Fated Love

Chapter 5

I pressed the doorbell, running through a list of possible excuses for why I was late for work.

Seconds later, the door opened—and I forgot how to breathe.

The man standing before me looked like he’d stepped straight out of a glossy magazine. Tall. Built. Sharp. And insanely gorgeous. The cherry on top, he was Asian—a Korean to be exact. His cologne hit me like a gentle storm.

In that instance, it felt as though I had walked into my own K-drama scene.

"Hi, I'm Kiara Michaelson." I said in a soft, low voice. "I am the new house manager. I was appointed to start work today." I smiled nervously, hoping to make a good first impression.

"Well, hello to you." He leaned casually against the doorframe and glanced at his wristwatch—definitely expensive. "You're thirty minutes late for work on your first day. What does that say about your work ethic?" He asked, folding his arms on his chest.

Damn. That voice.

Smooth, deep, and polished—his accent was refined and his tone sent a pleasant chill down my spine. A girl could dream, right?

"Hello, Miss Kiara, can you hear me?" He asked, one brow raised, amusement tugging at his lips.

Oh my God, he just said my name. I think I'm going need a breather.

Get a grip, Kiara. You’re embarrassing yourself.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered, mortified. For how long had I zoned out? Could this day get any worse?

"I couldn't locate this place easily,” I explained quickly, my gaze dropping. “The directions I got were… minimal.”

When he didn’t respond, I glanced up—and froze. He was smiling. And what a smile.

WHAT THE HECK.

It was radiant, disarming, and unfairly perfect. His teeth looked like they belonged in a toothpaste commercial. My inner fangirl went feral.

He was the whole package. He had the height, the physique, those dark eyes, and a British accent wrapped around a deep baritone that could make any woman lose their home training. He was, quite literally, my dream man come to life.

You can't wait to know him “more”, huh? My inner Kiara teased.

Excuse you and your dirty thoughts. I shot back mentally, blushing.

He chuckled softly, clearly noticing my dazed expression. "I was just kidding,” he said. “Erika called earlier. She mentioned you were having trouble finding the place and might be running late.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

"Then why did you scare me like that?" I mumbled under my breath, before flashing a polite smile. "Thank you."

Stepping inside, I was hit by awe. Roxanne had been right when she told me to wait till, I see the inside. It was a penthouse. It was stunning—minimal yet elegant, warm yet sophisticated. Floor to ceiling glass window filled the room with soft natural light. The space was open, the décor top-notch, and the atmosphere… alive. From the threshold, I could see the living room, kitchen, dining area, and even what looked like a mini-bar.

"Kiara,” he called.

"Yes?" I turned to look at him.

"You spaced out again—for about forty seconds this time,” he said with a smirk.

"Really?" I blinked, embarrassed. "Sorry. I was just admiring the place. It’s beautiful.”

"So, are you, my boss?" I asked hopefully as I sat on the plush sofa he gestured to.

“Straight to the point, are we?” He smiled, walking toward the kitchen. “No. I just live here occasionally. My friend owns the apartment. He’s out of the country for work. I’m Richard Seo, by the way.”

I began to nod but froze. My eyes widened.

Richard Seo?!

“ABS Corporation?” I breathed.

“Oh, I see.” He smiled. “You know me already.”

A quiet gasp escaped me.

No way. He was the Richard Seo—the chairman of ABS Corporation.

The ABS Corporation was a multi-billion global conglomerate with subsidiaries in different working sectors. He was the youngest to ever ascend the position of a chairman and although his wealth was inherited and generational, he was also a self-made billionaire who created a tech app for cryptocurrencies and brokerage firms. At a young age, he was already on the Forbes thirty under thirty list—and I’m going to be working for him!

I pinched myself, wincing at the pain. Yep, I wasn’t dreaming.

“So…,” he handed me a can of water which I graciously accepted still reeling from the shock. “Let's get to business. You won't be starting work today. I’ll just give you a tour and go over the house rules.”

He was smiling warmly, but I could sense there was more beneath the charm—a quiet authority.

After the tour, he invited me to sit again. “Kiara Michaelson,” he said, glancing at his laptop. “I've got your documents here. UCLA graduate, first-class honours. Impressive.” He looked up. "If you don't mind me asking, why apply for a domestic role when you could start your own firm?"

I clasped my hands together, biting my lip. "I was a scholarship student. I don’t have the funding to start a firm,” I said softly. “Besides, I need the income. I have responsibilities, and I can’t just sit around waiting for the perfect job.”

He nodded slowly. "Understandable. But with your grades, you could get a great position in your field—anywhere in the country.” His eyes met mine, steady and probing.

I swallowed. "Preferential treatment." I said simply. "I'm an immigrant. Without the right connections, it’s hard to get through—even with interviews.”

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, then shifted the tone. "You know, this place is too quiet. Did you cast a spell or something?" He joked.

"I should be asking you that. You were serious one." I teased.

He blinked, pretending to look offended. "Hey, I was just being professional!"

I grinned. “Sure, you were.”

He sighed dramatically. "Normally, I’d end the interview here, but since you’re already an employee…I suppose I’ll have to treat you to lunch. You’re my guest today.” He winked before walking toward the kitchen.

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

He’s treating me to lunch? Inner Kiara squealed. Could this day get any better?

Say something, Kiara. Don’t mess this up.

"I—you really don't have to do that." I stammered.

“What?” He said with a smirk. “But I want to.” He set a pot on the counter. “Kiara, feel free to relax. Be comfortable. I don’t bite… unless you want me to.”

My heart did a somersault.

He continued, "I don't like it when people act nervous around me because of my social status. Just treat me like a friend, okay? No formalities. We can take things slow.” He winked.

Oh my poor heart. How am I still alive?

"Sure," I murmured, trying not to melt.

While he cooked, I took another look around. The room was tastefully furnished—Chesterfield sofa, armchairs, recliner by the glass wall. In the middle of these was a fancy centre table and a misplaced footstool. There was also a wall shelf by the glass wall lined with awards and books.

I touched the glass wall; it was thick, almost bulletproof. “Does every apartment here have this kind of glass?”

"Not all,” he said, slicing vegetables with ease.

"Doesn't the sunlight ever bother you?" I asked, walking away from the glass wall.

"Sometimes. That's why there's a blind.”

I looked up but saw none.

"It's automated,” he explained. “There's a button for it."

"Wow. That’s… impressive,” I said, stepping closer. “Can I help with anything?”

He shook his head. "You’re my guest. Just relax.”

"I'll relax,” I said stubbornly, “but I still insist. Let me at least set the table—or wash the dishes.”

He paused, eyeing me curiously before smiling. "Fine. You can do that—but only after I'm done cooking. Deal?"

"Deal." I smiled back. "Excuse me, I'm just going to use the bathroom."

"Sure." He murmured.

As I walked away, my heart still hadn’t calmed down.