Chapter 4 || "Professor Kim: A victim. A Survivor. A Saint." || BOOK 2 OF PHOENIX IN HIS ARMS.

 

In the heart of Seoul’s glistening skyline, where glass giants kiss the clouds and neon reflects in the river by night, stood a monument not just of architecture—but of aspiration.

A jet-black monolith with sweeping lines and floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, the KJ Headquarters looked nothing like a fashion house and everything like the future. Minimalist yet commanding, bold yet tastefully restrained, it was the kind of building that made pedestrians stop mid-step and question their own ambitions.

The automatic doors opened with a whisper—silent, graceful, as if to warn the visitor: Here, wealth is not enough. You walk into a dream only if you have the audacity to belong.

The gold-accented monogram on the entrance wall read KJ—nothing more, nothing less. But to those in the know, those two letters could summon envy, desire, and awe in one breath.

KJ—the brand that had set the entire fashion world ablaze in barely three years. Renowned for its revolutionary silhouettes, impossibly flattering fits, and uncanny ability to turn even the most unnoticed person into a head-turning figure, KJ was not just a brand anymore. It was a standard.

But what elevated KJ beyond the runway, beyond the glitz, was its founder: the elusive enigma known as Kim Jungkook.

Self-made, self-sculpted, and self-risen, Jungkook was more than a CEO. He was a phenomenon. The industry didn’t just respect him—it whispered about him like a myth. They said working under him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even ten minutes in his orbit could change the course of your career. If he glanced at your sketch, gave a nod at your cut, offered even a vague compliment—you were as good as touched by the stars.

He wasn’t born from privilege. He walked away from it.

He built KJ not as the heir of Korea’s most powerful education dynasty, but as an ambitious student sketching at midnight, surviving on caffeine and pure talent. He poured sweat into threads, turned pressure into gold, and built a brand that now made even billionaires think twice before asking for a custom.

And perhaps, most infuriatingly—he looked like that.

Though rarely seen in public, the whispers about him were louder than ever.

“He’s like… a Greek god walked into a Dior campaign,” one assistant whispered over lunch.

“No. No, no,” another would counter, her cheeks red. “He’s worse. He's... he’s illegal. He’s a walking HR violation in every galaxy.”

With sharp, feline eyes, long lashes, and a face that danced between angelic and sinful, Jungkook’s beauty wasn’t soft—it was commanding. His jawline could cut glass, his nose perfectly sculpted, his lips impossibly plush. He had a way of making a room forget how to breathe without even trying.

And then… there were the tattoos.

One day, the calm routine of the office cracked.

The story spread like wildfire.

An unfortunate—or perhaps too fortunate—female intern had been called to his private office to deliver a report. Inside, the air conditioning had apparently broken, and the temperature had climbed.

She returned... changed.

Her eyes dazed. Her cheeks pink. Her voice barely above a whisper.

“What happened?” everyone had asked in unison, crowding around her desk.

And with one breathless whisper, she shattered the myth wide open.

“His sleeves… were rolled up. His shirt was unbuttoned. Not all the way but... enough. He has... tattoos. Not just his fingers—his entire arm. His shoulder. They crawl up his neck. I—he—there was a bead of sweat on his collarbone.”

Chaos.

Desks were bumped. Mugs spilled. One girl fainted (dramatically). And the office was never the same again.

How could he be this hot and this talented? How was it fair? They all began to ask the same question:

“Did God use all his favor on Kim Jungkook?”

It seemed unfair—no, criminal—for one man to possess everything: beauty, brains, talent, success, mystery. And to make it worse, he didn’t flaunt it. He hid.

Mr. Kim rarely made appearances. Most employees had only caught a glimpse, sometimes through the reflection of glass walls or the lightest of footsteps down a hallway. His schedule was private. His meetings: unannounced. The only person who saw him daily, multiple times a day, was his personal assistant—a composed 35-year-old foreigner named Hana.

Every time she walked out of his office, they stared. Not with jealousy, but reverence.

“She’s touched holy ground,” one whispered.

“It’s favouritism. From God, not the boss,” another sighed dramatically.

But the truth was—Kim Jungkook didn’t need to appear. His presence was felt in every stitch, every boardroom decision, every campaign. He ran the company with a mysterious precision. He could spot a flawed hemline from a CCTV camera. He once fixed a global supply chain problem while eating a protein bar and sketching a dress on a napkin.

He was that kind of legend.

And for all the employees in that towering black building, he remained a dream with a heartbeat—a dream they chased from the other side of office walls.

Only… if they knew the truth.

Because Mr. Kim Jungkook, for all his mystery and perfection, belonged not to the world, not to them, but to someone already.

Someone who knew every tattoo, every scar, every breathless sigh.

And no magazine article or gossip in the breakroom could guess the truth hidden behind the shimmering veil of KJ—

The devilish Greek god, the silent CEO, the nation’s most unattainable bachelor… was already taken.

And very, very possessively so.

click the link below for the next chapter:

https://novelreadingislife.blogspot.com/2025/05/chapter-5-professor-kim-victim-survivor.html

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