The Tyrant's Secret fetish-Chapter 63

Ye jun

The conference room was so still when I finally stood up. Everyone’s eyes hit me like I’d just pulled a gun out of my pocket instead of offering to save the day. Dad’s face was still red from yelling at Si-woo, but now it had this weird hopeful twitch, like maybe his disappointment had a backup plan after all. The client, Mr. Expensive Watch was halfway out the door, briefcase already clicking shut like a judge’s gavel. His two assistants hovered behind him, looking ready to bolt.

I didn’t rush. I stood there for a second and let the room settle. Chairs scraped softly. Someone coughed. The projector made some noise like it was tired of everyone. Then I walked to the front slowly , like I owned the space. Every step felt loud on the floor and I was feeling like Merlin. People turned their heads to follow me. A few of the interns whispered to each other, confused. One of them actually leaned forward like they didn’t want to miss what would happen next.

I reached the table and pulled my USB out of my pocket. The little black thing had been with me for weeks. I carried it everywhere. In my jacket. In my jeans. In my bag. Like a secret weapon. Like something I knew I might need one day. I turned it in my fingers for a moment before plugging it in.

Si-woo’s laptop was still sitting there, screen frozen and glitching like it had caught a terrible illness. Lines flickered across it. The slide from his presentation was half there and half broken. No one moved to fix it. IT was nowhere in sight. Of course.

So I grabbed the spare HDMI cable, connected it, and opened the file from my USB. My phone hotspot lit up on the screen when the connection kicked in. Not perfect, but it worked. Good enough to save the mess that was hanging in the air.

"Alright," I said, loud enough for everyone. My voice echoed slightly in the quiet room. "Since the tech gods decided to take a smoke break, let me show you what this line could actually look like if someone wasn’t too busy jerking off to his own genius to back anything up properly."

A couple interns snorted before they could stop themselves. Someone else covered their mouth to hide a laugh. Dad shot me a sharp look that said shut the hell up and focus, but I caught the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth. He was trying not to smile. Trying very hard.

Si-woo didn’t laugh. He didn’t move at all.

He stood there like someone had nailed him to the carpet. His shoulders were stiff. His hands were clenched at his sides. His face kept changing every few seconds. First there was rage. Pure rage. His jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might break. Then confusion slipped in. Then something else.

Recognition.

Because the slides on the screen were not the same as his.

They started the same. Same idea. Same bones. But I had changed them. Improved them. The colors were different. The old safe navy he loved was gone. In its place was a deep bruised plum that made the fabrics glow under the light. It made everything look richer. Darker. Like something expensive people would fight over.

I had changed the cuts too. Some of the suits now had sharper streetwear lines. The jackets were shorter. The trousers were tighter. The whole thing looked younger. Less like a funeral for rich men.

The room went quiet as the first slide fully loaded.

I started talking.

No shaking. No pause.

"Look," I said, pointing at the screen. "The sketches are strong. Credit where it’s due. But the market has moved. People don’t want stiff anymore. They want edge. They want something that feels expensive without looking like they’re trying to dress like villains in a finance movie."

I clicked to the next slide.

The plum fabric sample filled the screen.

"This color photographs beautifully. Especially at night. Clubs. Events. Social media. Under lights it almost looks black. But not quite. That difference matters. It makes the piece stand out."

The lead client had stopped walking.

He turned around slowly and looked at the screen.

His assistants stopped too.

I kept going before anyone could interrupt.

"Now imagine this paired with matte black hardware. No shiny gold. No obvious logos. Clean lines. Limited release. Three cities only for the first drop. New York. Seoul. Paris."

Another slide clicked forward.

"Scarcity creates hunger. Influencers get early pieces. Social media explodes. By the time the public sees the collection, the waitlist is already full."

The client walked back toward the table.

Slow. Interested.

"You’re saying," he said carefully, "you can deliver this within the same timeline we discussed earlier?"

