The world had not forgotten Kang Jisoo.
Even as summer rain washed Seoul's streets clean, his name clung to headlines, whispered in cafés, scrawled across forums. Chairman Kang. The fallen Alpha. The scandal of the year. His once unshakable empire stood cracked, yet somehow unbroken, as if held together by pride alone.
But Jisoo's pride was not what it used to be.
The penthouse was silent, too silent. Curtains drawn, lights dimmed, the city outside little more than a muted hum. Jisoo sat at the dining table, untouched tea cooling in front of him, staring at the swirling steam as if it might give him answers.
Sleep had become a stranger. He woke with fevers, restless and trembling, blankets scattered as if something inside him couldn't be still. Instinct clawed at the edges of his composure. His suppressants dulled the edge, but lately, even they felt… weak.
He would never admit that to anyone. Especially not to Minjae.
The sound of the front door clicking open broke the stillness. Footsteps—calm, confident—crossed the marble floor. Jisoo didn't look up. He didn't need to.
"You didn't eat again." Minjae's voice was low, matter-of-fact.
"I wasn't hungry."
"You said that yesterday. And the day before."
Jisoo's jaw tightened. "You're my assistant, not my nanny."
"Then it's convenient," Minjae replied easily, setting a takeout bag on the table. "Because I'm good at both."
Jisoo finally looked up, irritation sparking. Minjae stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, tie loosened, his dark hair slightly mussed from the rain. He carried himself like someone who owned the room—not like someone who worked for him.
"You should learn boundaries," Jisoo said coldly.
Minjae leaned closer, resting one hand on the back of Jisoo's chair, invading his space with calculated ease. "Funny, because you look like you'd fall apart without me."
Jisoo turned away sharply, but not before the faintest tremor betrayed him. He hated how Minjae could see through every mask, how he pressed and pressed until something cracked.
"Eat," Minjae ordered softly, placing chopsticks in his hand. His tone was not a request.
Jisoo wanted to resist. Wanted to snap back. But his stomach twisted, betraying him further. He lowered his eyes and picked up a bite of food.
Minjae smirked, satisfied, before straightening. "Good."
The silence between them was thick, charged. Suggestive in a way that made Jisoo's pulse race, though he refused to acknowledge it.
Later, as they prepared for a late-night board meeting, the tension only sharpened.
Jisoo stood before the mirror, adjusting his suit jacket, his reflection cold and impeccable. But his hands wouldn't stop trembling. He cursed under his breath, trying to knot his tie with precision, only to fumble.
"Move."
Minjae appeared behind him, deft fingers brushing his away. Jisoo stiffened as Minjae adjusted the tie, tugging it snug against his throat. The closeness was unbearable—the warmth of his breath at his ear, the faint smirk reflected in the mirror.
"You should relax," Minjae murmured. "You're supposed to look untouchable."
"I am untouchable," Jisoo snapped.
"Mm." Minjae smoothed the knot with slow precision, his fingers lingering a beat too long against Jisoo's chest. "Keep telling yourself that."
Jisoo's breath caught. Their eyes met in the mirror—sharp, unyielding, but with something unspoken simmering beneath. He broke the gaze first, stepping away abruptly.
"Let's go."
The boardroom was colder than usual. Whispers slid across the table like blades. Jisoo held himself tall, shoulders squared, voice steady as he addressed numbers, forecasts, projections. The CEO mask fit him still, but uneasily.
Every so often, Minjae leaned close to whisper a detail in his ear, his presence too near, too heavy, reminding Jisoo of the night his mask shattered.
And every so often, Jisoo caught a board member's gaze lingering too long, suspicion gleaming.
They could all smell it—the faint sweetness that leaked past his suppressants, no longer as perfectly masked.
The meeting ended with polite bows, but the weight of speculation clung like smoke.
Back in the car, Jisoo pressed his forehead to the cool glass, exhaustion settling into his bones.
"They're waiting for you to fall," Minjae said simply, typing on his phone. "And they'll keep waiting until I break them first."
"You?" Jisoo scoffed weakly. "You're still just my assistant."
Minjae looked up, eyes glinting with amusement. "You don't really believe that anymore, do you?"
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Jisoo couldn't answer.
Because no matter how much his pride screamed, his body knew the truth.
And Minjae knew it too.
That night, the storm returned. Rain lashed against the windows as Jisoo lay in bed, tossing and turning, sheets damp with restless sweat. His body ached with something unnameable, instincts scratching at the edges of his control.
He startled when the bedroom door opened.
Minjae leaned against the frame, shirt half-unbuttoned, casual in a way that made Jisoo's throat dry.
"You're restless," Minjae said, stepping inside.
"Get out."
Minjae smirked faintly, crossing the room. "You were tossing so much I could hear it from the other room."
"I said—"
But Minjae was already pulling back the covers, sliding onto the mattress beside him with casual arrogance. Jisoo froze, back rigid.
"What are you—"
"Relax." Minjae stretched out, arms behind his head, taking up too much space. "It's storming. You hate storms."
Jisoo's heart pounded. "I don't—"
"You do." Minjae's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and knowing. "Sleep. I'll be here."
Jisoo turned away, cheeks burning. He hated it. Hated how easily Minjae inserted himself into every corner of his life.
And yet, as the storm raged, his trembling eased. His eyes grew heavy.
And for the first time in weeks, Jisoo slept.