JIAH POV
"Put the file into the shredder."
What?
For a second I honestly think I misheard him. The office is too quiet, the blinds half-closed, the air too still for something that insane to have actually been said out loud.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, because maybe this is a test and I'm not in on the joke.
He doesn't blink. "You heard me. Put those fucking papers in the shredder."
The words land flat and heavy. Five hundred pages. Two hours of printing. Toner on my fingers. My back still aching from holding the stack together after it hit the floor.
"You asked me to print those papers," I say slowly, keeping my voice steady even though my chest is starting to tighten. "And now you want me to shred them?"
"Yes." His jaw shifts slightly. "What, you can't do that?"
I stare at him. I actually stare at him because I need to see if there's even a crack in his face that says this is about business.
There isn't.
I let out a short breath through my nose. "I can't do that."
His eyes sharpen. "You are my secretary. You do what I say."
Something snaps.
"I can't do your fucking bullshit," I say before I can filter it.
His expression changes instantly. "Watch your tongue, Ms. Seo."
My voice rises before I decide to let it. "No. I can't. I can't tolerate your bullshit anymore, is that clear? Who the hell are you to control me like this?"
He stands slowly, chair scraping back just enough to make the sound bite.
"If you have any problem with me," I continue, heat climbing into my face, "keep it with me. Don't do shit like this just to prove a point. And what the hell is your problem with coffee? You've wasted three cups in three days. That's not discipline, that's—"
"Shut the fuck up, Ms. Seo."
The room feels smaller when he raises his voice. Not loud enough for the corridor to hear, but enough to shake the glass between us and the rest of the floor.
"Fucking call my name, Enhyeok," I fire back before I can stop myself.
His eyes go cold in a way that makes my stomach drop, but I don't look away.
"You just called your superior by his name," he says, voice lower now, more dangerous.
"Yes," I shoot back. "What are you going to do? Fire me? Do it. I'm sick and tired of your bullshit anyway. If you have some kind of hate toward me because of the past then just say it—"
"What past?" he cuts in sharply. "What past are you even talking about?"
My hands are shaking and I don't care anymore. "Don't act like you don't know me."
"I don't know you," he snaps back. "Aren't you the one who said you didn't know me either on the first fucking day? You should have said yes if you did."
"I just couldn't," I say, the words coming out rough and too fast.
"Don't talk unnecessary things in front of me again," he says, jaw tight.
"Again?" I let out a hollow laugh. "There won't be an again."
Before I can think about consequences, I grab the stack of printed papers and throw them straight at him.
They hit his chest and face, exploding into white sheets that scatter across his desk and the floor. Pages slide over the edge of his table, some landing near his shoes.
For half a second he doesn't move.
Then he looks at me.
Not shocked. Not confused.
Furious.
I reach up, rip my ID card from around my neck, and fling it at him. The plastic edge catches his cheek before dropping onto the desk.
"I don't want your fucking job," I say, voice shaking but loud. "Keep your power games to yourself."
His hand slams down on the desk hard enough to rattle the remaining papers.
"Get out," he says, each word clipped and controlled like he's forcing himself not to do something worse.
I don't wait.
I turn, grab my bag from my desk outside his office, ignoring the stares already starting to form from people who heard the raised voices. My heels hit the marble harder than usual as I walk toward the elevator, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The doors slide open.
I step inside.
Just before they close, I see him through the glass of his office, standing in the middle of the scattered papers, eyes locked on me.
The elevator doors shut.
------
The moment I step inside my apartment, I shut the door harder than I mean to and lean my back against it like someone's chasing me.
The silence hits immediately, thick and heavy, and that's when it cracks. I slide down to the floor before I even realize I'm crying.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just silent tears running down like I'm trying not to be heard in my own house.
He said he doesn't know me.
I press my fist against my mouth because the sound trying to come out is ugly. A year of his voice in my head, a year of building something I thought was real, and he stands there and says he doesn't know me like I'm some stranger off the street.
Who the hell was I loving then?
I shake my head hard like I can physically throw the memory out. No one knows what it cost me to walk away ten years ago, no one knows how much I tore out of myself so he could have his clean path, his untouched future, and now he looks at me like I'm nothing.
Pathetic.
I grab my phone before I lose my nerve and call Bora.
She picks up on the second ring. "Why are you calling at this hour—"
I can't even speak. The first sound that comes out is a broken breath and then I'm crying again, and I hate that she's hearing this version of me.
"Jiah?" Her voice sharpens instantly. "What happened. Did he do something?"
I try to answer but it's just air and shaking. I swallow hard and still nothing forms into words.
"Stay there," she says, already moving. "I'm coming. I'm bringing Haerin."
An hour later they're inside my apartment, shoes kicked off, Bora kneeling in front of me like she's ready to go to war.
Haerin stands with her arms crossed, jaw tight, scanning my face like she's collecting evidence.
I tell them everything.
The shredder. The coffee. The way he said he doesn't know me. The look in his eyes like I was disposable.
Bora's face goes red halfway through. "I will kick that asshole myself," she snaps. "Who does he think he is, treating you like that?"
Haerin lets out a sharp laugh with no humor in it. "Fucking hell, Jiah. Write the resignation and throw it into his pretty face. Make him choke on it."
Bora nods immediately. "Yes. You will get another job. You fought for this one, you can fight again. You don't need to give up your fucking dignity and pride for him."
Dignity.
Pride.
I look at my hands and they're still shaking.
"I already threw my ID at him," I say quietly. "In his face."
Haerin's eyes widen for half a second and then she smirks. "Good. That's step one."
But the anger inside me isn't clean. It's mixed with something worse.
"I'm doing it again," I whisper.
"Doing what?" Bora asks.
"Running." The word tastes bitter. "Ten years ago I ran because I thought it was the right thing. I broke it before it could destroy him. And now I'm about to quit the job I bled for because I can't face what I broke."
Silence falls heavy between us.
I worked for that position like it was oxygen. Late nights, humiliation, swallowing every insult until I finally sat outside his office with my name on the door plate, and now I'm about to throw it away because I'm too much of a coward to stand in front of him and say the truth.
"I can't fix something I shattered," I say, my voice steady now in a way that scares me. "So I'll remove myself. That's easier."
Haerin steps closer. "Easier doesn't mean right."
"I don't care," I cut in. "I'm tired."
I reach for my laptop.
The resignation letter opens in a blank document, the cursor blinking like it's daring me.
My fingers start typing before my brain catches up.
-------
The next morning I walk into the building like nothing happened.
Hair done. Makeup sharp. Heels high enough to echo across the marble floor and remind everyone I'm not crawling out of here.
Every head turns as I pass, but no one dares to ask anything. I don't stop at my desk. I go straight to his office and push the door open without knocking.
He looks up.
For half a second, something flickers across his face before it goes blank again. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable.
I walk to his desk and place the envelope in front of him.
"This is my resignation."
My voice doesn't shake.
He doesn't speak. He simply nods once and picks it up, opening it with slow precision like it's just another document in a stack of hundreds.
He starts reading.
The silence stretches, thick but not awkward. I stand there in front of him, chin lifted, hands relaxed at my sides.
He finishes.
Then he looks up at me.
"Where's the money?"
I blink. "Money?"
He leans back in his chair, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly as his fingers tap against the paper.
"The compensation."