Prologue
A pleasant tension enveloped Sejeong’s body. She brushed away any dust that might have clung to her tight pencil skirt, which reached down to her knees.
After checking that there were no runs in her stockings, she took out a small hand mirror from her suit jacket pocket. A woman with long, straight hair tied up so tightly that her eyes appeared slightly raised stared back at her with tense eyes.
You can do it.
Sejeong glanced at the closed conference room door and muttered to herself as if reciting a spell.
The Korean branch of the global beverage brand N, a subsidiary of the advertising agency she worked for, had signed a contract to shoot four commercials this year. The annual advertising budget was 30 billion won—enough to place the company among the top five advertisers.
The problem lay in the attitude of the marketing team, which made things difficult for the agencies, much like any advertiser with a hefty budget.
Due to the nature of advertising agencies, advertisers were essentially the bosses. It was the job of planning team AEs (Account Executives) like Sejeong to meet their demands and produce the best results.
The saying that the planning team is the “flower of the advertising world” was an empty promise; in reality, it was a department that had to manage every aspect of advertising production, one painstaking detail at a time.
Her days were grueling: emailing plans she had created the night before to the advertiser, receiving feedback by lunchtime, shortening her break to incorporate revisions, sending updates, and, inevitably, revising again right before leaving the office.
When she once worked on an advertisement featuring a famous Hollywood star, the advertiser requested a specific fan for the model just an hour before a press conference. Sejeong had to ride on the back of a quick-service motorcycle all the way to Insadong to procure it.
Among all her clients, N Company was the worst. Three months ago, when N first selected an advertising agency in Korea, the competition had been fierce. With N’s financial power and reputation, agencies knew that securing a contract with them often led to long-term partnerships.
Had they known more about the advertiser beforehand, N would have been blacklisted. Frequent, unannounced meetings at the advertiser’s office were the least of their troubles.
Earlier this year, N announced that they would dispatch a marketing executive—recently returned from overseas—to oversee operations directly. The executive was to sit in the agency’s office and monitor their work.
When Sejeong and her team first heard the news, they were shocked. But money talks. In the end, the decision was made, and a desk for the executive was set up in the conference room of Planning Team 2, where Sejeong worked.
No one welcomed this reality. The other teams could barely hide their sympathy for Sejeong’s team, who had to endure the advertiser’s presence for six long months.
Today marked the executive’s first day. After lunch with the executive director in charge of the entire planning team, the new advertising director had already arrived at the office.
Now, it was Sejeong’s turn to greet him. Her manager was already in the conference room.
Sejeong adjusted her expression, determined to make a strong impression. She knew her actions could set the tone for the next six months. With a deep breath and a heavy sense of responsibility, she opened the conference room door.
The large office chair hastily brought in to welcome the new advertising director was turned away, facing the window. Manager Park, who was nodding deferentially, motioned for Sejeong to approach.
“Sir, this is Deputy Manager Ahn Sejeong. She’s a formidable talent—joined the company right after graduation and rose to this position in just five years. She’s a workaholic who’s practically married to the company. What are you doing, Sejeong? Say hello.”
Sejeong’s neck grew hot at the grand introduction. She forced a businesslike smile and stepped forward.
“The meeting with the production team ran longer than expected, so I’m late in greeting you. Since I’ll be spending the most time at the company, you might get tired of seeing me. I’m Ahn Sejeong. I look forward to working with you.”
A soft laugh came from the man on the chair, who was still facing the window.
“You say you spend the most time at the office. A workaholic. But just because you work long hours doesn’t mean you’re good at it. Time and performance aren’t always proportional.”
The light tone of his voice didn’t mask the subtle jab. Sejeong’s forehead creased slightly, though she quickly blinked away her irritation.
“Deputy Manager Ahn is highly capable,” Manager Park interjected nervously. “Advertisers and media outlets trust her implicitly—”
“I’m well aware of her capabilities,” the man interrupted, cutting him off. “But she still seems lacking in self-promotion compared to her accomplishments.”
Sejeong’s fists clenched involuntarily. The man had an uncanny ability to deliver compliments that left the recipient uneasy.
“If you were promoted to deputy manager in a time when others barely make assistant manager, you must be exceptional, right?”
“Do Ji-hoon…”
The name escaped her lips before she could stop herself.
The chair swiveled around, revealing a face she hadn’t seen in six years.
“I’m honored you remember me, Ms. Ahn,” he said with a smirk, placing a nameplate on the desk: Do Ji-hoon.
“Well, I suppose we don’t need formal introductions.”
