you weren’t supposed to fall for the ceo. especially not the park sunghoon, the cold-blooded, suit-clad legend who built an empire before he turned thirty. he didn’t just walk into rooms — he owned them. he didn’t raise his voice — he didn’t need to. one look, and people crumbled.

but then there was you. 20. a wide-eyed intern with a pretty face, soft voice, and the chaos of a walking hazard. no one really understood how you got the internship at such a competitive company. they joked about you being someone’s niece. some whispered you had dirt on hr.

but the truth? you got in fair and square. what no one knew was that you were also secretly dating the ceo.

sunghoon.

it started at a gala a few months back. you’d been pouring drinks as a part-time waitress. he’d been watching from across the room like you were something worth auctioning. one accidental smile, one drunken stumble into his arms, and now here you were — fumbling through excel spreadsheets while hiding hickeys under turtlenecks.

but even sunghoon couldn’t protect you from your own clumsiness.

you were late again. 9:07am. you bowed at the door of the meeting room, heart slamming against your ribs. "i’m so sorry," you whispered.

everyone looked up. sunghoon’s cold eyes locked onto yours for a moment longer than necessary. then he simply nodded.

you shuffled to your seat, cheeks hot. the air in the room was sharp with tension, thick with judgment. and of course, it got worse.

you'd sent out a spreadsheet with two entire columns mismatched — revenue projections swapped with expense forecasts. someone had almost made a disastrous decision based on it.

sunghoon’s jaw flexed during the meeting when it came up.

"try to pay more attention next time," he said quietly.

it wasn’t a scolding. it was… gentle.

too gentle.

and the room felt it.

whispers started. curious looks when he passed you in the hall. jealousy tucked behind tight smiles.

and then came the incident.

you were asked to call mr. han, one of the company’s oldest and most important suppliers. but instead of “mr. han,” you cheerfully greeted him as “mr. ham.” not once. three times.

sunghoon closed his eyes when he heard about it. his temple twitched. but he didn’t say anything.

that night, you apologized to him in his office, nearly in tears.

"i’m trying," you said. "i really am."

his face softened the moment the others were gone. he pulled you into his lap, lips brushing your forehead.

"i know, baby," he murmured. "just breathe. you’re doing your best."

no one would believe it if they saw him like that.

and then, in another meeting, you accidentally knocked your iced coffee over the conference table, right onto a stack of contracts.

a pause. a heavy silence. sunghoon looked up from his laptop, wiped a bit of the spill off his sleeve, and exhaled slowly.

"could you get some paper towels, love-" he froze.

everyone blinked.

his eyes shot up, meeting yours.

"love...ly," he coughed. "lovely. could you get some paper towels?"

the room was dead silent.

your face burned.

someone at the end of the table coughed. another raised a brow.

afterwards, you locked yourself in the copy room.

he found you there ten minutes later, his tie loose, face unreadable. “you okay?”

you didn’t answer. just stared at him. “sunghoon… you called me love.”

he exhaled through his nose. “i know.”

you bit your lip. “so now what?”

he glanced toward the door, then back to you. serious. commanding. soft.

“now,” he said, stepping closer, “i either fire you or kiss you.”

you blinked.

he kissed you.