A thunderclap roared across the sky.
In the heart of a sprawling city, within the opulent Lu Family Mansion nestled among the hills, a flash of white light silently descended—vanishing into the chest of a man sprawled across a bed of Egyptian cotton sheets.
The body trembled.
With a slow, graceful motion, the man rose—broad shoulders stretching under an expensive suit as if tailored for the gods themselves. His face was like something carved by angels: cold, sharp, masculine... too perfect to be human.
He blinked.
"…What the hell?"
The next moment, he instinctively reached for a nearby glass of water. His fingers—slender, long, precise—moved with a sculptor's delicacy, brushing against the cool surface. Ripples danced across the water as though the glass itself recognized his unfamiliar soul.
Raising it to lips that could seduce the devil, he sipped.
And choked.
His sleepy, half-lidded eyes snapped open in horror. "T-Tap water?!" He looked around. "Where am I?!"
Paintings of people he didn't recognize, foreign devices blinking silently, piles of documents in a language he didn't use daily… and a chill in the air that didn't come from the AC.
"I'm dreaming," he muttered. "This must be a dream."
With a shaky breath, he balled his hand into a fist—and punched his own face.
Crack!
Blood spilled down his sculpted jaw.
"OUCH!!"
The pain was real. The blood was real. The perfect body? Still there.
"D-Did I become a mutant?" he whispered in disbelief. "Why is this body so weirdly strong? Wait… what if I've been kidnapped? Organs! They're after my kidneys!"
Trembling like a leaf (a very well-sculpted leaf), he staggered to the door. His hands—so divine in structure they could've belonged to a Renaissance statue—shook violently as he unlocked it.
"Please," he whispered. "Let there be no one."
He peeked out.
Servants. Everywhere. In uniforms. Chatting like this million-dollar mansion was their home.
"Did you hear?" one whispered to another, lips curled in contempt. "Madam really booked out a hotel with a bunch of male models last night. She's even trending again."
"She's gone crazy," another scoffed. "I don't even know why the old master married her to our young master. She's just a—"
"Enough!" came a dignified scolding from an older man in a butler's suit. "No matter what, Madam is the hostess of this house. Mind your mouths."
The servants dispersed, but the man at the door—our protagonist—was already panicking.
What kind of cult is this?! They're all brainwashed!
And who is this 'madam' they're gossiping about? Sounds like a villain from a palace drama!
"I need to escape," he whispered, then turned toward the window.
Without another thought, he leapt.
He prayed mid-air, "Oh Lord, forgive me if I sinned, but PLEASE catch me!!"
The ground was merciless.
CRACK.
He landed knees-first, legs twisted like cooked spaghetti. His body slammed into the dirt.
Blood. Dirt. Grass. Tears. A complete violation of heaven's art.
"…Am I still alive?" he gasped.
"…Am I Superman?"
Somehow, the pain vanished quickly, his legs straightening with an unnatural ease.
"…They experimented on me. They made me into a lab rat!!"
Nearby, a gardener glanced toward the sound of impact. He frowned but was stopped by a cheerful voice.
"Dad! The chef wants vegetables—where do I get them?" a young maid asked.
"Ask Butler Wang. And don't mess up on your first day," the man said with a father's sigh.
The gardener looked toward the bushes again, then turned away.
Hidden under those very bushes, the man—now muddy and injured in pride—tried to climb a tree.
Snap.
The branch broke.
He landed flat on his back.
"Damn it!" he cursed, rubbing his bruised behind. "What did they inject me with? Why is this body so heavy?!"
With the fury of a wronged soul, he ran toward the back gate, climbed over the fence, and dropped into freedom.
Or so he thought.
---
Meanwhile, inside the tallest skyscraper in the city, a man with bloodshot eyes buried in files growled, "Our CEO is a demon. A literal workaholic devil in human skin."
"Secretary Han," a curvy woman in stilettos walked in. "Have you seen Mr. Lu? The board meeting is starting."
