Summary: Chan was certain that you two should never have broken up. So, he made up his mind—he was going to find a way to be with you again.
Chan smirked at the bouquet of roses sitting on his counter, the vibrant petals almost mocking him. He felt betrayed—by himself, by the memories that refused to fade. Who was there to blame? It was February 14th, after all. A day that used to mean something. A day when he’d pick out flowers for you—never chocolates, because you didn’t like them.
Now, he was on the verge of laughing at himself. How pathetic was it that, even after a year, he still remembered every little thing about you? The way you preferred lilies over roses but accepted them anyway because he had terrible taste in flowers. The way you’d roll your eyes at grand gestures but secretly adored them. The way Valentine’s Day had never really mattered to you—until it did.
And yet, here he was, staring at a bouquet that wasn’t even meant for you, feeling like a fool.
"That's pretty," you had said a year ago, your gaze lingering on the red roses displayed in the flower shop window as you passed by.
"You want it?" Chan had asked playfully, his tone light but his intent obvious. He would have gotten them for you in a heartbeat.
You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's no reason to get me flowers."
Chan had only smiled, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he steered the wheel with his other hand. His voice was soft yet certain when he said, "I don't even need a reason to give you the world."
Now, standing in his kitchen, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. How pathetic. How utterly ridiculous that even after a year, the memory still clung to him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.
Pushing himself up from the barstool, he grabbed the bouquet in one swift motion. His strides were long and deliberate as he walked to the bin, gripping the same exact roses you had once admired. Without a second thought, he tossed them in.
The petals rustled against the trash bag, a quiet, almost mocking sound. Chan stared for a moment longer, then turned away, jaw clenched.
It was just a bouquet of flowers. Just another February 14th. And yet, it still felt like letting go.
The doorbell rang. Chan let out a sigh, already knowing who it was. It had to be Hansol and Seungkwan.
Dragging himself toward the monitor, he glanced at the screen and chuckled when his guess was confirmed—his two friends stood outside, waiting.
"Go," Chan muttered as he pressed the button to let them in.
He barely lifted his finger before Hansol’s amused laughter came through the speaker, followed by Seungkwan’s dramatic whine. "Why? We brought chicken!"
Shaking his head, Chan unlocked the door. Moments later, they strolled into his living room like they owned the place, setting down a box of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table. Chan simply stood there, watching them move around, as if they had done this a thousand times before.
"Why are you guys here?" he finally asked, settling onto the couch.
"Can’t we visit our favorite little brother?" Seungkwan teased, grinning.
Chan cringed. "Never say that again."
Hansol chuckled, stretching his arms before reaching for a can of beer. "There’s a new chicken shop nearby. Everyone says it’s good."
Chan smirked at the excuse. Yeah, right. Deep down, he knew the truth.
A year ago, they were here too. Sitting in this very spot. Eating chicken. Drinking beer. Trying to distract him the night you walked out of his life.
*
Chan stepped into the bakery, his eyes instinctively scanning the space. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the nervous hammering in his chest. His breath hitched at the thought of seeing you again.
Hansol—completely out of sobriety that night—had blurted out something that caught Chan off guard. His so-called "new favorite bakery," the one where he always grabbed kaya bread before practice, was your bakery.
"She opened a bakery?" Chan had blinked, his voice laced with disbelief. Opening a bakery had always been your dream.
Hansol had nodded, looking almost guilty. "I've known since, like, half a year ago."
Seungkwan had chimed in with a sigh, "We’ve known. I told him about the bakery… and we met her."
Chan had tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"
Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head. "No—I mean… That’s great news. She always wanted this." He let out a forced chuckle, but the nervous energy lingered. "I just don’t get why you’re telling me now."
Seungkwan and Hansol exchanged glances before Seungkwan exhaled. "I met her last week," he admitted, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And… she asked about you."
Chan's stomach twisted. He swallowed.
"Now—hear me out," Seungkwan pressed on, his voice softer, more careful. "I know the breakup wasn’t great. I get it. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you two still have feelings for each other."
What made him say that?
Had he been that obvious? Had he been showing everyone that he still had feelings for you?
Chan didn’t like the thought of it. The idea that his emotions were visible—that anyone could see right through him—made his stomach churn. He didn’t want people to think he was pathetic, still holding on to someone who had walked away.
Still loving someone who had already left him.
"What can I help you with?" a shopkeeper asked as Chan wandered through the bakery, his eyes subtly scanning the space.
He turned his head, expecting—hoping—to see you. But it was just the shopkeeper.
Forcing a polite smile, Chan bit down on his lower lip, trying to push away his disappointment. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked, shifting his attention to the employee.
The shopkeeper's face lit up as he gestured toward the sandwich section. "Here’s our new menu! We have tuna, beef, and bacon sandwiches—perfect for breakfast."
