I didn't walk into an opportunity.
I walked into a trap.
The thought refuses to leave.
It sits heavy in my chest while the ceremony dissolves into polite noise. Applause fades into conversations.
Conversations blur into movement. Glasses clink. People smile. The world resumes like nothing inside me has just violently derailed.
I remain standing.
Heart completely out of control.
Not racing — that would be too mild.
It is slamming, jumping, misfiring like it's trying to break out of my ribs. My mouth is dry. My fingers still clutch the champagne glass I forgot to put down.
Breathe.
Just breathe, Seo Jiah.
This is work.
This is your career.
This is not high school.
"Ms. Seo."
I flinch.
Actually flinch.
My entire body snaps back to the present, pulse spiking again. The voice is close, firm, carrying the familiar authority of management. I turn too quickly, nearly colliding with a passing staff member.
Director Park stands a few steps away.
Except he is not alone.
My stomach drops instantly.
Yu Enhyeok stands beside him.
Up close.
Not framed by stage lights or flashing cameras, but standing right there in a perfectly cut black suit that somehow makes him look even taller, even more impossible. The crowd bends subtly around him, people adjusting their paths without thinking.
Power has a shape.
Apparently, it looks exactly like this.
"Ah, Ms. Seo," Director Park says, smiling with that slightly nervous politeness people use around executives. "Come here for a moment."
My legs feel strange.
Not weak.
Just… unreliable.
I force them forward anyway, heels clicking against marble far louder than they have any right to be. Every step feels painfully noticeable, like the entire hall can hear my pulse.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
And then I'm standing in front of him.
Yu Enhyeok.
No distance.
No stage.
No protective illusions.
He looks exactly the same.
And absolutely not the same at all.
Sharper jawline. Cleaner lines. Lean, controlled build hidden beneath expensive fabric. The faint scent of something subtle and unfamiliar — not cologne-heavy, just… him.
And that mole.
That stupid, unfair mole under his lower lip.
I used to stare at it during class.
Now it feels almost criminal.
Director Park clears his throat.
"Sir, this is your secretary. Ms. Seo Jiah."
Silence.
Enhyeok's gaze shifts to me.
Not startled. Not curious.
Just steady.
Coldly steady.
For a second, I forget how to stand properly. His eyes hold mine with the same quiet intensity I remember, except there is something harder there now. Something distant. Something that makes my spine instinctively straighten.
He studies my face.
No visible reaction.
Then —
"Oh."
That's it.
Just one word.
Flat. Unreadable. Empty.
Both Director Park and I freeze.
Because what the hell kind of response is that?
No acknowledgment. No greeting. No recognition. Nothing. Just a detached syllable that lands between us like a door quietly shutting.
Heat creeps up my neck.
Is he serious right now?
Before the awkwardness can fully suffocate the air, another presence joins us.
Chairman Yu Gichan.
Conversations nearby soften instantly, as if sound itself respects hierarchy. Chairman Yu's expression remains calm, assessing, eyes moving briefly to me before settling on Enhyeok.
"Enhyeok."
His voice is quiet but absolute.
Enhyeok turns slightly. "Yes."
No hesitation. No casualness.
Chairman Yu speaks to him in low tones, something about schedules, press obligations, a board meeting. I barely register the words. My brain is too busy trying to process the fact that Yu Enhyeok just looked at me like I'm a stranger.
A stranger.
After everything.
Chairman Yu finishes. Enhyeok nods once.
"Understood."
Then his attention shifts back to Director Park.
"Mr. Park, take me to the executive office."
My heart stutters.
That's my role.
That is literally my job.
I open my mouth automatically. "I will lead you, sir—"
Enhyeok's eyes flick to Director Park.
Not to me.
To him.
"Mr. Park."
His voice is calm.
Dead calm.
"Didn't you hear what I said?"
The words are not loud.
They don't need to be.
Director Park stiffens immediately. "Y–Yes, sir. Of course. Right this way, sir."
I stop talking.
Because there is absolutely nothing to say.
Because Enhyeok does not even glance at me.
Not once.
He simply turns, falling into step beside Director Park, long strides unhurried and precise. Staff members part instinctively. Executives straighten as he passes.
And I remain standing there like an idiot.
Like I don't exist.
A strange, burning mix of emotions crashes into my chest.
Shock. Embarrassment. Something dangerously close to anger.
Did he just—
Wow.
Wow.
For years, I imagine seeing him again with complicated emotions, unresolved tension, maybe even bitterness. I prepare for awkwardness, for discomfort, for anything remotely human.
Not this.
Not being dismissed like a piece of furniture.
My fingers curl tightly at my sides.
Are you kidding me, Yu Enhyeok?
Sadness hits next.
Sharp. Annoying. Completely unwelcome.
Because beneath the anger, beneath the professional humiliation, something softer and far more pathetic twists painfully inside me.
He really doesn't care.
Or worse.
He's pretending not to.
I watch his back disappear into the private corridor leading to the executive wing. Black suit. Straight shoulders. Not a single backward glance.
Not even basic courtesy.
My chest tightens.
Fine.
Fine.
That's how he wants to play this?
Perfect.
Except one brutal, unavoidable fact settles coldly into my stomach as I stand alone in the glittering hall of Daeyeon Holdings, pulse still refusing to calm.
Whether he looks at me or not…
Whether he acknowledges me or not…
Yu Enhyeok is still my CEO.
And starting tomorrow morning —
I have to walk into his office.
I stand there for exactly three seconds after they leave.
