CEO HAN'S OFFICE
1470 Words
*Hansei Entertainment. 40th Floor. 9:00AM*
The elevator dinged.
Lisa stepped out and the air changed.
Downstairs was sweat and practice rooms and shouted counts.
Up here was glass, white marble, and silence.
The kind of silence that cost money. The kind that buried things.
Her heels clicked. She hated heels. Trainee uniform + blazer + heels = “potential debut member” uniform.
It was a costume. And today she had to wear it for a man who might have killed her father.
CEO Han’s secretary had called her 20 minutes ago.
_“CEO Han wants to see you. Now. Don’t be late.”_
No reason given. No "congratulations." Just a command.
Lisa’s bag felt heavy. The photo was inside, tucked in the lining. _Ask CEO Han about Bangkok._
Her hands were shaking. She shoved them in her blazer pockets.
The secretary, a woman in her 30s with a perfect bob and a headset, didn’t look up from her computer.
“Wait here,” she said. Typing.
Lisa waited.
On the wall behind the desk: Hansei’s debut groups. All smiling. All perfect. Teeth too white.
And in the corner, half-hidden by a plant: a framed photo. Bangkok skyline. 17 years ago.
The Chao Phraya River glittering.
Her stomach dropped.
The door opened.
*CEO Han.*
50s. Gray suit tailored to his body. Hair slicked back with product that probably cost more than her monthly trainee allowance. Smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
He looked like every news article about “self-made success.”
He also looked like the man in her nightmares. The one Grandma said had “devil’s eyes.”
“Lisa Monaban,” he said. Voice smooth. Practiced. “Come in.”
---
*CEO’S OFFICE*
Floor to ceiling windows. Seoul spread out below like a circuit board.
On his desk: awards, a Thai coffee mug that said _Bangkok 2015_, and a folder with her name on it.
L-I-S-A M-O-N-A-B-A-N.
The Thai mug made her sick.
“Sit,” he said. Gestured to the leather chair. Too big. Like a throne.
Lisa sat. The chair swallowed her. Made her feel 17 years old again. Small. Powerless.
CEO Han poured two glasses of water from a crystal decanter. Didn’t offer her one.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said. Leaning against the desk. “Your dance videos. Your evaluations. Very impressive. You have rage. We can sell rage.”
“Thank you, CEO-nim.”
He smiled. “You dance angry. I like that. Anger sells. Pain sells. Trauma sells.”
Lisa’s jaw tightened.
“Do you know why I called you up here?”
“No, CEO-nim.”
“Because someone sent me an email.” He slid his laptop around with one finger.
The same photo. Baby her. The blood on the sheets.
And underneath, in an anonymous email: _“Your new star is built on a lie. Ask her about Bangkok.”_
Lisa’s heart stopped. Then restarted, too fast.
CEO Han closed the laptop. Click.
“Do you know who sent this?”
“No.” Voice steady. She was proud of that.
“Hmm.” He stood. Walked to the window. Hands behind his back. Watching the city.
“I knew your father, Lisa. Somchai Monaban. Good man. Terrible business partner.”
The word _partner_ hit like a slap.
“He and I started something in Bangkok. Import-export. Very lucrative. Textiles, shipping.” He turned. “Then he died. Very sad. His wife too. Car accident, they said.”
A pause. He watched her.
“And you survived. Miracle baby. 30 minutes.”
Lisa forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes, CEO-nim.”
CEO Han came back to the desk. Leaned on it, close enough that she could smell his cologne. Expensive. And something underneath. Metallic.
“Here’s the problem, Lisa. Hansei is about to debut a new girl group. Millions of dollars. Sponsors. Global tour. Netflix documentary.”
He tapped the folder. Her folder.
“If there’s a scandal... if people find out our main vocalist’s father died in... suspicious circumstances... the group dies before it starts. Stock drops. Sponsors pull out.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Lisa asked.
CEO Han smiled. Finally reached the eyes. Cold. Empty.
