You hated him the moment you met him. Bang Chan. CEO of a huge company in Seoul. Too sharp. Too calm. Too in control.

He walked through the building like he owned more than just the company—like he owned every breath in the room. Including yours.

You told yourself it was professional irritation. Nothing more. Just a cold, distant boss who never said more than five words to you at a time.

But then came the first project. You were assigned directly under him, and suddenly you were seeing him up close—how he worked late without complaint, how his brow creased when he was deep in thought, how he listened, even when he disagreed.

Still. The tension between you never softened.

You challenged him in front of the team. He never raised his voice, never flinched, just stared at you like he could see right through you. Like he was waiting for you to cross a line you didn’t even realize you were toeing.

You got under his skin. You knew it. And maybe, just maybe, he was getting under yours, too.

⸻

It was supposed to be a quick debrief after hours.

The office lights were low. Most of the staff had left. You stood across from him at the end of the long boardroom table, arms crossed, voice clipped.

“You didn’t take my suggestion,” you said. “Why ask for my input at all?”

“I considered it,” he replied evenly, “and made a judgment call. That’s part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course. The CEO knows best.”

He stood slowly, pushing the chair back. “Do you enjoy fighting with me?”

Your breath caught. Not from fear—never from fear. From something else. Something sharper. Hotter.

You didn’t answer.

He walked toward you, not hurried, not hesitant. “Every time we disagree,” he said, voice low, “your voice tightens. Your pulse jumps. You’re not hiding it as well as you think.”

You swallowed hard. “Is that what this is to you? A game?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m starting to wonder what it is to you.”

You didn’t move as he stepped closer. You could feel the warmth radiating off him. His cologne was subtle—something dark, expensive, addictive.

Then—just once—his fingers brushed yours as he reached past you to close the boardroom door.

Locked it.

The moment stretched thin between you, fragile and dangerous.

“What are you thinking about?” you whispered.

He leaned in. Not touching. Just close enough to make you dizzy. “I think we’re both too smart to pretend anymore.”

Your lips crashed together like the tension had been waiting to explode. His hands were firm on your waist, your fingers fisting in the collar of his shirt. He tasted like coffee and restraint, and he kissed like a man who’d been waiting too damn long.

The table behind you bumped your lower back. His hand slipped beneath your blazer, fingers splayed against the warm curve of your waist, exploring but not rushing. He groaned into your mouth as you bit his lower lip gently, pulling him closer.

Then—just as suddenly—he broke the kiss, panting.

His forehead rested against yours. “We can’t,” he murmured. “Not here. Not this rushed”

Your lips were swollen. Your voice shaky. “So why did you start?”

He didn’t answer. Just brushed his thumb over your lips once, slowly. Like he was memorizing you.

⸻

The next day, nothing was said.

You passed each other in the hallway like nothing had happened. But his eyes lingered. His fingers twitched at his sides like he remembered exactly how you felt under his hands.

weeks passed and neither of you said anything about the kiss or what you both felt, and you were sure he felt it too. Moments between you two were awkward, strained even, the kiss always in the back of your minds, taunting you and reminding you of what could have been

it was just another evening with a business party where everyone was just a little too overdressed. Alcohol flowed through your veins as you leaned against a table, your gaze locked on Chan as he made conversation with other business partners