The drive from the fashion interview to the private terminal at the airport was agonizing. The SUV was luxurious and insulated, but it felt like a tiny, pressurized box filled with the volatile aftermath of my public failure.
Ms. Kim sat in the front, typing furiously, trying to control the damage from my eighteen million dollar mistake. Bok Soo and I were in the back, separated by barely a foot of space, yet miles of unspoken tension.
I was huddled against the window, my shame a bitter taste in my mouth. I couldn't look at him. I had ruined a major promotional event and forced the flawless Kang Bok Soo—a man pathologically obsessed with perfection—to publicly fumble his words and lie for me.
"I need to apologize, Mr. Kang," I whispered, my voice raw. "I will write a statement for the team. I was exhausted, I confused the currency—"
"Stop," he commanded, his voice sharp and low.
He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing my head to turn toward him. His eyes were dark, intense, and demanding.
"You don't apologize for being tired, Peter Bella," he said, his voice laced with the possessive anger I was starting to recognize. "You apologize for distracting me. You apologize for making me worry about your lack of self-care."
"I am sorry for making you lie," I whispered, the words filled with genuine remorse.
He released my chin, but his hand immediately slid to my shoulder, gripping it fiercely. "The lie is nothing. The lie is the air I breathe. But you are my anchor. If you collapse, I collapse."
He leaned toward me, his face close, his intensity terrifying. He wasn't looking at me with lust; he was looking at me with desperate, terrified need.
The exhaustion and the adrenaline of the day combined with the closeness of his perfect, demanding face finally broke me. I wanted to cry, to scream, to apologize for being such a failure.
Instead, he pulled me toward him with a strong, sudden force. He didn't kiss me. He simply tucked my head under his chin, pulling me tight against his expensive suit.
This was not steamy or sexual; it was deeply intimate and emotional. He was drawing comfort and strength from my stability, and he was offering me silent, absolute refuge from the chaos I had created.
I clung to him, inhaling the familiar, safe scent of his suit and his skin. My hands gripped the fabric of his jacket, needing the solidity of his body to keep from falling apart.
"Just hold still," he murmured into my hair, his voice low and ragged. "Let the lie settle. We share it now."
He reached up and began to stroke the back of my head, a slow, tender gesture that was completely out of character for the public idol. It was the touch of the anxious man who needed to feel the presence of his truth.
He pulled back slightly, holding me away just enough to look at me. His eyes were searching, vulnerable.
"You're not allowed to doubt your worth, Peter Bella," he whispered fiercely, his eyes tracing the line of my jaw. "Not after tonight. I risked everything to protect you. Do you understand what that means?"
I did. It meant that his possessive attraction had deepened into a full, emotional commitment. He valued my truth, and my presence, more than his public perfection.
"Yes, Bok Soo," I replied, the name a silent promise of my complete devotion.
He nodded once, satisfied. He released me as the car slowed, pulling back into his cold, professional shell just as the tinted window lowered to reveal the private jet waiting on the tarmac.
"We leave for Seoul now," he commanded, adjusting his tie. "You will sleep the entire flight. You need to be ready to work immediately when we land."
He opened the door and stepped out, the flawless idol once again. But as he turned to face the waiting team, his hand subtly brushed the back of my neck—a final, possessive, invisible reminder that the woman climbing out of the car was not just his assistant, but his secret, non-negotiable anchor.