Chan nodded absentmindedly, barely registering the words. "I’ll take ten bacon and ten beef, please." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, handing over his card.
The shopkeeper quickly packed the order, then, to Chan’s surprise, handed him a cup of Americano with a bright smile. "This one’s on the house. Thank you so much!"
Chan hesitated before lifting the cup slightly in acknowledgment. "Oh, you don’t have to… but thanks," he murmured, accepting the drink.
Once he settled into his car, he glanced at the neatly packed boxes of sandwiches in the backseat. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic.
Taking a sip of the Americano as he pulled onto the road, he let the familiar bitterness settle on his tongue—except, something was different. His brows furrowed as he pulled the cup away, eyeing it curiously.
That taste.
Americano with berry syrup.
Your favorite.
*
Chan scrunched up his face the moment the taste hit his tongue.
You burst into laughter at his expression, quickly pulling the cup away from him. "Why do you look like that?" you teased, amusement dancing in your eyes.
"It's weird!" Chan exclaimed, wiping his lips as if that would rid him of the lingering taste. "It’s bitter, sweet, and sour all at once. Coffee shouldn’t taste like this."
You smiled, holding the cup close to your chest. "No… it tastes good. It has everything—the sweetness, the bitterness, and the tang of berries. Just like life."
Chan let out a chuckle, raising a brow. "Since when did you get this sentimental?"
You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Excuse me? I’ve always been a sentimental person!"
Chan shook his head, giving you a playful look of disbelief. "You? Sentimental?" He scoffed. "You literally just leave my goodnight texts on read every night."
You giggled, tilting your head at him. "That’s because they’re too sweet. I was speechless."
Chan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you were so speechless that you couldn’t even type a single reply?"
Chan shook his head, exhaling as he tossed the empty cup into the trash before stepping into the practice room.
From across the room, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the plastic bags in Chan’s hands. He recognized the logo instantly—it was your bakery. His gaze flickered to Chan, suspicion creeping into his expression.
Hansol, however, was too excited about the food to notice anything. The moment he got his hands on a sandwich, he eagerly unwrapped it and took a huge bite. "This is delicious!" he mumbled, already reaching for another.
Seungkwan, still observing Chan, took a bite of his own.
"It does taste good. Where did you get this, Chan?"
Before Chan could answer, the other members in the room—who had also helped themselves to the sandwiches—started chiming in.
"Whoa, this is really good."
"I could eat this every day."
"Seriously, where did you buy these?"
Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the growing pile of empty sandwich wrappers. He hadn't planned for this much attention.
"This is from the place where I always get my kaya bread," Hansol said nonchalantly, taking another bite.
But the moment the words left his mouth, his chewing slowed. His eyes widened as realization sank in, and he snapped his head toward Chan.
"Wait—really?!"
As if finally processing his own words, Hansol immediately glared at the younger, his eyes practically screaming, You went there?!
Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Hansol’s accusing stare. He knew this was coming. Meanwhile, Seungkwan let out a knowing exhale, arms crossed, as if he had expected this exact scene to unfold.
The other members, noticing the sudden shift in Hansol’s behavior, exchanged confused glances.
"What’s up with him?" one of them muttered, glancing between Hansol and Chan.
Seungkwan, ever the smooth talker, quickly waved them off with a casual grin. "Ah, you know Hansol. He’s just being a little extra again."
Hansol scoffed but kept his mouth shut, though the way he kept side-eyeing Chan made it obvious—this conversation wasn’t over.
*
"He came again today."
You glanced up as you packed the leftover pastries into the boxes Sunoo had set up on the counter. You knew exactly who he was talking about—Chan, your idol ex-boyfriend. But for the sake of keeping up appearances (and maybe your own pride), you feigned ignorance.
"Who?" you asked, keeping your voice light.
Sunoo shrugged, his legs dangling off the counter like a kid who had just discovered something amusing. His knowing smirk didn’t help.
"That well-known ex of yours," he mumbled.
You snorted. "No one even knows we were dating. Never got caught." There was a hint of pride in your voice, as if that secrecy had been some kind of achievement.
Sunoo rolled his eyes. "I mean that well-known person who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Stop pretending you're not affected! He’s been coming here almost every day for a week."
Your hands stilled for a moment, but you quickly resumed packing, forcing a chuckle. "Maybe he just really likes the sandwiches."
Sunoo gave you a deadpan stare. "Right. And I’m the Crown Prince of Korea."
"And?" you asked, sealing the box filled with leftover donuts before heading to the sink to wash your hands.
"And you’ve been hiding in the kitchen every single time he comes in, i thought you still love him." Sunoo huffed in frustration, arms crossed over his chest. The pout on his face made him look even cuter than usual, which only made you laugh.
