All Chapters of My mysterious billionaire : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Emily’s POVI didn’t have a wink of sleep, but that didn’t matter. The interview, although short, was going to be flawless. Kevin checked my questions and told me I had done a wonderful job. Now, the only thing I was missing was an outfit.Back at my apartment, my closet looked like a crime scene. A crime against fashion. Every piece of clothing I owned was strewn across my bed, each one judged and found desperately wanting. Too casual, too corporate, too try-hard, too frumpy.I grabbed my phone, my thumb hovering over my contacts. I needed backup. I needed Chloe.She answered on the second ring, the sound of a bustling coffee shop in the background. "Hey, Em! What's up? You sound stressed. Did Kevin finally fire you for chronic lateness?""Worse," I groaned, holding up a sensible black sheath dress against myself in the mirror. I looked like I was attending a funeral. For my own career. "He gave me the interview. The interview. With Baek Jin. Today at 10 PM."The line went silent for

Emily’s POV“Draft it, and after I read it, we can talk.”What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. Me?!The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. A semblance of professionalism, of self-preservation, kicking in through the haze of shock and hangover. I couldn’t just agree to this madness. Not without seeing the fine print that would undoubtedly sign my life away.Jin’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, the only sign of his surprise. He’d probably expected more stammering, more panicked rabbit behavior. Not a request for contractual documentation.I’m not even sure why the hell I’m agreeing to this!“A prudent response,” he acknowledged, a hint of approval in his tone that irrationally annoyed me. He reached over to the other side of the enormous bed, to a nightstand I hadn’t noticed, and picked up a sleek tablet. He tapped the screen a few times. “It’s already drafted. Standard NDA, confidentiality clauses, terms of engagement, and compensation.”Of course it is, I thought numbly. He

Emily’s POVThree days later, I stood across the street from the Valkyrie Industries tower, a sleek monstrosity of black glass and sharp angles that seemed to slice into the sky.I gulped, the sound loud in my own ears. My hand tightened on the strap of my bag. Inside was my recorder, a list of carefully crafted questions, and a healthy dose of sheer terror disguised as determination.You’re a journalist, I reminded myself, smoothing down the elegant, knee-length dress Chloe had helped me pick out. It was professional but with a subtle allure—a deep burgundy that complemented my skin tone and a neckline that was just low enough to be interesting without being obvious. Armor, again. This is just a story. He is just a subject.I crossed the street, my heels clicking a steady rhythm on the pavement that I hoped conveyed confidence I didn't feel. The lobby was a cavernous space of black marble and chrome, echoing with a sterile silence. As I approached, a receptionist with a severe blonde

Emily’s POVIf I’m going to discuss this, I need something to numb my brain.I caught the eye of the discreet maître d' hovering near the kitchen door and gave a small, beckoning wave. He glided over soundlessly."A glass of your house red, please," I said, my voice sounding too loud in the hushed room.Before the maître d' could nod, Jin's voice cut in, calm but firm. "Perhaps sparkling water instead."I turned my head slowly to look at him, one eyebrow arched so high it probably touched my hairline. "Excuse me? I believe I ordered a glass of wine."His gaze was steady, a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes. "I'm aware. I'm simply questioning the wisdom of it. Given your... history with alcohol in my presence."The meaning slammed into me. Our interview. The blackout. The forgotten night. Heat flooded my cheeks, a furious, humiliated blush. He was referencing my greatest professional—and personal—humiliation as if discussing the weather."I can handle my alcohol just fine

Emily’s POVI stepped over the threshold into a breathtaking open-plan living space. It was all clean lines, minimalist furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a private, beautifully lit garden. It was the complete opposite of von Oberhaus's trophy-filled lair. This was a sanctuary."It's beautiful," I said, my voice a little awed."Thank you," he said simply, closing the door. "I thought this would be more… private than a restaurant.”I quirked an eyebrow. “I thought we had to make public appearances so people would start talking about us.”He hummed. “We do, but I could tell that you wanted to ask me something, and this is the right place to have this kind of conversation.”I stilled. How the hell did he know about that? I wanted to ask, but then I remembered that he is a freaking CEO and has the nose of a Hound.He led me further into the house, toward a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The island was set with two places, an