The heavy oak doors didn't just open; they hit the stoppers with a crack that echoed through the office like a gunshot. I didn't wait for an invitation—I never do. My designer heels drummed a rhythm of pure defiance against the cold marble floor as I marched toward the desk.
Hoseok Kim didn't even bother to look up. He sat there enveloped in his own shadow, the silhouette of a man who thought he could rule the boardroom and the underworld with the same frozen precision.
"Can't you find any manners, or did you leave them in the gutter with your last business deal?"
His voice was dangerously low, a calculated snap meant to unnerve me. It didn't work. I leaned over his desk, invading his space until I forced him to meet my gaze.
"Manners are for people I respect, Hoseok," I threw the words back at him, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. "To me, you're just a thorn in my side that I haven't seen fit to pluck yet."
The silence that followed was suffocating. We stayed like that for five heavy minutes—a standoff between two tigers, each waiting for the other to blink. I refused to be the one who cracked.
"Why did you agree to the collaboration?" I finally demanded, my throat tight with irritation. "I'd rather partner with a donkey than work a single hour with you."
Hoseok stood up slowly, his tall frame casting a long, oppressive shadow over me. Suddenly, he slammed his palms onto the desk. The sound was so sharp and sudden I felt myself flinch despite my best efforts to remain stone-faced.
"You think I want this?" he whispered, his eyes turning pitch black. "Our parents are the ones playing matchmaker with our companies. But don't mistake my cooperation for kindness. Play your games with me, and I'll break every bone in your body myself."
I didn't back down. Even when he loomed over me like a shadow, I refused to let him see the tremor of fear that threatened to ripple through me. I had made a mistake directly accusing him, and I realized it the moment the words left my lips, but I'd be damned if I showed regret. I flinched when he slammed the desk, yes, but I straightened my blazer and met his dark gaze with a sharp, confident "Yes."
I turned on my heel and marched out of his office before he could get another word in.
Three hours later, my phone buzzed with a text that made my blood boil again.
Meet me at the Grand Hotel in 30 minutes. If you don't, you will deal with the consequences.
He didn't ask; he commanded. I hated him for it, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn't bluffing.
Thirty minutes later, I stepped into the Grand Hotel. The transition was jarring; the atmosphere here was a world away from the suffocating, high-tension war zone of Hoseok's office. Here, the air was curated—it smelled of expensive beeswax, polished mahogany, and a faint, cloying floral perfume that likely cost more than a month of an intern's salary. Soft, mindless jazz played in the background, the notes muffled by the thick, intricate weave of the Persian carpets. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline stretched out like a glittering carpet of gold and glass, but I was in no mood for the view.
I saw him immediately. He was sitting at a secluded table in the far corner, a glass of amber liquid untouched before him. Even from a distance, he looked as cold and untouchable as an ice sculpture. My heels clicked with sharp, rhythmic aggression against the marble stairs as I approached. Every step was a deliberate declaration of my annoyance, a drumbeat of my refusal to be intimidated. I didn't wait for him to stand or acknowledge me; I simply pulled out the chair and took the seat opposite him without a single word.
"I didn't know about the collaboration," he started. His voice was deceptively calm, a low baritone that seemed to vibrate through the table. He didn't look at me at first, his gaze fixed on the skyline. "My parents discussed it with yours without consulting me. Let me be clear: I have no intention of collaborating with you. I don't need the Do Group, and I certainly don't need the headache that comes with you."
I felt a surge of white-hot fury prickling under my skin. The audacity of this man was boundless. He was sitting there, acting like I was the one chasing him—like I was some desperate socialite begging for his attention. My grip tightened on the strap of my bag.
"The feeling is entirely mutual, Hoseok," I snapped, my voice trembling with the effort to keep my composure. I couldn't sit here for another second listening to his condescension. I stood up abruptly, the legs of my chair screeching against the floor, and slammed my designer purse onto the table. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet lounge. "Excuse me".
I turned to sweep past him, my vision slightly blurred by the heat of my frustration. I was so focused on making a exit that I became completely blind to my surroundings. I didn't see the small boy, no older than five, darting out from behind a decorative pillar until it was too late.
He collided with my legs with the force of a small cannonball.
"Whoa!" the child yelped, but I was the one losing my balance. My high heels betrayed me on the slick marble. I reached out blindly, grasping for a railing, a chair, anything to steady the world as it tilted violently on its axis. But there was nothing but empty air—until there wasn't.
I fell.
I didn't hit the cold floor. Instead, I landed on something firm, warm, and smelling faintly of expensive cedarwood and sharp ink. My breath hitched as I realized I was sitting straight in Hoseok's lap.
For a moment, the entire hotel went silent. I could feel the solid muscle of his thighs beneath me and the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my back. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My face was so close to his that I could see the dark, obsidian depth of his eyes. They weren't just cold anymore; they were intense, searching, and dangerously still.
I wanted to move. I needed to scream. But my body refused to obey. I was trapped in the gravity of his gaze, a liability caught in the arms of the man I hated the most .
"Done staring?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence like a serrated blade. There was a faint, mocking edge to his tone—a vibration I felt through his chest before I even heard the words. He didn't move to help me up, nor did he push me away. He simply sat there, watching me struggle with my own shock, as if my public humiliation was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day.
The spell broke, replaced instantly by a surge of white-hot resentment.
"I—" I started, but the words died in my throat, choked off by pure rage. My face was burning, a deep, traitorous crimson that had nothing to do with shyness and everything to do with the fact that I was currently a spectacle in the middle of the Grand Hotel. I scrambled off his lap with a frantic, uncoordinated desperation, my heels skidding on the polished marble as I fought to regain my footing. Every second I had spent touched by him felt like a brand on my skin, an insult to my pride.
"It was an accident," I hissed, my voice low and trembling with the sheer force of my fury. I glared down at him, my eyes narrowed into slits, wanting nothing more than to slap that smug, untouchable look off his face. I didn't wait to see if he believed me. I didn't wait for his next cold insult or the inevitable judgment I knew was coming.
I grabbed my purse from the table with a jerk so violent the metal chain clattered against the wood, and I practically marched toward the women's restroom. I kept my back rigid, my head held high despite the fact that my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I needed to hide. I needed to get away from the suffocating weight of his gaze before I lost my temper completely and caused a scene that even my father's PR team couldn't fix.
I burst into the restroom, the heavy door swinging shut behind me with a satisfying thud. I leaned over the sink, my hands trembling as I gripped the cold porcelain.
How dare he? I stared at the stranger in the mirror. My hair was slightly mussed, and my eyes were wide, flashing with a mix of raw humiliation and a burning, singular hatred. I looked like a woman who had been pushed to her limit, and in that moment, I knew I would never forgive him for making me feel this small.
From whose side you are Do-dohee or Hoseok? Comment below.
And also tell me how you felt about that lap moment?
🔥 = I loved the tension.
💀= I am dying of embarrassment for her .
Comment down.