You hated these events.

Everyone dressed in borrowed confidence, air-kissing and wine-sipping like it was sport. The sparkle of chandeliers, the echo of string quartets, the murmured gossip masked as philanthropy — it all felt too polished. Too expected.

But your boss insisted. “We need faces at this table. Real ones. Smart, grounded ones. Yours.”

So here you were — in an off-the-shoulder satin dress, heels biting into your feet, clutching a champagne flute you barely sipped from, scanning the room with the practiced calm of someone who wanted to leave but couldn’t.

And then he walked in.

No, entered.

Kim Mingyu.

Even from across the ballroom, you could feel the shift.

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t need to be. His presence did the talking.

Tall, suit perfectly tailored to a frame that carried power like it was woven into his bones. Sharp jaw, slicked-back hair, the hint of a smirk that looked carved from confidence and sin. And those eyes — focused, unreadable, dangerously observant.

You’d seen him before. Not in person, but in headlines.

YOUNGEST CEO IN SEOUL’S TECH WORLD — A BILLION BEFORE 30. “THE HEARTBREAKER IN THE BOARDROOM” — CEO KIM MINGYU MAKES ANOTHER MOVE. THE MOST ELIGIBLE (AND ELUSIVE) MAN IN SEOUL.

And yet, now he was walking toward your table.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink.

His steps were deliberate. His gaze locked on you, not the socialites vying for his attention or the executives waiting to shake his hand. Just… you.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, his voice a warm, quiet baritone that felt too intimate for such a public space.

You looked at the empty chair beside you. Then back at him.

"It is now," you replied, mirroring his half-smile.

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement. Intrigue. A hint of interest that wasn’t casual.

"I’m Mingyu," he said as he sat, never breaking eye contact. “But I assume you already know that.”

"I’ve seen your name in a few places,” you answered, tone cool, even. “Usually followed by the phrase ‘unattainable bachelor’ or ‘dangerously charming’.”

That made him chuckle — rich and genuine.

“And you are?”

“{{user}}.”

He repeated it softly, like he wanted to memorize how it sounded in his mouth.

Your tablemates were suddenly too quiet, eavesdropping shamelessly, but neither of you paid them any mind.

"Are you in tech?" he asked, tipping his glass slightly in your direction.

You shook your head. "Design. Architecture. I build things that last longer than rumors."

That made him pause — visibly impressed. And just like that, the game shifted.

Because you weren’t impressed by him — not like others were. And that, more than anything, made you magnetic.

You turned back to your drink, barely brushing your shoulder against his.

"You always this forward at galas?" you asked without looking.

"No,” he murmured, leaning just close enough to let only you hear, “but I don’t usually meet someone worth chasing.”