I saw a post while scrolling through my social media.

[Adult male merman for sale. Hard to tame. Letting go for cheap.]

I commented, [I'll take him.]

The seller asked for ten thousand dollars and promised doorstep delivery.

When I opened the package, the merman was nowhere near 160 pounds. He barely weighed over a hundred. His skin was sallow, his ribs visible beneath it, and his tail fin was rotting at the edges.

I messaged the seller, [I want a refund.]

The message failed to go through.

I was furious. I immediately called the seller, ready to tear them apart.

However, a cold, automated voice answered instead.

"The number you have dialed does not exist."

A deal like that was never meant to be clean. Black market transactions didn't come with customer service. I swallowed my anger and accepted the loss.

I reopened the promotional video on my phone.

The merman in the video was soaking in a clear, sparkling pool. His face was perfectly shaped and sharp, and his deep eyes seemed to pull you in. Water ran down his strong abs, catching the light.

His lips were pressed together, his expression cold and distant. He looked unreal, like a beautiful man who had stepped out of a movie.

Just looking at him felt worth the money.

Then I glanced at the one lying in my apartment.

He was painfully thin, skin stretched over bone. His spine jutted out so sharply it looked like it might tear through his skin. His scales were dull gray, without a hint of shine. A chunk of his tail fin had been brutally cut off. A fist-sized wound split open across his blue-purple tail, flesh exposed.

It was a horrifying sight.

He lay sprawled on the floor, too weak to even lift his head. His skin was dry, nothing like the wet, luminous creature from the video.

I let out a long sigh. My luck was truly terrible.

I spent ten thousand dollars and ended up with damaged goods.

I didn't want to think about it anymore. I dragged him into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water spray over his face. Water was life to their kind. After a while, he seemed to regain a little strength. His head tilted slightly, and he glanced at me.

That single look still made me pause.

His eyes were lake blue, bright like fallen stars. His features were perfectly shaped, like a sculpture. Even this thin, he was undeniably handsome. If he gained some weight, he would probably be breathtaking.

Unfortunately, his expression was dark and guarded. His black hair hung messily over his forehead, making his pale skin look even more fragile. There was a dangerous, almost sickly edge to him.

I tipped my head back slightly. "What's your name?"

"Malcolm Sawyer," he said hoarsely. After a brief pause, he added, "That woman... used to call me that."

I remembered the words written under the video, White Moonlight.

"Who's White Moonlight?" I asked casually.

He frowned and clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "No idea. I don't remember."

His attitude was unbelievably bad.

My expression turned serious immediately, and I slowly said, "Right now, I'm your master. Watch how you speak."

He let out a soft laugh and tilted his head at me, his eyes full of provocation. "Then just sell me again. It's not like I can fight back in this condition."

He had a point. He was basically damaged goods. No matter how good-looking he was, no one would pay much for an injured merman like this.

And I wasn't in a position to walk away either. Rent was due, I needed to eat, and I still needed to work to cover my debts.

I was about to turn away when he suddenly leaned closer. The corner of his lips curved into a wicked smile, his voice low and teasing.

"But if you want to hear it, I can call you Master."

His breath brushed against my cheek, warm and close.

Heat rushed to my ears.

The forum page was still open on my phone.

[ColdBriefs: One star review. Don't buy a merman as a partner. He's colder than a rock and always looks miserable. He's also a picky eater. Anyone know a better beastie to get?]

[NoCilantro: Sounds like your merman's got a personality issue. Most mermen are pretty gentle. Did you accidentally get some aggressive alpha type?]

[YellowFaceGirl: Girl, you still don't get it, huh? Mine's fierce too, but when he cooperates, it's incredible. Guess we're stuck putting up with them for life.]

That last comment made me blanch.

I shut off my phone and looked up.

Malcolm was curled up on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

When he noticed me staring at him, he looked up and smiled.

It was the kind of smile that made you want to hit him.

"Are you gonna hit me?" Malcolm asked.

He was as stubborn as a mule.

What exactly had his previous owner done to him? He'd been treated that badly and still refused to back down. Instead, he snapped at everyone he saw.

I ignored his little games and tossed him an ointment. "Apply this three times a day. Do it yourself."

He stared at the white cream for a long moment, as if he'd never seen anything like it.

Probably in his mind, everyone was a liar, and my gesture was likely some kind of manipulation. He likely thought that someday, I'd snap and lash out like his previous buyers.

But he guessed wrong.

I was poor and stingy. This deal was definitely a loss that made my chest ache, but I couldn't just stand by and watch him suffer.

At worst, I could send him to a factory to work once he was better and make a little money back. Then I'd get a reliable beast partner and move on.

When he still didn't move, I turned to leave. "I'm going to work."

-

The sky-high restaurant sat on the 54th floor, where the city lights stretched out like a glittering ocean below.

Working here paid well, and tips were generous. However, I was just a food runner.

The manager, Simon Carter, once said, "You're not pretty enough. Here, dining is about the view. We can't have something that looks like a cheap fake sitting in a luxury showroom, right?"

All the servers here had to be tall, fit, and good-looking. That was the only way to justify the kind of money the guests spent. Every single one of them was almost unfairly attractive.

There were beautiful humans, and even fox shifters, a race famous for their looks.

The kitchen had fewer rules since you didn't have to face customers.

I always kept to myself. That changed last month when I overheard a coworker talking about getting matched with a werewolf partner.

"By the time it cleared all the approvals, it was over 50 grand. That's almost my whole year's salary. But at least when I go home now, I'm not alone. Just thinking about someone waiting for me makes work feel worth it."

