Sitting at the small desk in her shared apartment, Y/N stared at the glowing screen of her laptop, the cursor blinking steadily on the application page like a tiny, patient heartbeat. The rest of the room had gone quiet around her-no clatter of dishes, no hum of the TV, just the soft whir of the laptop fan and the faint sound of traffic drifting up from the street below. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving, for longer than she meant them to.

She read the form fields over one more time. Full name. Contact number. Position applied for. Her hands were cold, the way they always got when something mattered too much. Finally, she typed, slow and careful, as if speed might somehow jinx it.

"God, please help me this time," she whispered, barely more than breath. Her thumb hovered over the submit button. She closed her eyes before pressing it, like she couldn't bear to watch. "Please... this time-"

The sentence never finished. Her phone rang, sharp and sudden against the quiet, vibrating hard enough to skitter slightly across the desk. She glanced down. Min Hari.

She didn't let it ring twice.

"Y/N! Please, I need you to bring my file here!" Hari's voice spilled out before Y/N had even said hello, fast and frayed at the edges. "I left it on the table in my room, please hurry! I'm in a meeting, and I need it NOW!"

"Okay, I'm coming, don't worry," Y/N said, already on her feet, the application still sitting open and unconfirmed behind her. She didn't check whether it had gone through. There wasn't time. She crossed the room in a few quick strides, spotted the folder exactly where Hari said it would be, and shoved it into her bag along with her phone and wallet, already halfway into her shoes by the time the zipper closed.

The urgency in Hari's voice had a way of doing that to her-turning her whole body into a single reflex, no room left for hesitation.

Thirty minutes later.

Y/N POV

I arrived outside THV Industry with my heart hammering somewhere up near my throat. The building rose in front of me, all glass and steel, catching the afternoon light in long, cold sheets. I tipped my head back to take in the height of it and immediately regretted it-the sheer scale of the place made my stomach twist. This wasn't the kind of building people like me walked into. This was the kind of building people like me delivered things to and then left, quickly, before anyone asked too many questions.

I smoothed down the front of my shirt, took one steadying breath, and muttered under it, "You can do this."

The revolving door spat me out into a lobby so polished I could see a smudged version of my own reflection in the floor. Everything gleamed-the marble, the glass, the brushed steel of the elevator doors. People in sharp suits moved through the space with the kind of unhurried confidence that told me they belonged here in a way I never would. I kept my eyes forward, folder clutched to my chest, trying to look like I had somewhere to be instead of someone to find.

I didn't see him until it was too late.

My shoulder collided with something solid-not a wall, a person-hard enough to knock the breath sideways out of me. There was a sharp rustle of paper, the clatter of my phone hitting the marble floor, and before I even registered what had happened, everything in my hands was scattered across the ground.

"Oh-oh no." I dropped immediately, scrambling after loose papers and my phone, my pulse roaring in my ears. When I finally looked up, the words died in my throat.

He was tall. Impossibly, unfairly tall, in a dark suit that fit like it had been made for exactly him and no one else-which, I realized a beat later, it probably had. Everything about him radiated a kind of quiet, absolute authority, the sort that didn't need to raise its voice to be obeyed. His eyes found mine, sharp and assessing, and something about the weight of that gaze made my stomach drop clean through the floor.

I felt impossibly small standing in front of him. My throat tightened, the anxiety climbing fast, and for a second I genuinely forgot how to form words.

"I-I'm so s-sorry," I finally managed, my voice cracking somewhere in the middle. I bowed, deep and clumsy, papers still crumpled in one fist. "P-Please, forgive me. I didn't see you coming."

He said nothing. Just a low hum, barely a sound at all, and then he was already walking past me, his footsteps unhurried and even against the marble, echoing long after he'd turned the corner. I stayed frozen, half-bent, until the sound of him faded completely and the tightness in my chest finally let go.

"Oh god, I'm an idiot," I muttered, straightening up and shaking my head like that might physically dislodge the embarrassment sitting hot in my cheeks.

I gathered the last of the scattered papers, smoothed the folder against my chest, and made my way to the reception desk, the man's unreadable expression still burned somewhere behind my eyes. I gave the receptionist Hari's name and department, watched her nod and set the folder aside for delivery, and turned to go-desperate, suddenly, to put the whole last five minutes behind me.

That's when my phone buzzed in my hand.

I glanced down automatically, expecting Hari's name on the screen. Instead I found nothing familiar at all-a contact name I didn't recognize, lighting up a phone that, I realized with a slow, sinking horror, wasn't mine.

Wait. Whose phone is this?

My eyes darted around the lobby, half-convinced someone was about to point and shout. In the chaos of the collision, of scrambling papers off the floor, I must have picked up the wrong one. My first instinct was to shove it in my bag and pretend it didn't exist. But it kept buzzing, insistent, and somewhere underneath the panic was the small, practical thought that I needed my own phone back-and this was probably my only way to make that happen.

I swallowed hard, pressed the screen, and lifted it to my ear.

"Hello?" I said, my voice small, bracing for whatever came next.

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