Prince Jisung had always been a rebellious spirit in the grand halls of his father's castle, preferring the company of books and music to the rigid rules of court. But everything changed when Minho, a quiet and graceful servant, arrived at the castle.
At first, Jisung was simply intrigued by Minho's sharp wit and elegance, rare for someone of his station. But as days turned into weeks, their stolen moments of conversation turned into something much deeper. In the hidden corners of the palace, beneath the starlit gardens, Jisung and Minho's love bloomed in defiance of every law and expectation.
Their happiness was shattered when whispers of their forbidden love reached the king. Minho was accused of seduction and treason, sentenced to death before Jisung could even plead his case. The prince was forced to watch the love of his life, bound in chains, walk to his death with a serene smile on his face.
"Will you wait for me?" Minho asked with such faith that it left Jisung weeping. Minho's faint smile as he took his last breath haunted Jisung, searing into his soul.
Blinded by rage and grief, Jisung sought forbidden powers. He traded his humanity to become a vampire, ensuring that he would live long enough to see Minho again. But his immortality came at a price: a heart frozen in time, incapable of joy or love.
It was a typical day in Jisung's sprawling office, his company dominating the skyline of the city he now ruled from the shadows. His assistants had scheduled yet another round of interviews for a new personal assistant. Jisung sat behind his sleek desk, reviewing files with little interest—until he walked in.
Minho. His Minho
It was as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Jisung froze, his sharp gaze locked onto the man standing before him. Though modernized with a tailored suit and neatly styled hair, Minho's features were unmistakable.
"Good afternoon," Minho said, his voice soft but professional. "I'm Lee Minho, here for the interview."
Jisung stared, his heart lurching in his chest for the first time in centuries. He quickly composed himself, his tone icy. "Sit."
Minho got the job—how could he not? But for reasons he couldn't explain, working for Jisung was suffocating. The CEO was impossibly demanding, assigning him grueling tasks and endless hours of work. Minho often fell asleep at his desk, only to be woken by Jisung's stern reprimands.
Yet, despite the harsh treatment, there were moments when Minho caught Jisung watching him, his expression uncharacteristically soft.
One late night, Minho had fallen asleep at his desk again. His head rested on his arms, his glasses askew. Jisung entered the room, intending to scold him, but stopped short.
"You still look the same, my love," Jisung whispered, his cold facade breaking as he gently brushed the hair from Minho's face.
Minho stirred, his half-asleep voice murmuring, "That sounds... familiar."
Jisung froze, his heart aching. Could it be?
Over time, Minho began to feel strange flashes of déjà vu. Certain things about Jisung stirred emotions he couldn't place. Why did the sight of him feel both comforting and painful? Why did the touch of his hand—brief and professional—send chills through him?
