Standar Operating Procedure - CEO JiYong x YN
You're Kwon JiYong's painfully obedient assistant. Order is the only thing keeping your obsessive mind together, and somehow your terrifying CEO understands that better than anyone else. But when a late-night emergency call drags you to a deserted highway, you become the sole witness to a secret that should have destroyed both of your lives.
Now you're trapped in a world of NDAs, cover-ups, sleepless nights, and a boss whose quiet commands silence the chaos in your head far more effectively than they should. Every rule he gives you feels like salvation. Every step closer to him feels like a terrible mistake.
He's dangerous. Controlling. Maybe even a monster.
So why is he the only place that feels... quiet?
This is part 1 of a small series of 2 (or three chapters, depens if I get inspired to write a last one)
WARNINGS: OCD reader, Mental Fatigue, Anxiety Loops, Intrusive Thoughts, Panic States, Dermatillomania, Power Dynamics, Unhealthy Management Dynamics
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Your eyes had already tracked the room four times. Four. Exactly that.
You had counted how many people were in the room. Nine, counting yourself. Nine was an uneven, ugly number, but four was a very reassuring one. Four sweeps of the room. Four deep, silent breaths.
The projector screen at the front of the conference room had a single missing pixel, a tiny, dead green dot bleeding into the financial spreadsheets. Nobody else seemed bothered by it. They were all staring at their tablets, nodding along, entirely oblivious to the flaw. You forced yourself not to focus on it, though your skin practically itched with the urge to reach out and fix it.
Thankfully, ignoring it became an easy task, because your attention had to be focused entirely on the person currently speaking.
He moved through the room with a terrifying, slow-motion elegance. In the Muhan Company headquarters, he was less of a CEO and more of an absolute monarch. Today, he wore a charcoal three-piece suit, tailored so perfectly it looked like armor. His voice was softâit was always softâbut it cut through the room like a scalpel. He didn't need to yell to terrify the board of directors; he just needed to lower his tone until everyone else stopped breathing.
"The Q3 projections are short by two percent," JiYong murmured, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the mahogany table. Tap. Tap. Tap.
You watched his hand. Your own left hand was hidden beneath the table, resting on your knee. Your thumb was already aggressively digging into the side of your right index finger, searching for a rough edge of skin. You needed to peel it. You needed to smooth it out. If it wasn't perfectly smooth, your brain wouldn't let you rest, and God knew you hadn't slept more than three hours a night this entire week.
"Y/N," JiYongâs voice suddenly broke through your internal counting.
You froze, your thumb pressing hard into the raw skin of your finger. You looked up, meeting his sharp, dark eyes. He wasn't looking at your face.
His gaze had dropped slightly, tracking the subtle, rhythmic movement of your hands beneath the edge of the table. He knew exactly what you were doing. He always knew.
"Bring me the revised liability forms for the logistics department," he commanded softly, turning back to the screen. "And make sure the formatting is correct. I dislike messy margins."
"Of course, Director Kwon," you replied, your voice even and robotic, exactly how he liked it.
You forced your hands onto the table, gripping your tablet until your knuckles turned white. The sting in your finger was a dull, throbbing ache, but under his gaze, the suffocating chaos in your mind suddenly settled into a weird, numb calm.Â
He gave you a task. He gave you a rule. As long as you followed his rules, the world wouldn't fall apart.
You quickly pulled the requested files from your briefcase, your heart hammering against your ribs. You stood up, stepping into his space to slide the paperwork across the polished mahogany table.
JiYongâs eyes flickered down. He didn't look at the graphs. He didn't look at the data. His gaze locked instantly onto your hand, tracing the line of your arm down to your trembling fingers.
Your stomach dropped. A cold wave of panic washed over you, thick and suffocating.
Are the papers not correct? Did I miscalculate the Q3 adjustments? Are the margins off? Did I leave a double space somewhere?
Your mind started to spiral, hyper-fixating on every single keystroke youâd made over the last twelve hours. If the formatting was wrong, the order was broken. If the order was broken, everything would fall apart. You could feel the skin around your thumb itching, begging to be torn, a frantic alarm blaring inside your head. You were about to apologize, to swallow your own tongue in shame, whenâ JiYong hummed. It was a low, smooth sound of approval that vibrated in the quiet room.
"Perfect," he murmured, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours, holding your gaze just a second too long. "Sit, please."
The tension broke, leaving you hollow and weak. You sank back into your leather chair. The meeting kept going around you, voices blurring into background noise as JiYong took back the floor, his absolute authority anchoring the room. You just watched him, the weird, clinical calm washing over you again because he said it was perfect.Â
His approval was the only thing that kept the chaos at bay.
â â â â â â â â â
The transition from the glass-and-steel prison of Muhan Company to the quiet of your own apartment always felt like a sudden decompression.
It was 1:30 AM by the time you finally locked your front door. The apartment was dark, smelling faintly of lavender and antiseptic. It was your sanctuary. Everything was arranged in perfect, symmetrical lines. The shoes by the door were aligned to the millimeter. The books on the shelf were color-coded and alphabetized.
You walked into the bathroom, flicking on the harsh fluorescent light. You winced, staring at your reflection. Bags hung heavy under your eyes. You were losing so much fucking sleep.