"I do..." you admitted, drying your hands.
Sunoo’s eyebrows shot up. "Then?"
"That’s it," you shrugged, lifting the box into your arms.
Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing another box and trailing behind you as you made your way to the exit where your car was parked.
You popped open the backseat door and carefully placed the boxes inside. Tonight, you’d be dropping off the leftovers at the nearest police station—something you did regularly.
Sunoo, still not letting the topic go, leaned against the car with a pointed look. "With him constantly visiting, don’t you think it’s time to get back together? I mean, he might feel the same way."
You froze for just a second before turning to face him. Sunoo shifted under your gaze, suddenly looking unsure.
"Having the same feelings isn’t enough to get back together," you said softly.
Sunoo shrugged. "But at least it gives you a reason. Isn't love about finding a reason?"
You chuckled at his comment. "You're right. But how do you know that? Didn’t you just graduate high school?"
Sunoo snorted as if you had just said the dumbest thing he’d heard all year. "I might’ve dated more people than you, and I only graduated high school."
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his voice softened. "But really. Stop denying your feelings. That’s what’s hurting you the most."
You sighed, slipping into the driver's seat. Sunoo stood there, watching you expectantly, but you simply started the car and drove away.
You weren’t denying your feelings. You never had.
You let them flow, like water, even after breaking up with Chan. You still celebrated his birthday and his band’s anniversary by preparing special treats at your bakery. You still kept up with his activities on social media.
You never once denied the warmth that still lingered in your heart.
But you refused to give yourself false hope.
The idea that Chan might still feel the same way—it was too dangerous to entertain. When Seungkwan and Hansol had shown up at your bakery out of nowhere, catching you off guard, they reassured you that they held no resentment toward you. Then, just as casually, they mentioned that Chan had gone through the hardest year of his life after the breakup. That he hadn’t shown a single sign of moving on.
And that was unlike him.
This was Chan—a man who had never let himself be alone for long. A man who, before you, had always found himself in a relationship.
Yet, a year had passed since you walked out that door. And he was still alone.
*
Meeting you at the police station wasn’t something on his to-do list—not today, not this month, not even this year. Yet, here you were.
Chan had just been about to step out, his younger brother trailing behind him, when he saw you standing there, frozen in place, holding a box of what he assumed were pastries. The sight of you made his heart race, and he felt a mix of surprise and anxiety.
Beside him, his brother cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the reason Chan was here in the first place.
Great. Another reason to slap the remaining puberty out of his high school brother:
1. Getting into a fight with another student.
2. Making Chan come all the way here to pick him up.
3. And now—leading him straight to you.
Also, what the hell were you doing here with pastries?
Chan's mind raced. He hadn't seen you since the breakup, and now, here you were, looking as beautiful as ever.
Before either of you could speak, an officer approached, breaking the thick tension hanging between you and Chan.
"Ms. Ji, good evening. Long time no see," the officer greeted politely.
Chan immediately shifted his gaze, suddenly very interested in the interior of the police station. He kept his expression neutral, but his ears burned at the sound of your name.
You smiled at the officer, handing him the box of pastries. "Good job for today, Officer. Thanks for the hard work." Your voice was soft—just like it used to be when you’d ask him if he had eaten after a long, exhausting day.
The officer beamed at you. "You didn’t have to come all the way here for this, Ms. Ji. But thank you so much!"
Then, as if only just noticing the thick, unspoken air between you and Chan, the officer glanced between the two of you.
"Do you two know each other?" he asked, clearly curious.
Chan stiffened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry.
But you? You barely hesitated.
"We’re acquaintances," you replied smoothly, sparing Chan the briefest glance before looking away again.
"I should go, good evening." You bid the officer goodbye with a polite nod, turning on your heel to leave. The officer walked you out to the entrance.
Chan looked conflicted, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his hair. Then, with a pointed look at his younger brother—a silent command—he made his intentions clear.
Go hail a cab.
For once, his brother didn’t argue. He simply sighed, pulling out his phone as he stepped toward the curb. Thank goodness. Even though he had just been detained for fighting with another student, at least he had the decency to recognize that Chan’s love life was a bigger mess.
Chan, however, had no time to dwell on that. His long strides carried him after you, his heartbeat picking up as the crisp night air bit at his skin.
"Hey."
You stopped.
Your fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of your bag before you slowly turned to face him.
"Hey."
It had been over a year, yet your voice still sounded exactly the same—soft, steady, untouched by heartbreak.
Chan swallowed, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. How did you still manage to look so unaffected?
"You, uh… come here often?"
A dry breath of amusement left you as you tilted your head slightly. "If you’re trying to make a joke, that was a terrible attempt."
