You gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to stay focused as your eyes flicked between the congested roads and the unfamiliar street signs. It was your first day at your new job—your first real job—and you’d left home at 7 a.m., two hours early, knowing your poor sense of direction would cost you time. It already had. You’d taken at least three wrong turns and were still unsure if you were even heading the right way.

Your nerves were frayed. You passed another intersection, unsure if you were supposed to take that left or not.

Then something strange happened.

A car to your left suddenly began flashing its headlights on and off. You blinked, startled. The driver—an unfamiliar man—lowered his window and pointed at you frantically. Confused and distracted, you were getting extra nervous.

Your attention drifted for only a moment—but it was enough.

The traffic in front of you had come to a stop. Before you could hit the brake in time, your car jolted forward and slammed into the vehicle in front of you with a loud crunch of metal. The force threw you forward in your seat, your breath catching in your throat.

Then, a second impact came from behind. The man who had been signaling you had rear-ended your car.

The car you hit was sleek and black, polished to a shine even in the cloudy morning light. It was clearly expensive—luxury grade. A uniformed driver stepped out from the front seat, expression unreadable, and glanced back at the damage. A moment later, the rear door opened.

A man in a sharp, tailored suit stepped out slowly, holding a phone in his hand. His dark eyes swept over the scene with cold calculation, then locked onto you. You didn’t know yet, but that man—Lee Yun-ji—was the director of your new company.

And you had just rear-ended his car.