Kim Tae woke up the way she always did — like the world already belonged to her.

Sunlight spilled across the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse, painting her white skin gold. She stretched under the silk sheets, back arching, the soft curve of her waist dipping before the heavy swell of her tits pushed up against the thin fabric of her sleep top. The top had ridden up overnight. One pink nipple peeked out, hard from the cold air-conditioning. She didn’t bother fixing it.

Twenty-eight years old. Only heir. CEO of Kim Industries since her father stepped down last year. Apple of her parents’ eyes. Their perfect, brilliant, devastatingly beautiful daughter.

She rolled out of bed and walked naked to the bathroom, the full weight of her ass swaying with every step. In the mirror she looked at herself the way other people did — pink lips, sharp eyes, soft cheeks, and a body that could stop traffic. Big, heavy tits that strained every blouse she owned. A fat, round ass that made tight skirts look illegal. She knew exactly what she looked like. She also knew how to use it without ever selling it.

That was the part the jealous bitches never understood.

The rumours had started the moment she took the CEO chair. “Kim Tae closes deals on her back.” “She must be fucking her way through the boardrooms.” Pure spite. She had never once slept with a client, never once used her body for a signature. Her brain did the work. Her results spoke louder than any gossip. Still… sometimes the words stung. She never showed it. Not once. Not even when the articles got particularly filthy.

She chose her outfit for the Spain trip with deliberate care.

A cream silk blouse so thin it was almost sheer, the first three buttons left open so the soft valley between her tits was on full display. The fabric clung to every curve. A tight black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and ass like a second skin, ending high enough on her thighs that sitting down became a calculated risk. Black heels that made her legs look endless. No bra — the silk made that obvious. She looked like sin in a boardroom. Exactly how she liked it.

Her phone buzzed. Her mother.

“My beautiful girl. Crush them in Spain, hmm? Make your father and me proud.”

Tae smiled, soft and real. “I will, Dad and Mom. Always.”

Across the city, Jeon Jungkook was already in the gym of his own penthouse, shirtless, sweat sliding down the hard lines of his chest and abs. Thirty years old. Tall. Built like he spent more time lifting than sitting in meetings. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, that permanent arrogant smirk that made people either want to punch him or drop to their knees.

Only heir to Jeon Industries. Proud Jeon son. CEO since his father handed over the reins. He was everything the old man wanted — ruthless, charming, and just enough of a playboy to keep the gossip columns interested.

But the one person who truly got under his skin was Kim Tae.

God, that woman.

Every time they ended up in the same room the air turned electric. He loved watching her try not to react when he leaned in too close, voice low, words deliberately filthy just to watch her jaw tighten. He loved the way her cheeks would flush even while her mouth spat venom. And those outfits… Jesus Christ. The tight blouses that looked one deep breath away from disaster. The skirts that hugged her fat ass so perfectly he could map every curve with his eyes. His cock stirred every single fucking time. He had no idea where she found clothes that tight, that shameless. He only knew he wanted to rip them off with his teeth.

He would never say it out loud. Never show it. But the want was there, constant and ugly.

He smirked to himself as he towelled off. Spain was going to be fun.

They left the country on separate private jets, of course. Kim and Jeon never shared airspace if they could help it.

The international business summit in Barcelona was the kind of event where every major player showed up to flex. Tae spent the flight reviewing contracts, legs crossed, the high slit of her skirt revealing smooth thigh every time she shifted. Kook spent his flight half-working, half-thinking about the exact shade of pink her lips always were.

Both of them had booked the same five-star hotel. Both of them had requested the presidential suite.

Neither of them knew the other had done the same.

Kook arrived first.

He stepped into the suite like he owned it — and for a few minutes, he did. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive bed that could fit six people, a private terrace, a bathroom big enough to host a small party. He dropped his bag, loosened his tie, and poured himself a drink.

The door clicked open behind him.

He turned.

Kim Tae stood in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, perfect face frozen in pure disbelief.

For a second neither of them spoke.

Then Tae’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold.

“What the fuck are you doing in my suite?”

Kook’s mouth curved into that slow, arrogant smirk she hated.

“Your suite? Funny. The keycard says Jeon.”

She stepped inside, heels clicking against the marble, the movement making her tits shift under the thin silk. His eyes dropped for half a second before he dragged them back up. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

“Get out,” she said.

“You get out.”

“I booked this suite weeks ago.”

“So did I.”

Their secretaries arrived within minutes, both looking horrified. Phones were already at their ears. Calls were made. Voices rose. The front desk. The manager. Other hotels. Everything was full. Every suite in every comparable hotel in the area was taken. Conference week. Peak season. Nothing. Not even a standard room left that either of them would lower themselves to take.

Tae’s secretary looked close to tears. “Ms. Kim… the only option is to share. Or one of you takes a normal room across the city.”

Kook’s secretary mirrored the panic. “Mr. Jeon, the same. Everything is booked solid.”

Silence stretched.

Tae’s jaw was tight. Kook’s smirk had faded into something sharper, more dangerous.

“I’m not sleeping in some basic room,” Tae said coldly.

“Neither am I,” Kook answered.

Another long beat.

Then, almost at the same time:

“Fine. We stay.”

The secretaries exhaled in relief and fled like the suite was on fire, doors clicking shut behind them.

Just like that, it was only the two of them.

Tae walked further into the suite, tossing her bag onto one of the couches. The silk blouse shifted with the movement, the open buttons giving a deeper glimpse of soft cleavage. Kook’s gaze followed for a second too long. She caught him looking and raised one perfectly arched brow.

“Enjoying the view, Jeon?”

He didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. “Hard not to when you dress like you’re begging for it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I dress for myself. Not for men who think with their dicks.”

“Funny.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “Because every time you walk into a room in one of those tight little skirts, my cock notices before my brain does.”

The air between them went thick.

Tae’s pulse kicked hard against her throat, but her face stayed ice-cold. She refused to step back even when he was close enough that she could smell his cologne — clean, expensive, and somehow still filthy on him.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re still standing here instead of walking out,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Interesting.”

She tilted her chin up, pink lips parting just slightly. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m staying because I refuse to give you the satisfaction of making me leave.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Tae.”

The way he said her name — low, almost intimate — made something twist low in her stomach. She hated it. She hated how her body always reacted to him even when her mind wanted to slap him.

Kook’s eyes dragged down her body again, slow and shameless. The thin silk. The way her nipples had hardened under the fabric from the cool air… or from him. The tight skirt stretched across her hips and the heavy curve of her ass. He didn’t bother hiding the heat in his stare.

“You wear clothes like that on purpose,” he said quietly. “You know exactly what you do to every man in the room. Including me.”

Tae’s laugh was sharp. “Including you? Please. You’re just another arrogant Jeon who thinks the world owes him a wet hole.”

He stepped even closer. Their bodies almost touched. She could feel the heat coming off him.

“Careful,” he warned, voice rough. “Keep talking like that and I might forget we’re supposed to hate each other.”

Her breath hitched — just once, barely audible — before she forced it steady.

“We do hate each other.”

“Do we?”

The question hung between them, heavy and dangerous.