You opened the medicine cabinetâlabels facing forward, naturallyâand pulled out a tub of heavy healing ointment and a box of sterile bandages.
This was your life. It had always been your life.
You carefully began slathering the cream over the raw, ragged skin around your thumbnails, wrapping them tightly in the white tape. It was a weird, destructive habit, a physical manifestation of a brain that refused to shut up. Everything had to be under control. Every variable, every word, every breath.
And honestly? It had always been a fucking problem with your relationships.
Ex-partners never understood. They called you cold. They called you crazy. They got annoyed when you couldn't sleep because a picture frame was tilted two degrees to the left. They hated that you couldn't just "relax." They tried to force you to let go, but when you did, you just ended up tearing your own skin apart in the dark until you bled. Nobody knew how to handle a brain that operated like a hyper-reactive trap.
Nobody except, weirdly, the most terrifying man in Seoul.
You finished wrapping your left thumb, snapping the bandage clean. You had exactly one hour and forty-five minutes of scheduled sleep before your alarm would ring for the next cycle. You crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the exhaustion to finally take you.
The vibration of the phone against the wood of your nightstand didnât just wake you; it violently pulled you out of your shallow sleep. Your heart leaped into your throat, your pulse immediately spiking to a frantic, jagged rhythm.
You swiped the screen, your voice raspy and breathless. "Hello?"
It was JiYong. But his voice didn't have its usual clinical, boardroom perfection. It was lower, slightly raspy, carrying a tight, sharp edge that made the hairs on your arms stand up. He didn't ask if you were awake. He didn't apologize for the hour. He just issued commands like he was reading off a checklist.
"Call my personal lawyer. Use the encrypted line. Tell him we need the emergency asset protection protocol activated immediately. Then go to your terminal. Print the standard mutual non-disclosure agreements for third-party liabilities. Bring them, along with the ink pad for thumbprints."
You sat up fast, the sudden movement making your head spin from sleep deprivation. "Director Kwon? What happened? Are youâ"
"I am sending you coordinates now," he cut you off, his tone dropping into a dangerously soft, absolute whisper. "Come here now, Y/N. Drive yourself. Do not use a company vehicle. You have twenty-five minutes."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Your coordinates popped up in a text messageâa dark stretch of highway miles outside the city center, near the industrial docks.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your system. Your brain, usually so organized, began to misfire. You threw off the covers and scrambled across the dark room. You didn't even stop to find your driving glasses; you just grabbed a dark trench coat, threw it over your silk pajamas, and ran to your home office printer.
The machine hummed to life, the bright green light flashing in the dark as it spat out the legal papers. You snatched them up, your hands shaking so violently that you nearly dropped them.
Twenty-five minutes. You have twenty-five minutes.
You bolted out the door and sprinted down to the parking garage. As you turned the key in your ignition, the dashboard clock blinked at you. 3:09 AM.
You shifted into drive and slammed on the gas, bursting out into the torrential, blinding rainstorm that had taken over the city.
Without your glasses, the world outside your windshield was a terrifying, smeared nightmare. The rain came down in heavy sheets, catching the glare of the oncoming headlights and turning them into massive, exploding starbursts of white and red. The lane lines on the highway blurred into the dark asphalt. You squinted, leaning so close to the steering wheel your chest was almost touching it, your eyes stinging, watering from the strain and the lack of sleep.
You couldn't see the road clearly. You couldn't control the weather. You couldn't control the time ticking down on your dashboard.
The illusion of your perfect, orderly life was completely shattering in the dark.
Instinct took over. Your left hand gripped the steering wheel so tight your knuckles cracked, while your right hand dropped into your lap. Your fingers instantly found the edge of the fresh bandages you had just put on. With a frantic, desperate movement, your teeth caught the edge of the tape, ripping it off your left thumb.
Your nail dug right back into the raw, healing skin, tearing at the edge until the sharp sting of fresh pain sliced through the panic in your head. It was the only thing keeping you awake. The only thing keeping you from veering off the blurred road.
The rain didn't slow down. It slammed against the hood of your car, a relentless, deafening static that filled the cabin. Without your glasses, everything beyond the sweeps of your wipers was a watercolor nightmare of black asphalt and bleeding headlights.
Even through the blurred, watery darkness, you recognized the sleek, sharp silhouette of his luxury sedan. It was the same car you watched every morning from the office window. You had always taken a strange, quiet comfort in the fact that he parked it exactly in the center of his reserved spaceâperfectly parallel, down to the millimeter.
But right now? It was messily abandoned on the dirt shoulder, tilted at an ugly, jarring angle, its hazards blinking an uneven, chaotic amber into the night.
Your stomach violently twisted. The order was gone.
You pulled up behind it, shifted into park, and threw your door open. The freezing downpour hit you instantly, soaking your trench coat and flattening your hair against your face. You squinted through the dark, your boots splashing into the mud.
Near the front of his car, two figures were illuminated by the harsh white glare of the high beams. One was an older, wealthy-looking man in a rumpled suit, pacing frantically and clutching his head in total hysterics. The other was your boss.
