Stopping tomorrow morning’s inauguration was nearly impossible, so tonight, no matter what, he had to find a way to close the distance between himself and Cha Iheon. That was the only way to prepare for whatever situation might unfold tomorrow.
Instead of taking the books out of the paper bag, Heemin placed them in a corner of the living room. Then, he approached Secretary Jung, who stood motionless with a blank expression, and spoke up.
"Secretary Jung."
"Yes. Please speak."
"Are you working overtime again today because of me?"
"No."
His sisters, who worked at companies, didn’t just dislike overtime—they outright despised it. Who in their right mind would willingly work beyond their designated hours? But Secretary Jung seemed to follow Cha Iheon’s orders 24/7 without even the slightest hint of personal preference. There was no doubt he was a truly devoted subordinate.
"How much do you get paid per month, Secretary Jung?"
Since he was a man of few words, Heemin threw out a question he had been curious about for a while, hoping to continue the conversation.
"My salary, sir?"
"Yes."
"......."
Maybe he had been too direct. Seeing the fleeting flicker of discomfort in Secretary Jung’s expression, Heemin was about to add, I just wondered if the boss was overworking you, but before he could, Secretary Jung opened his mouth.
"He takes care of me well."
"Oh. I see."
So the rewards were generous enough to make working around the clock worthwhile. Well, it made sense—considering what he had done for Ms. Ahn and her son, Kim Minseok, Cha Iheon clearly knew how to make his subordinates listen.
It would’ve been nice if that ability had been used on Seo Heemin as well.
Now that he had gotten his answer, Secretary Jung looked at him as if telling him to take his books and head back to his room. Heemin glanced briefly at the surveillance camera mounted on the ceiling before stopping his small talk and getting to the point.
"What time is the boss coming home today?"
"I don’t know."
"Can’t you call and ask?"
"He told me not to contact him unless it was urgent. He is attending an important gathering."
The tone was clearly telling him not to bother his boss and to just read his books as usual, but Heemin couldn’t back down without any progress.
"When does this ‘important gathering’ end?"
"It’s difficult to say for certain, but even if it ends early, he might not return home due to preparations for tomorrow’s inauguration."
"He’s not coming home?"
"That’s correct."
The unexpected response hit him like a bolt from the blue. He felt dizzy. If things continued like this, he’d end up spending the night with a completely unrestrained Cha Iheon. Holding his head for a moment to steady his spinning thoughts, Heemin looked at Secretary Jung, who was watching him with concern.
The sourc𝗲 of this content is freēwēbηovel.c૦m.
"So, in order to contact him, it has to be urgent, right?"
A sharp glint flickered in Heemin’s eyes. A brilliant idea came to mind—a surefire way to drag out a man who wouldn’t budge for anything trivial. He just had to act like Seo Heemin and have a full-blown breakdown.
Iheon had once skipped an important meeting with Chairman Yoon just to rush home and "discipline"—no, console—Seo Heemin after he had wrecked the house in a fit of rage. So if he threw a tantrum, Iheon would definitely come running.
He was already branded as mentally unstable. No matter what he did, he had an excuse. He could act as crazy as he wanted. Narrowing his eyes, Heemin scanned the room for something to break.
Should I smash a cup?
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
But if he broke it the wrong way and accidentally stepped on a shard or cut himself, that would be a hassle. Besides, it was Ms. Ahn who would have to clean up the mess, and he felt bad about that. Slowly, Heemin reached for a cushion on the sofa instead of a cup.
"I'm angry! Call the boss!"
With all his might, he threw the cushion onto the floor. He had expected a dramatic explosion of feathers, like in the movies, but... nothing happened.
Silence filled the room. Secretary Jung gave him a dull, unreadable look, as if wondering what the hell are you doing? Ah, this was so embarrassing. He wanted to die.
“F-Fine! Just call the boss already!”
This time, he kicked the fallen cushion. Secretary Jung, watching it roll to his feet, calmly picked it up and replied in an emotionless tone.