He huffed out a short chuckle, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, figured." His gaze flickered to the police station building, then back to the box in your arms. "You do this a lot? Bringing pastries to the station?"
You shrugged, adjusting your grip on the box. "Yeah. They work long hours, and I always have leftovers. Seemed like a good way to put them to use."
Chan nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.
Of course you’d do something like this. Thoughtful. Considerate. Always looking out for others.
Still the same.
And yet, he couldn’t say the same about himself.
The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words. The last time you had been this close, it had been different. Warmer. Familiar. Now, there was a distance that couldn’t be measured in steps.
Chan exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "It’s been a while."
You gave a small nod, your gaze unreadable. "Yeah, it has."
There were a million things he wanted to ask. How have you been? Are you happy? Do you still think about me the way I still think about you? But instead, all that came out was—
"You look good."
The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been.
You pressed your lips together before offering a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Thanks."
Chan wanted to say more, to keep you standing there just a little longer, but before he could, a car honked nearby. His brother waved him over from the curb, signaling that the cab had arrived.
You took that as your cue to leave, adjusting your grip on the box before turning slightly. "I should get going."
He nodded, even though everything in him wanted to stop you. "Yeah… me too."
Another pause. Another breath caught between the past and present.
"Take care, Chan."
And just like that, you were walking away.
Chan stood there, watching as you disappeared down the sidewalk, his hands clenching into fists in his pockets.
Funny. He had spent so much time convincing himself that seeing you again wouldn’t change anything.
But now, he wasn’t so sure.
*
That night, Chan found himself doing something he never thought he would—scrolling through your social media. The account he had unblocked just hours ago.
You didn’t post often, just the occasional pictures with friends or snapshots of your bakery. But as he scrolled, his eyes caught on the details—the way your hair had grown out before you cut it again, the soft waves framing your face in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest. That image stayed with him longer than he expected, lingering in the back of his mind like an old song he couldn’t shake.
Then his finger stopped.
A photo of your bakery.
Decorated for his birthday.
Chan’s eyes narrowed, his breath catching slightly as he took in the details. His face on the banners, the pastries colored to match his band’s theme—every little thing meticulously arranged. And the post date? Just last month.
Why would you do this?
You had no reason to. You weren’t together anymore. If anything, he thought you resented the fact that he had chosen his career over you.
Wasn’t that why you broke up in the first place?
A strange feeling curled in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was—regret? Hope? Confusion?
But then, as he scrolled further, the feeling twisted into something else entirely.
A group photo.
You, smiling, standing among friends. And beside you, a man.
His arm slung casually over your shoulders. Too casual. Too comfortable.
Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his phone as he zoomed in slightly, analyzing the guy like it was second nature. As a man himself, he knew that kind of touch. It wasn’t just friendly. There was something in the way the guy stood close to you, the way he seemed at ease, like he belonged there.
"Who the hell is this?" he muttered, brows furrowing.
Like a magnet, his eyes kept finding the same man in different posts. Sitting beside you. Standing beside you. Slinging his arm around yours. Even touching your cheek in one picture—something that had Chan’s stomach flipping uncomfortably.
"What’s up with this guy?" He snorted, irritation creeping into his tone.
He tried to check the guy’s profile, but you hadn’t tagged anyone. Not a single name. Smart. Frustratingly so.
And then—
A notification.
You had just posted an Instagram story.
Chan tapped on it immediately.
A simple, cryptic sentence:
“Even if there’s a reason… could it be the reason?”
His brows shot up.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He stared at the words, trying to decipher them, trying to connect them to the birthday post, to the pictures with that guy, to you.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar creeping in—
The unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe—
He had been too late.
*
"That's your problem, Lee Chan. You're too possessive but insecure at the same time."
Seungkwan didn't hold back as he took a sip of his drink, lounging comfortably in his apartment. He, Jeonghan, and Chan had settled into an impromptu drinking session after Chan had shown up unannounced, dragging along bottles of soju and cans of beer—clearly looking for an outlet.
Jeonghan raised a brow, intrigued by the turn of conversation. “That could be true…”
Seungkwan chuckled, shaking his head. “That is true. If you want to have a good relationship, you only need one—either confidence or possessiveness. Look at Mingyu and Seungcheol hyung.”
"Seungcheol is a bit possessive, though," Jeonghan pointed out.
Seungkwan waved a dismissive hand. "That’s just a concept. It makes him look cute."
Chan groaned, running a hand down his face. “But think about it—how could I not be insecure when she never wanted to introduce me to her friends? Was it because of that guy?” His voice tightened on the last part, irritation creeping in.
