Chapter 14

LISA POV:

The “Strategic Move-In” was officially entering its second week, and Lisa had discovered something vital about Jennie Kim: for a woman who lived her life like a high-stakes chess match, she was remarkably bad at choosing a movie.

“No,” Lisa said, pointing the remote at the massive 85-inch screen that looked less like a TV and more like a window into another dimension. “We are not watching a three-hour documentary about the history of the silk trade. I’ve already lived through your parents’ dinner parties. I’ve seen enough silk to last a lifetime.”

Jennie, currently curled up on the far end of the velvet sofa with her legs tucked under her, narrowed her eyes. She was wearing a pair of silk pajamas (of course) and a thick cashmere cardigan. She looked like a very expensive, very grumpy marshmallow.

“It’s educational, Lisa. It’s about global markets and cultural exchange.”

“It’s about boredom and slow death,” Lisa countered. “We’re watching The Fast and the Furious.”

Jennie stared at her. The silence lasted a long time. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Fast cars. Family. Physics that don’t make sense. It’s the perfect palate cleanser for a day spent looking at spreadsheets.”

“I am not watching a movie where the main plot point is ‘driving fast while sweating,'” Jennie said, her voice rising in that sharp way that usually meant she was winning.

“Too late,” Lisa grinned, hitting Play before Jennie could snatch the remote. “The engine is already starting. Embrace the chaos, Kim.”

“I hate you,” Jennie muttered, but she didn’t get up. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest like it was a shield. “I want it on the record that I am only staying here because I am too tired to walk to my wing.”

“Recorded and filed,” Lisa said, leaning back and stretching her arms out along the top of the sofa. “Now hush. Dom is about to talk about loyalty.”

Thirty minutes into the movie, the bickering hadn’t stopped, but it had changed. It had become a low-frequency hum, a background noise to the sound of exploding cars and screeching tires.

“That is physically impossible,” Jennie whispered, gesturing toward the screen where a car was currently jumping between two skyscrapers.

“So is your ability to drink that much green juice without turning into a plant, but here we are,” Lisa shot back.

“The wind resistance alone would—”

“Jennie. It’s a movie. Stop being a CEO for five seconds and just enjoy the shiny things moving fast.”

Jennie huffed, but she actually leaned back. The distance between them on the sofa was exactly three feet. It was a “Professional Distance.” A “Business Buffer.”

But the thing about the “Billionaire Aquarium” was that it was cold. And Lisa, despite her best efforts to be a “rebel without a cause,” was basically a human space heater.

Lisa noticed the shift first.

It started with the pillows. Jennie slowly discarded the one she was hugging. Then she adjusted her cardigan. Then, slowly—so slowly that it had to be a tactical maneuver—she drifted.

It was like watching a slow-motion collision. Every few minutes, Jennie would shift an inch closer. Then another. She was still pretending to be offended by the movie, making little “tsh” sounds every time Vin Diesel said something about brotherhood, but her body was moving toward the heat.

Lisa kept her eyes on the screen, her heart doing a weird, rhythmic thud against her ribs. She knew what was happening. She could feel the gravity of Jennie Kim pulling her in.

Then, it happened.

The “Buffer” vanished.

Jennie’s shoulder brushed against Lisa’s side. Lisa held her breath, waiting for the sharp remark, the “move over,” or the icy glare.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Jennie let out a long, shaky sigh. The kind of sigh a person makes when they finally stop fighting the world for the day. Her head tipped, slowly, tentatively, until it found the crook of Lisa’s shoulder.

Lisa froze. She was officially a statue. If she moved, she was pretty sure the entire penthouse would shatter.

“You’re… leaning,” Lisa whispered, her voice cracking just a little.

“Shut up,” Jennie murmured, her eyes already half-closed. “You’re just… a convenient headrest.”

“A convenient headrest? I’m a premium luxury headrest. I should be charging you by the hour.”

“Put it on my tab,” Jennie breathed.

Lisa didn’t say anything else. She couldn’t. Her brain was too busy recording the sensations. The weight of Jennie’s head. The soft scent of her shampoo—something like vanilla and expensive secrets. The way Jennie’s breathing was starting to slow down, syncing up with Lisa’s own heart rate.

This was Rule Number Four territory. This was the Danger Zone.

Lisa should move. She should make a joke. She should stand up and go buy more radioactive green furniture.

Instead, she slowly lowered her arm—the one stretched out on the back of the sofa—and let it rest around Jennie’s shoulders.

Jennie didn’t pull away. She actually snuggled closer, her hand reaching out to grab the edge of Lisa’s hoodie.