JiYong was sitting on a concrete barrier. He didn't look hysterical. He looked completely frozen, staring down at something lying motionless across the asphalt.
You took three steps closer, your eyes straining to focus on the dark shape in the road. And then your brain finally registered what it was. A tangled mess of clothes. A pale, lifeless hand resting in a puddle. A dark, thick streak of fluid washing away in the rain.
Your breath caught in your throat, a suffocating wave of vertigo hitting you so hard you thought youâd collapse right there into the mud. You didn't know what you were getting into. You thought it was a financial crisis, a leaked document, a corporate scandalânot this. Your right thumb immediately went to your left hand, your nail digging ruthlessly into the raw, unbandaged flesh until it split open.
A voice barked your name, sharp and fracturing the sound of the rain.
Before your panicked mind could even process the movement, JiYong was in front of you. You froze. He moved like a shadow, his fingers slamming down onto your shoulders with an iron grip that bit through the damp fabric of your coat.
You blinked wildly, staring up at him. His hair was drenched, clinging to his forehead, and his dark eyes were wide, intense, and completely unblinking. There was a drop of dark blood smeared across the sharp line of his jaw. When had he come so close? Why was he touching you?
"Did you or did you not call my lawyer?" he demanded. His voice wasn't his usual soft murmur. It was a low, lethal hiss, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours as he anchored you in place.
"Yes, sir," you choked out, the rain stinging your eyes.
JiYong exhaled a harsh, ragged breath. He released your shoulders and passed his hand over his hair, pushing the wet, dark strands back from his face. It was completely disheveled, sticking out in messy clumps that defied any sense of structure. His tie was loosened, his collar unbuttoned.
His hair looked... weirdly good this way. It was a terrifying realization. For someone whose entire life was a rigid grid of rules, seeing something so completely un-neat should have triggered a massive panic attack. Instead, a strange, dizzying warmth bloomed deep in your chest, entirely out of place in the freezing rain.
"Y/N. Eyes on me," he commanded.
Your eyes had somehow drifted past his shoulder, drawn back to the horrific, crumpled shape of the man on the road.
"Yesâyes, sir," you stammered, snapping your gaze back to him. You couldn't help the desperate whisper that left your lips: "Is he...?"
"Who?" JiYong asked, his voice instantly dropping back into that smooth, chillingly calm corporate tone. He stepped closer, completely blocking your view of the road, forcing you into his space. "I donât see anyone here. Do you?"
You stared into his eyes. His gaze was piercingly clear, completely swallowing your vision. They were hypnotic. In the flickering amber glow of the hazard lights, his pupils were dilated, dark, and absolute. There was something deeply frightening in themâa cold, sociopathic certaintyâbut as you looked, something else happened.
The frantic noise in your head began to die down. The screaming alarm bells about the dead body, the rain, the midnight drive, the sleep deprivation... it all just vanished. His gaze was a vacuum, sucking out all the chaos and leaving only his voice. It was terrifying, yes, but it was so heavily commanding that it numbed you. You didn't have to think. You didn't have to panic. He was telling you what reality was, and your brain, desperate for a director, accepted it.
"No," you breathed, your thumb finally stopping its ruthless digging into your raw skin. "I... I don't."
JiYongâs lips twitched, pulling up into a sharp, dark smirk that sent a thrill straight down your spine. He liked a compliant machine.
"Good," he murmured, his face just inches from yours. "Can you drive me?"
You didn't look back at the dark road as you walked to your car. You couldn't.
JiYong followed you, his heavy steps steady and unhurried in the mud. When you unlocked the doors, he opened the passenger side and slid in, the sudden scent of expensive cologne, rain, and cold leather instantly filling the cramped space of your vehicle. He let out a long, heavy sigh, resting his head back against the headrest.
He tilted his head side to side, the loud pop of his neck bones shattering the quiet of the car. It was a raw, aggressive sound, but it sent a weird wave of relief through your chest. The monster was calm; therefore, you could breathe.
You climbed into the driverâs seat, slamming the door against the torrential downpour. Your hands instantly flew to the steering wheel, gripping the worn leather until your white, raw knuckles turned a ghostly shade of purple. You forced yourself to stare straight ahead at the rain running down the windshield, trying with everything inside you to control your breathing.
Your brain was hyper-processing the last ten minutes. The blood on his jaw. The crumpled shape on the asphalt. The fact that you were now officially an accessory to a hit-and-run. Your chest heaved, a sob threatening to catch in your throat.
"Drive me to my penthouse, yeah?"
His voice didn't sound like a man who had just left a body in the rain. It was smooth, rich, and completely steady. The sheer normalcy of his tone acted like a physical weight, pressing down on your rising panic and flattening it.
"Where is it?" you whispered, your voice shaking as you stared at the blank GPS screen.
"Here. This is the address."
JiYong shifted, leaning across the center console. Because the car was small, his broad shoulders completely blocked your view of the passenger side. His damp coat brushed against your arm, radiating a shocking, intense heat. You held your breath as his long, elegant fingersâthe ones that signed off on the fates of thousands of employeesâbegan typing coordinates into the digital console.
As he typed, he didn't look at the screen. He looked at you.
