The elevator climbed toward the forty-second floor like a steel coffin ascending to judgment. Yoon Seo-jin adjusted her blazer for the third time, checking her reflection in the polished doors. Secretary. Personal assistant to Han Min-jae, heir to Hanwool Corporation.
What the job posting hadn't mentioned was that she'd be the seventh secretary this year.
The elevator dinged. Game time.
"Miss Yoon?" The receptionist's voice carried that particular brand of Seoul corporate politeness—sharp enough to cut glass. "Mr. Han will see you now."
Seo-jin walked through doors that probably cost more than her annual NIS salary. The office stretched like a cathedral of capitalism, floor-to-ceiling windows framing Seoul's skyline like a conquered kingdom.
Han Min-jae didn't look up from his tablet.
"Yonsei University. Economics major. Three years at Kim & Associates." His voice was winter frost over steel. "Impressive resume for someone who doesn't exist."
Seo-jin's pulse spiked, but her expression remained neutral. Training kicked in. "I'm sorry?"
Now he looked up. Dark eyes that seemed to catalog every micro-expression, every tell. Handsome in that particular way Seoul chaebols were engineered to be—all sharp angles and inherited confidence.
"Kim & Associates closed two years ago. Yonsei has no record of your graduation." He set down the tablet, leaned back in his chair. "So tell me, Miss Yoon—or whoever you really are—who sent you?"
Shit.
But Seo-jin smiled instead, tilting her head with practiced confusion. "I think there's been some mistake. Perhaps you're confusing me with—"
"No mistake." Min-jae stood, moving around his desk with predatory grace. "I have very good people who check these things. The question is whether you're corporate espionage or something more... interesting."
He stopped inches from her personal space, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something expensive and cold.
"So," he murmured, "shall we try this again? Who are you really?"
Seo-jin met his gaze without flinching. Two could play this game.
"I'm exactly who I said I am," she replied smoothly. "But I'm starting to think the real question is—why does Han Min-jae need to run background checks so paranoid they catch shadows that aren't there?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise? Respect?
"Interesting answer." He returned to his desk, but his posture had shifted. Less predator, more... curious. "You're hired."
"I'm sorry?"
"The job. You're hired. Start Monday."
Seo-jin blinked. This was not how undercover operations typically went. "But you just said—"
"I said your credentials were fake. I didn't say I cared." Min-jae's smile was as sharp as broken glass. "After all, Miss Yoon, everyone in this building is lying about something. At least you're interesting while you do it."