UNDER MY CONTROL

6- A Fragile Start

The New World, A New Battlefield

The morning sun glinted off the towering glass facade of Jeon Enterprises, a monolith of wealth and power piercing the skyline of Seoul.

The building was a masterpiece of modern decadence—fifty floors of polished steel and crystal, its sleek lines reflecting the city in a kaleidoscope of light.

Inside, the lobby sprawled like a cathedral of luxury: marble floors veined with gold, towering chandeliers dripping with diamonds, and walls adorned with abstract art that screamed money.

A fleet of uniformed staff moved silently, their precision almost mechanical, tending to the needs of the elite who strode through the revolving doors.

This was Jeon Jungkook’s empire—a fortress of ambition where every detail whispered dominance and excess.

Fiora stood at the entrance, clutching her worn leather satchel, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her simple blouse and skirt felt like rags against the opulence surrounding her, but she squared her shoulders, whispering to herself,

“You’ve earned this, Fiora. You’ve worked hard—don’t let it scare you. You can face anything here.”

Her voice trembled, but she forced a small, determined smile, her wide eyes drinking in the grandeur as she stepped forward.

She’d fought tooth and nail for this internship—late nights studying in the dim orphanage library, scholarships scraped together with sheer will. This was her chance, and she wouldn’t let fear steal it.

The elevator ride to the 42nd floor was a blur, its mirrored walls reflecting her nervous fidgeting as soft classical music hummed in the background.

When the doors parted, she stepped into a world that stole her breath. The floor was a symphony of extravagance: glossy ebony hardwood stretched endlessly, dotted with plush ivory rugs. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of the city, its skyscrapers glinting like jewels under the morning light.

Workstations gleamed with sleek, curved monitors and ergonomic chairs upholstered in buttery leather.

A glass-walled conference room shimmered in one corner, its table a slab of polished onyx, while a barista station offered espresso from a machine that looked like it cost more than her entire wardrobe. The air smelled faintly of citrus and wealth—a scent she couldn’t place but knew she didn’t belong in.

Fiora stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape as she marveled at the scene. She’d never seen anything like it—not in the cramped, peeling walls of the orphanage, not in her wildest dreams.

“This is… unreal,”

she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers tightening around her satchel strap as she tried to etch every detail into her memory.

“Done gawking at the floor yet?” a sharp voice cut through her reverie, dripping with mockery.

She flinched, turning to see a man—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair swept back with casual arrogance.

His smirk was cold, his eyes raking over her like she was a stray cat who’d wandered too far from home.

“Close that mouth before the mosquitoes fly in, country girl. Never seen a little luxury before, huh?”

Fiora’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her hands flying to her sides as she dipped her head.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said softly, her voice trembling with earnest politeness.