ENHYEOK POV
"I have the report on the Seoryeon heir's movements yesterday," Mr. Lim says, eyes still on the road. "Locations, duration of visits, and the list of individuals he met."
I lower the tablet slightly. "Who did he meet first?"
There is a brief pause before Mr. Lim answers.
"Ms. Seo Jiah."
My fingers stop mid-scroll.
The screen remains lit beneath my hand, but the numbers blur into something meaningless.
For a second, the only sound inside the car is the muted thrum of the engine and the faint hiss of tires against asphalt.
"Where."
It is not a question. It is a demand.
"In the parking area of her apartment building," Mr. Lim replies calmly. "Approximately twenty-three minutes. No physical contact observed. Conversation appeared… familiar."
My jaw tightens. The muscles there feel rigid enough to crack.
Familiar.
I lean back slowly, but the motion carries no ease. The city outside flashes past in controlled lines of concrete and glass, and something hot presses against the inside of my ribs.
That fucker.
He lands quietly in Seoul and the first place he goes is her building. Not the board. Not the chairman. Not the press.
Her.
"What was her reaction," I ask, voice even.
Mr. Lim does not hesitate. He never does. "They seemed happy to see each other. Smiling. Relaxed."
Something sharp twists in my chest. My fingers curl around the edge of the tablet until the casing creaks faintly.
Happy.
Relaxed.
In her apartment parking lot.
I exhale through my nose, slow and controlled, but it does nothing to cool the heat climbing up my spine.
My mind reconstructs it without permission—him standing too close, that deliberate calm smile he uses like a weapon, her looking up at him without that guarded expression she wears in the office.
Fuck.
The urge to put my fist through something is immediate and violent. I imagine his face instead of tempered glass, the satisfying crack of bone under impact.
Mr. Lim remains composed in the driver's seat, hands steady on the wheel, posture unchanged. He expected this. I can feel it in the air between us.
"She returned upstairs alone," he adds, measured. "No further contact recorded last night."
That detail does not soothe anything. It only sharpens the image.
Seo Jiah.
Just wait.
The headquarters building rises ahead, sunlight catching along its glass edges like a blade being drawn. The car glides into the underground entrance, security barriers lifting without delay.
By the time we stop, my expression is already back in place. Cold. Structured. Untouched.
I step out without waiting for Mr. Lim to open the door. The air inside the parking level is cool and sterile, echoing faintly with distant engines.
My shoes strike the concrete in controlled rhythm as we head toward the private elevator.
She is not there.
Of course she would not be in the basement.
When the executive floor doors slide open, the atmosphere shifts immediately into its usual suffocating quiet. Minimalist. Immaculate. Controlled.
And there she stands.
At the front desk outside my office, tablet held neatly against her arm, posture straight, expression composed. Her hair is tied back today, framing her face in a way that makes her look sharper, more distant.
Professional.
If I did not know better, I would assume she slept peacefully.
She bows slightly as I approach. "Good morning, Executive Director."
Her tone is steady. Polished.
I give a curt nod and walk past her without breaking stride.
The faint scent of her perfume follows for half a second before the elevator doors reflect us both in brushed steel.
She steps in behind me.
"Today's schedule begins with the board meeting at ten," she says, eyes on the tablet. "Strategy Division will present the acquisition outline first. Legal will follow with compliance updates. At eleven thirty, you have a call with the overseas investors, and at one—"
Her voice continues, smooth and organized.
All I see is a dim parking lot and her smiling at him.
"Prepare thoroughly for the meeting," I cut in, my tone flat but edged. "I will not tolerate any mistakes."
A beat of silence passes before she answers.
"Yes, sir."
The elevator hums upward.
In the mirror, her reflection stands a step behind mine, gaze lowered to the tablet, face unreadable. No trace of last night. No trace of anything.
I meet her eyes in the reflection for half a second before she notices and looks up.
Our gazes lock through steel and glass.
I hold it.
Then I look away first.
I hope you make mistakes, Ms. Seo.
_____________________
JIAH POV
The moment we step out of the elevator, the executive floor feels colder than usual.
Not because of the air-conditioning.
Because of him.
I follow him into his office, tablet held against my chest, files stacked neatly in my other hand.
The glass door shuts behind us with a soft click that somehow sounds final. Second day, and I am already exhausted in a way sleep cannot fix.
He walks straight to his desk without acknowledging me. Suit jacket perfectly fitted. Cufflinks aligned. Expression unreadable.
If someone filmed him from a distance, they would think he was carved out of discipline.
I place the board meeting materials on the edge of his desk, aligning the corners automatically. Strategy summary on top. Legal brief clipped. Financial projections tabbed in blue.
Everything exactly how he prefers it.
I learned that yesterday. The hard way.
"Ms. Seo."
I freeze internally.
I hate when he calls me that.
Not because it is disrespectful. Not because it is formal. But because we dated for almost two years and now I am reduced to a surname and a title like I was a random intern he barely interviewed.
I keep my face neutral. "Do you need my help, sir?"
The "sir" slides out smooth, professional, controlled. It tastes bitter anyway.
He does not look at the computer. He does not even glance at the documents. His eyes settle on me instead, slow and assessing, like I am part of a presentation he is about to critique.
"You lack minimum fashion sense."
My brain actually shuts down for a second.
Of all the things I expected to hear in a CEO's office before a board meeting, that was not one of them.
"I'm sorry… what?"
He leans back slightly in his chair, gaze still on me, calm as if he just commented on quarterly revenue. "Your outfit. It does not match the executive floor standard."
I look down at myself automatically. Black tailored slacks. Cream blouse. Low heels. Clean lines. Hair tied back. Minimal makeup.
What the hell is wrong with it.
"I followed the company dress code," I reply carefully.
