📃— bang chan, the emotionally unavailable ceo and his all too capable assistant, naomi, find themselves blurring the lines between business & pleasure.
💼 — pairing ・ceo!bangchan x fem!oc // genres ・hurt/comfort, angst, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage // warnings・substance use // wc ・1.3k // lowercase is intentional
two years later, she was still surprising him. she wasn’t just his assistant— she didn’t just get his coffee exactly the way he likes it, and keep his schedule on point— she was something more than that. she was a constant. efficient, intuitive, and annoyingly assertive but always there. she was the only one who didn’t flinch when he snapped, didn’t grovel in his silence. the only one who could gauge his ever changing moods without needing a word.
and even though he’d rather jump off a building than admit it, the painful truth is: she’s more than just his employee, she’s the closest thing he has to a friend. some days, she’d hand him a drink before he even asked or quietly slip a painkiller onto his desk and he’d catch himself staring, wondering how she’d managed to get him down to a t.
at home, there was woodhouse. he’s been christopher’s personal aide for years, always dependable with the occasional ‘off’ day. shaky hands. sudden disappearances. unexplained ‘sick’ time. christopher always noticed, but he never really got around to asking. after all, he’s paying for loyalty not perfection.
“is this a cry for help or did you genuinely forget what coffee tastes like? i said double shot, no foam, woodhouse! make it again” christopher snapped, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “yes, sir.” he replied, unbothered as he took the drink away. he’d been around for long enough to know that none of his snide remarks were personal. he knew it wasn’t really anger, that’s just how chris grew up, so he’d always just fixed whatever mistake he made and went on. unaffected and dependable, but never close. nobody was ever close until her.
the air got tense as christopher stepped through the doors of his office. “morning, mr. bahng. you’ve got finance at nine, marketing at ten, and legal right after lunch. also, i moved the investor call to tomorrow so you’d have time to review the quarterly. i already prepped the notes and slides.” naomi greeted him, ignoring his ever present scowl.
“and you’re dumping all this on me because…” he drawled, shrugging off his coat. “because we’ll stay on schedule and you’ll be grateful in the next two hours.” her tone was even as she placed a folder on his desk.
“efficient.” his gaze lingered for a moment, an unreadable expression. “as always. i mean— someone has to be.” she said, already moving on to the next task.
the air shifted again as the side door creaked open. “your drink, sir.” woodhouse murmured, trembling as he set the tray down. christopher’s eyes flicked to him. “you’re late.”
“apologies, sir. got… held up.” his voice was strangely heavy, and he spoke slowly. he tried to pour the drink but the bottle wobbled in his grip, sloshing against the rim of the mug. christopher watched as it spilled lightly onto the tray. concerned. woodhouse never makes a mess. naomi’s eyes raised just slightly from her computer — noting his blunder.
minutes later, they were in the middle of reviewing for the finance meeting when woodhouse’s pacing slowed…. then stopped. there was a faint clink of a tray before the silence became uncomfortable. “woodhouse?”
naomi turned in time to see his knees buckle. the quart of liquor fell to the ground, the gold liquid inside spilling on the carpet as his body slumped sideways, hitting the floor with a thud. “fuck, woodhouse.” christopher swore, getting up from his seat immediately. “dont tell me you’re sleeping on the clock—”
“he’s not asleep…” naomi was already moving to examine the situation. the smell hit then; sharp. chemical. wrong for a morning office. she checked his pulse. “there’s track marks… and he has a kit on him. he’s got a pulse– barely.” her tone was sharper than usual as she looked up at him, scanning for a reaction. nothing. he just looked at his watch and muttered, “clear my afternoon.”
“i’ll call an ambulance.” she said, fingers already dialing. his eyes snapped to her. “have you finally lost your fucking mind? he’s on drugs, naomi! we can’t call an ambulance. do you wanna blow this shit wide open?” he whispered, his voice razor sharp.
“well he’s fucking unconscious! what am i supposed to do, christopher. he’s gonna die.” she spat back. her panicked eyes searched for any ounce of empathy in his.
“what you’re supposed to do. think. before you wreck everything. an ambulance means paperwork, questions, maybe even a goddamn investigation. do you think anyone gives a damn about woodhouse? no. if this leaks it’ll all be on me. the board’ll light up like a fucking christmas tree!” he hissed, tightening his jaw.
“so you’d rather cover it up and leave him to die on the floor? fuck that.” she glared, reaching for her phone. his voice dropped even lower as he stepped closer and grabbed the phone. “you were always stubborn.” his eyebrow twitched as he looked at her. “get security. discreetly. we’ll handle this ourselves.”
they both said nothing as she left. his eyes locked on woodhouse’s glossy lifeless ones. the weight of the silence was heavier than any words. the first tear fell as the door clicked and it really hit. woodhouse was dead. the man who had practically raised him, lying on the floor in a pool of vomit, the sour stench choking the sterile air like a cruel air. he picked up the bottle. tears traced cold lines down his cheek as he swallowed raw grief.
the doors swung open as naomi returned with two officers in tow. christopher was slumped heavily against the edge of his office couch, his knuckles white around the half empty bottle of harsh liquor. his eyes were bloodshot as tears flowed down his now rosy cheeks — an unexpected sight, especially from him.
she said nothing as she crossed the room slowly, her steps soft but deliberate. she crouched beside him, gingerly settling a hand on his arm. he wiped his face roughly, as if to push the emotion back down. “it’s… nothing.” he sniffled. she didn’t believe him. one of the officers cleared his throat softly, shifting uncomfortably in the room. naomi’s harsh gaze burned through him before turning back to christopher.
the dam inside him broke with a violence that shocked even himself. he felt the crushing weight of years of loneliness, silence, and cold walls that no one had ever penetrated. woodhouse wasn’t just a servant; he was the tether to a past christopher barely understood, the only person who had ever stayed despite the storms christopher brought. “he was the only one… the only one who never left. the only one who didn’t—” his voice cracked, faltering under the truth he’d hidden too long.
memories crashed over him. the quiet mornings when woodhouse would polish the silverware without complaint, the rare evenings when the bass of his chuckle broke the silence, the unspoken reassurance in a simple nod. all gone in a second. he hated this vulnerability, this break in his armor, but it felt like drowning and he had no choice but to let it happen.
naomi’s hand was an unyielding anchor, a silent promise that he didn’t have to face this alone. christopher remained still, his jaw trembling as the heavy sound of woodhouse’s body being dragged away surrounded him and for the first time in a long time, he let himself fall apart… not because he wanted to, but because he finally could. in that quiet room, broken and bare, naomi’s presence was the only thing steady enough to hold him upright.
christopher sank to the floor, his legs folding beneath him like a weight too heavy to bear. his head found its way into Naomi’s lap, seeking something steady, something real.
she didn’t pull away, instead, her fingers threaded gently through his hair, the touch soft but grounding. the silence between them was thick with grief and exhaustion
his breath hitched, and for the first time, his steel mask cracked wide open. his body trembled as he fought back sobs that spilled out anyway, raw and unforgiving. naomi’s touch was a quiet anchor, steady and unwavering. And for once, he didn’t have to pretend. the world outside might be chaos, but here, now, he could just be a man.
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