The assistant's sharp gaze snapped to her. "You have it? Bring it here, quickly."
Jihye forced herself forward, clutching the report tightly. Each step down the aisle seemed longer than the last, like she was walking through molasses while every colleague's eyes branded her spine.
What the hell were they even looking at anyway? Weren't they all just running helter-skelter around the floor a few minutes ago?
This is it, she thought. Just hand it over, breathe—
Her pulse spiked. She adjusted her pace, nearly tripping over her own flats. A few people stifled chuckles.
When she reached the assistant, she extended the report with both hands, bowing low. "Here. The finalized press release draft."
The assistant snatched it like a lifeline. "Why wasn't this submitted earlier?"
Jihye's mouth went dry. Her lips parted, but no excuse came. The angry voice snapped inside her head—
'Say something! Blame Mrs. Cha! Blame traffic! Lie, you idiot!'
But another voice—the soft, fragile one—rose instead.
'Don't. Lies always turn into blood. Don't—'
Her silence stretched a beat too long. The assistant's frown deepened. "Fine. The CEO is waiting. Follow me."
Jihye's heart pounded. Fuck! Just my luck.
"Follow—? To the CEO?"
"Yes. He wants to hear about this directly."
Gasps rippled through the office. A few sympathetic looks darted her way; others were practically gleeful, watching Jihye get dragged into the lion's den.
She tried to protest. "B-but I was only supposed to submit and—"
"The chief secretary isn't around, and you didn't submit it. If you had, this would've reached him an hour ago when he first asked for it."
"A-an hour?" Her voice cracked. Oh no. She wanted to melt into the marble floor, to vanish completely.
"Yes," the assistant clipped out. "He asked for it an hour ago. When we went to Secretary Cha's office, we couldn't find it. We checked with the other junior secretaries—it wasn't with them either. That left only you. And yet, you were nowhere to be found."
"I…I came in late. I had to pick up something urgent for my mom at dawn and—"
"Just come with me. We are making the CEO wait, and he doesn't have patience for that."
In her head, the sly voice purred, amused. 'Ah, the CEO himself. What a man. Imagine if he falls for you—office romance, scandal, doom.'
The angry one snarled. 'Shut up! Focus! You're walking to your death, and you're daydreaming about romance?!'
The assistant continued, "When you see him, you can explain why you came late despite holding something this important. Now, hurry." His stare drilled into her, heavy with judgment. Around them, murmurs rose like buzzing flies.
"She came late? Aigoo, she's dead meat."
"I know, right? And she made the CEO wait for a whole hour before he even saw the report."
"If it was any other day, maybe it'd be fine. But today—when the CEO is extra cold after that failed deal?"
"Yes, I heard about it. But are you sure it's only the deal? When I saw him this morning, he looked ready to commit murder. The aura he gave off was so cold, I thought I'd freeze."
"Aish, stop! You're giving me chills."
Jihye bowed again and trailed after the assistant, each step echoing like a countdown.
The soft one whimpered. 'Don't go. Please don't go. He's so scary. They said he looked like he wanted to murder someone—what if he murders us?'
The angry one snapped back. 'Ugh, stop whining. They were exaggerating. "Commit murder" is just a figure of speech—'
'Shut up, for God's sake—all of you. I'm under immense stress and potential trouble right now. Don't make it worse, for goodness' sake!'
But her pulse spiked anyway. Jihye's palms were slick with sweat, her heartbeat racing as she got to the elevator, stepped inside, rode to the 30th floor, got out, and walked toward his office.
The CEO's floor was silent. Oppressively so.
Jihye couldn't resist glancing around—she'd only been up here once.
The executive assistant's office was all glass partitions and dark oak, with a single desk at its center. Not a paper out of place. Even the pens looked lined up with lasers.
The assistant knocked. Jihye didn't hear a reply, but apparently he did, because he pushed the door open and stepped inside. When she hesitated, frozen at the threshold, he glanced back, eyebrows raised.
"Ah, sorry," she muttered, forcing her legs to move. She slipped in behind him, and the door clicked shut.
To her surprise, the assistant handed the document back to her before striding forward. For a second she almost blurted out, Why are you giving it back? But then she saw how close he was to the CEO's desk and scrambled to catch up.
And there he was.
Standing in the top-floor office of Han Group Tower, Jihye felt dizzy. Not just from the sheer wealth dripping off every surface, but from the man himself.
Han Yeonwoo. Thirty years old. CEO of Han Chip Technologies.
The sly voice in her head practically moaned, frenzied with yearning. 'That's not just a man—that's a meal. Look at this place, look at him. He's money, power, and pleasure, all in one package.'
An amused voice drawled in reply—the fourth personality that rarely ever spoke. 'Too bad you can never have him.'
Jihye ignored them, but her eyes couldn't help darting to the showcase of wealth surrounding him:
On his desk gleamed a limited-edition, diamond-inlaid model of the Neura-X1 microcore prototype, rumored to be worth more than a penthouse.
On the shelf behind him sat a vintage first-generation Rolex Milgauss, encased in crystal, easily auctioned for seven figures.
Mounted along the far wall was a commissioned abstract painting by a reclusive artist, its value whispered about in art circles but never confirmed—rumor put it at ten million won at least.
Meanwhile, Yeonwoo himself was dazzling in his own right: a thousand-dollar, custom-made suit molded to his tall frame, cufflinks glinting under the recessed lights, and tousled hair so artfully undone it had to be the result of a stylist's hand and products Jihye could never afford.
Her mouth went dry.
The assistant's voice broke the silence. "Sir, the finalized press release draft for the Neura-X1 launch you requested is here."