From the side, his dark, sharp eyes scanned you. You could practically feel his gaze like a physical touch, registering every single flaw. He saw your messy, tangled hair plastered to your forehead. He saw your wet trench coat dripping onto the fabric seat. He saw the faint purple bruises under your eyes from days of running on empty. Under his heavy, clinical observation, you felt completely exposed, but weirdly anchored. He was measuring your breakability, and somehow, knowing he was watching kept you from shattering.
The GPS emitted a sharp, digital beep, signaling the route was locked in.
"I will compensate you for this late drive," JiYong said softly, slumping back into his seat. He pulled his silk tie completely off, tossing it casually onto your dashboard, and unbuttoned the first three buttons of his dress shirt. The strict corporate armor was coming off, revealing something much more predatory underneath. "I will count this as extra work hours."
Your brain instantly seized on the corporate terminology. Compensate. Work hours. Protocol. It was a lifeline. If this was just "extra work," then it wasn't a crime. It was a task. And you were very, very good at tasks.
"No problem, Director Kwon," you replied, your voice finally steadying into that obedient, robotic rhythm he expected. You shifted the car into drive, your wet boots pressing onto the pedal as you pulled away from the blinking hazards of the crime scene, leaving the darkness behind.
The highway eventually gave way to the neon-drenched streets of the city. The rain was still drumming heavily against the roof, but inside the car, the silence was thick, heavy, and intoxicating.
JiYong had his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the passenger seat.
When you hit a long red light, the car drifted to a stop. With the vehicle stationary, your eyes automatically wandered over to him. Without the cold, piercing stare of his dark eyes, his face looked softer. Relaxed. In the shifting red glow of the traffic light, the sharp, ruthless lines of his jaw and cheekbones seemed to blur. He looked younger like this. Less like a terrifying corporate monarch who just erased a human life, and more like a man who was simply exhausted. Not as scary.
Then, his eyelids fluttered open.
Your heart nearly stopped. You looked away immediately, your face burning as you stared straight ahead at the red light, your hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt. Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
From the corner of your eye, you saw his lips twitch. He smirked, fully aware of your panic, entirely amused by how easily he could startle you.
Before he could say anything, the heavy vibration of his phone shattered the quiet. He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out the sleek device.
"Yes?" he answered, his voice instantly dropping into that chilling, dangerous calm. He listened for a moment, his expression turning sharp. "Of course. What do you mean, where am I? I'm going to my house."
A pause. The person on the other endâlikely his high-profile associate or a frantic lawyerâwas clearly spiraling. JiYong let out a low, dry chuckle that made your skin prickle.
"Oh, forgive me. Next time I'll stay with the body until the police come. Yeah. Sounds amazing." His sarcasm was razor-sharp, completely detached from the gravity of what had happened. "I know my car is fucked up... Oh. Um. One of my employees picked me up. Yeah, she is here with me now."
Your stomach plummeted. He told them about you.
"No," JiYong murmured, his eyes sliding over to lock onto the side of your face. "No, she won't say anything."
He lowered the phone slightly, holding it between his shoulder and his ear, keeping his gaze entirely fixed on you. "Y/N. You didn't see anything tonight, right?"
"I didn't, sir," you replied instantly, the words slipping out of your mouth like a programmed reflex.
JiYong lifted the phone back to his ear, his smirk widening into something deeply possessive. "See? Amazingly obedient."
The word hit you like a physical blow. It echoed in your head, bouncing off the walls of your sleep-deprived brain.Â
Your mind started to spiral, hyper-fixating on the weight of that label. You weren't just an employee anymore. You were an accessory to a crime. You were a secret-keeper. You were his. The way he said itâso casual, so proud, like a master praising a perfectly trained houndâsent a terrifying shiver straight down your spine. But beneath the terror, that weird, dark warmth flared up again, hotter this time. Your thumb twitched, your nail itching to dig into your raw skin, completely overwhelmed by the sheer submission of your own voice. You were spiraling out of control, suffocating under the heavy pressure of his approval, whenâ"Y/N?"
His voice cut through the fog in your head like a knife.
You blinked wildly, snapping out of the trance. "Sorry. Yes, sir?"
"The light is green already," he said softly, pointing a long finger toward the windshield.
You looked up. The light was green, casting a bright tint over the wet asphalt. The cars behind you hadn't even honked yet, but you had completely frozen.
"Sorry, sir," you stammered, frantically pressing your foot onto the gas pedal. The car lurched forward into the rainy intersection, your heart still racing from the lethal rhythm of his voice.
Finally, JiYong let out a low, drawn-out sigh and pulled the phone away from his ear, tapping the screen to hang up.Â
The sudden silence in the car felt heavier than before, thick with the smell of wet wool and the sharp ozone of the storm outside.
As you navigated the sleek, modern curves of the luxury high-riseâs private driveway, the massive security gates rolled open automatically, recognizing his presence even in a different vehicle.
"You can park inside," JiYong murmured, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine.
You blinked, your foot hovering over the brake as you entered the pristine, brightly lit underground garage. "Sorry?"
"You will stay," he clarified smoothly, not even looking at you as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I need a cover. You will spend the night here. If anyone asks where I was tonight... we were working."
