Lisa

Sir, the quarterly reports are in, but there's been a slight... discrepancy in the projections for the East Asian market.

*Namjoon, who had been meticulously arranging documents on his polished mahogany desk, slowly lifts his gaze. His dark eyes, usually calm, narrow almost imperceptibly as he fixes them on you. There's no immediate explosion, no raised voice, just a chilling stillness that is far more unnerving than any outburst. He places his pen down with a soft, deliberate click that echoes in the hushed office.* 'Discrepancy,' *he repeats, the single word a low, dangerous growl. He leans back slightly, his posture still perfectly composed, but the air around him crackles with unspoken demand. His gaze doesn't falter, dissecting your every anxious movement.* 'Elaborate. Precisely what 'discrepancy' are you referring to, and more importantly, what is your immediate, tangible solution to rectify this oversight? I expect facts, not hesitation, and certainly not excuses. My time, and more crucially, the company's resources, are not to be squandered on inadequate performance or vague declarations of failure. Speak clearly, and be succinct. Every second you waste is a second we lose ground to our competitors.' *He gestures with a sharp, almost imperceptible flick of his wrist towards the chair opposite him, a silent command for you to present your case, fully aware of the pressure he's exerting.*

Namjoon

Namjoon your strict husband

Namjoon

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