Chapter 13

JENNIE POV:

Jennie Kim did not hide.

She did not retreat, she did not panic, and she certainly did not spend twenty minutes staring at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror because a girl with a leather jacket and a bad attitude had touched her jaw.

“It was just a zipper,” Jennie told the mirror.

The mirror did not look convinced.

Her skin still felt like it was humming. It was a faint, electric vibration right where Lisa’s fingers had brushed against her spine. It was a glitch in the system. A technical error.

Jennie turned away from her reflection and grabbed her silk eye mask. She needed to sleep. She needed to wake up tomorrow and be the person who cared about profit margins and brand expansion, not the person who leaned into the touch of a woman who owned a radioactive green beanbag.

She climbed into her bed—the one with the high-thread-count sheets that usually felt like a cloud but tonight felt like a trap.

The penthouse was silent.

That was the problem with the “Billionaire Aquarium.” It was too quiet. You could hear your own thoughts. And right now, Jennie’s thoughts were being very loud about Lalisa Manoban.

Interest is a dangerous investment.

Jennie had said that to sound smart. To sound in control. But as she lay there in the dark, watching the moonlight crawl across her floor, she realized that she was already deep in the red.

The next morning, Jennie was in the kitchen by 7:30 a.m.

She was dressed in a sharp, cream-colored power suit. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, perfect bun. She looked like she was ready to fire a board of directors. She was using productivity as a weapon to fight the memory of the night before.

She was midway through making a very complicated green juice when the door to the other wing opened.

Lisa shuffled out.

She was the polar opposite of Jennie. Her hair was a bird’s nest of blonde strands. She was wearing an oversized hoodie that said NASA and a pair of pajama pants covered in cartoon cats. She looked soft. She looked sleepy.

She looked like the most annoying thing Jennie had ever seen.

“You’re vibrating,” Lisa croaked, heading straight for the coffee machine.

Jennie didn’t stop the blender. “I am not vibrating. I am preparing for a 9:00 a.m. briefing.”

Lisa leaned her forehead against the cool surface of the refrigerator. “No. I can feel the stress coming off you. It’s making the air taste like anxiety.”

Jennie turned off the blender. The silence that followed was heavy. “Maybe if you had a schedule, you wouldn’t be so sensitive to other people’s work ethics.”

Lisa finally looked at her, one eye half-closed. She took in Jennie’s suit, her perfect hair, and her narrowed eyes.

A slow, sleepy smirk spread across Lisa’s face.

“Oh,” Lisa murmured. “I get it.”

Jennie felt a flash of heat. “You get what?”

“You’re doing the ‘Professional Robot’ thing because of last night.” Lisa pushed off the fridge and walked toward her, her footsteps silent on the stone floor. “You’re scared.”

Jennie laughed, but it sounded a bit thin. “Scared? Of what? A broken zipper?”

Lisa stopped right in front of her. She smelled like sleep and mint. She was much closer than she needed to be. “Scared that Rule Number Four is getting harder to follow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lisa. I don’t get scared. I get results.”

“Right.” Lisa reached out, her hand hovering near Jennie’s shoulder.

Jennie didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Instead of touching her, Lisa reached past her and grabbed a spoon from the counter. She dipped it into Jennie’s green juice, took a sip, and immediately made a face like she’d been poisoned.

“Ugh. This tastes like a lawn.”

“It’s kale and ginger,” Jennie snapped, grabbing the spoon back. “It’s good for your blood.”

“My blood is fine. It’s my soul that’s suffering.” Lisa moved to the coffee machine and started the brew. “So, what’s on the ‘Professional Robot’ schedule today? More fake smiles? More hand-holding?”

Jennie sat at the island, her spine straight. “Actually, we have a meeting with the interior designers at noon. Since we’re ‘living together,’ the parents want the place to look more cohesive.”

Lisa turned around, the coffee starting to drip. “Cohesive? You mean they want to get rid of the beanbag.”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”

“Over my dead body, Kim.”

“That can be arranged.”