“Keep dancing. Keep quiet. And if anyone asks about Bangkok, you say you don’t remember. Because you were a baby.”
He slid a contract across the desk. Debut contract. 12 pages.
“Sign this. Today. And we protect each other. I protect your career. You protect my company.”
Lisa stared at it. Her name. Her dream. Her escape.
And underneath the pen: a yellow sticky note.
CEO Han’s handwriting. She recognized it from the photo.
_“Don’t ask about the money.”_
The same handwriting as the note in the photo.
_Ask CEO Han about Bangkok._
Someone in this room sent both.
Either CEO Han was taunting her. Or someone else in here was warning her.
Lisa picked up the pen. Her hand didn’t shake.
“I need to think about it,” she said.
CEO Han’s smile dropped. “Excuse me?”
“I said I need to think about it.” She stood. The chair made no sound. “24 hours. That’s fair, right? For a life-changing decision?”
The room went cold. The AC kicked on.
CEO Han studied her. For a long time. Jaw ticking.
Then he laughed. One short bark. “You’ve got spine. I like that. Your father had spine too. Right before he lost it.”
He caught himself. Cleared his throat. “24 hours. But Lisa?”
“Yeah?”
“If you talk to reporters. If you talk to Coach Min. If you talk to anyone... that contract disappears. And so do you.”
Lisa bowed. 90 degrees. Perfect trainee.
“Understood, CEO Han.”
She walked out. Legs shaking. Didn’t look back.
---
*HALLWAY. 9:20AM*
Jae-hyun was waiting by the elevator.
Like he knew.
Like he’d been waiting for 20 minutes.
“What did he say?” he asked immediately. No greeting.
Lisa shook her head. “Not here.”
They got in the elevator. Alone.
The second the doors closed, Lisa sagged against the wall.
“He has the photo. Someone sent it to him too. And he knew my dad. In Bangkok. He called it a ‘car accident.’”
The elevator dinged. Floor 12.
They didn’t move.
“Jae-hyun,” Lisa whispered. “Were you... did you know? From the start? You knew of my dad?”
Jae-hyun met her eyes. Honest. Hurt. Angry.
“I didn’t know it was YOU. Not until I saw you dance last week. You move like him. Same sharp turns. Same way you land on the beat.”
Like her father.
I knew the name Somchai Monaban,” he snapped. “I didn’t know it was YOU.
"Not until I saw you dance last week. You have his same sharp turns. CEO Han showed us old Bangkok footage once in a trainee class. This is what real stage presence looks like. That was your dad.” Jaehyun added.
Lisa stepped back. Hit the elevator wall.
“So what are you? A spy? Did he send you to watch me?”
“I’m the guy who gave you ramen at 5AM,” he snapped. Voice low, but sharp. “I’m the guy who sat with you while you cried at 3AM. I’m the guy who said I’d burn this place down for you. Pick one.”
The doors opened. Trainees stared.
Lisa walked out. Didn’t look back.
But her hands were shaking again.
---
*2:14AM. PRACTICE ROOM.*
Lisa wasn’t dancing.
The lights were off. Only the emergency exit sign glowed red.
She was sitting on the floor. The contract in front of her.
And the photo.
And her phone.
One new message. Unknown number.
_“Sign it-H”_
H. Han?
Lisa looked at the contract. 12 pages of legal trap.
Then at the mirror.
6 versions of her stared back. Tired. Scared. Angry.
She thought about Bangkok.
About Grandma Kannika’s last words. _“The girl with devil’s eyes.”_
She picked up the pen.
Signed her name.
L-I-S-A M-O-N-A-B-A-N.
Each letter felt like signing a deal with the devil.
Not because she was scared.
Because now she was inside.
And inside, she could find the killer.
She took a picture of every page. Sent it to a burner email she made yesterday.
Evidence.
The demon wasn’t in her.
But she was going to drag it into the light.
Even if it burned her alive.
She folded the contract. Put it in her bag.
Then she turned the music on. Bangkok street music.
And she danced.
Not to run. To remember.
- Writer