Seungkwan sighed, exasperated. He pointed a finger at Chan to Jeonghan. “Look at this fool. You’re an idol, Chan. How could she introduce an idol as her boyfriend? Where’s your brain? Did you leave it behind at practice?”
Jeonghan nodded, though he was still weighing both sides. "I actually get where Chan’s coming from, though. Y/n is very beautiful, and she’s competent too—a lot of men want her. But she never really made it clear that she was off-limits.”
Chan’s eyes widened in relief. “Right?! And I was so patient, trying to understand her, trying to make it work. But she was the one who broke up with me?” His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fresh wound rather than something that had happened a year ago.
He put his can of beer down a little too abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of Seungkwan’s living room.
Jeonghan glanced at him, amused but also slightly concerned. “What did she say when she broke up with you?”
Chan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. The memory crashed into him like a wave—too vivid, too raw, even after all this time.
It had been the day after Valentine’s Day.
Chan had just gotten back from a three-day trip abroad, exhausted beyond belief, desperate for nothing more than a proper rest. He had been on edge all day, feeling sensitive after the long flight. But the moment he stepped into his apartment, his fatigue was replaced by confusion.
Your suitcase was sitting in the living room.
Your bag rested beside it.
His heart sank.
Hadn’t you two been arguing all week? Was this about Valentine’s Day? Had it really come to this?
"Let’s not do this," Chan had said the moment he saw you emerge from the bedroom, another bag in your hand.
You didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. You simply walked forward, grabbing your luggage as if he wasn’t even standing there.
Chan moved quickly, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. “Where are you going?”
Your expression was unreadable when you finally met his gaze. "Home."
Chan’s chest tightened. "This is your home," he insisted.
But you shook your head. "Let’s take a break."
Chan had never believed in breaks. There was no such thing in his dictionary. A break was just a softer way to say breakup. And if you wanted to break up, then he deserved to at least know why.
"Is this because I chose work over spending Valentine’s Day with you?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.
You frowned slightly. "That’s what you think of me?" A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Then let’s say that’s the reason."
Chan’s frustration spiked. "What do you mean? At least explain it to me!"
You just shook your head again, gripping your luggage and moving past him.
"How can I let you go if you don’t tell me the real reason?"
That was when you turned to face him, your voice quiet but firm.
"You said it yourself— you chose work over me. That’s the reason."
Chan had stared at you, searching for something in your face. A crack in your expression. A hesitation. Anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it.
But you nodded, steady. Unwavering.
"Yeah."
And then you walked out of the door, left him.
Back in Seungkwan’s apartment, silence stretched between the three of them after Chan finished recounting the memory.
Seungkwan was the first to break it, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it."
Chan shot him a skeptical look. "Why? She said it herself."
Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You know… sometimes women don’t tell the truth—not because they want to lie, but because they don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.”
Jeonghan, who had been silently listening, hummed in agreement.
"And maybe," Seungkwan added, his voice softer, "that was the least painful thing she could say to you."
*
"I'm sorry, but we're clo—"
Your words faltered the moment you saw who stood in front of the entrance.
Chan.
There, standing just beyond the threshold, was Chan. His presence felt almost out of place against the warm glow of your bakery’s lights, his frame silhouetted by the dim streetlamps outside. He held a paper bag in one hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. He looked unsure—out of place, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be standing there at all.
For a second, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was filled with things unsaid, memories neither of you had dared to touch for too long.
Then, finally, you found your voice.
"Chan… Hey," you greeted, pushing open the counter divider to step closer to him.
You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. The bakery had closed an hour ago, yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like he had something important to say.
"I haven’t come here in a week," he said abruptly, as if that explained his presence.
You nodded, already aware of it. It wasn’t hard to notice when someone like him stopped showing up. He had been coming almost every morning—until that night at the police station. After that, he disappeared.
Your eyes flickered to the bag in his hand. Before you could ask, he extended it toward you.
"I was in Italy for a week," he said, shifting slightly. "I got you a bottle of wine from a local winery there."
Surprise flickered across your face as you carefully took the bag from him. You peeked inside, fingers tracing over the sleek packaging before your eyes landed on the label.
Made in 1999.
Your lips parted slightly. That was the year Chan was born. The wine was as old as he was.
"You didn’t have to," you murmured, glancing up at him. "This must’ve been expensive."
Chan shrugged, his eyes darting toward the bakery’s interior instead of meeting yours. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For the birthday event. The fans must’ve loved it."
Your heart clenched at that. He was referring to the special decorations you had set up last month—his face on banners, pastries in his band’s colors. At the time, you weren’t even sure why you had done it. Maybe it was just an old habit you couldn't shake, or maybe it was something else.
You bit your bottom lip, your gaze shifting to the wine glasses sitting on a cabinet nearby.
Without thinking, you walked over, grabbing two and setting them on a small table near the counter.
