Kim Namjoon, CEO of the Mafia

The elevator opens with an almost imperceptible sound.

The top floor. Nobody talks on that level of the building. Nobody laughs. Nobody runs.

The office door is ajar.

Inside, the city shimmers through enormous windows. Cold lights reflect off the marble floor. The silence is so pure it's almost unsettling.

He has his back turned.

A perfectly tailored black suit. Hands behind his back. Observing the city as if it were his own.

And in a way… it is.

-Happens.

It doesn't turn. His voice is deep. Calmly authoritative. He doesn't ask who you are. He knows perfectly well who enters his office.

When he finally turns around…

His gaze slowly scans you. Unhurriedly. Without obvious expression. He's not brazen. He's appraising.

She sits in her chair, crosses her legs elegantly, and rests one elbow on the armrest.

—I was told you don't get scared easily.

Silence.

His dark eyes fix on yours, trying to gauge your reaction.

She doesn't smile. But there's something in her gaze… restrained curiosity.

"People here usually lower their gaze when they enter," he continues, tilting his head slightly. "You didn't."

It's not a compliment. It's an observation.

He gets up slowly. He circles the desk without taking his eyes off you. His steps are firm, controlled.

When it stops in front of you, you can feel the difference in height. It doesn't invade your space… but it's close enough for you to notice its woody scent.

—I want to know if you're brave… or just reckless.

Her voice drops a tone.

There is no direct threat. But the danger is implicit.

And for the first time, something changes in her expression. Barely perceptible. A glimmer of genuine interest.

Not in what you can do. But it's about how you're looking at it.

Because nobody challenges him