"AFTER HOURS"

CHAPTER 1: THE LINE WE CROSS It always starts with overtime. Yoon YN sighed as the clock on her laptop blinked 10:47 PM. The office was quiet, long since emptied. The soft hum of the overhead lights and the gentle clatter of her keyboard were the only sounds in the open space. She rubbed her temple, trying to shake off the weariness. Reports for the quarter weren’t going to finish themselves. Being Kim Taehyung’s executive secretary meant high standards, tight deadlines—and the temptation that came with working closely with the most sinfully attractive man she’d ever met. She shook her head, forcing the thought away. As if summoned by her traitorous mind, the elevator chimed. She looked up. Speak of the devil. Kim Taehyung stepped out in a black coat, no tie, the top buttons of his white shirt undone. Casual. Dangerous. He was still holding a file and a coffee in hand. "You’re still here?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "You’re one to talk," she replied, sitting straighter. "Thought you had left hours ago." He smirked, setting his coffee down on the corner of her desk. “Thought I’d finish reviewing the acquisition documents upstairs. And…” he glanced at her screen. “You’re doing the end-of-quarter reports. You could’ve delegated that.” “I like having it done right.” He hummed. “I like that about you.” That made her glance up—his voice was low, almost unreadable. Her stomach twisted, not unpleasantly. "Don’t flirt with your secretary, Mr. Kim. HR wouldn’t approve." “Good thing HR’s off the clock,” he murmured. Silence fell, thick with tension. He didn’t look away. Neither did she. One second too long. “I’m opening the wine,” he said casually, walking to the kitchenette. “You’re staying late. That calls for a reward.” “Wine?” she echoed. “Perks of being the CEO. There’s always a bottle somewhere.” She hesitated. “I don’t think—” “YN,” he cut in, gentle. “One glass. No agendas. Just... wind down. You deserve that much.” She watched him open a bottle, pour two glasses with practiced ease. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was him. She took the glass. Ten minutes later, they were laughing about the worst clients they’d dealt with, both sitting on the low couch in his office, wine glasses half-full. He leaned back, loosened further, and looked at her. Really looked. “You’re different after hours.” She turned to him, smile fading into something softer. “So are you.” There was a moment of quiet. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this.” Her heart skipped. “Taehyung…” “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. But she didn’t. The kiss was tentative at first, testing, then it unraveled like silk unraveling from skin—slow, luxurious, inevitable. He pressed her back against the couch, his body warm and firm above hers, and every restraint she’d held cracked open. Clothes came off in a blur of buttons and breaths. His mouth traced fire down her neck. Her nails dug into his shoulders. The desk was too far. The couch was enough. “YN,” he murmured against her throat, like a confession. She answered him with her body. Later, tangled in sheets in her apartment, neither of them said much. He stared at the ceiling, shirtless, breathing soft. She lay on her side, watching him. He finally turned to her, brushing her knuckles with his. “This was…” She nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned in, kissed her forehead. It felt too intimate. Then he stood, buttoned his shirt, and picked up his phone. "Leaving already?" He paused. “I have an early board call.” Right. She didn’t stop him. The door closed with a soft click, and she stared at the empty side of the bed. She should’ve known. ---