**Chapter Eight – Baek Yuna POV**
*(Seo Minjae in Her Body)*
---
I pushed open the apartment door at 7:15 and found Dori on the desk, grooming himself with the energy of someone who had spent a productive day doing absolutely nothing.
He looked up.
"You're late."
"Work ran long." I dropped the card on the desk beside him and walked to the closet.
He sniffed it once. "What's this."
"Address."
"Whose."
"Jaehun's."
A pause.
"His home address."
"Yes."
"Why do you have his home address."
I pulled open the closet. Black, grey, white. The usual ocean. I grabbed black trousers, a black shirt, black shoes and laid them on the bed.
"He wants me there at eight," I said.
The silence behind me was very loud.
I turned around.
Dori was sitting completely still on the desk, staring at the card, doing the kind of quiet thinking that never ended well for me.
"His house," he said. "Tonight. At eight."
"It's a work thing—"
"It is seven fifteen in the evening—"
"Some work things—"
"IN HIS *PRIVATE HOME*, MINJAE."
"If you'd just—"
"What if he's a pervert?" The words came out fast, building. "What if he's a psycho? What if—" He stopped. His voice dropped to something genuinely horrified. "What if he's a *serial killer.*"
I pulled on the trousers. "He's not a serial killer—"
"Rich. Handsome. Mysterious. Private evening meeting." He was pacing the desk now, tail lashing. "Minjae. That is a *profile.* That is the exact profile. They blend in — that's the whole thing — they get successful, they get charming, and then they invite people to their houses at night—"
"He's a CEO—"
"SERIAL KILLERS HAVE JOBS." He spun around. "That's how they get you. Always. And Yuna — soft, quiet, trusting Yuna — is his *perfect target.* He's been building this since day one. The bathroom. The demotion. The isolation. And now—"
"Dori—"
"*I will kill you before he does.*"
He launched off the desk and landed directly on my head.
Claws first.
"DORI—"
"YOU ARE NOT GOING TO THAT HOUSE—"
"GET OFF—"
"PROTECT YUNA—"
"I AM YUNA—"
"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN—"
I grabbed him, peeled him off, held him at arm's length. He kicked the air with magnificent indignation.
"I'll be fine," I said. "I can handle Park Jaehun."
"YOU TOLD HIM HIS ANATOMY WAS PENCIL-SIZED AND GOT DEMOTED TO PERSONAL SLAVE—"
I set him down and ran.
Out the bedroom, down the hallway, out the front door.
"MINJAE—" His voice chased me down the stairwell. "*IDIOT. IF YOU DIE IN THAT HOUSE I'M NOT ATTENDING THE FUNERAL—*"
The door swung shut.
Silence.
I stood in the stairwell in my all-black outfit — no creativity, as Dori had correctly observed — and caught my breath.
*Fine,* I thought. *Completely fine.*
---
Park Jaehun's house was exactly what I should have expected and somehow still worse.
Private residence. Iron gates. Tree-lined street. Warm light behind tall windows. The kind of house that didn't announce itself because it didn't need to.
I stood at the gate for a moment.
*What if Dori was right.*
I pressed the buzzer before that thought could develop further.
The gate opened.
I knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.
Jaehun. No jacket, white shirt open at the collar, hair less composed than the office version. He looked, at close range, objectively worse — worse meaning better, which was the problem.
He also looked faintly amused that I'd actually shown up.
"You came," he said.
"You said eight." I kept my voice flat. "It's eight."
He stepped aside. I walked in.
High ceilings. Clean lines. Expensive without trying. I was actively composing a thought about how people like this always had the same taste when he turned from the kitchen hallway—
With a knife.
Large. Catching the light.
Walking toward me.
Casually. Like a man who did this all the time.
Every single thing Dori had said detonated in my head simultaneously.
*Rich. Handsome. Mysterious. Profile. Perfect target. That's how they get you—*
"Please," I said. "I'm too handsome to die right now."
Jaehun stopped.
He stared at me.
I looked left. I looked right. *Window. Door. Distance—*
"...Did you just say you're handsome?"
"I— she— *this body—*" I looked left again. Right again. "*I meant—*"
A voice from the living room. Female. Relaxed. Faintly impatient.
*"Did you find the knife? What's taking you so long?"*
Jaehun glanced toward the voice. Then at me. Then at the knife. Then — slowly, with the energy of a man revising his entire understanding of a situation — he turned it handle-first toward me.
"We were making dinner," he said. "I needed a knife from the kitchen."
The silence had texture.
"...Of course," I said.
"You thought—"
"I didn't think anything."
The corner of his mouth moved. "You thought I was going to kill you."
"I absolutely did not—"
"You said you were too handsome to die."
"That was a figure of speech—"
He laughed. Actually laughed — quiet, genuine, nothing like the controlled amusement he kept at the office.
I stood in his very expensive, very non-murderous entryway in Yuna's body in all black, and thought with complete clarity:
*Dori can never know about this.*
*Not one word.*
*Not ever.*
*He will not let me live it down until one of us is actually dead.*