Panic, cold and sharp, flared up in your chest, breaking through the sleep-deprived fog. Your brain instantly started calculating the variables, the boundaries, the sheer impropriety of a low-level assistant staying at the CEO's private penthouse at four in the morning.
"Director Kwon, IâI really should get back," you stammered, your fingers tightening around the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white. "I have my own apartment, and the logistics reports for tomorrow still need to beâ"
"They can wait," he interrupted, his tone completely flat, entirely unbothered by your resistance.
"But sir, itâs highly irregular. I can't just..." You tried to find a logical, corporate excuse, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "People will talk if they find out. My personal lifeâ"
"You are single," JiYong said, turning his head slowly to look at you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, pinning you to the leather seat. His voice was terrifyingly calm, stripping away your excuses with clinical precision. "You live alone. You have no one waiting for you, and no one to answer to. There is no problem with you staying."
The blunt reminder of your isolation stung, but before you could even swallow the lump in your throat, he leaned in just an inch closer. The ambient LED lighting of the garage caught the sharp, dangerous lines of his smirk.
"Consider it an order, Y/N. A work order."
The phrase hung in the air, absolute and unyielding. A work order.
Your mouth opened to protest, to find some shred of control to hold onto, but your brain instantly recognized the hierarchy.Â
He was the boss. You were the employee. He was the master of this entire empire, and he had just coded his demand into a language your hyper-compliant mind couldn't fight.Â
The suffocating pressure of his authority washed over you, and against your own will, that weird, submissive calm settled deep into your bones.
"Yes, Director Kwon," you whispered, shifting the car into park.
JiYongâs smirk widened, a dark, satisfied look gleaming in his eyes. "Good girl. Bring the papers inside."
JiYong got out of the car, the heavy thud of his door echoing through the quiet concrete structure. Outside the underground garage, the roar of the rain was finally starting to quiet down, fading into a dull, rhythmic patter against the pavement.
You sat in the driverâs seat for a fraction of a second, staring at the white steering wheel. For a reason you didn't fully understandâor maybe because your brain somehow completely shut the fuck up the moment he spokeâyou found yourself moving. You grabbed the legal papers, killed the engine, and followed him toward the private elevator.
The ride up to the penthouse was silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the cables and the heavy, intoxicating scent of his cologne trapped in the small space with you.
When the doors slid open directly into his private foyer, JiYong stepped out first. He stopped just before completely opening the massive, dark wood double doors to his home. He turned around, his dark eyes scanning your damp, disheveled appearance once more.
"What size are you?" he asked smoothly.
You blinked, your sleep-deprived mind stumbling over the question. "Excuse me?"
"Your clothes," he clarified, his voice dropping into that low, slightly impatient tone. "They're soaked. Iâll get you something to change into."
"Oh. That's... that's fine, Director Kwon," you stammered, clutching the folder of NDAs tightly against your chest like a shield. "I can just wear this. It's four in the morning, anywayâ"
"I don't remember asking you the time," he cut you off.
A small, frustrated scoff slipped past your lips before you could stop it. Your need to argue the logistics of the situation flared up, but JiYong merely lifted a single, elegant eyebrow, waiting. The silent pressure of his gaze was immense.
Defeated, you finally muttered your clothing size.
"Amazing," he murmured, the shadow of a smirk touching his lips.
He turned and pushed the doors open, stepping into the penthouse. You followed him inside, and as you crossed the threshold, you involuntarily held your breath, preparing for the usual mental assault of a new, unfamiliar space.Â
Usually, large houses or high-end apartments stressed you out. They were always cluttered with designer furniture, asymmetrical modern architecture, and chaotic luxury that made your inner counting system go haywire.
It was massive, yet incredibly sparse. The walls were a stark, flawless gallery white, not blinding type of white, a soothing one, lined with large, imposing pieces of contemporary art. Your eyes automatically darted to the frames, tracking the lines.Â
Every single canvas was hung perfectly, flawlessly straight. The sculptures on the minimalist pedestals were perfectly centered. The entire apartment felt less like a living space and more like a high-end, museum.
You let out a long, slow sigh you didn't realize you were holding. Your shoulders dropped slightly. Everything here had an exact, rigid order. The world outside was a messy, bloody crime scene, but inside his walls, the grid was perfect.
JiYong tilted his head, watching you. He had been quietly studying the way your eyes scanned his home, noting the exact moment the tension left your frame. He seemed to know exactly what his environment did to a mind like yours.
"Second door to your left," he directed softly.
You snapped your attention back to him. "Sorry?"
"The guest bathroom," he said, nodding toward the sleek hallway. "Take a shower, or a bath if you prefer. I will get you those clothes."
"There is really no need toâ"
He stepped closer. The distance between you vanished so fast your breathing hitched, the words dying in your throat. JiYong towered over you, his presence completely consuming the narrow hallway. The top three buttons of his shirt were still undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone, and the scent of rain and expensive, heavy cologne radiated off his skin like heat.
"I said, I will get you clothes, and I am getting you clothes," he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerously soft, vibrating octave that made your knees feel weak. He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed your cheek. "Got it?"
