I woke up gasping.
Gasping like a fish on land.
I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, hair looking like it had lost a fight with a lawn mower.
Panting.
Sweating.
Flapping (mentally).
I looked down at my hands.
Fingers.
Nails.
No feathers in sight.
Still a human.
Praise the K-drama gods and Park Seo-joon's jawline.
"It was just a dream," I whispered dramatically, wiping imaginary tears off my forehead like I was in a tragic palace scene.
Why did it feel so real?
And more importantly—why was Jeon Jaehyuk in my dream?
Of all people.
My cold, robotic, perfection-obsessed boss who has the emotional range of a houseplant.
Could it be the stress?
Or that expired strawberry milk from last night?
Or maybe the fact that…
No. NOPE. Absolutely not.
There is zero chance that I, Mira Kim—logical thinker, emotionally stable (ish), strong independent woman who only cries during K-drama finales and when I step on Lego—would ever dream about that ice-blooded corporate demon voluntarily.
I mean, come on. Jeon Jaehyuk?
The man treats his employees like we are malware.
The same man who told HR to replace the office plants because they were "too cheerful."
WHY WOULD MY BRAIN PUT HIM IN A DREAM THAT INVOLVED SOFT LIGHTING AND... HAND-HOLDING??
Ew.
No.
I need to delete my subconscious mind and reinstall it. Preferably with antivirus.
Maybe I've just inhaled too many printer fumes at work.
Maybe I need to go on a vacation.
Maybe I need holy water.
Yeah. Holy water. Sprayed directly into my ear canal.
Just as I began thanking the universe for not turning me into a feathery side dish—
"YAH!"
I whipped around so fast, I almost dislocated my neck.
"MOM?!"
There she stood. At the doorway of my room. Lips pursed. And behind her? The combined fury of 800 disappointed ancestors radiating through her glare like a K-drama villainous mother-in-law.
Her eyes sparkled with one thing.
Judgment.
The kind that could curdle milk and reduce grown men to tears.
"Did you or did you not," she began in a voice usually reserved for courtroom dramas, "reject the perfectly respectable, decent, and foreign-educated man I set you up with?!"
"Wait—back up. HOW did you even get in here?!"
What?! I thought I changed my apartment's passcode?!
"Any moron with two brain cells could guess it's 131095. PARK JIMIN'S BIRTHDAY? Seriously, Mimi?!"
"Excuse me for being loyal to my bias!" I muttered defensively. "I'm changing it to BLACKPINK's next comeback date."
Her eyebrows twitched. "What did you say?"
"Nothing."
She stomped closer. "Don't change the subject. Why did you reject my friend's son?That guy was nice, rich, and had hair!"
Oh no. Here we go again.
"Mom, we've been over this. He brought his resume to the date! A laminated one! Who does that?!"
"He's responsible! He just came back from Germany!"
"Well, he can go back to Germany and take his laminated resume with him!"
Before she could go full monologue mode, I glanced at my digital alarm clock.
7:30 AM.
A bloodcurdling scream left my mouth.
"Oh my GOD I'M LATE!!!"
I flew out of bed like a caffeinated missile, skidded across the floor in my fluffy bunny socks, and slammed into the bathroom door.
I turned on the shower, and… stood outside of it to make it sound like I showered.
Because let's be real, Who has time to shower when you're on the brink of unemployment? But I did brush tho.
I flung open my closet like a raccoon attacking a trash can. Clothes flew everywhere.
"WHERE. IS. MY. CHANEL. BLAZER?!"
The one I sold my soul and three months of rent savings for?!
My wardrobe looked like it had been looted. And just as I was about to scream bloody murder—
A neatly pressed black blazer floated into view.
Right on my face.
Held by the culprit herself.
"YOU STOLE IT AGAIN?!"
Mom scoffed with a hand on her hip like a dramatic queen from a daily soap. "Stole?! Taking a blazer from my own daughter is stealing now?! That's what we're calling it these days?"
"You gave it to Maya again, didn't you?!"
Smack. Right on my back. I yelped.
"You both are SISTERS, not enemies! Act like one!"
Ah, yes. My younger sister Maya. The angel in public, demon in private. She's the kind of person who says, "Oops, I didn't know it was your blazer," while uploading selfies in it with #BossVibes #CEOcore #ThanksMira.
"She had an interview!" Mom said defensively.
"She's in med school! What interview?!"
"A medical fashion show?"
"THAT'S NOT A THING!"
"Mom, she once switched my toner with nail polish remover!! And you still had the audacity to give her MY blazer that I spent a fortune on to buy?!"
"She said it was an accident!"
"MY SKIN TURNED INTO CHARRED LAVA!!"
Mom clutched her chest like I'd stabbed her with my contour brush. "You are yelling at me for this silly matter? Is this how you repay me after carrying you for nine months and sacrificing my waistline?!"
"Mom—"
"DO YOU KNOW how much blood, sweat and tears I sacrificed just to bring you into this world?!"
"Mom, I have work—"
"My youth! My sleep! My K-drama time! All gone, while you were in my womb doing tae-kwon-do!"
"Mom, I'm going to be late—"
"My skin used to glow like Irene from Red Velvet! Now look! Look at my pigmentation!" she wailed, pointing at a completely imaginary spot.
"Are you done?"
"No!! by the way, my another friend's son just came back from the US--" Oh here we go. Another eligible bachelor from the Auntie Matrimony Database.
OH MY GOD SHE'S COLLECTING FOREIGN BOYS LIKE POKÉMON CARDS AGAIN. SOMEBODY UNPLUG HER.
"MOM NO!! I told you we are over this!!"
"I'm dying!"
Girl, you're 52. You jog every morning. You eat chia seeds. You take collagen pills with more commitment than I file taxes.
"Don't you want me to see you get married before I turn into dust?!"
"You're acting like you've cancer" I snapped, tossing a pillow at the bed for dramatic flair.
Oops. Too far. Too far. Pull back, pull back—
She gasped again. "You want me to have cancer now aswell?!" And she twisted it like a villain in a makjang drama, I groaned. Someone give her a Daesang Award.
"STOP. STOP TWISTING MY WORDS."
"Then go on the date!"
"MR JEON IS GONNA FIRE ME BECAUSE OF YOU!!"
"GOOD." she shouted. "Because why does my gut tell me you're going to die single while working for that man?! You and your Mr. Jeon!!"
"I'm 27! Not 97! I still have time!!"
Beyoncé wasn't even in her final form at 27. Let me live, woman.
"At this rate, you'll be single at 97!!"
I was speed-dressing while simultaneously questioning my life decisions. I shoved one foot into a heel like Cinderella on Red Bull and slapped on lip tint with the finesse of a sleepy clown.
"MOM. I don't have time for this! I'm LATE."
I zipped my bag. "GOODBYE, MOMZILLA."
"WAIT! I'LL TEXT YOU SOME MATCHES ON TINDER!!"
I slammed the door shut behind me, but still heard her yell."DO YOU PREFER ENGINEERS OR SOFTWARE DEVELOPERS?!"