She Kissed the Korean Mafia Boss’s Portrait in Anger — Then His Real Voice Came From Behind Her

She carried the final report into Min-jun’s office at four o'clock.

He was sitting at the conference table, several maps of the outer boroughs spread out before him, his fingers tracing a line along the East River. He looked up as she entered, his gaze lingering on the dark circles beneath her eyes and the slight paleness of her skin.

"You look exhausted, Miss Roberts," he said, his voice softer than usual, though his expression remained neutral.

"I am fine, sir," Lena said, placing the leather-bound folder on the table. "The report is complete. I've isolated the three shell companies Jin-woo is using to transfer the gambling revenue. If you execute the foreclosure options on their warehouse leases in Long Island City, their entire infrastructure will collapse within seventy-two hours."

Min-jun opened the folder, his eyes scanning her notes with his characteristic, terrifying speed. A faint murmur of approval escaped his lips. "Surgical, Miss Roberts. Your father would have been proud of your attention to detail."

Lena froze, her hand dropping from the table. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at him. "My... my father? You know about my father?"

Min-jun didn't look up from the pages. "Arthur Roberts. A construction foreman for the city. A man who kept meticulous logs of every building inspection he ever performed until his heart failed him six years ago. A good man who left his family with nothing but a mortgage and a mountain of medical bills for a sick wife."

Lena felt a sudden, sharp coldness in her chest. Her breath hitched. "How... how long have you known this, Mr. Kang?"

Min-jun closed the folder with a soft thud. He stood up, walking around the table until he was standing directly in front of her. The proximity was overwhelming, his shadow completely enveloping her.

"I have known since the day I hired you, Lena," he said quietly, using her first name again, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that filled her ears. "Do you truly believe a man in my position selects an executive assistant from a public job posting without reviewing every detail of her life? I knew about the house in Queens. I knew about your mother’s private nurse in the facility in Connecticut. I knew exactly how much money you needed to keep her alive."

Lena felt a hot, angry tear slip over her lower lid, her voice trembling with a mixture of betrayal and humiliation. "So it was a trap. You hired me because you knew I was desperate. You knew I couldn't say no to the salary, no matter what you asked me to do."

"It was not a trap," Min-jun said, his hand moving slightly as if he wanted to reach out to her, though he kept his fingers at his side. "It was an investment. Desperation makes people reckless, Miss Roberts. But responsibility... responsibility makes them precise. I needed someone who had everything to lose, because that is the only kind of person who understands the absolute value of discretion."

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, intense heat that made her heart skip a beat.

"I did not hire you to exploit your weakness, Lena. I hired you because your loyalty is tied to something real. In my world, everyone wants my money, my power, or my life. You are the only person on this floor who simply wants to save her mother. I find that remarkably refreshing."

Lena stared at him, her chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. The anger she had felt a moment ago began to morph into something else—something warm, dangerous, and completely uncontrollable. Up close, she could see the faint lines of exhaustion around his own eyes, the tiny scar near his left cheekbone, the raw humanity hidden behind the immaculate billionaire facade.

Before she could answer, her personal phone—the one she kept in her blazer pocket for emergencies regarding her mother—began to vibrate violently.

She pulled it out with a trembling hand, her eyes widening as she saw the caller ID for the Grace Haven Medical Center.

"Hello?" she gasped, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Miss Roberts?" the voice on the other end was frantic, the sound of medical monitors beeping loudly in the background. "This is Dr. Harrison from Grace Haven. You need to come to Connecticut immediately. Your mother’s blood pressure has dropped critically, and she’s gone into acute respiratory failure. We are moving her to the ICU now."

The phone slid from Lena’s fingers, clattering against the marble floor as her knees went weak. She felt the world tilt on its axis, the darkness closing in around the edges of her vision.

But before she could hit the floor, two powerful hands caught her by the arms, pulling her firmly against a solid, unyielding chest.

"Lena," Min-jun’s voice was loud, commanding, shattering through her panic like a gunshot. "Look at me. Breathe."

She looked up, her eyes blurred with tears, her fingers instinctively gripping the fabric of his midnight-blue suit shirt. "She’s... she’s dying, Min-jun. I have to go. I need a train... I need—"

"You are not taking a train," Min-jun said, his voice turning into an absolute command as he looked over her shoulder toward the doorway. "Marcus!"

The massive chief of security appeared instantly, his face a grim mask of readiness.

"Have the driver bring the armored sedan to the private entrance now," Min-jun ordered, his eyes never leaving Lena’s face. "And contact the chief of thoracic surgery at Yale New Haven Hospital. Tell him he is receiving a patient from Grace Haven in forty minutes. If he is not in the operating room when she arrives, I will buy his hospital and fire him before dawn."

"Yes, boss," Marcus said, vanishing down the hallway.