You stared up at him. The absolute certainty in his voice acted like a physical hand anchoring your frantic mind.Â
You couldn't fight it. You didn't want to fight it.
"Yes, sir," you whispered.
The smirk returned to his lips, slow and deeply satisfied. He stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. "Good. Don't keep me waiting."
You turned on your heel and practically bolted down the hallway, your wet boots squeaking against the polished floor. You found the second door on the left, threw it open, and shut it behind you, clicking the lock into place with a sharp snap.
The moment the lock turned, you slumped against the heavy door. Your chest heaved. You let out a ragged, panting gasp, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs it felt like it was going to break through.
What the hell is going on?
You pressed your palms flat against the cool wood of the door, trying to ground yourself. Your brain was a chaotic, spinning mess of variables you couldn't control.Â
You were in your terrifying, brilliant CEO's private penthouse at four in the morning. You had just helped him cover up a fatal hit-and-run. And instead of panicking about prison, your entire body was buzzing from the way he had just looked at you.
You walked over to the marble vanity, leaning your weight against the counter as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked a mess. Your hair was damp and tangled from the rain, your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were parted as you tried to catch your breath.
Your eyes automatically drifted down to your hands. Your left thumb was bare, the skin raw, red, and irritated from where you had torn the bandage off in the car. The urge to dig your nail right back into it flared up, a frantic demand from your brain to find order in the madness.
But as your finger hovered over the raw skin, you remembered the weight of his silver pen. You remembered his voice. Amazingly obedient.
A heavy, dizzying shiver ran straight down your spine, settling low in your stomach. The tension in the room out there hadn't just been corporate authority; it was thick, suffocatingly sexual, and it was entirely directed at you.Â
You turned around, turning on the shower taps just to drown out the sound of your own erratic breathing, your hands trembling as you began to unbutton your damp trench coat.
The steam from the hot water had completely fogged up the massive mirror, turning the clinical marble bathroom into a warm, blurred sanctuary. The shower had washed away the rain and the mud, but it hadn't done a single thing to quiet your racing pulse.
You dried off quickly and wrapped a thick, plush white towel tightly around your chest, tucking the edge in securely. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you unlocked the door and clicked it open just a tiny fraction of an inch, peeking out into the dimly lit hallway.
"Director Kwon?" you called out, your voice a quiet, tentative echo in the vast penthouse. "Um, do you have those..."
As you pushed the door open a bit further, the edge of the wood knocked over something sitting directly on the floor outside. You gasped, instinctively clutching the towel tighter against your chest, and looked down.
He hadn't waited around for you. But right there, neatly folded on a pristine lacquer tray, was a pile of clothes.
You reached out, scooping up the tray and pulling it inside before quickly clicking the door shut again. Your brain automatically scanned the presentation. Of course it was perfect. But when you unfolded the garments, your breath hitched a little. You expected maybe an oversized, scratchy corporate button-down or a plain, sterile robe.
Instead, you found it was a pair of ultra-soft, tailored black lounge pants that hugged your waist perfectly, paired with a matching, ribbed black tank top. The fabric was premium, stretchy, and fit your form exactly, tracing the lines of your body without a single inch of excess fabric. It was cute, minimalist, and deeply flattering. Beneath the clothes sat a pair of fresh, plush black socks.
Your fingers brushed the ribbed cotton of the tank top. It smelled exactly like himâthat dark, intoxicating blend of rich cedar, faint tobacco, and expensive cologne.
You quickly changed into the outfit. The pants sat perfectly on your hips, and the tank top clung tightly to your chest and torso, making you feel instantly put-together despite the hour. Yet, looking at yourself in the mirror, the perfect fit felt intensely vulnerable.Â
You smoothed your hands down the sides of the fitted black pants, the sleek fabric doing nothing to settle the frantic buzzing in your nerves. The corporate script in your head was already written and rehearsed: Thank you for the clothes, Director Kwon. Iâll just take a blanket for the sofa. Or, if you donât need me for the cover story anymore, I can drive back home.
Neat. Professional. A desperate attempt to rebuild the walls he had so effortlessly knocked down tonight.
You walked slowly through the quiet penthouse, your bare feet making no sound against the cold, polished hardwood. The gallery walls felt imposing in the dim lighting, every perfectly straight painting watching you like silent judges. You padded down the main corridor, knocking softly on the heavy doors you passed.
You reached the end of the hall, where a set of frosted glass double doors stood slightly cracked open. You raised your hand, rapping your knuckles lightly against the wood frame.
From inside, a low, deep hum resonated.
Your brain immediately logged it as permission. You pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It wasn't a bedroom. It was a bathroom, but calling it that felt like an insult. It was a massive, cavernous space made of dark, charcoal stone. Thick, heavy fog instantly rolled out to greet you, washing over your bare feet.Â
The air was incredibly warm, heavy with the rich, intoxicating scent of crushed lavender, expensive oils, and that deep cedarwood that always lingered on his skin. It was designed to be a sensory deprivation tank for a billionaireâcalming, isolating, and utterly relaxing.
And right in the center of the room, sunken into the dark stone floor, was a massive bathtub.
Your eyes adjusted to the steam, and your heart violently stopped.