“Lisa?” Jennie’s voice was tiny now, barely audible over the sound of a car chase in Rio.

“Yeah?”

“If you tell Rosé about this… I will fire you from life.”

Lisa smiled, a real, soft, private smile that no camera would ever catch. “Your secret is safe with me, wifey.”

Another hour passed. The movie ended, the credits rolling in silence. The room was dark, save for the blue glow of the TV and the city lights flickering through the glass walls.

Jennie was out.

Not just “resting her eyes,” but fully, deeply asleep. She had shifted during the movie, her head now resting on Lisa’s chest, her arm draped across Lisa’s waist.

Lisa was currently experiencing a medical phenomenon known as “Kitten Paralysis.” She was trapped. She needed to go to the bathroom, her arm was starting to go numb, and she was pretty sure she had a cramp in her left leg.

She didn’t care.

She looked down at Jennie. Without the sharp words and the defensive layers, Jennie looked… young. She looked like someone who had been carrying the weight of two empires on her shoulders since she was born and had finally found a place to put it down.

Lisa reached out, her fingers trembling slightly, and brushed a stray hair away from Jennie’s forehead.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Lisa whispered to the sleeping girl.

Jennie made a small, soft sound in her sleep—a little hum—and hugged Lisa tighter.

Lisa’s heart officially exited the building.

She realized then, staring out at the Han River, that the bickering was just noise. The insults were just a fence. But this? This quiet, heavy, sleeping trust? This was the real Hostile Takeover.

Jennie wasn’t just taking over the penthouse. She was taking over the quiet parts of Lisa’s mind. The parts Lisa usually kept locked away behind jokes and leather jackets.

Rule Number Four: No falling in love.

“We’re gonna need a bigger rulebook,” Lisa muttered.

She stayed like that for a long time. She didn’t turn off the TV. She didn’t move to her wing. She just sat there in the dark, being a “convenient headrest” for the woman she was supposed to be fighting.

The 50th floor felt less like an aquarium and more like a sanctuary.

Eventually, the numbness in Lisa’s arm became too much to ignore. She had to move.

“Jennie,” she whispered, shaking her shoulder gently. “Hey. Nini. Wake up.”

Jennie groaned, burying her face deeper into Lisa’s hoodie. “No. Five more minutes. The meeting hasn’t started.”

Lisa laughed softly. “There’s no meeting. Just a very long car movie and a numb arm.”

Jennie blinked her eyes open. She looked confused for a second, staring at Lisa’s chest, before the reality of the situation hit her. She sat up so fast she almost gave Lisa a black eye.

“I… I fell asleep,” Jennie said, her voice raspy. She frantically straightened her hair, her face turning a very interesting shade of pink.

“You did,” Lisa said, rubbing her shoulder. “For like, two hours. You drooled on me a little bit. I’ll send you the dry cleaning bill.”

Jennie glared, her armor snapping back into place, though the blush was still there. “I did not drool. Kim’s do not drool.”

“This Kim does. It was very ‘selectively refined’ drool, though. Very high-end.”

Jennie stood up, smoothing out her pajamas. “I’m going to bed. This never happened.”

“What never happened? The cuddling? The hugging? The way you called me ‘the best headrest in Seoul’?”

“I never said that!”

“You did in your sleep. It was very touching.”

Jennie pointed a finger at her, her eyes narrowing. “Lisa. Not a word. Not a single word.”

“My lips are sealed,” Lisa said, making a zipping motion over her mouth. “But my hoodie remembers, Jennie. My hoodie knows the truth.”

Jennie turned and marched toward her wing, her heels clicking even though she was only in socks. It was impressive, really.

“Lisa?” she called out right before she disappeared around the corner.

Lisa looked up. “Yeah?”

“The movie was… okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“It was better than the silk trade,” Jennie admitted. Then, in a much quieter voice: “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jen.”

Lisa sat on the couch for a few more minutes, the silence of the penthouse feeling less empty than it used to. She looked at the spot where Jennie had been sitting. The velvet was still warm.

She stood up, grabbed her half-empty beer, and headed toward her own wing.

She had to be up in five hours for another day of being “engaged.” Another day of cameras and contracts and fake smiles.

But as she lay down in her own bed, the scent of vanilla still lingering on her hoodie, Lisa realized she didn’t mind the “fake” part so much anymore.

Because the “real” part—the part on the couch—was worth every single lie they had to tell.

“Definitely screwed,” Lisa whispered into her pillow.

And for the first time in her life, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

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