A Royal Feast and the Penthouse Trap
Next to the Strategy Planning Director's office at Taesung Group headquarters—the VVIP waiting room where overseas buyers or top executives would normally lounge with sips of top-shelf champagne. Right in the center of this massive, opulent space, an unreal scene unfolds that makes me doubt my own eyes.
"Director, the meat we've prepared today is the absolute premium tenderloin and sirloin from Number 9-grade Hanwoo two-horn cattle, the pinnacle of top-tier beef. We've paired it with salt infused with Italian Alba white truffles..."
A chef in a tall white toque stands frozen stiff, briefing in a trembling voice. Behind him looms a mountain of ingredients and a smokeless charcoal grill that must've been airlifted from who-knows-where. They shut down the restaurant and hauled the entire kitchen here in 15 minutes? Overwhelmed by this insane capitalist rampage, I perch awkwardly on the premium Italian leather sofa smack in the middle of the room.
"Impressive pitch, Chef."
Seol-ah, glued right up against my side, crosses her legs elegantly and shoots him a frosty glare.
"I don't care about grades or salt origins. Just grill it to the perfect temperature so it doesn't scorch Jinwoo's palate. If it's even a bit chewy or over-smoked, expect our affiliate franchise coffee shop to take over that fancy restaurant spot tomorrow."
"Eek! Y-yes, ma'am! I'll keep that in mind, Director! Grilling right now!"
The chef pales, bows at a perfect 90 degrees, and starts searing like a madman. Whoa, she might actually kill someone. Spooked, I pinch Seol-ah's arm lightly.
"Hey, Seol-ah. Go easy on him. The guy's got years on us—probably a big-name chef out there with Michelin stars, right?"
"Not my problem. Three Michelin stars? Big deal. He made my cosmic Jinwoo go hungry. I held back from just running him over with the car earlier, so shut up and eat your meat."
Her gaze shifts to me, a complete 180 from the subzero stare she just leveled at the chef. The look she gives me drips honey—no, cascades like a waterfall. Is she seriously multiple personalities? It's a reasonable suspicion.
Moments later, a slice of steak with marble so pristine it's almost too holy to eat arrives on a gold-rimmed plate with truffle salt, set on the marble table before me. As I shakily reach for my chopsticks...
"Say ahh, Jinwoo."
Seol-ah snatches them first, picks up the meat herself, and brings it to my lips.
"Whoa, hey—my hands are fine. I can feed myself. The chef's right there watching—what's with the embarrassment?"
"Chef. Eyes down. Turn around, face the wall, plug your ears, and just grill."
Her icy command drops, and the chef spins like a robot, flipping meat in silence. I'm floored, mouth agape. So this is the taste of power—sweet yet terrifying.
"There, no more interruptions? Ahh now. Or I'll sit on your lap here forever and never get up."
She pouts her red lips and pretends to climb onto my thigh. This is a company! Panicking, I reflexively open wide. Through her slender white fingers holding the chopsticks, a warm tenderloin piece slides into my mouth.
Instantly, my brain bluescreens.
'……!'
No need to chew. It bursts with juices on contact, melting like cotton candy down my throat. The subtle truffle aroma awakens every taste bud. Last night's expired 1,100-won tuna-mayo onigiri must be sobbing apologies in my stomach.
"Good? Hmm? To your taste?"
Lost in bliss with eyes closed, I feel her tug my sleeve like an eager puppy.
"Uh... insane. Unbelievably good. First time in my life tasting steak like this."
"Really? Thank goodness! Chef, grill up another 100 servings fresh. Keep going till Jinwoo's stuffed."
She beams like she owns the world at my words, then pulls out a premium silk handkerchief to dab my lips gently.
"Eat slow, or you'll get indigestion. Choke on it rushing, and I'll run to Grandpa Chairman demanding the entire Taesung Medical Foundation hospital staffed with your personal doctors."
"Please stop saying terrifying stuff with those innocent eyes like it's nothing... You eat some too. Gimme the chopsticks—I'll feed you one."
I offer awkwardly, but she shakes her head, rubbing her soft cheek against mine. A faint dianthus scent tickles my nose.
"Nah. I'm full without eating. Watching you munch fills 15 years of hunger. Jinwoo... I could die right now without regrets. You're here, hearing my breaths, eating the meat I got you—it's like a dream. Gonna cry again."
Her big eyes well up again. I sigh deeply. How do I fix this deep-seated attachment issue and separation anxiety? The viper who survived bloody succession wars at Taesung reverts to that 10-year-old kid crying over scraped knees in the dirt—but only for me.
"No tears. You'll choke. And I've said a hundred times I won't run."
"Okay... no crying. But Jinwoo."
Sniffling, she wipes her eyes, then wraps her arms around my neck, lips brushing my ear. Her hot breath tickles, raising goosebumps.
"All done eating? Wanna head to our home now?"
"......Huh?"
"Told you earlier. Pre-contracted your Cheongdam-dong penthouse. Moved all your stuff—sleep there starting tonight."
