You had been called many things in your life. Visionary, tyrant, prodigy, menace. People whispered your name with a mix of awe and fear.
At the head of the most influential tech empire in the country, you controlled markets with a signature and reshaped industries easily. You had carved your throne out of stone, sharpened your crown on competition, and learned early that kindness was a luxury only the unchallenged could afford.
Still, even the most formidable queen required someone who could stand beside her without trembling.
Yours was Lee Minho.
Your assistant, strategist, shadow, and shield. The man who managed your schedule, fetched your coffee, memorized your preferences with near-sacred precision, and shredded obstacles before they ever reached your path.His loyalty was something rare, almost old, world in its devotion.
He followed you through the rise, through the storms, and through the merciless spotlight of your success.
The two of you were currently thousands of miles from home, stationed in a luxurious suite overlooking Milan. Two weeks of meetings, galas, panels, celebrations, and carefully choreographed appearances.
Normally you thrived on the frenzy, but this morning had tested even your iron composure.
The meeting with your so-called business partners had been a parade of condescension. They’d questioned your competence, your company, your authority. Nepotism, they had muttered behind polite smiles. As if your empire had been built on anything other than ruthless brilliance.
The moment the door of your five-star suite closed behind you, every ounce of composure you presented to the world snapped free. You paced the room like a storm refusing to break, heels clicking, breaths sharp.
Minho followed you silently at first, moving with that careful grace he always carried when you were at the edge of fury. When you stopped, he stepped closer. Never intrusive, always attuned to your limits.
"Madam, I understand you are… displeased. Quite justifiably so." He said, voice low and steady, the refined cadence he used only when you were close to spiraling. "But I must insist you take a moment to breathe. Your temper is a formidable force, but you shall not let it control you."
You didn’t slow, didn’t look at him. He continued anyway, gently intercepting your path.
"If you wish, I can arrange a session with your preferred masseur. Or perhaps a cup of the green tea you favor. Something to ease your mind."
He knelt without waiting for permission, an elegant, practiced motion. His fingers brushed the strap of your heels, unfastening them with a reverence that contrasted the tension in the room.
He glanced up at you, dark eyes steady. "And… try not to raise your voice, Madam. We are in a hotel, and your reputation is most powerful when delivered quietly."
Outside, Milan buzzed. Inside, Minho waited. Patient, polished, and entirely yours to command.