The Soundproof Trap
Beyond the marketing department's partitions sits the Executive Director's private office. The employees firmly believe Park Minhyuk is just an elite executive who rose through the proper channels at headquarters. But his true background is utterly at odds with their naive imaginings.
Minhyuk parachuted in from another company, riding the coattails of the higher-ups' powerful connections. Yet no one in the company dares whisper complaints about his origins behind his back. His ruthless competence and business acumen crush any such label underfoot. An incompetent parachute becomes a laughingstock; a capable one demands absolute worship. Minhyuk grasps this power dynamic more shrewdly than anyone.
And from his very first day at the branch, he laid the groundwork to hide his most repulsive hobby behind his flawless credentials. The walls and door of the Executive Director's office aren't standard materials. At his own expense, Minhyuk transformed the entire room into a perfect soundproof booth that blocks all external noise. He cited "business security" as the excuse, but the real purpose was something else entirely: to lure in the young, beautiful female employees he's targeted and ravage them at will.
The moment the door locks, no screams escape—no matter how piercing inside. Only dead silence reigns outside. A flawless secret chamber. Right after arriving, Minhyuk scanned personnel files and office dynamics to select his perfect plaything. His gaze locked unerringly on new hire Seo Harin, with her voluptuous figure and innocent eyes.
Harin has no inkling that the office she enters daily with approval documents is a beast's slaughterhouse. She just hammers away at Excel sheets, enduring day by day.
At the same time, after work in a small, quiet izakaya near the branch, Kim Junho sits across from Senior Manager Yoon Jiyeon, tilting sake cups.
Cool sake slides down his throat, pleasantly washing away the rigors of life away from home. In the relaxed atmosphere, they set work aside and chat lightly.
Junho sets down his cup and glances at Jiyeon across the table. Even with minimal makeup, her stunning beauty and perfect figure are undeniable. A woman with talent to boot—why is she still single? The pure question slips out.
"Why haven't you gotten married yet, Senior Manager?"
The blunt question bursts forth. Jiyeon narrows her eyes slightly over her sake cup, shooting him a look.
"Tsk. I told you not to use those stiff titles off the clock. 'Sunbae' is fine, 'unnie' is fine—but I prefer unnie by far."
Caught by her playful correction, Junho scratches the back of his head.
"Ah, sorry, unnie. Force of habit. Anyway, I was just curious why you're still single."
With the title fixed, satisfaction spreads across Jiyeon's face. But a faint bitterness flickers in her eyes.
"What can I say? I got so caught up charging ahead like mad at work that I missed my chance. No time for dating, no emotional leeway. This stuff's no fun anyway—just makes me gloomy. Let's drop it."
She waves it off lightly, changing the subject.
"Forget my depressing story. Tell me about you. That girlfriend who came to meet you last time—how'd you meet? You looked head over heels."
Girlfriend. The word alone brings an irrepressible smile to Junho's lips.
"Ah, Harin and I met in the same university club. First time at the freshman welcome party. We clicked so well, personalities matched perfectly—I chased her hard. She waited through my military service, prepped for jobs together. She's the one who shared every moment of my twenties."
Junho spills his fresh, proud love story. His eyes sparkle brighter than any gem as he recounts little memories with Harin.
Jiyeon listens quietly to his pure, unadulterated affection, propping her chin on her sake-holding hand.
"Wow, real youth. I'm so jealous. Did I ever burn that hot for someone? Thinking back... maybe not."
She chuckles wryly and downs the rest of her drink. Her gaze turns affectionate yet strangely intense toward Junho.
"Sigh. Junho, life is longer than you think—and shorter than a blink. So enjoy your youth, no regrets, while you can. Miss your shot hiding behind work excuses, and you'll end up alone like me. Never let go of that girlfriend's hand. Grip it tight."
Her most sincere advice as a life senior, laced with bitter self-mockery. Junho meets her warm eyes, clenches his fist, and beams.
"Of course, unnie. I'll never let go of Harin's hand. No matter what, I'll take responsibility."
His confident vow scatters firmly under the izakaya's warm lights.
Exactly one week after that horrific night. Every morning commute feels like being dragged to the slaughterhouse. Terror that Minhyuk might summon her again and force that nightmare gnaws at her nerves.
Yet strangely, Minhyuk hasn't touched her personally once this week. Even in reports, he's coldly professional. No private contact, no eye contact. As if that night's tryst was Harin's solitary nightmare. Everything rolls on peacefully.
For the first few days, extreme vigilance keeps her up at night. Worst was the pregnancy fear. The horror of a married man's seed inside her had her haunting the bathroom, heart pounding. But mercifully, her period started days later. A miraculous stroke of luck—it was the safest day, right before.
Seeing the red stain in the toilet, Harin collapses on the bathroom floor, sobbing in relief. The biggest anxiety lifts.
As Minhyuk's indifference drags on, her taut tension eases. Humans forget to survive. Burying painful memories in the unconscious is the strongest self-defense.
Harin naively rationalizes: it was a one-time lapse in anger; he's lost interest. She slips back to normal work, video calls with Junho, reclaiming her smiles. Utterly forgetting she's in a patient predator's strike zone.
