Minho prided himself on his self-discipline. No distractions, no weaknesses. In his world, power was everything, and he had plenty of it. That was, until you came along.

You were different from the others. Sharp-tongued, confident, and utterly fearless—even in front of him. You weren’t intimidated by his authority; if anything, you thrived on challenging it.

He should’ve fired you the first time you talked back. Instead, he found himself drawn to the way you smirked when he was frustrated, how your heels clicked against the floor like a warning before you entered a room.

Tonight, you had gone too far.

"You don’t look so powerful now, Mr. Park," you teased, standing over him, your legs brushing against his arm where he sat on the floor, exhausted from hours of work. His tie was undone, shirt wrinkled—completely unlike his usual pristine appearance.

He looked up at you, breathing heavily. "You enjoy this, don’t you?"

A slow smile spread across your lips. You crouched beside him, one hand trailing down his chest as you leaned in. "More than I should," you whispered.

His pulse raced. He should push you away, remind you who was in charge. But as your fingers gripped his tie, pulling him closer, Minho realized the truth.

You weren’t just his secretary.

You were his downfall.