"Let’s drink it together," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.
Chan immediately waved his hand. "No, it’s a present. You should keep it."
You smiled, tilting your head slightly. "It’s okay." A small chuckle escaped your lips. "I don’t like drinking alone."
The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
Because once upon a time, he had been the one you shared drinks with. Late-night conversations, quiet moments, the kind of familiarity that felt effortless.
And now, standing across from him, you weren’t sure if you were trying to relive a memory—
Or trying to forget one.
"Your worker..." Chan started, his voice casual yet laced with something unreadable.
You turned to him as you poured the deep red wine into his glass, the rich aroma filling the small space between you. He looked as charismatic as ever, effortlessly commanding attention even in something as simple as denim pants and a loose white shirt. His long hair, tucked neatly behind his ears, framed his face in a way that made your breath hitch—a sight you hadn’t expected to affect you so much. Unfair. So much unfair.
"Sunoo?" You guessed, already knowing your overly enthusiastic employee was the likely subject. Sunoo had a knack for keeping the bakery alive with his energy and charm, but sometimes—just sometimes—you wished he’d mind his own business, that little menace.
Chan nodded, confirming your suspicion. "Yeah, I think it’s Sunoo. He always makes me that Americano with berry syrup."
You froze.
Oh, dear god.
You needed to sit down. Or disappear. Preferably both.
Internally, you launched into a full-scale attack on Sunoo. That little rascal. That absolute traitor. You should’ve known better than to trust him near the espresso machine unsupervised.
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Oh my god. Chan, I am so sorry. You hate that flavor, don’t you?"
Chan chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah, but it’s fine. He didn’t know."
"No, it’s not fine!" you wailed dramatically, gripping the wine bottle like a lifeline. "I can’t believe he’s been sabotaging your morning coffee all this time. What should I do to make it up to you? Free pastries? Free coffee for life? A legally binding contract that bans Sunoo from touching the espresso machine ever again?"
Chan laughed, shaking his head. "You don’t have to do all that."
"No, I do," you insisted. "And while I’m at it, I might need to stage an intervention for Sunoo. What was he thinking? Who just decides to put berry syrup in an Americano?!"
Chan grinned, watching your mini meltdown with mild amusement. "Maybe he was just trying to be creative?"
You pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. No. We do not encourage Sunoo’s creative coffee experiments. That’s how we ended up with the Matcha Espresso Disaster of last year."
Chan laughed even harder, and for a moment, the bakery felt a little lighter, like you weren’t two exes dancing around old wounds.
Still, you were going to have a very serious conversation with Sunoo in the morning.
"Have dinner with me."
Chan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the bakery, steady but carrying something unspoken—something heavy.
Your breath hitched for just a second. "I’m sorry, what?" The words tumbled out before you could catch them, your brows furrowing in disbelief.
Chan didn’t flinch. He only nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet urgency. "Have dinner with me this weekend. You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?"
A soft, nervous laugh escaped you, but it did nothing to ease the sudden tension that thickened the air. "Chan… I don’t think—"
"As a friend," he cut in, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. "Just as a friend. Please." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the counter. "It’s been a while since we really talked."
Your chest tightened. You glanced down at the glass in your hand, as if the deep red of the wine might offer you an escape. "We’re talking now, aren’t we?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out softer than you intended.
Chan let out a breath—part scoff, part something else. Then, he leaned in just slightly, the warmth of his presence making it impossible to ignore him.
He licked his lower lip, eyes still on you, unwavering.
"Are we?"
*
You stepped into his house just as the clock struck seven. Chan’s eyes immediately landed on the plastic bag in your hand—probably filled with your favorite food, just like always. It was a habit of yours, bringing something to eat whenever you came over, as if his kitchen wasn’t enough. It was something so familiar, so you, that it almost made him forget how long it had been since you last stood here.
He held the door open as you slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room.
"It's clean…" You remarked, your eyes scanning the space with mild surprise.
Chan let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick. "Yeah… I try to keep it that way. But, you know, sometimes a hectic day hits, and it turns into a shipwreck."
You chuckled, settling onto his couch like you belonged there. And maybe that was what threw him off the most—you still fit into this space.
Chan swallowed and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen. He quickly grabbed a couple of containers for the food you brought, his hands moving on autopilot. But as he reached for a dish towel, he caught himself—he was stalling. Wiping down a bowl he’d already washed an hour ago just to keep busy, to calm the subtle panic creeping up his spine.
Because if he stopped moving, he’d have to face the fact that this was completely insane.
It had been an impulsive text, one he barely thought through before hitting send. Asking his ex to come over and hang out in his barely put-together apartment on his day off? He should’ve known better.
But what shocked him more was your response.
"Sure."
