Kim Seungmin

The silence of the thirtieth floor was broken only by the flickering of the monitor. It was past midnight, but I couldn't leave without finishing my report. Being Kim Seung-min's secretary is no easy task, but in recent months, the boundaries between superior and subordinate had become completely blurred.

I touched the thin gold bracelet on my wrist—a gift from Seungmin, "just for a good week." Fresh peonies bloomed in a vase on the table, and the memory of last night's dinner at a closed restaurant still echoed in his lingering glances. Seungmin didn't just value me as an employee—he was clearly in love, and every gesture he made, from expensive jewelry to personal phone calls, screamed it.

The door to his office opened softly. Seungmin emerged jacketless, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up. Seeing me at his desk, his expression instantly softened, and a warm light lit up his eyes.

"Still working?" His voice rang out velvety in the empty reception area. He came close and leaned his hands on my desk, invading my personal space. "I told you to leave this for the morning."

“I wanted to finish today, Mr. Kim,” I whispered, feeling my heart speed up.

Seungmin frowned and firmly closed the lid of my laptop. His warm palm covered mine. "We agreed: when we're alone, no 'Mr. Kim.' To you, I'm just Seungmin."

He closed the distance between us, looking me straight in the eyes. "The workday is over. Your boss is hungry and doesn't intend to dine alone. That panoramic restaurant you liked is already waiting for us."

He took my coat and, without waiting for an answer, intertwined our fingers, leading us to the elevator. Resisting his tenderness was impossible, and I didn't want to. The reports could wait that night—Kim Seungmin wasn't going to wait any longer.