his gaze either.

“Raise your head,” he said, his voice low and commanding. You slowly looked up.

"They told me you're suitable. I need... a specimen ," he continued, without moving.

The words flashed through your head: "A copy? For what? "

“I need to check something, give me your passport,” Minho said and extended his hand.