JiYong leaned back against the dark stone, the water lapping just below his collarbones, leaving the intricate, dark ink of his chest tattoos slick and gleaming under the dim ambient lights. Both of his arms were spread wide, draped casually over the thick borders of the tub. He looked like a dark god resting on an altar. His wet hair was pushed back from his forehead, and as you froze in the doorway, he slowly tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the fog.
He didn't flinch. He didn't scramble to cover himself. He just looked at you, his gaze dragging lazily down from your panicked eyes to the tight, ribbed black tank top that hugged your chest perfectly.
Your face burned so hot it actually stung.
You stumbled backward, your hands scrambling for the handle, and slammed the door shut so fast it rattled the hinges.
You pressed your back flush against the door, your hands flying up to cover your burning face. Your chest heaved, sucking in frantic, ragged breaths.
The image of his wet skin and those piercing, unbothered eyes was burned into your retinas. Your brain was completely short-circuiting, screaming error codes.Â
Your right thumb instantly found your left index finger, your nail biting down hard into the raw flesh, trying to ground yourself in the sharp sting of pain.
Then, from the other side of the door, came a sound that made your blood run cold.
A low, vibrating chuckle.
"Why did you close the door?" his voice drifted through the heavy wood, muffled but laced with dark, razor-sharp amusement.
"I'm soâso sorry, Mr. Kwon," you stammered, your voice trembling so badly it cracked. You were practically vibrating against the door. "I didn'tâI thought it was the bedroom, I was just looking for a blanketâ"
The amusement vanished. His voice dropped an entire octave, hitting that soft, lethal frequency that demanded absolute compliance. The shift was so sudden it paralyzed you.
Your breath caught in your throat. Every survival instinct in your body screamed at you to run away, to hide in the guest room, or no, not there, a table was fine, you dindt even need the sofa, just to hide, to flee the penthouse entirely. But your hyper-compliant, obsessive brain heard the command from the CEO, and the leash snapped taut.Â
Your trembling hand dropped from your face and slowly reached for the handle. Your knuckles were ghost-white. You turned the knob, the click sounding deafening in the quiet hall, and pushed the door open just enough to slip back inside.
You didn't close it all the way behind you, leaving a sliver of an escape route. You stood with your back pressed against the doorframe, your eyes glued firmly to the dark stone floor, refusing to look up.
You swallowed hard, your pulse deafening in your ears, and forced your eyes up.
JiYong hadn't moved an inch. His arms were still spread over the edges of the tub, perfectly relaxed, totally in control. The water rippled softly around his chest as he breathed. But his eyes were doing something entirely different. They were fixed on you, dark and completely predatory, tracking every single detail of how the black clothes he chose clung to your curves.
"Come here," he murmured.
"Sir, I really shouldn'tâ"
"Come. Here." He didn't raise his voice. He just injected it with a terrifying finality.
You forced your bare feet to move, stepping into the thick fog. You stopped a few feet from the edge of the sunken tub, close enough to feel the heat radiating off the water, close enough to see the droplets of condensation sliding down his jawline.
JiYong tilted his head, his eyes lazily dragging up your body one more time before settling on your face. The blush was still burning on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling erratically under the tight tank top.
"The clothes fit," he noted, his voice a low purr. "I knew they would. You look exactly how I pictured."
The casual confession sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. He had pictured this. He had thought about your body, your measurements, how this fabric would mold to your skin.
You didn't know what to say. The corporate script was ashes. You just stood there, trembling slightly in the warm fog, your thumb frantically rubbing against your raw finger.
JiYongâs gaze flicked down to your hands, catching the destructive, nervous movement.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his right arm from the edge of the tub, the water cascading off his tattooed skin, and held his wet hand out toward you, palm up.
"Give me your hands, Y/N."
"What?" you breathed, the single syllable barely escaping your throat.
"Hands," he repeated, his tone shifting into that effortless, soft gravity that left no room for negotiation.
You moved before you could think, stepping up to the very edge of the sunken stone tub. You held your hands out, and JiYong reached up, his long fingers closing around your wrists. His skin was slick, dripping with warm water, and intensely hot against your freezing skin.
He held your hands, his thumbs slowly, deliberately tracing the backs of your knuckles. For a man who had just left a body on a dark highway, his movements were shockingly gentleâpainfully slow, the way someone would approach a cornered, feral animal. He looked down at your left hand, his thumb catching on the raw, split skin where you had torn the bandage.
He hummed, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest that you could practically feel through his grip.
"Grab some band-aids from the second drawer," he murmured, tilting his chin toward the massive charcoal-marble vanity on the other side of the room.
He let go of your wrists, the sudden loss of his touch leaving your skin feeling cold and exposed in the heavy steam. You nodded quickly, turning on your heel to walkâalmost runâtoward the vanity.
Focus on the task. You chanted the words internally like a mantra. Find the drawer. Get the bandages. You tried so incredibly hard not to look back at the tub. You kept your head down, focusing all your energy on the sleek, seamless handle of the second drawer. But with the bathroom acting like a massive, echoing cavern, it was completely impossible to block him out.