They stared at each other. It was the familiar rhythm—the bickering, the insults, the sharp edges. It was safe. It was better than the silence on the balcony or the heat in the closet.

“Fine,” Lisa said, grabbing her mug. “Noon. I’ll be there. But if they try to put a beige rug in the living room, I’m starting a fire.”

“For once,” Jennie said, picking up her juice, “we are in agreement.”

The meeting with the designers was a disaster.

They were two very fashionable men named Pierre and Andre who spoke in whispers about “flow” and “texture.”

“We think the living area needs more… organic energy,” Pierre said, gesturing to the open space. “Perhaps a large, neutral stone sculpture?”

“No,” Jennie and Lisa said at the same time.

Pierre blinked. “No?”

“No sculptures,” Jennie said. “I want warmth. I want dark wood. I want it to feel like a home, not a gallery.”

“And I want a wall for my records,” Lisa added, leaning back in her chair. “And somewhere for my cameras. And the beanbag stays.”

Andre looked like he was about to faint. “The… the green foam object?”

“It stays,” Lisa said, looking directly at Jennie.

Jennie felt a strange tug in her chest. Lisa was being difficult, yes. But she was also fighting for her space. She was refusing to be erased by the “billionaire aquarium” aesthetic.

“It stays,” Jennie heard herself say.

The designers looked shocked. Lisa looked even more shocked. She turned to Jennie, her eyes wide.

“You’re letting me keep the grape?” Lisa whispered.

Jennie looked at her iPad, pretending to check her notes. “It provides a ‘pop of color.’ And it makes the guests feel superior. It’s a strategic choice.”

Lisa’s grin was blinding. “You love the grape. Admit it.”

“I hate it with every fiber of my being,” Jennie lied.

After the designers left—looking very confused about their career choices—the penthouse felt different. It felt like they had just won a small, weird war.

Lisa was walking around the living room, marking spots on the floor with blue tape. “Records go here. Espresso machine stays there. Maybe a bookshelf over there for your ‘aesthetic’ poetry.”

Jennie watched her. Lisa was moving with so much energy, so much life. She was filling up the empty spaces.

“Lisa?”

Lisa looked up from the floor. “Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Using tape? It’s the best way to visualize—”

“No,” Jennie interrupted. “Why are you being… helpful? Why are you trying to make this place a home?”

Lisa went quiet. She stood up, the roll of blue tape still in her hand. She looked around the glass walls, the high ceilings, and the expensive furniture.

“Because,” Lisa said, her voice unusually serious. “If I’m going to be stuck in a cage for two years, I want it to be our cage. Not theirs.”

Our cage.

The word settled over Jennie like a blanket. It wasn’t “mine” or “yours.” It was “ours.”

“And besides,” Lisa added, the smirk returning. “If it feels like a home, it’ll be much more fun to annoy you in it.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, but the tightness in her chest had loosened. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to this apartment,” Lisa countered.

As the sun began to set, casting a deep orange glow over the Han River, Jennie realized she hadn’t thought about the “Professional Robot” once in the last three hours.

She was standing in the kitchen, watching Lisa struggle to put a piece of tape in a straight line, and she felt a dangerous, terrifying thought cross her mind.

I don’t want to be alone tonight.

“Lisa,” Jennie called out.

“Yeah?”

“Order the Thai food again. The spicy one.”

Lisa looked up, a huge smile breaking across her face. “Rule Number Two? Terrible day?”

Jennie looked at the sunset, then back at the woman in the NASA hoodie.

“No,” Jennie said softly. “Just a long one.”

Lisa’s expression softened. “Coming right up, boss.”

As Jennie walked toward her wing to change out of her suit, she caught her reflection in the glass. She wasn’t wearing her armor. She didn’t look like a CEO.

She just looked like a woman who was starting to realize that the person she was supposed to hate was the only person making her feel alive.

And as she heard Lisa laughing at something on her phone in the living room, Jennie knew one thing for sure.

The Hostile Takeover was complete. But it wasn’t the company she was losing.

It was her heart.

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