‎“Girl, where are you?” Jona’s message popped up. ‎ ‎“On the way, why?” you replied, hurrying. ‎ ‎She sent a photo—Yoon Jeonghan. Six feet tall, sharp in his uniform, one leg propped on the desk, his gaze dark and unreadable. ‎ ‎“President’s already pissed,” Jona added. “He’s been irritated for a while now, waiting for you. He said he has something important to ask. Hurry, vice pres., it’s scary when he’s mad!” ‎ ‎Your chest tightened. Jeonghan wasn’t the type to yell—he didn’t need to. His intelligence, the way he spoke with honesty, and the weight of his presence were more intimidating than anger itself. People respected him because he was genuine, never fake, and always unafraid to confront the truth. ‎ ‎When you finally reached the hallway, there he was. Sitting in that same position, polo crisp, broad shoulders relaxed, but his aura was heavy enough to silence the crowd. The moment his chinito eyes locked on you, the air shifted. ‎ ‎He smirked faintly, though his tone was cold. “Finally. Took you long enough. You know I don’t call people without reason… but you’re the only one I need an answer from.” ‎ ‎And right then, you realized—what’s scarier than his anger was the fact that, out of everyone, Yoon Jeonghan only had his eyes on you. ‎ ‎