"Give you all the love in my heart…" 🎶
The lyrics hummed in my ears as I tugged my earphones deeper, pretending like I belonged here. Like I wasn't an imposter strutting into the lobby of Seo Group, Busan's glittering empire, built on money, power, and whatever secrets a girl like me was never supposed to find out.
The marble floor was so polished I could see my reflection unfortunately reminding me that my scuffed sneakers didn't exactly scream "serious journalist." The security guards barely glanced at me, but I swear I felt their suspicion stabbing into my back. My heart was racing, but BabyMonster kept singing in my ears, their voices lighter than the panic trying to choke me.
I adjusted the strap of my too-big tote bag and whispered under my breath, "Okay, Kang Hana, you've got this. You're not a fraud, you're… an undercover reporter."
 My reflection snorted back at me.
The Seo Group HQ was… overwhelming. Floor-to-ceiling glass, gold accents, employees who looked like they were born in designer suits. And me, the only one nervously checking if my ID badge… which I totally printed at a convenience store this morning, was hanging straight.
I squared my shoulders and walked toward the elevators, pretending I was late to a Very Important Meeting. My secret weapon? Acting like I belonged. People rarely question confidence, right?
Except my version of confidence involved tripping slightly as I stepped into the elevator. Smooth.
The elevator chimed like it was announcing royalty every time the doors opened. Sleek chrome walls, touch-screen buttons, and that faint expensive cologne smell that probably cost more than my rent.
I pressed the button for the top floor, trying not to look like I'd just picked the scariest option. My reflection in the mirrored wall looked back at me with wide eyes and messy bangs that refused to cooperate. I flattened them with my palm. Nope. Still chaos.
When the doors slid open, the atmosphere changed instantly. This wasn't just an office floor. It felt… different. Quiet, carpet so thick it could swallow my sneakers whole, the kind of silence that makes you nervous about breathing too loud.
Employees in sharp suits walked with purpose, like they were carrying billion-won secrets in their briefcases. I walked faster to match their energy, clutching my tote like it contained nuclear codes instead of a notebook, two pens, and emergency chocolate.
Then came the obstacle: the secretary's desk.
She sat in front of two enormous frosted-glass doors, the kind of woman who could spot a fake from fifty meters away. Her hair was sleek, her blouse crisp, her eyes sharp.
"Excuse me," she said, in that polite but suspicious way.
I panicked. My brain scrambled for something, anything that sounded professional. "Uh, urgent delivery."
Her eyes flicked to my tote. I tugged it closer like it held confidential files. For a second, I thought she'd call security. Then, her phone rang. She sighed, picked it up, and waved me past without another glance.
I almost sprinted, but forced myself to walk casually toward the frosted-glass doors. My heart thudded louder than BabyMonster's bass line still echoing in my ears. I had no idea what I was going to find inside Seo Junho's private office… but I was about to find out.
With one shaky breath, I pushed the doors open.
The frosted-glass doors shut behind me with a soft thunk, sealing me into silence. My sneakers sank into the plush carpet, and I froze half from awe, half from panic.
This wasn't an office. It was… a lair.
The space stretched wider than my entire apartment, maybe twice over. The far wall was nothing but glass, giving me an uninterrupted view of Gwangalli Beach glittering under the afternoon sun. To my left, a floor-to-ceiling aquarium glowed with blue light, sleek silver fish gliding like tiny living jewels. The faint hum of the filter made the silence feel heavier.
The desk, if you could call it that, was a slab of polished black stone, almost empty. No clutter. No family photos. Just a laptop, a fountain pen, and a single crystal glass with water beads running down its side. Minimalist. Cold. Like the man himself, if the rumors were true.
I swallowed. So this was Seo Junho's domain. The Golden Boy. The Untouchable CEO. The man whose smile was plastered on every magazine cover, every news article, every investor's wet dream. The man I was here to expose.
And yet… I felt like I was the one being exposed, standing there in my wrinkled blazer, looking like I'd wandered into the wrong drama set.
"Okay, Hana. Breathe," I whispered to myself.
My feet moved before my brain approved it, taking me straight to the desk. My fingers hovered over the laptop like it was a cursed relic. Did billionaires even use their own laptops? Or did they just yell at assistants until things happened?
I glanced over my shoulder. Empty.
Heart hammering, I reached out and touched the pen. Heavy, smooth. Definitely not a â‚©500 convenience store pen. I twirled it in my fingers, imagining Junho signing contracts worth more than my entire life with this thing.
"Maybe I'll just borrow this as a souvenir," I muttered, slipping it halfway into my tote bag.
