You're an overworked, underpaid, unappreciated intern at Aespa Group, one of Seoul's top women's fashion companies. On the busiest time of the year, you learn from your fellow intern Ningning that the Chairman's daughter, Winter, is returning from her overseas studies, and she's ready to making your life exponentially harder than it already is.
Heaven isn’t a place, nor is it a feeling. It’s a person—and she’s looking right at you with her arms wrapped around your neck and her chest pressing against yours like the two of you are a pair of magnets gently swaying to the pull of music in the dark room.
The fireworks continue to flare behind you, but the only light you see is the tinder in Karina’s eyes reflecting back at yours, like it’s somehow her who’s lost in them. She smiles to herself, as if telling a cute story in her head that she refuses to share, but you know, this time for sure, that it includes you.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She closes her eyes and leans into your touch. “Wondering how I ended up here tonight out of all places.”
“What, your own hotel room?”
“Is that where you think I am?” she asks softly.
You pretend to look around, falling back to sarcasm because your heart is beating way too fast. “Did we break into someone else’s room?”
For a fraction of a second, the phantom scent of Ningning’s perfume suddenly engulfs your mind, triggering flashbacks of your bodies glued together in the closet of a hotel room that definitely did not belong to either of you—until Karina’s warmth pulls you right back to the present, instantly washing the memory away.
She puffs a chuckle against your skin. “You’re silly. Who would do something like that?”
You swallow, choosing not to answer that.
“Where are you then if not here?” you ask instead.
“My own little paradise.”
Your heart malfunctions. “I think you’re drunk off sparkling moscato.”
“Am I? Let me check.” She leans closer, her breath gently brushing over your lips. “Close your eyes for me.”
You do.
But you wonder why she needs you to close your eyes to check if she’s drunk. You also wonder how anyone can ‘check’ if they’re drunk via another person. You also wonder how the hell—
She kisses you again.
It’s a soft, searching kiss that completely disarms you and sends the hairs on your arm standing, forcing your eyes right back open. Her tongue gently slides past your lips to find yours; they dance and tangle in almost the same way your bodies do while you hold her waist, feeling her warmth seeping through the fabric as the fireworks approach their finale, the little explosions lighting up the room like a meteor shower.
“Yep, I’m drunk,” she says, savoring the taste of your lips. Her pecks linger while she continues to cup the back of your head. “But not from the moscato.”
Your hands start aching and longing for more, but you’re too afraid to shatter this tender, magical moment before she does. So you keep your grip steady on her waist, slowly becoming more aware of the delicate texture of her dress and the rapid beat of her heart against your chest.
She looks up at you, dropping her hands to your neck to undo your bowtie. “Why is the knot tied so tightly?” she asks, yanking it loose. “Can you even breathe?”
“No,” you say, completely lost in her eyes as she lets the fabric drop to the floor. “Not at all.”
“Here, let me help.” Her fingers reach for your neck, lightly tracing your skin as she starts to unbutton your collar.
You exhale, and it’s a little painful.
“I don’t think this is helping,” you say as she makes her way down your shirt.
In the tightening space between you, suddenly the music feels a bit louder, the air a little thicker; her eyes grow a little glassier, her lips part a little further.
“Not even a little bit?” she asks, running her fingertips slowly down your chest.
“No,” you say, hands trembling—not just from impatience, but from the way she’s looking at you like she’d been waiting all night for this. “You’re making it worse.”
“Oh,” she whispers softly. “Sorry.”
It’s a blatant lie, and her lips crash against yours right after telling it, this time a little more desperate as she pulls your shirt wide open.
You can’t take it anymore.
You slide your hands lower, tracing through the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips, and the moment your palms cup the plushness of her butt, one final starburst of fireworks bathes the dark room like a backlight of a movie set.
She gasps to the touch, arching as she breaks the kiss.
“Finally,” she breathes, catching her lower lip between her teeth.
The Chairman’s Daughter will return April 29th, 2026.
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