𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬'𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

The elevator’s taking forever. Of course it is. Just my luck. My arms are full with an ungodly stack of files that my boss insists on needing today of all days. My arms are about to fall off, and I can’t even feel my fingers anymore.

So naturally, I’m too caught up in mentally cursing these files to realize I’m not alone in the elevator.

“Shit—” I mutter under my breath when I glance up. There's someone standing right next to me. And holy hell.

She’s stunning.

Long waves of golden-blonde hair that catch the light just right. Skin like porcelain, eyes sharp and unreadable. The kind of beautiful that’s borderline intimidating—like she belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine, not in this stuffy elevator.

There’s something weirdly familiar about her face, too. Her jawline, her stare… she looks a little too much like my boss.

Wait.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I say politely, trying not to sound like I’m dying under the weight of these files.

She looks over at me with the faintest smirk. “Good morning. Could you press floor five for me?”

Her voice is soft but crisp—like velvet with bite. I freeze, distracted, and a little thrown off by how intense her gaze is.

“Miss?” she prompts, brow raised.

I blink. “Oh! Sorry. What was that?”

She lets out a sigh. “I said, floor five.”

Right. The button. That I can’t press. Because my arms are full. I try to adjust my grip, but nope. Still full.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Could you maybe… press it? I’m kind of carrying a small mountain right now.”

She looks me up and down, then down at her phone in her perfectly empty hands. "I don’t care. Just press it.”

Seriously?

I grit my teeth and somehow manage to elbow the button. Barely.

Okay. Rude. Beautiful, but rude. There’s something kind of fascinating about women who are that assertive, but damn. A little compassion wouldn’t kill her.

Honestly, this whole mess started because of my boss. She's going out of town for a business trip, and of course, she left me in charge of prepping all these files for a major proposal. I should be flattered. Mostly, I’m just sore.

The elevator dings, and we both step out—her, gracefully and phone still in hand. Me, shuffling like a pack mule.

Then she glances back at me with a slight frown. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m not,” I reply with a polite smile. “I’m heading to Miss Park’s office.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing as she pushes the door open.

“Good morning, Miss Park,” I greet as I step inside, grateful to finally drop the files on the table.

“Morning, Yuqi,” my boss says cheerfully. “You’re early! And efficient as always.”

I smile, cheeks warming a little. She’s always so nice to me. I really do like working for her.

“Oh, before I forget,” she adds. “I want to introduce you to someone. This is my younger sister, Soyeon. She’ll be covering for me while I’m away.”

Oh.

So I wasn’t hallucinating. They really are related.

Soyeon. Miss Mysterious-Elevator-Queen-of-Attitude. Of course.

“And this,” my boss gestures toward me, “is Yuqi—your secretary for the next three weeks. She’s lovely, super helpful, and I’m sure you’ll both get along great.”

I offer a smile and bow politely toward Soyeon. She doesn’t smile back—just raises one eyebrow and frowns a little, like I’ve offended her by existing. Fantastic.

My boss is an angel. Her sister? Clearly... not.

But I keep my cool. Because I’m a professional. And also because I’m now stuck working under the devil in Prada for the next three weeks.

Two Weeks Later...

Working with Miss Park’s sister is... an experience.

Soyeon’s cold, blunt, and always seems one eye-roll away from firing me. And yet—God help me—I still find her attractive. It's annoying. She’s the definition of snobbish, but she has this quiet intensity that pulls you in.

I don’t get her. And I’m not even sure she likes me. But I respect her. Maybe she’s got a reason for being this guarded. I won’t judge her... yet.

Today, we’re heading to a meeting with one of the big executives. I’m in the backseat with her because she doesn’t like sitting up front. Whatever.

“Do I have any appointments after this?” she asks without even looking at me.

“No, Miss Park,” I reply, slipping my phone back into my bag.

“Good.”

She leans her head back, clearly done talking. I glance out the window, trying not to overthink things. It’s quiet. Strangely calm. So I let my eyes close.

===

A soft tap on my shoulder pulls me back to the surface.

“Miss Song,” our driver says gently. “We’re here.”

I blink, disoriented. “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Hye.”

He smiles and hands me a small envelope. “This is for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “You’ll see.”

Then he walks off, leaving me in confusion.

When I check my watch, I nearly scream. It’s already 3:30 PM. Shit. The meeting.

Why didn’t she wake me?

Then I remember the letter. I slowly unfold it.

Dear Miss Song,

I didn’t wake you because I could tell you were exhausted. You need rest. That’s why I arranged a room for you. You’re already outside the hotel. Room 143 is ready.

Enjoy your stay.

—Soyeon

I stare at the note.

Is this a prank? No… it’s definitely her handwriting.

A strange warmth blooms in my chest. Soyeon—cold, snarky, always irritable Soyeon—let me sleep, then booked me a hotel room just so I could rest?

Why?

I don’t know what to make of it. But one thing’s clear.

Maybe she’s not as heartless as she pretends to be.

And for the first time in weeks, I smile. Really smile.