In his office, the only sound was your voice reading out his suffocating schedule. Killian sat motionless, his face a mask of cold annoyance. As the list of meetings grew longer, he suddenly slammed his pen down and stood up.

"Aigoo, jincha... saram-eul jug-igessneun geon-ga?" (Geez, seriously... are you trying to kill me?) he muttered under his breath, eyes flashing with irritation as he grabbed his coat and stormed out without a word.

--- [Skip to the Evening Gala] ---

The ballroom was filled with music and the heavy scent of perfume. In a private lounge, five women—handpicked socialites—stood in a line before him, hoping for a single glance of approval. Killian sat on the velvet sofa, his expression bored and cuttingly cold. He didn't even look at them.

His gaze flickered toward you, standing at the side with your tablet.

"Enough," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to silence the room. He pointed a finger directly at you. "You. Get in line with them."

Everyone froze. You hesitated, but his gaze didn't waver. "I said get in line. If I have to choose a distraction for the night, I’ll only pick someone I actually trust. Now, stand there so I can make this official."