"Faster," I said.

That got his full attention.

"I already spoke with suppliers about alternate fabrics last week. If you approve the revision today, sample pieces can arrive by next week. Production adjustments are minimal."

Behind me I heard Si-woo make a strange sound.

Half choke. Half angry animal.

I glanced over in the middle of my explanation.

Our eyes met.

I mouthed two things slowly.

You’re welcome.

Then I mouthed another.

Told you you’re fucked.

His nostrils flared. His whole face went stiff. For a moment he looked like someone had hit pause on him.

Dad cleared his throat loudly.

"Ye Jun has been... shadowing the project closely," he said.

Shadowing.

Right.

Like I had not spent nights digging through every file on that project. Like I had not studied every detail while Si-woo enjoyed being the golden genius.

The client sat down again.

His assistants followed quickly like confused birds returning to the nest.

I kept talking.

The presentation lasted another fifteen minutes. Slide after slide. Market predictions. Sample photos. Cost adjustments. Marketing rollout ideas. I spoke clearly and confidently the entire time.

The mood in the room changed little by little.

At first people looked nervous.

Then curious.

Then impressed.

By the time the final slide faded away, the lead client was leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

"That," he said slowly, "is a far stronger concept."

He closed his notebook and nodded once.

"Send the revised presentation and contract details by tomorrow evening. We will discuss exclusivity."

He stood up and held out his hand.

To me.

Not to Si-woo.

We shook hands firmly.

His assistants shook my hand too.

Dad slapped my shoulder so hard the impact nearly pushed me forward onto the table.

"Good work, son," he said.

Son.

He said it loud.

Everyone heard.

The word hung in the air like a trophy.

Si-woo still had not moved.

He stood there breathing hard like someone who had just run ten miles and lost at the finish line.

People started leaving the room quickly after that. Chairs scraped. Quiet conversations started. Employees whispered to each other while packing their laptops and papers.

I packed my things slowly.

No hurry.

I slid my USB back into my pocket.

Eventually the room emptied until only a few people remained in the hallway outside.

I stepped toward the door.

The moment I crossed into the hall I felt it.

That heat.

That anger.

Si-woo.

He was right behind me.

The door had barely clicked shut when something slammed into me.

My back hit the wall hard enough that the breath flew out of my lungs.

Si-woo’s forearm pressed across my chest, trapping me against the wall. His other hand grabbed my shirt and twisted the fabric tight. The buttons stretched under the pressure.

"You think this is over?" he whispered harshly. His face was inches from mine. "You think you can just walk in, steal my work, and walk away like the hero?"

I grinned even though my heart was racing.

"Smells better than failure," I said.

His eyes dropped to my mouth for a second.

Then snapped back up.

"I’m going to bury you," he said.

"Yeah?" I tilted my head closer to him. My lips brushed his ear when I whispered back. "You keep saying that. But somehow I’m still here."

His fingers dug harder into my collarbone.

Our faces were so close our noses almost touched. I could feel his breath against my skin. It smelled like coffee .

For a moment neither of us moved.

And honestly?

For a split second it felt like he might actually kiss me.

Right there against the ugly beige wall in the middle of the office.

A furious kiss. The kind people regret immediately after.

But then footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Vice president Si-woo!"

A senior designer appeared around the corner.

She looked confused for a second before speaking again.

"Your father wants you in his office. Right now. Something about the previous damage control."

Si-woo froze.

His grip loosened slightly.

He stared at me like he was memorizing my face for later revenge.

Then he shoved away from me hard enough that my shoulders hit the wall again.

"This isn’t done," he snapped.

"Looking forward to round two," I said.

He stormed down the hallway without another word.

I stayed where I was for a moment, leaning back against the wall and breathing slowly until my heartbeat calmed down.

My legs jellied and I had stupid grin spread across my face.

I Won this round.

But the war was far from over.

If anything, it was getting hotter.

Home was worse.