"Please go back to your room."
Neatly combed hair, a crisp suit, an impeccably polite manner—he looked like an ordinary office worker. But in reality, he was just like Cha Iheon, someone who operated in the shadows.
If he messed around carelessly, he might not only fail to achieve his goal but also end up locked in his room. If he wanted an immediate, more extreme reaction... Heemin made up his mind and headed to the kitchen.
"Where is Cha Iheon? Call him right now!"
Heemin pulled a kitchen knife from beneath the sink and held it to his neck. The blade gleamed sharply under the light, filling his vision. His legs trembled instinctively. But there was no other way to threaten them.
"Put the knife down."
"N-No. Call Cha Iheon!"
Secretary Jung, who had been watching him with a pale face, finally pulled out his phone. He dialed Iheon and gave him a brief report on the situation, never once lowering his guard. He was clearly waiting for Heemin to tire himself out.
"......."
"......."
As the standoff dragged on, the tension in the room thickened. A bead of sweat trickled from Heemin’s chin, sliding down the blade. He exhaled through clenched teeth, his face twisting in frustration.
This is exhausting. I can’t keep this up.
His arms and hands ached from holding the knife for so long. It felt like he was being punished. Forget his plan to change his role in the story—he wanted to give up on everything.
Then—
"Enough with the theatrics. Put the knife down unless you want me to kill you first."
A deep, commanding voice rang through the living room.
A voice that seized control the moment it entered the air, dripping with authority. Black eyes, as dark as the night sky. A scent of raw masculinity, sharp enough to pierce skin.
Cha Iheon had arrived.
The very person Heemin had been waiting for stood before him.
"Welcome home," Heemin greeted him in relief. Now that he no longer needed to hold onto this terrifying object, a wave of relief washed over him. But as soon as he spoke, Iheon’s expression twisted into something vicious.
Taking a step forward, Iheon closed the distance between them. The space around him seemed to warp, distorting under the weight of his presence.
His jet-black dress shirt, deep navy tie, and sharply tailored jacket exuded the same cold intensity as his dark eyes. Unlike his usual composed self, his eyes were sunken with exhaustion, and his appearance was slightly disheveled—he must have come here in a hurry.
Iheon tilted his head, glaring down at Heemin. His stare was sharper than any blade, slicing through him like a harpooned fish. Heemin’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.
"Ah..."
His grip weakened. The knife slipped from his hand.
In an instant, Iheon moved, catching the knife’s handle before it hit the floor. It was as if the blade was magnetically drawn into his bandaged hand.
"Ugh!"
At the same time, he grabbed Heemin by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
The dull impact sent a dizzying pain through his back, but before he could fully process it, the very knife he had just dropped was embedded into the wall—right next to his face.
A shiver ran down his spine. He turned his eyes slightly to the side, only to see the knife wedged deep into the wall like a nailed-down stake.
"‘Welcome home’? Do you have a death wish?" Iheon sneered, his lips twisting with unrestrained irritation.
His breath was hot against Heemin’s cheek. Overwhelming pheromones pressed down on him, suffocating in their intensity. The sheer physical gap between them was undeniable. Heemin shrank under the pressure.
"You just cost me a fifty-billion-won deal. Let’s see if your reason for calling me is worth it."
Iheon had once said he would deduct one billion won per night spent with him.
Not ten times. Not fifty.
At this rate, it might have to be a hundred times.
This was practically an order to dedicate his life to nothing but that.
A sickening chill crawled through his body. Just the thought made his legs weak.
If he died of exhaustion before reaching the ending, what then?
His vision darkened. His limbs turned ice cold.
This had been a terrible idea.
"Why aren’t you answering? Weren’t you angry at me?"
Iheon’s mocking tone stabbed into his chest. Heemin could feel the weight of his glare even without looking up.
His eyes burned with unshed tears.
"I... I..."
"What, crying now?"
"...Hngh."
How the hell am I supposed to do this a hundred times?