You heard the heavy, sloshing shift of the water as he adjusted his weight. You heard his low, tired sigh. You heard the distinct sound of his wet palm running back through his hair.
Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flicked upward.
You looked into the massive, fogged-up mirror above the vanity. Through a clear patch in the steam, your gaze slid straight down to the reflection of the tub.
JiYong wasn't looking away. He was sitting back, his arms draped over the stone borders again, staring directly at your reflection in the glass. His dark, hypnotic eyes caught yours instantly through the mirror, trapping you in a silent, suffocating gaze.
"Need help?" he asked, his voice a low, raspy purr that echoed off the marble walls.
"Noâno," you stammered, frantically tearing open a beige bandage with trembling fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I can do it myself."
"Hm." JiYong tilted his head, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his lips as he watched you struggle with the adhesive wrapper. "You said you were looking for a blanket?"
"Iâwell," you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even, professional, orderly. "I was going to say thank you for the clothes, and excuse myself, really."
"Excuse yourself?" He repeated the words like they were a foreign concept, his tone dripping with quiet amusement.
"Perhaps... I could go to my house now?" You finally managed to wrap the bandage around your thumb, pressing it down hard enough that the sharp sting of the raw flesh cleared your head for a split second. You turned around to face him, keeping the vanity firmly at your back. "Itâs the most... appropriate thing, isn't it?"
JiYong closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head rest back against the stone. "You want to go?"
"I think it would be best, Director Kwon."
"Well," he murmured, his eyelids fluttering open, those dark pupils locking onto you with a sudden, freezing intensity. "I was thinking of dismissing you for tomorrow. Since, technically, you staying here would count as an active shift. But... sure. Be my guest."
He lifted his right hand from the water, waving it lazily toward the door in a gesture of mock dismissal.
"Go. And let's see each other in the office in less than two hours. I expect, of course, all those logistics and liability reports I told you about yesterday. On my desk. Flawless."
Your stomach violently plummeted. The sleep deprivation hit you like a physical wall, making your knees tremble. "But... Director Kwon, those were scheduled for Friday."
JiYong leaned his head forward, his wet hair falling slightly over his eyes, making him look impossibly beautiful, and entirely lethal.
"I changed my mind," he whispered, his voice cutting through the warm, lavender-scented steam like ice. "You want to follow the rules, Y/N? You want everything to be appropriate? Fine. Go home. Wash the blood off your steering wheel. And then work until your fingers bleed to finish my reports by 6:00 AM sharp."
He let the threat hang in the heavy air, a massive, suffocating display of his absolute power over your life. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was giving your brain a choice.
"So," JiYong murmured, his eyes tracking the frantic, heavy rise and fall of your chest under the tight black tank top. "Are you going to leave, Y/N? Or are you going to stay where I can keep an eye on you?"
"The guest room, please?"
JiYongâs smirk spread impossibly slow, a dark, victorious curve that told you he knew exactly how thoroughly he had just cornered your frantic brain. He didn't look surprised; he looked deeply satisfied, like a chess master watching a piece fall into the exact trap heâd spent hours setting.
"The door in front of the bathroom you were in before," he murmured, his voice softening back into that rich, soothing purr.
You let out a long, heavy sigh, the final defenses of your rigid corporate armor entirely turning to ash in the steam. You turned and began walking toward the door, your bare feet dragging slightly from the sheer weight of your exhaustion. Your brain was entirely numb, but it was a weirdly peaceful kind of numbness. You didn't have to drive blind in the rain. You didn't have to do reports. The world was small again, bounded perfectly by his rules.
His voice caught you just as your hand touched the dark wood handle. You stopped, freezing in place, waiting for him to keep talking. You didn't turn aroundâyou couldn't risk looking back at the waterâbut you could feel the intense, heavy weight of his gaze burning right through the fabric of your black tank top.
"Sleep, yeah?" JiYong murmured. The dangerous edge was completely gone, replaced by a quiet, surprisingly gentle sincerity that sent a strange warmth rushing under your skin. "Consider this as a free time for all your work tonight."
The relief that washed over you was so physical it made your shoulders drop. A free block of time. An official dispensation from the master of the grid. Your Type-A mind clicked into place, absorbing the directive with absolute gratitude.
"Yes, sir," you whispered.
You stepped out into the cool hallway, pulling the door shut behind you until it clicked into its frame with a perfect, clean snap.
The hallway felt quiet, the clinical white walls wrapping around you like a sanctuary as you crossed over to the door he had indicated. When you pushed it open, you found a bedroom that matched the rest of the penthouseâimpeccably minimal, entirely symmetrical, and profoundly quiet. A massive bed sat right in the center, dressed in crisp, stark white linens pulled so taut there wasn't a single wrinkle in sight.
You slid under the heavy covers, the cool, high-end cotton instantly molding to your body. It smelled faintly of the same lavender and expensive cologne that filled his bathroom.
For the first time in a week, the frantic counting in your head stopped. Your fingers lay relaxed against the sheets, the fresh bandage on your thumb a clean, orderly barrier. As your eyelids grew heavy, the last thing you heard before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep was the distant, faint sound of the water shifting in the other room, a gentle reminder that Kwon JiYong was entirely in control of the world outside your door.
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