Tae strode into the gleaming glass tower of Horizon Architecture like she owned every inch of it—which, in every way that mattered, she basically did. At 35, she was the youngest General Manager the firm had ever seen, and the numbers proved it. Last quarter alone, her team had landed three multi-billion-won contracts that had the entire industry buzzing. Her salary? A cool eight figures a year, plus bonuses that made most CEOs blush. She lived in a penthouse overlooking the river that cost more than most people’s lifetime earnings, drove a matte-black Bentley, and still had time to look like a walking wet dream.

Today she was dressed to kill, as always. The slutty little black blouse she wore was silk so thin it might as well have been painted on. Three buttons were “accidentally” left undone, letting the deep valley of her massive, heavy tits spill forward with every breath. The fabric stretched obscenely across her chest, the outline of her stiff pink nipples faintly visible through the sheer material because, fuck it, she never wore a bra. Her pencil skirt was criminal—jet black, latex-slick, and so short it barely covered the lower curve of her fat, juicy ass. Every step made the hem ride higher, flashing the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings and the soft, creamy white skin of her thighs. Her heels were six-inch stilettos, blood-red, clicking like gunshots across the marble lobby. Pink lips glossy and pouty, porcelain skin glowing under the lights, long black hair cascading down her back in perfect waves—she looked like sin wrapped in power.

But her face? Pure ice. No smile. No warmth. Just sharp, dark eyes that could eviscerate a grown man with a single glance.

She stepped into the executive elevator and rode it straight to the top floor. The moment the doors opened, the open-plan office went dead silent. Interns froze mid-step. Senior architects suddenly found their keyboards fascinating. Everyone knew the drill: Tae was here, and mistakes would not be tolerated.

“Good morning, Ms. Tae,” her assistant chirped, already holding out a triple-shot espresso.

Tae didn’t even look at her. She took the cup, scanned the floor with those predator eyes, and immediately spotted it—the junior designer who had mislabeled a structural load yesterday.

“You.” Her voice was low, velvet-wrapped steel. “My office. Now.”

The poor kid practically sprinted behind her. The door shut. Thirty seconds later the entire floor heard the tirade—calm, measured, but absolutely merciless. “A child could read a blueprint better than you. If you cost this firm even one more decimal point of accuracy, I will personally ensure you never work in this industry again. Do you understand me?”

The boy left pale and shaking. Tae sat behind her massive glass desk, legs crossed, skirt riding so high her pink, fat pussy lips would have been visible if anyone dared look. She didn’t care. Clothes were for teasing the world; her brain was for business. She opened her laptop and started tearing through the day’s reports, redlining errors with surgical precision. By 10 a.m. she had already secured a new government tender that would add another zero to the firm’s valuation. Success tasted like expensive perfume and total control.

Love life? What love life? Sex was something she allowed herself maybe twice a year, usually a quick, clinical fuck with some forgettable suit who came too fast and left her bored. She didn’t need it. Didn’t miss it. Her vibrator collection stayed in the bottom drawer of her nightstand, untouched for months. All she cared about was the corner office, the power, and the throne everyone knew was about to be hers.

The current CEO, Mr. Park, was retiring in six months. Everyone whispered the same thing: Tae was the heir apparent. She had the vision, the results, the ruthless efficiency. Board members nodded approvingly when her name came up. She was already drafting her acceptance speech in her head—cool, elegant, untouchable.

Everything was perfect.

Until 11:47 a.m.

A soft knock. The door opened without waiting for permission. It was Ji-eun, the quiet, mousy assistant to Board Member Lee. She looked nervous, clutching a tablet like a shield.

“Ms. Tae… I really shouldn’t be here, but I overheard something in the board lounge this morning. I thought you should know.”

Tae leaned back, one perfectly arched brow raised. “Speak.”

Ji-eun swallowed. “They’re… discussing the CEO shortlist. Your name is still top, but some of the older members—especially Mr. Lee and Mr. Kang—are pushing back. They say the firm needs ‘long-term stability.’ That the new CEO has to understand ‘what makes a house a home.’ They want someone with a family. Married. Kids, ideally. They think a single woman… might not have the same… values.”

Tae’s pink lips parted, then pressed into a thin, furious line. The espresso cup in her hand creaked.

“Not have the same values?” Her voice was deadly quiet. “I built this fucking firm’s reputation from the ground up. I closed the Sky Tower project when everyone else said it was impossible. I make more money in a month than most of those dinosaurs make in a year. And they want to deny me because I don’t have a husband warming my bed and spitting out babies?”

Ji-eun flinched. “They’re worried about public image. Traditional clients. Family-oriented branding. I’m so sorry, Ms. Tae.”

Tae waved her out with a flick of her manicured fingers. The door clicked shut.

For thirty full seconds she sat motionless, rage boiling under her flawless white skin. Her massive tits rose and fell rapidly, straining the thin blouse. Then she exhaled, slow and controlled, and a dangerous little smirk curled the corner of her glossy pink mouth.

“Fine,” she whispered to the empty room. “If they want a fucking family man on my arm, I’ll give them one. A perfect, fake little husband. I’ll smile for the cameras, play the doting wife, and still run this company into the stratosphere. They’ll never know the difference.”

She tapped her long nails on the glass desk, mind racing. Someone from the office—most were married, boring, or too old. She needed young, handsome, desperate enough to say yes to anything she offered. Promotion. Bonus. Whatever it took.

A knock at the door.

“Enter.”

The door swung open and in walked Jeon Jungkook.

Kook. Twenty-five. Six-foot-three of pure, sculpted muscle poured into a tailored charcoal suit that hugged his broad shoulders and thick biceps like it was painted on. His face was ridiculous—sharp jawline, full lips, dark bedroom eyes framed by messy black hair that always looked like someone had just run their fingers through it. He’d been with Horizon for exactly one year, one of the most talented new architects on the team. He worked like a demon, stayed late, produced flawless renders and innovative designs. But even he wasn’t immune to her wrath; she’d scolded him twice last month for a minor miscalculation on a load-bearing wall. He’d taken it with quiet respect, jaw tight, eyes never leaving hers.

Tae’s gaze raked over him slowly—those powerful thighs, the way his dress shirt stretched across his chest, the subtle bulge in his slacks that hinted at something thick and promising underneath. Ten years younger. Single. Ambitious. And right now, standing in front of her desk with that polite, slightly nervous expression.

Bingo.