I stepped outside, the morning air cool against my skin. My car waited in the driveway, polished to a shine I never asked for. Another thing my parents insisted on. Another symbol of the life they built for me without asking if I wanted it.
I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The city moved around me—busy, loud, alive. I wasn't any of those things.
Our company building stood tall in the center of the business district.
KJ Dynamics.
A massive corporation dealing in tech innovation, software development, and smart-device manufacturing. One of the largest in the country.
My father built it. My brother perfected it.
And I became the one who filled the space between them.
When I entered the lobby, the employees straightened immediately. Some bowed, some stepped aside. Respect. Fear. Obligation. I didn't care enough to tell the difference.
As the COO, I was second in command. But everyone knew who the real star was.
I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft hum.
Top floor.
When they opened, I saw him.
Kim Jungho.
My older brother. The CEO. The golden child. The one who achieved everything with ease.
He was standing by his office window, speaking with a board member. His posture perfect, his expression confident. The kind of man who looked like he belonged in every room he walked into.
He turned when he saw me.
"Jay. You're early." His voice held that smooth, practiced charm that always came naturally to him.
"Long day ahead," I said.
The board member bowed and left the room. That's when Jungho walked over to me, hands in his pockets.
"You actually came?" he said quietly.
"What do you think?"
"I figured you wouldn't. You just got married yesterday."
"Getting married doesn't mean I can skip work. Not with our father."
"You look tired."
"I am."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
He smirked a little, like he found my bluntness amusing. "How's married life? Surviving?"
"Something like that."
"And your wife? Jeon Suha, right? Father seems pleased with the match."
"His approval doesn't matter to me."
"It never did," he said, shrugging. "Still… I'm surprised. I thought you'd fight harder against the marriage."
"I did," I said. "Just not loud enough."
He studied my face for a moment. His eyes softened—not kindly, but knowingly.
He'd always been good at reading me, even when I didn't want to be read.
"You don't hate them," he said. "Not truly."
"I don't love them either."
"That's fair."
He moved to his desk, flipping through files. "Anyway, we have the product launch meeting at ten. Investors at noon. And Father wants a performance update by the evening."
"Of course he does."
"He's been asking about you," Jungho added. "Wants you to 'step up' now that you're married. Says it's time you take more responsibility."
Responsibility.
A word they liked to use as a chain.
"I'll handle what needs to be handled," I said.
"You always do," Jungho said. "You're reliable, even if you pretend not to be."
I didn't respond. He wasn't wrong. I did my job. I always did my job.
People expected things from me, and I delivered. Even if I felt nothing doing it.
Jungho closed the folder. "One more thing."
I looked up.
"Suha… she seems like a good person," he said. "Don't push her away too much."
"We barely know each other."
"Most marriages start like that."
"Not ours."
He sighed. "You don't have to love her. But you don't have to freeze her out either."
"I'm not freezing her out," I said.
Then, after a beat,
"I just don't know what she expects."
"She probably expects effort," he said. "That's all anyone wants."
Effort.
Something I wasn't sure I had left.
"Meeting room in twenty," Jungho added, heading to his door. "Try to look alive. The board gets nervous when you look like a ghost."
I gave a small, humorless exhale. "I'll manage."
He nodded once, then disappeared down the hall.
I stood there alone, staring out at the city through the glass.
My brother fit into this life like he was molded for it.
Me?
I was just following the path laid out in front of me, step by quiet step.
Second in command.
Second choice.
Second son.
And now, second half of a marriage neither of us asked for.
I straightened my cuffs, took a slow breath, and walked toward the meeting room.
I had a role to play.
And I always played it well.
The door to the eleventh-floor meeting room slid open as Jungho and I walked in together. Our footsteps sounded sharp against the polished floor. He walked half a step ahead of me, like he always did, the natural stride of someone who grew up knowing the world would move out of his way. I followed, the silent second hand of the company's clock, the one keeping everything running while others read the time.
Heads lifted as we entered. Department leaders straightened in their seats. Someone muted the projector. The air shifted, heavy with the usual mix of nerves and ambition.
"KJ Dynamics will review quarterly transitions today," Jungho said, taking his place at the head of the table.
I sat beside him, the COO's seat — close enough to carry responsibility, far enough not to overshadow the heir.
Jungho clicked the remote. Graphs, numbers, and projections appeared on the screen. "We're readjusting timelines," he said. "New investor expectations. Faster rollout. No delays."
His voice carried confidence. Mine carried consequences.
He turned to me with a small nod. My cue.
"Operations can compress," I said. "But not without cost."
My tone stayed calm. Detached. "If we push too fast, quality will slip. People will burn out. We need two additional QA teams, supervisor coverage for night shifts, and a freeze on secondary features."
A few managers shifted uncomfortably. They knew what night shifts meant. They also knew I wouldn't say it unless it was necessary.
Jungho stayed silent, letting my words hang. Then he turned to the room. "You heard him. This is the direction."
He trusted my decisions. He didn't always say it out loud, but he let me speak. And in a room like this, silence from the CEO was more power than praise.
Marketing raised a hand. "COO Kim… compressing QA means a higher risk of launch issues. Can we guarantee stability?"
"Nothing is guaranteed," I said. "But this reduces the damage. And it keeps us ahead of schedule."
Finance followed. "Overtime hours will raise labor costs by fourteen percent."
"Which is cheaper than a failed product debut," I replied.
My voice didn't shake. My expression didn't shift. I had learned to protect my tone the same way people shield their hearts.
Jungho tapped the table once. "Final decision stands. We follow Jay's operational plan. No debate."
The room quieted. Accepting. Resigned.
Meetings in this company weren't about discussion. They were about execution.
And I was the one ensuring execution didn't collapse.
Jungho glanced at me, voice low but firm. "I'll update the board."
Then, to the room: "Next item."
The rest blurred into reports, projections, and silent calculations. I spoke when needed, answered questions, redirected problems. It was work I knew well — holding the structure steady while others pushed it forward.
By the time the meeting ended, people looked tired. Jungho didn't. He thrived in environments like this.
As the room emptied, he leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Father wants numbers by tonight," he said. "He'll expect confidence."
Confidence didn't come naturally to me. Performance did.
"I'll prepare the report," I said.
His gaze softened just enough for me to notice. "Good. And Jay…"
He paused. "Don't let them see when you're drowning."
"I don't drown," I said quietly. "I float."
He almost smiled, but it faded fast. "Even floating takes effort."
Then he stood, straightened his suit, and walked out.
I stayed seated for a moment, letting the silence settle. Meetings like this weren't loud. They drained quietly — like something pulling from the inside rather than the outside.
But it was my role. My place. My function.
The COO.
The stabilizer.
The man who made impossible timelines look survivable.
I rose, picked up my tablet, and followed the path Jungho had taken.
Even if the company moved like a storm, I moved with it.
And storms didn't scare me anymore. They just tired me.