"...He should've arrived at 4 a.m. I-I don't know where he is…" the secretary muttered, pale with dread.
---
Back on the road, the man cursed as a car sped past without stopping.
"If you don't want to give me a lift, fine! But don't spray dust in my face while polluting the planet! Hypocrite!!"
He waved again, this time at a luxury car.
The car screeched to a stop.
The driver inside stared at him—at his god-like face, chiseled body, and natural presence of dominance.
"…C-C-CEO Lu?!"
The man blinked.
"…Huh?"
The luxury car hissed to a stop in front of him, its sleek black body shimmering under the morning sun.
The man inside, wearing a crisp uniform and an expression of disbelief, leaned forward and squinted.
"Y-You... CEO Lu?"
The protagonist blinked, confused. Lu?
He tilted his head slightly, offering a dazzling, friendly smile that clashed violently with his current disheveled, muddy, leaf-clinging appearance.
"Brother," he said earnestly, "I think there's been a misunderstanding. My surname is Su, not Lu. Su Yu—just a humble salaryman working for scraps. Definitely not your overbearing CEO."
The driver furrowed his brows. His eyes scanned Su Yu from head to toe again.
"…Ah. You're right." He snorted. "Our CEO has the presence of a celestial being. You look like someone who just escaped from a ditch."
Su Yu's smile twitched.
Presence your uncle! I AM the celestial being!
But he swallowed the insult like a true office dog and chuckled, eyes glittering like a scheming fox.
"You're right, how could someone like me compare to your heavenly CEO?" He leaned on the car's open window with a sigh, voice full of resentment. "My CEO… is an old hag. Sucks the life out of me every day. I feel like my youth's being auctioned off in hourly installments."
The driver paused.
A single tear glistened in the corner of his eye.
"…Brother," he whispered. "You too?"
Su Yu nodded solemnly, as if they were comrades who fought in the same war.
"My CEO is the type who asks for revisions even during funerals."
The driver's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"…Mine made me cancel my wedding leave. Told me to just live-stream the ceremony from the meeting room."
They stared at each other, their hearts beating in synchronized despair.
Two men.
Two souls crushed under capitalist tyranny.
Two pitiful wage earners… united by grief.
"Get in," the driver finally said. "We office slaves must stick together."
Su Yu opened the passenger door with a grin as dazzling as the morning sun. "Thank you, Brother. May your descendants never work under your CEO."
"And yours too," the driver whispered, wiping away the last tear of his dignity.
With that, the luxury car zoomed off into the city—carrying two men and the shared agony of a thousand underpaid souls.
Meanwhile,
Inside a luxurious showbiz makeup room glittering with vanity lights, perfumes, and fake smiles—chaos reigned.
CRASH!!
A mirror shattered against the marble floor, glass splinters spraying like stardust, reflecting the wrath of the woman who hurled it.
She stood tall and radiant, dressed in a sleek crimson gown that hugged every perfect curve—an enchantress sculpted by the gods, cursed by obsession.
Her red lips curled in fury as she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls like thunder.
"WHY did the plan fail?! I set everything up! Su Manman was supposed to be caught red-handed in that hotel with those pretty boy models! Why the hell did they end up in my room instead?!"
A nervous woman with glasses flinched nearby, clutching a clipboard and a trembling heart.
"Si-Sister Linling…" she stammered, "We really did instruct the assistant to send them to Su Manman's suite. But somehow, they were redirected to yours. And… and it seems Brother Hu tipped off the paparazzi himself. The models were found… unconscious."
"WHAT?!"
Linling's eyes turned bloodshot. She kicked a velvet stool so hard it flipped into the air like a circus prop.
"Why? WHY does Brother Hu still defend that bitch?! That fake, second-rate white lotus! She's not worthy of him!"
The room temperature dropped with her rage.
The assistant paled. "S-Sister, please keep your voice down… You're already married to Young Master Lu…"
The moment the words left her mouth, the air stilled.