Ji-hoon, who stood before her after six years, looked the same as before. His sharp eyebrows, slanted eyes, high nose, and slightly long lips were all unchanged. But there was something different about him now. The arrogance he once wore so openly had been replaced with a calm, composed confidence. He seemed like a different person—one who had grown from a young, brash man into someone who exuded control and poise.
Sejeong inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. She kept her lips tightly shut, her breath catching in her chest as Ji-hoon looked at her and asked in a tone that was unexpectedly warm,
“What’s wrong, Sejeong?”
Manager Park glanced between them with confusion, noticing the sudden familiarity in Ji-hoon’s voice. Sejeong bit her lip and, in a low voice, responded,
“… Director Do Ji-hoon.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just worried because you didn’t look well.”
Ji-hoon smiled calmly, and Sejeong’s heart began to race. Her mind felt foggy, her thoughts scattered.
But this was her company. She couldn’t lose control now. She couldn’t allow herself to falter.
“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Ji-hoon continued, his expression unreadable. He leaned back on his chair, his gaze never leaving her. The intensity of his stare made Sejeong feel exposed, as if he could see through her.
Despite the cool air conditioning in the room, Sejeong’s palms were sweating. She cleared her throat and straightened her posture, trying to regain her composure.
Ji-hoon’s gaze remained fixed on her, his smile never fading. It was a smile that felt too familiar, too dangerous.
“Is something wrong, Sejeong?” he asked again, his voice laced with a teasing warmth.
Sejeong couldn’t help but feel the weight of his words, the way they hung in the air between them. She knew that if she allowed herself to react, it would only show weakness.
She forced herself to speak, her voice low but clear.
“I just thought that our manager might be more embarrassed if he didn’t know that the director and I were college classmates.”
Manager Park’s eyes widened in shock, and he glanced nervously at Ji-hoon. Ji-hoon, however, didn’t seem bothered. He tapped his temple with his long fingers and nodded in acknowledgment.
“Ah, I see. Now that you know, can I treat you as comfortably as I used to?”
Sejeong’s heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something unsettling in his tone, something that made her feel exposed. His languid voice seemed to carry an almost sensual undertone, and it made her skin prickle.
“Director…” she started, but Ji-hoon interrupted her with a soft chuckle.
“I’m just joking. We have to distinguish between public and private life.”
He straightened on his chair, his demeanor shifting as he turned his attention to Manager Park. His voice became harder, more commanding.
“Is there anything else you need to report, or is there someone else I need to meet with?”
Manager Park, visibly relieved to move on, shook his head quickly.
“That’s all.”
“Then send the agenda to me and let’s analyze the strategy team’s plan. We’ll have a meeting tomorrow.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Manager Park bowed his head and quickly exited the room, eager to escape the tension. Sejeong followed suit, but as she turned to leave, Ji-hoon’s voice stopped her.
“Miss Ahn, please stay for a moment.”
Sejeong froze, her back stiffening. She glanced at Manager Park, who motioned for her to go. She turned slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.
Ji-hoon was leaning back on his chair, elbows resting on the armrests, his eyes fixed on her. He didn’t speak immediately, but his gaze was unwavering, almost predatory.
Sejeong’s throat went dry, and her pulse quickened. The polite smile she had worn earlier was long gone, replaced by a tense frown. Her mind was racing, but she couldn’t find the words to speak.
The years had passed, but nothing had changed between them. Ji-hoon still had the same effect on her.
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath.
How can this be?
Sejeong had never expected to face him like this. She had known he would be here today, but she hadn’t anticipated the shock of seeing him again—especially not in this context.
She had always been confident in her skills. She knew the advertising industry, and she knew how to handle difficult clients. But Ji-hoon wasn’t just any client. He was someone who had once held power over her, and now, even after all these years, that power was still there, lurking beneath the surface.
Sejeong looked at him, her eyes wide, her lips pressed together.
Ji-hoon, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the tension. His gaze was steady, his smile almost mocking.
“Sejeong-ah,” he said softly, his voice with a low murmur.
Sejeong’s breath caught in her throat. She had always known that Ji-hoon was like a time bomb—dangerous, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.
The room seemed to close in on her as she stood there, frozen. The familiar ticking of the large clock on the wall only added to the suffocating atmosphere.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Sejeong could feel her heart racing, each beat louder than the last. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, than she did in that moment.
Ji-hoon tilted his head slightly, studying her with an almost lazy expression.
“Why have you been looking at me with such a sex-seeking expression all this time?”
Sejeong’s eyes snapped shut, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the weight of his words, the way they cut through her defenses.
The beast that had once been hidden beneath a polite exterior was now grinning at her, with its sharp fangs exposed.
Her peaceful daily life had been turned upside down in an instant.
It felt as if someone had hit her hard on the back of her head.
—
