The next morning came too quickly.
The city was still waking up when Lyla arrived at Incheon Airport, rolling her small suitcase behind her, hands shaking slightly as she scanned the huge VIP terminal.
She had barely texted her father.
She had completely ignored Junho.
And she had no idea how to face Kang Min-Jae today—not after the way he held her yesterday, the way he declared she was "under his control."
Her cheeks heated just thinking about it.
"Miss Han?"
A voice interrupted her thoughts.
A uniformed attendant bowed politely.
"Chairman Kang is already waiting in the private lounge."
Her pulse jumped.
She followed the attendant through security lines and velvet ropes until they reached a quiet, secluded hallway. The glass doors slid open—
And there he was.
Kang Min-Jae sat in a leather chair, legs crossed, reading a document with that same terrifying elegance. Navy shirt. No tie. Hair neatly swept back, revealing the sharp lines of his jaw.
He didn't look like a man in his forties.
He looked like danger wrapped in silk.
His eyes lifted the moment she stepped inside.
"You're late."
Her breath hitched.
"It's—8 o'clock—"
"I said eight," he replied. "It's 8:03."
"My taxi—""No excuses." He closed the folder. "Come here."
Her feet obeyed before her mind did.
He looked at her slowly.
From the soft cream blouse she wore, tucked into a fitted graphite skirt…
To the delicate necklace…
To her small trembling hands.
"You dressed appropriately," he said.
Her heart thudded.
He stood, walking toward her with deliberate slowness. "Turn around."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because I told you to."
Heat rushed through her.
She turned.
His fingers brushed the zipper at the back of her blouse—not pulling it, just lightly touching the metal as if testing her reaction.
Her breath caught.
"You're nervous."
"Anyone would be," she whispered.
"Not anyone," he countered. "Just women who don't understand their own effect."
He brushed a stray curl behind her ear.
"You," he murmured, "are trouble."
Her knees weakened.
Before she could respond, he stepped away, all business once again.
"Let's go."The private jet was absurdly luxurious. Cream leather seats, polished wood, a golden tray of snacks and fresh fruit. Lyla sat nervously, clasping her hands in her lap.
Min-Jae took the seat across from her, long legs stretching comfortably.
"As my assistant," he said, "you will review today's itinerary."
She nodded timidly and opened her folder.
It listed:
— A 2PM investor meeting
— Dinner with international partners
— A private evening event
— And…
Her voice trembled.
"S-Sir… the hotel only booked one suite. Should I… request a second one—?"
"No." His reply was immediate. Firm. "We will share."
"I—share?" she repeated, breathless.
His eyes dropped to her lips.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
"Yes," he said. "A suite. Not a bed."
Her blush deepened.
"But," he added, voice lowering, "that depends on how much temptation you intend to bring."
Her heart almost exploded.
"I'm not trying to tempt you," she whispered.
"You are," he said calmly. "You just don't realize it."
He leaned back in his seat, gaze locked on her.
"Look at me, Lyla."
She lifted her eyes.
"You're not allowed," he said softly, "to hide from me."
Her breath shook.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because your father sent you to seduce me," he said, "but the irony is… you don't need to try."
Her lips parted.
"You being nervous," he continued, "is more seductive than any act you could perform."
Warmth flooded her body.
She pressed her thighs together subconsciously.
His eyes noticed.
They always did.
He smirked, slow and dangerous.
"Careful," he murmured. "You forget who you're dealing with."
She swallowed.You're doing that on purpose," she whispered.
"No," he said. "I'm simply reacting to you."
Her breath came fast—too fast.
Before she could escape the moment, turbulence shook the plane suddenly.
She gasped.
The jet jerked.
And without hesitation, she felt strong arms around her.
Min-Jae pulled her across the aisle and into his seat—onto his lap—holding her against his chest.
"Don't panic," he murmured.
Her hands clung to his shoulders instinctively.
His scent—dark, warm, expensive—filled her senses.
"You're safe," he whispered into her hair.
She trembled.
Not from fear.
From the way he held her.
From the heat of his body.
From the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Her cheek rested against his chest…
His heart beat steadily under her ear…
His hand stroked down her spine slowly, soothingly.
Turbulence ended.
He didn't let her go.
"You can move," she whispered softly.
"I don't want to."
Her breath caught.
"People might—"
"Lyla."
His fingers lifted her chin gently.
"You're with me. Nobody dares question anything."
She stared at him, lost.
"Do you want to get up?" he whispered.
Her lips trembled.
"N-no…"
"Good."
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
Heat shot straight through her body.
She had no idea who leaned in first.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it was her.
But their faces were close.
Too close.
Her breath mingled with his.
He tilted her chin again.
Slow.
Possessive.
"Are you scared of me?" he murmured.
"Sometimes."
"And now?"
She whispered, barely audible, "…no."
He leaned in a fraction closer—so close their lips brushed without touching.
"Mistake," he murmured. "Because I'm definitely dangerous."
The jet dipped slightly—
And their lips grazed.
A kiss that wasn't a kiss.A breath away from surrender.
A promise of heat.
But before anything more could happen, the flight attendant knocked softly.
"Chairman Kang, we're landing."
Lyla jolted away from him, flustered.
He smirked.
"We'll finish this conversation later."
Her face burned.
The hotel was massive, elegant, towering over the Busan oceanfront. They were escorted directly to the presidential suite.
When the doors closed behind them—
Lyla froze.
There was only one bed.
A massive, king-sized masterpiece of white sheets and rose-gold accents.
Her stomach twisted.
"S-Sir… the bed—"
"Yes," he said calmly. "I told you."
"You said we were sharing the suite, not— not—"
"The bedroom," he finished for her. "Yes."
Her pulse hammered.
"Where will I sleep?"
He stepped closer.
Too close.
His voice dropped to a deep, intimate whisper.
"That depends entirely on you."
Her breath caught.
"I won't touch you unless you ask," he said. "But temptation requires proximity."
She took a shaky step back.
He followed.
One slow step at a time.
"Why… why are you doing this?" her voice trembled.
"Because your father thinks he can use you as a weapon," he said softly. "But he has no idea you're the one who will destroy me instead."
Her heart stopped.
"I want you close," he murmured. "Too close."
He reached out, brushing the back of his finger down her cheek—slow, burning, intimate.
"Unless," he whispered, "you want to switch to another room?"
She swallowed.
"I… I don't know."
He stepped even closer.
They were inches apart.
"I'll ask again," he murmured.
"Do you want me to stay away?"
Her lips moved—but no sound came out.
Her silence was answer enough.
He brushed her lower lip with his thumb."Then tonight," he said quietly, "you stay in this room with me."
Her knees weakened.
Not a command.
Not a threat.
A promise.
But before anything could happen, the suite phone rang sharply.
He didn't break eye contact.
"You should answer it," he said.
She picked it up with trembling hands.
"Hello…?"
Silence.
Then a broken, angry voice:
"Lyla… why are you in my father's room?"
— Junho
Her blood ran cold.
Min-Jae's eyes darkened.
He whispered softly, dangerously—
"Put it on speaker."