Chapter 3: The 27th Floor Doesn't Know Yet
Rael POV
I thought the hardest part would be walking.
Wrong.
The hardest part is sitting at my cubicle on the 27th floor at 8:42 a.m., pretending my legs aren't trembling, pretending the collar of my shirt isn't hiding four fresh bruises shaped like Yoon Jaehyun's mouth.
Everyone else is hungover from the party. The marketing team is passing around painkillers and gossip about who hooked up with who. Someone's crying in the supply closet because her boyfriend proposed to someone else last night.
Nobody looks at me.
I'm invisible again. Just the quiet intern who brings coffee and fixes Excel sheets.
Except now I have a black card burning a hole in my wallet, a new phone (delivered to my apartment at 6 a.m. with only one contact saved: "J") and an ache between my thighs that flares every time I shift in my chair.
My old phone is dead in my drawer. Jaehyun took it last night, replaced it without asking. Said the camera on mine was "unacceptable."
I haven't even told my mom I'm alive.
At 10:07 a.m. the entire floor gets an email.
Subject: Temporary Department Transfer
From: Executive Secretariat
Effective immediately, Marketing Intern Kang Rael is reassigned to the Office of the Executive Director, 42nd floor. Report at 13:00. Bring nothing.
The room goes dead quiet.
Twenty heads swivel toward me like I just grew a second head.
Minji from planning actually gasps. "Rael… did you sleep with someone?"
If only she knew.
I want to die.
Instead I pack my laptop with shaking hands while they whisper.
"Must've impressed Director Yoon with the Q4 deck."
"No way. He doesn't even read intern reports."
"Maybe his grandfather picked him for the elite program?"
"Poor kid. He's gonna get eaten alive up there."
They have no idea.
At 12:58 p.m. I'm back in the east elevator.
This time I have the black card. I swipe it. The button for 42 lights up like it's been waiting for me.
The ride feels longer today.
The doors open straight into a private reception area I didn't see last night. A woman in her forties, sharp suit, sharper eyes, stands waiting.
"Mr. Kang. Secretary Kim. Follow me."
She doesn't smile. Doesn't offer coffee. Just turns and walks.
I trail behind her through frosted glass corridors until we reach a desk the size of my old apartment. Sleek monitor, single white orchid, nameplate already engraved:
KANG RAEL
Special Assistant to Executive Director Yoon Jaehyun
My stomach drops.
Secretary Kim drops a folder the size of a phone book in front of me.
"NDA, amended contract, health insurance upgrade, housing allowance forms, and a credit card linked to the director's personal account. Sign everything in triplicate. Do not leave this desk until 5 p.m. The director is in meetings until then."
She leaves.
I'm alone with a pen and the rest of my life.
I sign until my wrist hurts.
At 5:03 p.m. the intercom crackles.
"Coffee. My office. Now."
His voice through the speaker is enough to make my body remember last night in 4K.
I brew it exactly how he showed me this morning (two shots, no sugar, splash of oat milk) and carry it through the double doors.
He's standing at the window, on the phone in English, voice like ice. The city behind him is starting to light up.
He ends the call without saying goodbye, turns, and looks at me like he's been starving all day.
"Lock the door."
Click.
I barely set the cup down before he's on me (hands in my hair, mouth on my neck, walking me backward until my spine hits the glass).
"Missed you," he growls against my skin.
"It's been eight hours."
"Too long."
His fingers are already undoing my belt.
"Here?" I gasp.
"My building. My floor. My rules."
He drops to his knees.
The city watches through the one-way glass as Yoon Jaehyun, the untouchable heir, takes me apart on the 42nd floor with the same precision he uses to destroy competitors.
I come biting my own hand so the whole floor doesn't hear me scream his name.
After, he fixes my tie, smooths my hair, and kisses my forehead like I'm something precious.
"New rule," he says, voice soft now. "Every day at 5 p.m. you come here. Door locked. Mouth shut. Legs open."
I nod, still shaking.
He smiles (small, possessive, perfect).
"Good boy."
Then he goes back to his desk, opens his laptop, and starts typing like he didn't just ruin me against a window.
I float back to my desk on wobbly legs.
Secretary Kim glances up, eyes flicking to my swollen lips, the fresh mark peeking above my collar.
She doesn't say a word. Just slides a bottle of concealer across the desk.
Welcome to the 42nd floor, I guess.
I have a feeling I'm never leaving.