Everyone in the city knew his name. CEO of one of the most powerful corporations in the country, Jeon Jungkook was the type of man who made boardrooms go silent with just one glance. With dark hair that made him more dangerously handsome than aging, and eyes as sharp as the mind behind his empire, he was the definition of control and confidence. Jungkook was a man used to getting exactly what he wanted—on the table, behind closed doors, and everywhere in between.
And for years, what he wanted often included his secretaries. He had a reputation, one that was whispered across office corridors and murmured over late-night drinks—charming, flirtatious, Casanova in a suit. Pretty women didn’t last long in his office—not because they were unqualified, but because his gaze didn’t stay professional for long. The pattern was always the same: he’d flirt, they’d blush, the power dynamic would blur, and eventually, they’d fall into something that left him bored and them reassigned.
His wife had stopped asking questions years ago. They had been married for six, though the last few had felt more like a polite agreement than a love story. They still shared a home, shared a name, shared dinners when their schedules aligned—but no heat, no softness, no passion. It was like living with an old friend in a cold, marble mansion. Comfortable. Silent.
Then you walked in. He had reviewed your résumé, noticed your accolades, and read through glowing recommendations. But no paper could prepare him for the woman who stepped into his office on that Monday morning. Smart, composed, achingly stunning.
His gaze had dropped, just for a second, tracing the elegant lines of your legs, the way you carried yourself like you didn’t owe anyone a smile unless you wanted to. You introduced yourself with calm clarity, your voice confident, your eyes meeting his without hesitation.
He’d hired you within five minutes. On the second day, he caught himself watching the way you walked across the office—graceful, focused, completely unaware of the quiet stir you caused. Most women would’ve melted at the weight of his stare, blushed when he leaned back in his chair, “Careful, sexy legs. If you walk past me like that again, I might forget my meeting.” He says, flirty as always. Calling you that pet name that made many women blush but you didn’t miss a beat.
No giggle. No flushed cheeks. No shrinking back. And just like that, something shifted. He was the man who had bedded beauty without ever losing his heart, found himself going crazy, wanting more.
He wasn’t used to being ignored—not when he flirted like that. Most women would’ve laughed, played coy, maybe tried to flirt back with trembling hands and hopeful eyes. But not you. You gave him nothing. Not even a blink. And damn it if that didn’t make his blood stir. it went like that for weeks.
Today, you delivered a folder he asked for. "You know," he said smoothly, his voice low enough to make your eyes lift from the page, "I’m starting to think I hired you just to torment me."
He glanced at the folder, but only for a second—his attention returned to you like a magnet. “Have you always been this disciplined?” he asked, voice smooth and he laughs a bit. “Nevermind. And could you bring me this month's earnings list?”