I didn't have that kind of money, but I wanted someone waiting at home too.

So I started browsing the secondhand trading platforms.

I counted my savings.

I had worked through college, but tuition had been covered by my parents. So for two years after graduation, I had been paying off my tuition.

After my parents divorced, I felt like a ball being kicked back and forth between them.

They didn't even want me to go to college. In the end, it was our elders who stepped in, forcing them to split the cost evenly.

At the time, they agreed to pay for school. However, there was a condition.

"You can study, but once you graduate, you have to pay us back."

I was in a rush to pay off my debt, so I took the first high-paying logistics job I could find after graduation.

I managed to make about three thousand dollars that first month, there was barely anything left to pay them back.

And that job really botched my career launch, making it way harder to find a better one later.

By the time I went to submit resumes again, I realized I was far behind my classmates.

Also, HR wasn't impressed with my first job.

"I find Ms. Jones lacks business skills and experience. She's not suitable for our position."

Kids from ordinary families sometimes had a narrow view. One wrong step early on could make everything afterward feel off.

I was so focused on paying off my debt that I forgot to seize opportunities in the moment.

Debt alone didn't crush you. It was seizing the right opportunities that mattered most.

In my twenties, I didn't understand that. I just wanted to clear my debts and even the score.

My mom had said, "I can only support you until you're eighteen."

Later, I searched everywhere for work, only to be belittled again.

"If I had known you'd end up doing this kind of job, I wouldn't have wasted money sending you to college!"

Back then, I cried almost every day.

In my empty, dark rental apartment, the only sound was my own breathing.

Thankfully, I finally had some savings after years of hard work.

And that was how I managed to buy Malcolm with his terrible temper.

Being a food runner was simple. I moved constantly between the kitchen and the dining area.

I was so busy that I hardly had time to think about Malcolm.

But sometimes, I couldn't help worrying about his tattered tail and the shoulder blades sticking out of his thin back.

Malcolm should eat more nutritious food.

Getting leftover food from the kitchen wasn't difficult. Besides, most of the dishes were barely touched.

Take that Crimson lobster, for example. The guests only nibbled the broccoli garnish and a bit of the meat. It barely looked any different.

My coworker grinned, holding a takeout box.

"Grace, if you don't want it, I'm taking it home!"

I hurriedly grabbed a plastic bag. "Share half with me!"

By the time I finished work, it was exactly 11:30 p.m.

The neon lights still flashed outside, but down in the sewers, rats poked their heads out.

People like me always lived in corners the light didn't reach, like the rats in the gutter.

Now I had Malcolm with me.

We would probably be relying on each other for a long time.

I packed the food and brought it home. When I saw Malcolm, I noted that most of his injuries had already healed.

Mermen healed fast. If someone didn't deliberately keep reopening wounds, the scars wouldn't be this bad. I didn't know what his previous owner had done to him to cause such deep damage to his tail.

I opened the takeout box, and the aroma filled the room.

Malcolm only glanced at it, showing little interest.

He kept flipping through the same magazine, even though I'm sure he'd gone through it nearly a hundred times.

I tried to coax him gently. "Dinner's ready."

He turned his head and scanned me from head to toe. There was a hint of curiosity in his deep blue eyes.

"Do I need to do anything?"

I was confused. "Like what?"

Malcolm pushed himself up slightly, his tail dragging across the floor.

The scales that had healed over the past two days shimmered with an almost dazzling, otherworldly color.

"Only good kids get to eat, but I'm not a good kid."

Malcolm's voice was low. "I bite, I hurt myself, and I just don't obey."

No wonder his previous owner had transferred him to me.

He let out a soft, dark laugh. "What about you? Don't you want me to obey?"

He leaned in, his tongue brushing lightly against my neck. Even his tone carried a strange, almost wicked edge.

"What about you, Master? Don't you want me to please you?"

He emphasized the word Master, and it sounded almost seductive.

But I suspected that back when he had said this to someone else, it had only been a prelude to trying to bite through their veins.

I pushed him back and shoved a piece of lobster into his mouth.

"Buying damaged goods like you is my bad luck, but I have no intention of forcing you," I said.

Beastmen came in two kinds.

Some could live independently, as humans do. Others were companion-type, entirely reliant on human care while offering emotional support in return.

You could apply through an agency, get approved, pay a hefty fee, and be matched with a suitable companion.

Because the cost was so high, private transactions were common. However, the quality of beastmen varied widely.

Malcolm was a perfect example. He was sharp-tongued, foul-tempered, and impossible to handle.

He had clearly been starving. His eyes went a little blank as he tasted the food.

I fed him slowly until he finished everything cleanly.

A drop of creamy mushroom soup slid down Malcolm's lips, looking almost tempting. He flicked out his deep red tongue and licked it clean.

Then, he went back to flipping through the old magazine.

I crouched by the storage box and rummaged around, somehow pulling out an ancient, clunky phone. It was heavy as a brick and took forever to boot up, but it could still connect to the internet. At most, he could listen to music or read e-books to pass the time.

I tossed the relic to Malcolm. He stared at it for a long while, speechless.

Finally, he managed to say, "Aren't you afraid I'll run away? For the past seven months, I was locked in a basement. I had nothing but a little water to keep from dying. Nothing else. There were bare walls on all sides, and every day felt empty. The only thing I could do was stare off into space."

Malcolm pressed his lips together, his voice hoarse. "Why are you being so good to me?"