Title: The Scrutiny
Ms. Kim didn't give me time to panic. The ink was still wet on the contract—my six-month chain to Kang Bok Soo—when she marched me straight back to the StarRise studio wing.
"He's waiting," she muttered, pushing me through a door. "Remember the rules: you are invisible unless he speaks to you, and his needs come first."
I stepped inside. The room was blindingly bright, filled with models, stylists, and photographers. And right in the center, lounging on a velvet chair like he owned the entire universe, was Kang Bok Soo.
He was even taller and more beautiful up close. His features were perfect, exactly what I had always dreamed of—but now, that perfection felt like a weapon aimed directly at my throat.
He wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking at me.
His stylist was fussing with his hair, but Kang Bok Soo didn't blink. His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, taking in my worn clothes, my tired eyes, and every inch of the figure I was so ashamed of. It was pure, freezing scrutiny.
"Who is this?" he asked the room, his voice a low, careless drawl.
Ms. Kim nudged me forward. "Sir, this is Peter Bella. Your new temporary assistant. She is here to handle your current… debt."
Kang Bok Soo's lips curved into the slightest smile—a predator's look, not a friendly one. It was the first sign of that non-verbal flirtation. It felt less like a greeting and more like a challenge. He didn't deny the "debt" part.
He spoke to his stylist without ever taking his eyes off me. "I'm thirsty. I want water. Specifically, the chilled French mineral water that only I drink."
It was a test. A small, humiliating task meant to show my place.
"Yes, Mr. Kang," I managed, my voice tight.
As I turned to leave, he spoke again, not to me, but to the room, though his eyes burned into my back. "And find me a scarf. Something silk, maybe red. This studio is too cold, don't you think?"
The studio was roasting. He was sending me on two separate, useless errands just to prove he could.
I found the rare water easily enough, but the silk scarf was another matter. I spent ten agonizing minutes running through the maze of the agency, the thought of my mother's illness clawing at my focus. I have to keep this job. I have to.
When I returned, breathless and slightly disheveled, Kang Bok Soo was standing, preparing for his next shot. I approached him, clutching the water and the expensive red scarf.
"Here is your water, Mr. Kang," I said, placing it on the table. "And the silk scarf."
He didn't acknowledge the water. He simply turned, his body impossibly close to mine. He reached out and took the scarf, letting the cool silk drag lightly against the back of my hand as he pulled it away.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, lingering there for a fraction of a second too long. He wasn't smiling with his mouth, but there was a flicker of something in his deep eyes—a possessive heat.
He lifted the scarf, and instead of handing it to the stylist, he brought it to his own nose, inhaling dramatically.
"It smells… like cheap anxiety," he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. Then, his eyes met mine, intense and daring. "Fix it."
My face flushed hot. He wasn't talking about the scarf. He was talking about me. The humiliation was staggering, but beneath it, the raw, unwanted attraction pulsed. He knew exactly what he was doing, forcing me into this intimate, hostile space.
This man is going to be the death of me.