"Do I look like a fucking secretary in this?" Tae turned slowly in front of their bedroom mirror, the slit in her tight black dress riding dangerously high. The fabric barely contained her chest, the neckline dipping low enough that her lace bra peeked through with every breath.

Junho didn't glance up from the Jungkook poster he was meticulously taping to their already overcrowded bedroom wall. "You look fine," he muttered, adjusting the corner of the glossy print.

Tae rolled her eyes and tugged the dress lower, which only made her cleavage more pronounced. "The CEO said dress to impress. Some bigshot actor's gonna be there tonight. Probably another washed-up old man." She checked her phone. "Car's here in ten."

Junho finally turned, blinking at her like he'd just noticed the situation. His gaze slid down her body, lingering a beat too long on her thighs before snapping back up. "Just... don't embarrass me if you meet him."

"Who, your precious Jungkook?" Tae smirked, applying a fresh coat of gloss. "Relax, baby. It's just another industry suck-fest." She grabbed her clutch, the movement making her breasts jiggle visibly under the straining fabric.

Junho's phone buzzed with a Jungkook fan group notification. He lunged for it like a starving man grabbing bread. "Shit, they're saying he might actually be at your event tonight!" His voice cracked. "If you see him—"

"I'll tell him my husband wants to suck his dick," Tae deadpanned, stepping into stilettos that made her ass pop. She paused at the door. "Try not to jack off to his movies while I'm gone."

——

The event venue was all glittering chandeliers and too many bodies pressed together. Tae navigated the crowd with practiced ease, accepting champagne from a passing waiter. She'd just taken a sip when the air changed—a hush, then murmurs spreading like wildfire through the room.

"Mr. Jeon just arrived," someone whispered behind her.

Tae turned automatically, and there he was: Jeon Jungkook in the flesh, broad shoulders stretching his tailored suit, that infamous smirk playing on his lips as he shook the CEO's hand. He was older than she expected, but the way he carried himself made her throat go dry.

Their eyes locked from across the room. Jungkook's gaze dragged down her body with the slow precision of someone unwrapping a gift, lingering at her chest, her hips, the exposed skin of her thigh through the slit. Tae felt her cheeks burn but didn't look away—couldn't.

When he started walking toward her, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. "And who do we have here?" His voice was deeper than in films, rougher.

"Kim Tae," she managed, forcing her professional smile. "I'm Mr. Lee's secretary."

Jungkook's fingers brushed hers as he took her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles in a way that wasn't remotely polite. "You don't dress like any secretary I've ever seen." His eyes darkened. "I like it."

"My husband would die if he knew I was talking to you," Tae blurted, pulse jumping when Jungkook stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around her. "He's your biggest fan."

Jungkook chuckled low in his throat, pulling a sleek black business card from his pocket. Without breaking eye contact, he tucked it between her breasts, his fingers skating over bare skin. The contact lasted only a second, but Tae's breath hitched audibly.

"Tell your husband," Jungkook murmured, leaning so close his lips nearly brushed her ear, "his wife has other plans tonight."

The heat of his breath sent an unexpected shiver down Tae's spine. She should step back—should laugh it off—but her feet stayed rooted, her body betraying her with a traitorous flush creeping lower beneath her dress.

"You're joking," Tae breathed, fingers twitching around the chilled champagne flute.

Jungkook's smirk deepened as he plucked the glass from her hand and set it aside. "Forty-seventh floor. Penthouse suite." His knuckles grazed her waist as he straightened his cufflinks, the casual contact burning through the thin fabric. "Door opens at midnight."

The CEO materialized beside them, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder. "Jeon! The investors want photos—"

"Of course." Jungkook's tone shifted seamlessly to professional charm, but his eyes stayed locked on Tae's parted lips. He leaned in as he turned away, his words barely audible over the sudden swell of music: "I will be waiting."

Tae watched him disappear into the crowd, her pulse hammering where his fingers had touched. The business card between her breasts felt like a brand.

She pulled it out—still warm from her skin—and stared at the embossed gold lettering. JEON JUNGKOOK. PRIVATE CONTACT. Her fingers trembled as she dialed Junho.

“I met him,” she breathed the second he picked up.

Junho’s scream was so loud she had to hold the phone away. “No fucking way! Did you get a photo? What did he smell like? Did he—”

“He gave me his personal number,” Tae interrupted, watching the elevator doors across the lobby reflect the chandeliers like distant stars. “Told me to come to his penthouse.”

Silence. Then Junho’s voice cracked: “Oh my god. Oh my GOD. You have to go—right? Like obviously you’re going—”

Tae squeezed her thighs together, the slickness between them impossible to ignore. “He said… the door opens at midnight.”

Junho was panting now. “Tae. Tae. Listen to me. Whatever he wants—whatever he asks—just do it. Okay? Please.” A pause. Then, desperate: “Maybe… could I talk to him? Just for a minute?”

She swallowed hard, watching a waiter refill champagne flutes near the grand staircase. “I’ll ask him.”

Junho made a sound like he might pass out. “Tell him—tell him I have all his limited edition Blu-rays. And the director’s cut of—”

“I have to go,” Tae murmured, spotting Jungkook across the room surrounded by admirers. He caught her eye over someone’s shoulder and winked—slow, deliberate—before lifting his tumbler to his lips.

——

The elevator ride to the forty-seventh floor took forever. Tae fixed her lipstick in the mirrored walls, her dress suddenly feeling tighter, hotter. The doors opened directly into the penthouse foyer—dark wood, a single lamp casting long shadows.

Jungkook stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms. He didn’t turn when the elevator dinged. “Close the door,” he said, swirling amber liquid in his glass.

Tae’s heels clicked too loud on the marble as she stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing them in silence. Her throat was dry.

“Your husband,” Jungkook finally said, turning. The city lights haloed his silhouette. “He approves?”

She nodded once.

Jungkook drained his drink and set it down. “Good.” His smile wasn’t kind. “Because tonight isn’t about him.”