OFF THE RECORD

“Chapter 3 : The Elevator Trap"

Yoona Song's POV

The gala ended exactly at eleven.

I waited until the main lobby thinned out, then turned toward the unmarked service elevators at the far end of the hall. It was not listed on the main panel. It was a private exit for executives who wanted to leave without being photographed. The quietest, fastest way out, far away from cameras and small talk. Only the building manager and CEOs knew about it.

I pressed the button once, stepped inside, and reached for the panel to close the doors.

A hand slid smoothly between the metal panels.

"Hold on."

My jaw tightened. That voice. Low, warm, carrying that faint familiar amusement that already made my blood prickle. I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, my posture rigid, my face smooth and unreadable.

Lee Jin-ho stepped in anyway, his midnight blue tuxedo still sharp and flawless, hands loose at his sides like this was the most natural place in the world to be. He looked a little out of breath, like he had run.

"This is a private elevator," I said, voice flat and cold. "How did you even know it was here?"

"My manager told me," he said. "He said this is where VIPs sneak out to avoid the press at the main lobby. He told me to wait here because the main exit is full of reporters. I did not know you would also..."

I glared. That perfect, sharp, marble statue glare that should have frozen him solid.

"This is not funny, Mr. Lee. Get out."

"Can not," he said, pressing the button for ground floor before I could kick him out. "My manager said I need to make sure the CEO gets home safe. It is part of the ambassador job description. Very important."

The doors closed. The elevator jolted down.

One floor. Two floors.

Before I could snap back, the whole cabin shuddered hard once. We both froze.

The lights flickered. The floor dropped half an inch then held still. The control panel went dark. Emergency lights glowed faint amber overhead, turning the small space soft and dim. I pulled out my phone. No signal. No bars. Nothing but an empty screen staring back.

Ten minutes later, the intercom crackled once. A calm voice spoke.

"Apologies for the inconvenience. Power fluctuation due to snow. Estimated time to resume movement: ten minutes. Please remain calm."

The line went dead.

Trapped. In a metal box, three feet by three feet, with Lee Jin-ho, in a private elevator no one knew we were in.

I leaned back against the far wall, crossing my arms tight over my chest. My feet throbbed so badly inside the heels I had worn for five hours straight. Blisters burned on both heels. One had already popped. I shifted my weight slowly, hiding every wince behind steady breaths.

He noticed. Of course he did. His dark eyes dropped to my feet, then back up to my face, tracking every small movement I tried to hide.

"Your feet hurt," he said quietly.

I did not look up. "I am fine."

"You have been saying you are fine since eight PM while wobbling in those heels. You took them off three times behind the pillar near the bar. You hid behind the flower arrangement. I counted."

My head snapped up. "You were watching me that much? Creep."

"Observer," he corrected. "Universally handsome observer. And you were not hiding very well. Your shoulders were shaking."

I hated that he saw it. I hated that in a room of two hundred people, he was the only one who noticed I was in pain.

He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, the one that must have cost more than most people's monthly salary, slipped it off his shoulders, folded it neatly twice, and placed it flat on the dirty metal floor.

"Sit. Your feet are killing you."

I eyed the fine wool like it might catch fire. "That suit is worth thousands. I am not ruining it with floor dust."

"It is just cloth," he said simply. His voice dropped lower. "You matter more. Sit here. Please."

"What are you doing?" I asked, frowning.

"For you. Sit. The floor is cold and dirty and you have been standing since six. Just ten minutes."

"I do not need..."

"Sit, CEO-nim. Please. Just for ten minutes. You can go back to being cold and scary after. I promise I will turn around."

I stared at his jacket on the floor like it was a trap. Then at him. Then at my feet, which were red and swollen and screaming inside the thin straps.

Every part of me screamed to stay standing, to keep my guard up, to act like nothing hurt. But my legs shook. My head ached from smiling for cameras for five hours. And for the first time all night, no one was watching. No cameras. No father. No one waiting in the main lobby to drive me home. No reporters waiting for headlines. Just him. And silence. And amber light.

I sank down slowly, sitting carefully on the expensive wool, pulling my legs close so they would not brush his. The jacket was still warm from his body heat.

He turned his back exactly like he promised, facing the closed doors, hands in his pockets, staring at the numbers that were not moving.

Minutes dragged slow. The air felt warm, close, heavy with things unsaid. I could hear his breathing. I could hear my own.

"Thank you," I mumbled, so quiet I almost did not hear it myself.

He did not turn around. "You are welcome."