Late Friday evening. With the weekend ahead, colleagues leave early. Empty partitions hold only Harin finishing up.
She finally powers off her monitor, grabs her bag, stands. Approaches the lit Executive Director's office, gives a light bow.
"Executive Director, I'll head out first. Have a good weekend."
Minhyuk, peering at documents beyond the door, nods.
"Good work. Get home safe."
Dry, crisp boss reply. Harin relaxes completely, turns away. A peaceful weekend awaits—late-night calls with Junho in Busan, catching up on dramas. Her steps lighten.
The instant Harin heads for the office door.
"Ah, Harin-ah."
His call slices the silence like lightning from behind. Not "Executive Director" or "Employee Seo Harin." Purely private, from a male's intimate perspective. Her steps glue to the floor like bonded.
Cold sweat races down her spine. As trembling eyes turn—Minhyuk's massive shadow clings right to her back, undetected.
"Ah!"
Before her short scream, his iron grip snatches her slender wrist. Immense strength spins her body, slamming her roughly against the wall. Dull thud of back hitting wall—and his scorching lips crush hers mercilessly.
The beast's claws, hidden perfectly for a week, sink precisely into the prey's nape.
Harin's eyes widen in terror. Instinctively twisting away, she clamps her lips shut in clear refusal.
"Mmph...! Mmrrph...!"
Hands shoving his solid chest, she resists. I forgot it all. It's over for good. But hell yawns open again.
Minhyuk shows no mercy in his soundproof cage. One hand twists both her arms high against the wall; the other dives straight into her skirt.
Stealthily, brazenly. His palm kneads her firm ass roughly, digging into flesh. Fingers trace panty lines, slip in, graze and part her pussy entrance, teasing.
"Hngh...!"
Exploiting her shock, he lifts a rigid knee, forcing her thighs apart. His hand grows bolder: two fingers shove panties aside, knead slick folds directly. Knee crushes her mound, grinding up and down.
Unexpected double assault. Covert fingers and overt knee ravage her most sensitive spot. Independent of reason, dizzying current spears her lower body, exploding up her spine.
Overwhelmed by the crushing mound and kneading fingers, she gasps involuntarily, lips parting from clenched denial.
"Haah...!"
The breached instant. His hot tongue invades like a beast, deep, sloppy. Urgent, rough—coiling her tongue, sucking breath in viscous deep kiss. Saliva mixes with wet smacks echoing off soundproof walls.
Tsk tsk... slurp... schlop!
He tangles her tongue madly, prevents swallowing, keeps sucking. Hand in skirt ramps up: fingers spread entrance, rub clit hard; knead inner flesh. Knee syncs rhythm, relentlessly pressing below.
Her resisting strength fades; body sways, threatening to slide down the wall.
Long, destructive deep kiss ends. Lips part—silvery saliva threads long between, snaps.
"Haa... haa..."
Harin pants against the wall. Shame, rage, disgust from unwittingly soaked folds by fingers and knee drive her mad.
"Why... why are you doing this?"
Tears pooling, she glares at Minhyuk.
"Wasn't it over? Nothing happened all this time. I forgot. Why... why touch me again?"
Pent-up fury erupts; she summons strength, raises hand to slap the mocking demon.
But before palm meets cheek, his hand snakes out, seizes her wrist mid-air. Bone-crushing grip. He yanks her wrist to shove his face nose-to-nose.
No kindly boss shell remains in his eyes. Only corrupt possessiveness burns fierce.
"Forgetting would be a problem."
His voice coils cold around her eardrum like a serpent.
"All the effort I put into claiming you. And you just forget on your own, live peacefully? I can't allow that."
He grips her jaw with firm fingers, whispering. Skirt hand still kneads her pussy covertly, unrelenting.
"Only one reason I'm touching you again, Seo Harin. So you never forget how you cried under me. That's how you'll become completely mine."
Arrogant, brutal claim of ownership. Ignoring reply, he devours her lips greedily again. Deeper, sloppier. Tongue thrusts to hilt, ravaging her mouth; hand squeezes pussy harder, flicks clit fast.
"Mmph...! Hngk... hng...!"
Harin squeezes eyes shut, pinned helplessly. Against irresistible strength and status, hot tears stream endlessly down her cheeks.
No matter how she struggles to forget, this man can choke and shake her at will. Crushing despair engulfs her.
After ravaging lips and pussy long, Minhyuk releases her wrists. Freed, she staggers from the wall. Lips swollen near-bursting, skirt soaked from his touch, eyes wild with terror.
Minhyuk pockets hands leisurely, gazes down. Fingers still gleam with her juices.
"Have a good weekend, Harin-ah. Monday, bring coffee to my room."
Not casual farewell—a perfect command of control.
Harin can't stand there a second longer. She snatches her dropped bag, flees madly for the door. Heels clatter wildly down the hall.
Mashing elevator button frantically, she screams inwardly, blood-curdling.
I have to quit. Quit this company now. Go to Busan. To oppa. Stay here, and that demon will devour me to the bone.
Tears of terror smear endlessly down her heaving cheeks. But the prey's frantic wingbeats are but futile, pitiable thrashing in the predator's meticulously woven web.
