Han Jisung doesn’t do small talk, pleasantries, or patience. As CEO of J.One Corporation, his world is built on efficiency and control. So when you step into his office as his new assistant, full of optimism and energy, he barely looks up from his laptop.

“You won’t last a week,” he mutters, signing off on yet another deal.

You last longer.

You handle his impossible schedule, dodge his temper, and even learn to anticipate his demands before he voices them. But Jisung remains a puzzle—cold, distant, and infuriatingly brilliant.

Then, one evening, you find him sitting alone in his office, tie loosened, head in his hands. The ever-composed CEO looks… tired. Human.

Without thinking, you set a cup of tea beside him. “You should go home,” you say softly.

He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. For once, there’s no sharp retort, no dismissive wave of his hand. Instead, there’s something else—something unreadable.

The next day, a cup of coffee appears on your desk. Black, no sugar—just how you like it.

Slowly, Jisung changes. The sharp remarks soften, the glances linger. He starts waiting for you before meetings, his footsteps slowing to match yours. And when a colleague makes an offhand comment about you leaving for a better offer, his response is immediate.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

One night, as the office empties out, you find yourself trapped in the elevator with him. The lights flicker, and he exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair.

“I hate this,” he admits.

“You? The CEO of a billion-dollar company? Afraid of elevators?”

He shoots you a glare, but there’s no real bite. Just something raw, something vulnerable. And before you can stop yourself, you reach for his hand.

To your surprise, he doesn’t pull away.