The elevator dinged like it was laughing at me.
Thirty-third floor. Kang Group headquarters. Monday, 8:47 a.m. I, Han Hyemi, twenty-seven years old, was about to become personal assistant to the devil in a Tom Ford suit.
I checked my reflection one last time in the mirrored wall: hair in a perfect low bun, nude lipstick on point, pencil skirt hugging just enough to scream "professional" without screaming "trying too hard." Fake it till you make it, right?
Wrong.
The second the elevator doors slid open, the entire executive floor turned to stare. Phones lowered. Coffee cups froze halfway to lips. Someone actually whispered, "That's her… the sacrificial lamb."
Great. My reputation preceded me, and I hadn't even opened my mouth yet.
I walked straight to the glass office at the end of the hallway like I belonged there. Heels clicking, chin up, heart doing the Macarena.
His assistant—poor woman looked like she hadn't slept since 2019—jumped from her seat. "Miss Han! You're early. The CEO is—"
"Already waiting and already annoyed. I know the drill." I flashed my sweetest smile. "Don't worry, unnie. I brought armor."
She didn't look convinced.
I pushed open the heavy door without knocking (first power move of the day) and stepped into the ice kingdom.
Kang Dae-Hyun was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, back to me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a black coffee like it was his only friend in the world. The morning sun outlined him perfectly: tall, stupidly broad shoulders, hair that probably cost more to cut than my rent.
He didn't turn around.
"You're three minutes late," he said, voice low, cold, expensive.
I glanced at my watch. 8:58 a.m. "Actually, I'm two minutes early. Your clock is fast, sir."
He turned then. Slowly. Like a villain in a drama who knows the camera loves him.
And yeah, okay, the rumors didn't do him justice. Sharp jaw, darker eyes, the kind of face that made you forget your own name for a second. Then he opened his mouth and ruined everything.
"Did I ask for your opinion on my clock, Miss Han?"
"No, sir. You asked for coffee." I lifted the second cup in my hand—iced Americano, no sugar, because apparently Satan doesn't believe in joy. "Here. Black, bitter, just like your personality."
Dead silence.
I swear even the air-conditioning stopped.
Then one perfectly arched eyebrow went up. "Put it on the desk. And lose the attitude before I fire you on day one."
I walked forward, placed the cup down, and smiled wider. "You can't fire me. HR forced me on you. Something about 'no one else willing to deal with your temper.' Their words, not mine."
His eyes narrowed. "You're enjoying this."
"A little bit, yeah."
He stepped closer—way closer than necessary—and suddenly the room felt ten times smaller. Expensive cologne and danger wrapped in a suit.
"Let me make one thing clear," he said, voice dropping. "I don't like you. I didn't ask for you. I don't want you. You're here because the board thinks I work people too hard. Congratulations. You're my new babysitter."
I tilted my head. "And you're my new headache. We're both suffering. See? Common ground already."
He stared at me like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or throw me out the window.
I decided to push one more button.
"Also, your tie is crooked."
It wasn't. It was perfect. But watching him glance down instinctively? Priceless.
He caught himself, glared harder. "Schedule. Now."
"Yes, sir." I pulled out my tablet, all business again. "9:15, strategy meeting with the Japanese investors. 10:30, finance review. 12:00, lunch with—"
"I don't eat lunch."
"Shocker."
"Did you just—"
"No, sir. Just reading the schedule out loud. You're welcome."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get out."
"Gladly." I turned on my heel, then paused at the door. "Oh, one more thing. If you're going to be a jerk all day, at least be a consistent jerk. It helps with planning."
The door closed behind me before he could reply.
Outside, his assistant was waiting with wide eyes. "Are you… alive?"
"For now." I grinned. "But the day is young."
She handed me a stack of files thicker than my thigh. "Welcome to hell. Population: you."
I took the files, already plotting how to survive this man.
What Kang Dae-Hyun didn't know yet? I wasn't just his new assistant. I was chaos in heels. And I played to win.
Later that afternoon – Hyemi's real life
I kicked off my heels the second the apartment door slammed shut, hair already falling out of its bun like it was escaping prison.
"Freedom!" I yelled, collapsing face-first onto the couch.
My phone exploded immediately.
Girlie Group Chat: The Secret Keepers
Ara 🧚♀️: Alive??? Seoyeon 👠: Spill. Did he fire you? Nari 📢: I heard he made his last assistant cry in the elevator Jiwon 🧸: Be nice, girls. Hyemi-ya, are you okay? Me: I called him Satan to his face. He didn't die. I didn't die. We're both disappointed.
Nari sent a screaming emoji. Seoyeon: Queen behavior 👑 Ara: …I give it two weeks before one of you commits murder Me: Bet on me. I'm petty.
I rolled over, staring at the ceiling. My feet hurt, my pride was bruised, but weirdly? I was smiling.
Because Kang Dae-Hyun might be ice. But I was fire. And fire melts ice eventually.