"Dress code is the minimum," he says. "You represent my office. Minimum is not enough."
There it is. That tone. Clinical. Detached. Like this is not personal at all.
It feels personal.
Before I can process that, he continues, "From tomorrow onward, seven sharp. You will come to my residence. Arrange breakfast. Review my schedule in person. Prepare anything necessary for the day."
I stare at him. "Why would I have to do that?"
His expression does not change. "I pay your salary, don't I?"
There is a second where I genuinely consider throwing the neatly organized file at his perfectly composed face.
Instead, I inhale.
"As you said, sir."
The "sir" comes out stronger this time. Sharper.
He stands abruptly. The sudden movement makes me flinch before I can stop myself, which irritates me more than anything he just said. I hate that my body still reacts to him before my pride does.
He walks toward the door without waiting for me.
I grab the board materials and hurry after him, heels clicking faster than I would like. He stops without warning just outside the office.
I do not.
My forehead collides lightly with his back. Not hard. Not dramatic. But enough to make me freeze in pure mortification.
Oh my god.
He turns his head slightly, looking at me over his shoulder. His expression is cool, almost bored.
"Keep your distance."
My face burns. "My apologies."
He turns fully then, eyes dropping briefly to my heels, my blouse, my hair. A slow, critical sweep.
"Add spatial awareness to the list of things you need to improve."
That one lands.
I press my lips together and nod because if I speak right now, something unprofessional will come out.
We walk toward the board meeting hall together, the corridor stretching ahead in muted grey and glass. Executives are already gathering inside.
Strategy Director. Legal Head. Finance. PR. Faces I memorized from internal files now watching us with polite expectation.
The moment he steps through the doors, the air shifts. Conversations lower. Chairs straighten. Tablets lock.
It feels like he decided the outcome of this meeting before he even left his house.
I move to my designated seat along the wall behind him, placing the materials in front of each director efficiently. My hands are steady now. Anger, when controlled, can be very useful.
As he takes his seat at the head of the table, posture relaxed yet commanding, I realize something that annoys me even more than his comments about my clothes.
He is not trying to make my job difficult.
He is testing how far I bend before I break.
Fine.
Let him try .
The moment he takes his seat, every director in the room rises almost in sync.
"Good morning, Executive Director."
The greeting rolls across the long table in polished unison. Respectful. Measured. Practiced.
He gives a slight nod, nothing more, and gestures for them to sit. The chairs move almost at the same time, leather against marble, controlled and careful like no one wants to make the wrong sound.
Director Kang from Strategy leans forward first, hands folded. "Congratulations again on officially assuming full executive authority. The transition has been… remarkably smooth under your leadership."
Director Choi of Finance adjusts his glasses and follows quickly. "The overseas investors have expressed strong confidence after reviewing your restructuring plan. It reflects your education and foresight."
Legal Director Han clears his throat. "Your background speaks for itself. Harvard, early board exposure, overseas mergers at twenty-eight. It is rare to see someone so thoroughly prepared."
PR Director Yoon smiles politely. "The internal morale has improved significantly. The employees feel reassured knowing the company is in capable hands."
It builds like that.
Carefully worded praise. Subtle flattery disguised as professional evaluation. Every sentence polished to shine.
I stand by the wall with my tablet, watching him.
His face does not soften.
It does not brighten with pride or acknowledgment. If anything, the more they speak, the more still he becomes. His fingers rest lightly on the file in front of him, unmoving, his gaze level and unreadable.
Dangerous.
That is the only word that fits.
Director Park from Operations adds with a polite chuckle, "Your grandparents must be extremely proud. The discipline you show is clearly the result of excellent upbringing."
A faint shift in the air happens at that. It is small, but I feel it.
He opens the file in front of him. Slowly. Precisely. The soft sound of paper sliding echoes louder than it should in the quiet room.
The praise dies on its own.
He does not thank them. He does not acknowledge the compliments.
Instead, he glances down at the first page.
When he speaks, his tone is calm and even. "Director Kang Minjae."
Strategy Director Kang straightens immediately. "Yes, Executive Director."
"Your division reported projected acquisition risks at twelve percent." He flips a page without looking rushed. "Internal audit recalculated it at twenty-one."
Director Kang's smile falters slightly. "That discrepancy was due to—"
He lifts a finger just enough to silence him without raising his voice.
"Director Choi Sungwon."
Finance Director Choi stiffens. "Yes."
"You approved the preliminary liquidity model without cross-verifying foreign exchange volatility assumptions." Another page turns. "That oversight would have cost the company eighty-seven billion won under last quarter's fluctuation."
A bead of sweat appears at Choi's temple.
"Director Han Seungho."
Legal Director Han swallows. "Executive Director."
"You signed off on compliance clearance before reviewing the updated antitrust clause from the European branch." His eyes finally lift from the file. "Did you assume no one would check?"
The room is silent now. Completely.
No one moves. No one breathes too loudly.
He closes the file. Not forcefully. Not dramatically. Just final.
Then he looks around the table, gaze sweeping across each face that had been praising him minutes ago.
"You all seem to misunderstand something," he says evenly. "This is not a ceremony."
No one dares interrupt.
"I do not need praise. I need competence."
His hand rests lightly on the file.
"You failed at the minimum."
Director Kang tries to speak again. "Executive Director, if we may clarify—"
"You may not."
His voice does not rise, but it cuts clean through the room.
He begins again, calling each name with precise clarity.
"Kang Minjae."
"Choi Sungwon."
"Han Seungho."
"Park Doyoung."
"Yoon Jaehyuk."
Five men who had entered this room confident. Established. Untouchable.
He looks at them one by one.
"You are relieved of your positions effective immediately."
The silence that follows feels heavier than the marble beneath our feet.
"You are all fired."