Up close in the dim light, I could see the faint dark circles under his perfect makeup from his own long schedule. The way his tuxedo shirt stretched slightly across his shoulders. The way he stood so still, like he was trying to make himself smaller so I would not feel trapped.

Then he crouched down, just enough to be eye level with my knees, not touching at all. His hands stayed in his own pockets.

"What are you doing?" I said, instantly tense, pulling my feet back.

"Not touching," he said quickly, holding his hands up a little. "I promise. I just... you keep curling your toes inside your shoes. You have been doing it since the speeches started. Left foot first, then right."

I went completely still.

"I do the same after concerts," he added quietly, eyes on the elevator doors, not on my feet. "When the dress shoes are too tight and I have to stand for hours. It hurts like hell, but you can not take them off because cameras are everywhere."

My breath caught. I thought no one saw.

The silence stretched thin. Too thin.

I cleared my throat. I had to say it, the guilt had been eating at me ever since the lobby.

"About earlier... Sorry. I thought you were... I did not mean to..."

"A waiter?" he finished for me, trying not to smile, still not looking directly at me.

My face burned hot. "I was in a rush. You were standing near the bar. Dressed in black."

"Aniya, it is okay," he said quietly, Korean slipping out naturally, his eyes finally turning to me bright with teasing. "It is perfectly fine that you mistook the universally handsome Lee Jin-ho for a waiter and ordered me around. Water, no ice, lemon on the side. Very bossy."

"I did not order you around!"

"You absolutely did," he said, grinning openly now. "My ego is still lying on that floor where you stepped on it with those heels. Very heavy heels."

"I already said sorry!"

"Gwenchana," he said softly, his smile growing warmer by the second. "It was cute though. The famous Ice Queen being so sharp and demanding to a waiter. I liked it."

I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning, but I could not hold back the small laugh that slipped out before I could stop myself.

I stared at him. My heart beat so loud I was sure he could hear it over the hum of the dead elevator.

The cabin jolted once hard. Lights blazed bright white. The elevator hummed back to life and began moving smoothly downward.

We both stood fast.

I scrambled to my feet, wincing as my blisters touched the ground again, slipping my heels back on with a sharp inhale. He picked up his jacket quickly, shook it out, dusted it off carefully.

"Ground floor," he said, low and urgent.

"What?"

Before I could finish, the doors opened.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

It was not empty. Ten people were waiting right outside the private exit. The Vogue documentary team with two red blinking video cameras, two Fame photographers, and Choi holding a clipboard with his mouth open.

They were filming footage at all exits for the gala after movie. They had permission to be here.

Choi's eyes went wide. "JIN-HO?!"

In one second, before any camera could focus on my face, Jin-ho moved.

He stepped directly in front of me, his back blocking their view completely, and draped his tuxedo jacket over my head and shoulders in one fast move, pulling the collar up high.

His jacket was warm. It smelled like cold winter air and faint cedar wood, nothing like my usual scent. Clean. Male. Expensive.

His hand was firm on my shoulder, not letting me fall.

"Keep your head down," he whispered against my hair, so fast only I could hear. "Walk close. Do not speak. I got you."

He did not wait for me to answer. He turned us both slightly, his tall frame shielding me completely, his arm steady at my elbow, guiding me forward through the flashes.

"Just a staff member, she felt dizzy, I helped her," he said smoothly to them, voice calm like this happened every day. "No big deal. Move please. Clear the way."

Manager Choi opened the van door fast. Jin-ho helped me step in first, his hand firm and warm on my elbow, then followed close behind, sliding the door shut, blocking out the noise and lights and flashes.

The van pulled away smooth and fast into the snowy Manhattan night.

Only then did he reach over and pull the jacket collar down just enough for me to see, his fingers careful not to touch my skin.

"Safe," he said softly, breath a little short. "No one knows it was you. I made sure."

I stared at him, at the way his dark eyes looked warm and sincere even after lying to his own team, at how easily he had stepped in to protect a woman who had done nothing but snap at him all night.

I handed his jacket back slowly, careful not to wrinkle the fine fabric, my fingers brushing his for one second.

"Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. "But do not think this changes anything between us."

"Of course not," he said, that soft knowing smile back on his lips, the one that made my stomach flip. He leaned a little closer, voice dropping just enough for only me to hear.

"But Yoona? Next time you run away using your private CEO exit... maybe check who else knows about it first."

Then he winked. Slow, deliberate, like he knew exactly what it did to people.

I looked away fast, but not fast enough to hide the flush rising high on my cheeks.