Three useless, stunned seconds.
Then my brain finally restarts.
Right.
Secretary.
His secretary.
I lower the abandoned champagne glass onto the nearest table with hands that don't feel entirely stable. My heels pivot sharply against the marble, pulse still hammering like it has lost all sense of professionalism.
This is my job.
Avoiding him is not an option.
Running away is not an option.
So I walk.
Fast.
Not quite running, but close enough that a passing employee glances at me before quickly looking away. The private corridor to the executive wing stretches ahead, quiet and intimidating, the noise of the hall fading behind every step.
By the time I reach the elevator lobby, the doors are still open.
Director Park stands inside.
Yu Enhyeok stands behind him.
Of course he does.
I step in without speaking, trying — and failing — to ignore the violent awareness crashing through my body. The doors slide shut with a soft, final sound that feels far too dramatic for a piece of machinery.
Silence immediately fills the space.
Thick. Pressurized.
I stand at the front.
They stand behind me.
And suddenly I am hyper-aware of everything.
The confined air. The faint hum of movement. The fact that Yu Enhyeok is standing less than an arm's length away. I can't see him, but I can feel him — a presence that presses against my spine without a single touch.
God, this is uncomfortable.
My shoulders stiffen instinctively.
Don't think.
Don't remember.
Don't—
The elevator climbs smoothly, numbers lighting up one by one. No one speaks. Director Park maintains rigid posture like a man acutely aware of hierarchy. I stare straight ahead at my own reflection in the polished steel doors.
You look insane.
Calm down.
The elevator stops.
Executive floor.
The doors open to a space that doesn't even feel like part of the same building. The air is quieter here, heavier somehow. The lighting softer, colder. Marble, glass, dark finishes — everything clean, sharp, aggressively expensive.
No staff desks.
No movement.
No noise.
This floor does not welcome people.
Director Park steps out first, then immediately stops near the entrance. He bows slightly, posture respectful, almost apologetic.
"I cannot walk inside, sir."
Of course he can't.
Everyone knows this.
Access here is restricted to a microscopic circle of authority. Even directors stop at the threshold. The executive zone belongs to a different level of existence.
Enhyeok nods once.
No wasted reaction.
Then he walks forward.
And now it's just him and me.
My pulse kicks violently again.
I follow.
One step behind, heels muted by thick carpeting that swallows sound. The corridor stretches long and silent, walls lined with minimalist art and glass panels reflecting soft light. Every detail screams power without trying.
He doesn't look back.
Doesn't slow.
Doesn't acknowledge my presence at all.
We reach a set of massive double doors.
His office.
He stops.
For the first time since leaving the elevator, Yu Enhyeok turns his head slightly. Not fully toward me. Just enough that his voice reaches me clearly.
"Do I have to open this?"
My brain short-circuits.
What?
Ah.
Ah, shit.
Protocol.
Door.
Secretary.
"Ah — no," I say too quickly, heat rushing to my face. "I will."
Smooth, Jiah. Very smooth.
I step forward, mentally cursing myself. Of course I should have moved first. Of course this is basic executive etiquette. My fingers curl around the handle, cool metal grounding me for half a second before I pull the door open.
He walks in without a word.
No hesitation.
No glance.
The office is… absurd.
Wide. Immaculate. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the far wall, Seoul's skyline spilling beneath a hazy night glow. Dark tones. Clean lines. A space designed not for comfort, but for dominance.
And at the center —
That chair.
Large. Black. Commanding.
Yu Enhyeok crosses the room with unhurried steps and sits, movements fluid, perfectly at ease like he has occupied this space his entire life. The image hits strangely hard.
He fits here.
Too well.
The door clicks shut behind me.
Now it's silent.
Just the two of us.
No executives. No directors. No witnesses.
My throat tightens.
This is it.
This is the moment normal humans would address the extremely obvious elephant in the room. Years of history, unresolved tension, a reunion so violently unexpected it still feels unreal.
I swallow.
Force words past the dryness in my mouth.
"Enhyeok, I really didn't expect you to be the Daeyeon heir and—"
"What's your name again?"
The sentence dies instantly.
My brain blanks.
I stare at him.
"What?"
Enhyeok's gaze lifts slowly from the documents resting on his desk. His expression remains completely neutral, eyes sharp, unreadable, disturbingly calm.
Not teasing.
Not joking.
Just waiting.
"Your name," he says evenly. "What is it?"
Something cold spreads through my chest.
This isn't happening.
"It's… Seo Jiah."
A beat of silence.
Then —
"Ms. Seo Jiah."
His tone is precise. Distant. Professional to the point of brutality.
"Do you know me?"
My heart stops.
Actually stops.
Because what kind of question is that?
Because what kind of game is this?
I stand there, mind racing violently. Yes? No? What is the correct answer? What does he want me to say? What does he already know?
Cowardice wins.
"…No."
The word tastes awful.
Enhyeok watches me.
No visible reaction.
"Do you know who I am to you?"
My fingers curl tightly at my sides.
This feels wrong.
Everything about this feels wrong.
"You are my boss."
The air shifts.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
Enhyeok leans back slightly in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. There is something dangerously sharp in his gaze now, something that makes my stomach tighten without permission.
"Is your protocol," he asks calmly, "or whatever training you received… not teach you how to address your superiors properly?"
The words land like ice water.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
Just cutting.
And for the first time since seeing him on that stage, a deeply unsettling thought forces its way into my mind, heavy and impossible to ignore.
Is this really Yu Enhyeok…
…or just someone wearing his face?