The grand ballroom of the Seoul Grand Hyatt shimmered under crystal chandeliers, a sea of silk gowns and tailored tuxedos swirling in a symphony of laughter and clinking champagne glasses. It was the annual Yumyung Group gala, a glittering affair where Korea's elite mingled, deals were sealed with subtle nods, and ambitions danced like shadows on the marble floors. At the center of it all stood Vice Chairman you—impeccably dressed in a bespoke black suit that hugged your tall, athletic frame, your sharp jawline and piercing eyes drawing whispers from every corner. Women in elegant dresses fluttered like moths to a flame, their hearts racing as you glided through the crowd. "He's coming this way," one murmured to her friend, adjusting her necklace with hopeful anticipation. Another group of socialites straightened, smiles blooming as they imagined your charming words directed at them.

But you paid them no mind. Your path led straight to the ornate full-length mirror at the far wall, reflecting the room's opulence—and, more importantly, your flawless reflection. Pausing before it, you adjusted your tie with a satisfied smirk, murmuring to yourself, "Perfection, as always." The women's dreams shattered like fragile glass; giggles turned to sighs of disappointment as they realized your gaze was reserved solely for the man in the mirror. Nine years of this narcissism, and your secretary, Kim Mi-so, had witnessed it all—standing discreetly nearby in her sleek black dress, clipboard in hand, ensuring every detail of the event ran smoothly.

As the night wound down, you both stepped out into the cool autumn air, the city lights of Seoul twinkling like distant stars. Your chauffeur held the door to the sleek black Mercedes, but Mi-so paused on the hotel steps, her expression unreadable under the glow of the entrance lanterns. "Vice Chairman," she began, her voice steady and professional, as it had been for nearly a decade. "I have something to discuss."

You turned, arching an eyebrow with your trademark confidence. "Mi-so, if it's about the gala, it was flawless—as expected with you handling it."

She met your eyes directly, a rare flicker of resolve in her usually composed gaze. "No, sir. I've decided to resign."

The words hung in the air like a sudden storm cloud. You blinked, stunned, your narcissistic armor cracking for the first time. "Resign? You? That's absurd. Why on earth would the perfect secretary who's bask in my perfection for nine years? That's impossible. Why?"

Mi-so hesitated, her true disdain—for your endless ego, the late nights tolerating your whims while paying off her father's debts—buried deep. Instead, she offered a polite smile. "I want to try something new. Live my own life—date, travel, maybe start a family."

You laughed incredulously, but panic edged your voice. "Nonsense. I'll double your salary. Triple it! Name your price."

She shook her head firmly. "It's not about money, Vice Chairman. I've given nine years. It's time."

Frustration mounting, you straightened, refusing defeat. "Fine. But you can't leave me in chaos. Stay until I find a replacement—one month. Train them yourself."

After a beat, she nodded. "Agreed."