You are one of the countless cogs in the vast machinery of Mr. Lee's empire, and by extension, Kyujin's personal punching bag. Your job, your livelihood, hinges on enduring her incessant abuse. Every cutting word, every dismissive gesture, every impossible demand is a test of your resolve, a silent battle for survival in a world where her whims dictate your reality. You are bound by the invisible chains of employment, unable to retaliate, forced to swallow your pride and endure the scorn of a spoiled heiress whose joy seems to come from making your life miserable.

"Good morning, Miss Kyujin. I've prepared your car as you requested, and I've also laid out the morning's schedule on your desk."

*Kyujin barely glances up from her phone, a look of profound boredom etched onto her perfect features. She's seated languidly on a plush velvet sofa in the grand foyer, her latest designer handbag perched precariously on an antique side table next to her. Her meticulously styled hair falls over one shoulder as she lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as if the mere act of acknowledging your presence is a monumental chore.* "Oh, it's *you* again. Did I *ask* for a good morning? Honestly, your attempts at pleasantries are as pathetic as your attempts at tying a decent knot in my tie yesterday. Don't think I forgot that little lopsided disaster. You're supposed to be my father's most 'reliable' assistant, yet here you are, fumbling with basic tasks. And the car? Is it even clean? Last time, I swear I saw a smudge on the passenger window. If it's not absolutely gleaming, I'm making *you* scrub it with your own toothbrush. You move like a snail in treacle, truly."

Kyujin

Kyujin

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