"Stealing already?"
The voice slid through the silence like a knife dipped in silk. I dropped the pen. It clattered against the desk, the sound way too loud. I froze, eyes wide, before forcing my head up.
There he was.
Seo Junho stood by the aquarium, hands in his pockets, suit tailored so perfectly it looked like it had been built onto his body. His hair was sharp, dark, slicked back but not stiff. His eyes cool, unreadable were fixed on me. And worse? There was the faintest curve at his lips, like I was his private comedy show.
Oh no. He'd been here the whole time?
For three agonizing seconds, I considered pretending to be invisible. Maybe if I stayed very still, he'd think I was part of the furniture.
Nope. His gaze pinned me like I was a bug under glass.
"Do you always make yourself at home in strangers' offices?" Junho's voice was smooth, like he'd been practicing sarcasm since birth.
My mouth opened. Nothing came out. Then my brain kicked back in and shoved the first excuse it could find onto my tongue. "I—uh—I was just… testing the pen quality. For, um… research. Journalism research."
One brow arched. Slowly. Deliberately. "Ah. Of course. Because all respected journalists risk jail time to evaluate fountain pens."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. My tote bag suddenly felt like it weighed fifty kilos. I adjusted it on my shoulder, fumbling. "Well, you know… integrity. It's important to check the small details. Readers appreciate authenticity."
Junho pushed away from the aquarium with a lazy elegance, each step toward me measured, unhurried. He stopped just short of the desk, close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne—something expensive, sharp with spice.
"Authenticity," he repeated, tasting the word like it was amusing. His eyes swept over me, from my crooked bangs to my sneakers, and lingered just long enough to make me squirm. "Funny. You don't look authentic at all."
I bristled, forcing my chin up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Junho said, leaning one hand on the desk so he was slightly above me, "that I don't buy your act. Not the outfit. Not the ID badge which I assume you printed at a convenience store this morning. Not the way you keep glancing at the exit like you're about to bolt."
My jaw dropped. "You—how—?"
He smirked. "I pay people to notice details. You're not very good at hiding yours."
I swallowed hard, clutching my tote like a shield. My brain screamed at me to run, but my feet were frozen, rooted by the weight of his gaze.
Then he tilted his head, studying me with an expression I couldn't read. Curious. Amused. Dangerous.
"So," he said softly, "why don't you tell me the truth? Who are you really, Miss…?"
"…Kang," I blurted, before my survival instincts could stop me. "Kang Hana."
His smirk deepened, like I'd just given him exactly what he wanted.
Junho let my name linger in the air, like he was rolling it across his tongue, tasting it.
"Kang Hana," he repeated slowly, almost like a challenge. "Pretty name. Doesn't explain what you're doing in my office, though."
I shifted my weight from one sneaker to the other, my brain performing gymnastics for a believable excuse. Nothing came. Just static.
"I—I told you," I stammered. "I'm a journalist. Research. Pens. Pens are very important—"
His chuckle cut me off. Low, sharp, not warm at all. "You're terrible at lying."
I bristled. "Excuse me? I'm excellent at lying. I've been doing it since middle school. My mom never once caught me sneaking out."
His brow shot up, and to my horror, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "That's your defense? Admitting you're a professional liar?"
I opened my mouth, closed it again, then finally blurted, "Maybe."
Junho studied me for a long beat, his gaze sharp, dissecting. But there was something else there too. Amusement. Like I wasn't what he expected and he didn't quite know what to do with me.
"Well, Miss Kang Hana the Journalist," he said smoothly, "next time you want to investigate fountain pens, I suggest you make an appointment. My secretary doesn't take walk-ins."
He straightened, stepping back, giving me space to breathe again. My lungs actually remembered how to work.
"Now," He added, sliding his hands back into his pockets, "are you going to walk out on your own, or should I have security escort you? Personally, I'd enjoy the second option more."
I shot him my best glare which probably looked more like a goldfish gasping for air and clutched my tote tighter. "Fine. I was leaving anyway. Your office smells pretentious."
That smug half-smile flickered across his face again. "And yet, you stayed long enough to snoop."
Touché.
I turned on my heel and marched toward the frosted-glass doors, trying to hold onto what little dignity I had left. My ears were burning, my heart still slamming against my ribs. I'd just faced down the Golden Boy of Busan and somehow survived.
As the doors shut behind me, I exhaled shakily. One thing was clear though: Seo Junho was dangerous. Not in the way I expected, not with threats or violence. No, worse. He was dangerous because he looked at me like I was a puzzle. People like him always solved them.