A chill runs down my spine. I thought it was just a one-sided chaebol gift, but her sticky gaze screams imprisonment and domestication prelude.
"No, tonight I'll crash at my one-room... We'll sort the move tomorrow..."
"One-room? Told you, canceled the lease and cleared it out. Paid double penalty, so the landlord tossed your stuff out. No home to go back to, Jinwoo. Street or my car?"
Escape routes sealed. She should've been Kidnapping Director, not Strategy Planning. Defeated, I hang my head and let her lead me to the Taesung HQ basement VVIP parking.
In the deepest, most secluded spot: a massive black limousine from the movies idles with a heavy engine rumble. A burly driver in a black suit—ex-special forces vibe—stands at attention.
"D-Director. Please, board."
He glances at me startled but politely opens the rear door. The backseat dwarfs my old semi-basement bathroom. Plush premium wool mats sink underfoot; the starlight headliner twinkles with hundreds of LEDs like the Milky Way.
"Seol-ah, can I really ride this? My pants are filthy from warehouse duty earlier. Ruining these leather seats would bankrupt me for life."
Hesitating, she yanks my waist, forcing me onto the Nappa leather.
"Jinwoo, spill mud all you want—no one's complaining. Dirty seats? Ditch the car, buy new. Ordered this custom yesterday after seeing you subway-sweat to work. Your dedicated commute ride—relax, no worries."
"Crazy... My dedicated car? Like the Chairman's?"
"Yep. No more hell-commutes. I'll drive you morning and night."
The limo glides out onto Olympic Boulevard. Ride so smooth, speed bumps vanish. Seol-ah immediately pillows her head on my lap, stretching out. Her tailored suit hugs her slim waist, pressing boldly against my thigh. Hands frozen mid-air, I stiffen like a statue.
"Seol-ah, the driver's watching..."
"Soundproof partition—can't hear or see. Don't stress."
She pulls my hand to stroke her hair.
"Ahh... Jinwoo smells so good. Mixed with steak, still perfect. Slept on insomnia pills missing your scent every night—tonight, I'll pass out naturally."
A chaebol heiress blissed out on my cheap fabric softener. The dissonance headaches me.
"But Jinwoo, your wardrobe needs a total overhaul tomorrow."
"Huh? My shirt's fine. Uniqlo value buy—pretty clean."
"No, that stiff rag'll ruin your precious skin. While eating, I told the secretary team to raid the department store's luxury menswear and fill your dressing room."
"What?! Raided the department store?!"
"Yeah. Don't like the fit? I'll fly in tailors from Italy tomorrow."
No energy left to argue. Resistance just inflates her spending to astronomical levels. I surrender, staring blankly at the Han River nightscape.
Soon, we slip underground into Korea's wealth icon: the tallest, flashiest luxury condo in Cheongdam-dong. Past marble-clad parking, we stop at the exclusive elevator for top-tier VVIP residents. Seol-ah's fingerprint scan chimes, "Welcome, Director Han Seol-ah," doors open.
Straight to the 80th-floor penthouse. Ding—doors part, jaw drops. No foyer door; elevator opens directly into a vast gallery-like interior. Floor-to-ceiling glass pours in panoramic Han River and Seoul skyline views. Floors gleam with natural marble; a chandelier worth tens of millions sparkles overhead.
"Come in, Jinwoo. Your new nest."
She nudges my back. Staring at my worn 10,000-won canvas shoes, I hesitate to step on the marble.
"Th-this is my place? For real... This is a drama set. Monthly fees alone exceed my net worth."
"Fees? Secretary handles auto-pay—don't worry. C'mere, prepped a room you'll love."
She leads to a massive door at the hall's end. I rub my eyes. Premium recliner massage chair, wall-to-wall limited-edition figure display cases.
"Saw your search history—game streams every night. No PC bang time, just lurking? Assembled the ultimate rig with every top-spec part available. No more bangs—game here forever."
This is every Korean guy's dream: the perfect man's fantasy. The thread of my rationality snaps with an audible twang.
Seol-ah hugs my waist from behind, pressing her body flush against mine.
"But Jinwoo."
Her voice turns stickier, deeper.
"This place is the whole 80th floor—five rooms... but only one bed, in the master."
"Huh? Why? You bought furniture with the move."
"Yep. California king. Plenty of room for two to roll around."
"......What?"
Turning in shock, she whispers against my earlobe.
"Heard in the elevator? My fingerprint opened it. I live on 80 too."
"Wait—your place is 80, so this is..."
"Yep. Our honeymoon home, Jinwoo. Live here with me forever. Run, and I'll break your legs to chain you to my bed."
Run? Hell no! Bank balance 300k won, fretting next month's student loan interest—dirt-poor returnee Kang Jinwoo hereby ditches shaky pride and freedom to become this dizzyingly lethal chaebol heiress's perfect pet.
Capitalism forever. Taesung Group forever. And Han Seol-ah forever.