Linling scoffed—an elegant, contemptuous laugh that dripped with scorn. She swept her cascading hair over one shoulder, eyes sharp with disdain.
"Married?" she sneered. "I'm only married to that ice block in name. That man only knows how to work, work, and work. Cold, boring, and expressionless. Tch—he could never match Brother Hu's elegance. Not in a hundred lifetimes."
She turned to the shattered mirror, staring at the fractured reflection of her own divine face.
"Let him be the husband of Linling on paper. But in my heart?"
Her fingers curled around a red lipstick like a dagger.
"Only Brother Hu exists."
Just as Linling was about to hurl another tantrum, her diamond-studded phone buzzed sharply against the vanity table, the ringtone sweet and deceptively gentle.
She snatched it up and pressed it to her ear, her voice still simmering with suppressed rage.
"What?"
A refined but impatient voice crackled through the speaker.
"My baby, what happened? There are already rumors online of you being caught with young male models in a hotel! Are you trying to kill me with stress?"
Linling lazily dipped a brush into her crimson nail polish, her tone dismissive.
"Calm down, Mom. It was a setup, obviously."
The woman on the other end sighed heavily, the sound of pearl bracelets clinking in the background.
"Setup or not, your reputation is already in the mud. If you wanted to fool around, couldn't you have picked a private place? Do you know how much Su family's stocks dropped this morning?"
Then, a bitter snort—
"If only you were half as capable as your stepsister, Su Manman. That girl has already gotten close to several big bosses. She knows how to climb."
Linling's hands froze mid-polish, but her face remained calm.
She raised her chin proudly, replying with a smirk,
"Don't worry. Mr. Lu will help us. After all, I saved his grandfather's life, remember?"
There was a long silence on the other end. Then the mother's voice turned low, almost like a slap through the phone.
"…You. You really are shameless, Linling."
"It was Manman who saved Old Master Lu."
"You only stole the spotlight by arriving late and faking tears. Just because you put on a show doesn't mean you were the one who saved him."
Linling's hand trembled slightly as she painted the final stroke across her flawless nail.
A sly smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"…I know."
Linling's eyes narrowed as she ended the call with a sharp slam of her finger. The screen went black. The room was dead silent—only the sound of her rapid breathing and the faint crackle of her shattered mirror filled the space.
"Useless woman," she muttered coldly, tossing the phone aside like it was infected.
Just then, the makeup room door creaked open. A young assistant peeked in nervously, her voice trembling.
"Madam, your scene is ready…"
In an instant, all rage vanished from Linling's face.
Like a trained dancer stepping onto her stage, she rose from her seat, her posture elegant, her expression soft and glowing. Each step exuded the practiced charm of a top-tier actress.
The moment she stepped out of the van, flashlights clicked, crew members bowed slightly, and even the breeze seemed to pause in admiration.
As she walked towards the set, an elderly woman in worn clothes tripped on the edge of the filming platform and staggered dangerously.
Linling's lips curled—not in disgust, but into the warmest smile money couldn't buy.
She reached out with graceful hands, catching the woman just in time.
"Auntie, are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with gentleness, as if she were truly a heroine stepping out of a romance drama.
Camera flashes erupted. Staff members gasped in awe.
Someone whispered, "She's just like the female lead in real life…"
"Cut!"
The director called it, satisfied.
But the moment the cameras stopped rolling, the warmth vanished from Linling's face like melting frost.
She shoved the old woman back gently but firmly, wiping her hands on her sleeve.
"Where did that old hag even come from?" she snapped coldly.
Snapping her fingers, she called to her assistant,
"Sanitizer. Now. Full disinfection."
As she rubbed her hands with alcohol, she muttered under her breath,
"Next time some peasant shows up in my shot, I'll sue the whole crew."
And just like that, she turned on her heel and walked away, back straight, chin high—every inch a goddess with a venomous heart.