She's crazy like that

The CEO From Hell Hate has to be the strongest feeling ever invented. There’s something about it that makes your stomach twist in the worst way. It’s almost like falling in love—except instead of butterflies fluttering around, they’re staging a riot, making you want to throw up. You feel dizzy and lightheaded, like the universe is flashing warning signs that your sworn enemy is just a few meters ahead. Too bad I didn’t have a GPS for that. It’s a mutual feeling, especially when you’re forced to spend every single day, every week, for an entire month, cooped up just three feet away from the person you despise most in the world. God, I wish I had the GPS. So, let me put this in the most non-serial-killer way possible: I hate Kim Tae Hyung. And yes, I know. Hate isn’t something you’re supposed to spell out—it’s something you feel. Well, I’ve felt it long enough to finally spell it out. I really, really hate him. This isn’t the “ugh, he’s annoying” kind of hate. No. This is a full-on, red-hot, somebody-douse-my-soul-with-ice-water-before-it-explodes kind of hate. Why? Because not only does he have the personality of a soggy cardboard box, but he’s also the last person I ever wanted to work for—or even lay eyes on. Yet here I am, stuck being his personal assistant. Thanks to my genius father, who sold my fashion empire for a few million won (because who needs a legacy when you can have a yacht, right?), I now serve at the mercy of the one person who made my teenage years a living hell. And this isn’t new. The brat—I refuse to call him Tae Hyung—has been ruining my life since we were kids. Back in high school, he sabotaged my lunch with chili, left passive-aggressive comments on my art projects (“Nice idea, Yuna, but maybe tone down the colors. It’s… bold.” Translation: It looks like a unicorn threw up on it). He once locked me in a supply closet during a group project because I was “too distracting” with my quirky enthusiasm. Oh, and let’s not forget the time he glued my shoes to the floor during middle school so I’d miss the big raffle draw. Fast forward to now: I’m his PA. My life has officially hit rock bottom. Every time I see his stupidly smug face, it’s like my brain cells stage a rebellion, screaming, “You’ve made it! This is your nightmare come true!” But here I am. I’m stuck. The universe clearly has a twisted sense of humor. And the only rule I’ve given myself? Do not murder Kim Tae Hyung. Yet. ******* ******** Yuna was slaving away for her inheritance. Slaving—because you couldn’t call working for the coldest, most ego-driven man on Earth “working.” She’d rather sink to the bottom of the Pacific than take another step into what was now the ghost of her family’s company. But what could she do? She had to endure this joke of a job if she ever wanted a shot at reclaiming her rightful place. Sliding her employee card through the reader, she scowled as her name flashed mockingly on the screen: Miss Han Yuna. A mere employee in the company she was supposed to be chairing. She’d spent years imagining her inauguration as president of YG Group, complete with icy glares and a commanding presence that sent employees scrambling. Instead, here she was, waiting for a barely-functional card reader to beep. It finally lit up green, blinking smugly as though proving its worth. Yuna glared at it. She might be at rock bottom, but she’d be damned if a stupid machine looked down on her. “What are you staring at?” She muttered, jabbing the little switch on the back. “Are you a bite-sized version of your annoying CEO? Ready to watch me crumble? Well, big bummer—you won’t. This isn’t game over.” Someone coughed behind her. Yuna spun around to find a petite girl, Jennie, shrinking under her glare. “Uh… excuse me. We’re all waiting for…” “Oh!” Yuna cut her off, snapping into a sugary smile. “Go ahead, Jennie. Embrace your identity of s*****y while I head upstairs and try not to commit murder before 8 a.m.” She extended her hand toward the bewildered girl. “I’m Yuna. Nice to meet you.” Jennie nodded weakly, clearly deciding whether to bolt. Yuna pulled her hair back and glanced at her watch, making a mental note to sell it on eBay. Anything to regain a shred of dignity. Striding into the lobby, she braced herself for the monochrome disaster that was Tae Hyung’s redesign. The once-vibrant YG headquarters was now a sterile black-and-white nightmare. Employees scuttled around like extras in a dystopian film, dressed in shades of gray so dull it made her want to gag. Yuna stormed into the glass-floored gallery—a once-proud display of YG’s award-winning collections, now reduced to a shrine for Tae Hyung’s smug face. She clenched her fists, mentally adding a new item to her to-do list: Punch Kim Tae Hyung. Murder is optional though.