So casual. So effortless. So unlike the emotional mess he’d expected.
Chan had to check his phone twice to make sure it was actually you who replied.
And now here you were, sitting on his couch like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he stood in his kitchen trying to push down the ridiculous amount of effort he put into cleaning just because you were coming over.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Or maybe… he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
Chan approached you, setting the containers down on the coffee table before crouching beside you to help unpack the food. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he pulled out a box, and for a moment, he wondered if you noticed. If you cared.
"You didn’t have to bring anything," he commented, glancing at you as he reached for another container. "We could’ve just ordered something."
"You say that like you don’t miss my good taste," you teased, but there was something softer in your voice—something familiar.
Chan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. But the moment his eyes landed on what you’d brought, he froze.
His favorite snack.
He blinked, his fingers still hovering over the box as realization settled in.
"I brought this for you," you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "It’s from your favorite place."
Chan finally looked up at you, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "That’s pretty far…"
He knew neither your place nor your bakery was anywhere near the restaurant.
You shrugged. "I went there this morning and got this on my way home. It’s already cold, though."
Cold? Did he care about that? Not at all.
The only thing that mattered was that you thought of him. That you saw the place, remembered him, and stopped to grab something for him.
His chest felt tight, like something warm was curling inside it, something he couldn’t quite name. Instead, he exhaled a quiet laugh and nudged the box closer to himself.
"You remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to you.
And for the first time that night, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he still had a place in your heart.
Chan cleared his throat, pushing away the warmth creeping up his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on it—not now, not when you were sitting here in his living room, casually unpacking food like old times. So instead, he latched onto the first neutral topic that came to mind.
"What about your bakery?" he asked, picking up a piece of the snack you’d brought. "Who’s taking care of it while you’re here?"
You glanced at him before reaching for a pair of chopsticks. "It’s closed today."
"Really?" Chan raised a brow. "You barely take a day off."
You nodded, leaning back slightly against the couch. "Sunoo, my part timer, his grandmother passed away. He went back to his hometown for the funeral."
Chan’s expression softened at that. He remembered that part timer, the one that always gave him americano with berry syrup. "Ah… That’s tough. He must’ve been close to her."
"He was," you said, stirring the food absentmindedly. "She basically raised him. That’s why I went to his hometown this morning—to pay my respects."
Chan stilled for a second, his grip on his chopsticks tightening just slightly.
You went all the way there?
His eyes flickered to you, studying your face, but you looked calm—like it was only natural for you to go.
Of course. That was just the kind of person you were. Always showing up for the people you cared about.
Chan exhaled, setting his food down. "You must be exhausted then. Going all the way there and then coming here?"
You tilted your head, as if just realizing it yourself. "Maybe a little," you admitted. "But it’s fine."
Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You should’ve just gone home to rest."
You shot him a small smirk. "And miss the chance to see your shipwreck of a house? No way."
Chan let out a laugh, finally letting the warmth settle. Once again, maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to things that felt familiar.
*
Chan woke up feeling refreshed this morning. He stretched his limbs, tossing and turning in bed to shake off the lingering sleepiness before finally rolling out and heading to change into his workout gear.
On his way to the gym, his fingers were busy scrolling through his phone, instinctively opening your chat from last night after you went home. He hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send you a message.
A morning text? Too much.
A witty text? Maybe something playful—
"Hey... I dreamed about you last night ;)"
Chan grimaced. Nope. That sounded like a terrible idea for a text to an ex.
Before he could think further, his thumb betrayed him.
"Hey.."
His eyes widened. He gasped.
Did he just—
Chan stopped in his tracks, staring at his screen in horror. Maybe if he deleted it fast enough—
Ding.
Your reply came almost instantly.
"Hey."
Chan blinked. Then exhaled, pressing his lips together to suppress a stupid smile.
Chan: In your bakery?
You: Yup!
Chan: Can I visit after my gym session?
You: Sure. I'll get your sandwich ready then. Bacon?
Chan: Perfect. See you then!
Chan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling oddly lighter as he continued his walk to the gym.
Upon arriving, he spotted Jihoon—a rare sight at this hour. Given that it was still their day off, the older guy usually wasn’t functional before 1 PM.
"You’re here early," Chan noted as Jihoon finished his set, placing the dumbbells down with steady breaths.
Jihoon nodded. "Got an agenda this afternoon."
Chan smirked, whistling playfully. "Oh? That sounds suspicious—"
Jihoon shot him a glare. "Don’t look at me like that as if you weren’t with your ex last night."
Chan’s smirk instantly dropped. His eyes widened. He stepped closer to Jihoon, lowering his voice. "How do you know?"
Jihoon gave him a flat look. "I saw you sending her off. We live in the same area, genius."
Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Right. He forgot about that.
Jihoon tilted his head slightly, arms crossed. "So… you two back together?"
Chan shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever was running through Jihoon's mind. "We’re just talking again. As friends, I guess? Yeah..." He nodded, as if saying it out loud would make it more true.
Jihoon hummed, wiping his hands with his towel. "Uh-huh."
Chan shot him a look. "What?"
Jihoon shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."
Chan rolled his eyes and checked the time. "I don’t know why I still talk to you."
Jihoon chuckled. "Because you need someone to call you out on your denial."
Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in denial."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Jihoon said, patting his shoulder before grabbing his own water bottle.
Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally giving in. "Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what happened."
Jihoon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Go on."
Chan leaned against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I invited her over. It was kind of impulsive, but she said yes."
Jihoon nodded, waiting for more.
"So, I spent the whole damn day cleaning my place—like, deep cleaning, man. I don’t even know why, but I just wanted it to look nice."
Jihoon smirked but didn’t interrupt.
"She showed up with food, her usual thing, right? But this time, she brought my favorite snack. And guess what? She got it from that place across town—the one that’s way out of her way."
Jihoon let out a low whistle. "That’s commitment."
Chan ignored the way his stomach flipped at that. "I didn’t even know what to say. I just—man, she thought about me while she was out there. That kind of messed with me a little."
Jihoon gave him a knowing look. "And you’re still calling this just talking?"
Chan shot him a glare. "Let me finish."
Jihoon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Continue."
Chan exhaled. "We talked, she told me about Sunoo, her staff—he’s dealing with some family stuff, so she visited his hometown earlier that morning."
Jihoon’s expression softened. "Oh, that’s rough."
"Yeah, she closed the bakery for the day because of it. Which means she didn’t even have to be up early, but she still went out of her way for all that."
Jihoon hummed, the teasing tone fading slightly. "She cares, Chan."
Chan rubbed his neck. "I know."
A beat of silence passed before Jihoon smirked again. "And then this morning?"
Chan let out a short laugh. "Woke up feeling... I don’t know, refreshed? Like, it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t exactly normal either."
Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You felt happy."
Chan groaned. "Why do you have to say it like that?"
Jihoon chuckled. "Because it’s the truth."
Chan shook his head. "Anyway, I’m stopping by the bakery after this. She’s already making my usual sandwich."
Jihoon grinned. "She remembers your usual? And you’re still trying to act like this is casual?"
Chan shot him a look. "Hyung."
Jihoon laughed, slapping Chan’s shoulder. "Alright, alright. But I’m telling you, man, this? This is not just talking."
Chan sighed but didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.
*
Days passed, and without either of you realizing it, things started to shift.
It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic change—it was subtle, natural, as if the distance that had settled between you was melting away piece by piece. Conversations stretched longer, laughter came easier, and before Chan knew it, you were slipping back into his life the way you always belonged.
And then, one night, it happened.
A kiss.
It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t talked about—it just happened. Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you laughed, maybe it was how the night air felt warmer with you by his side, or maybe it was just that deep, undeniable pull that had never really left.
But the moment his lips met yours, he knew.
This is it.
This was the cue. The silent signal that everything was starting again, that whatever had broken before was slowly, steadily piecing itself back together.
From then on, Chan didn’t hesitate. After his schedule, he would drive to your bakery just to pick you up, sometimes without even texting beforehand. He’d lean against the counter, watching as you wrapped up the last orders, his presence so familiar that even your staff stopped questioning it.
"Long day?" you’d ask, handing him a cup of tea or whatever you’d decided he needed that day.
And he’d smile, nodding as he took the cup from your hands. "Better now."
Sometimes, the two of you would just drive around with no real destination, the quiet hum of the car and the city lights making everything feel weightless. Other times, you’d take slow walks through empty streets, talking about your days, about nothing and everything at once.
It felt easy. It felt right.
And Chan?
Chan felt like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost all this time.
You.
Chan stepped inside your house, his gaze instinctively sweeping over your living room. It looked different from last year. The cute trinkets and soft pastels that once decorated every corner were gone, replaced with a more refined, mature aesthetic. The change was subtle, but he noticed. It wasn’t just the decor that had shifted—something about the entire space felt different, as if time itself had settled into the walls.
His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a few dishes sat in the sink, remnants of breakfast still lingering on the counter. Maybe you hadn’t gotten around to cleaning, or maybe you’d spent the night experimenting with new recipes for your bakery. Either way, it was lived-in, real—you. And Chan liked that. It felt warm, like home, like the way you used to make his kitchen feel.
"You want tea? Coffee?" you asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
Chan shook his head, stepping closer. "No need to get your hands busy. Just sit with me," he murmured, tapping the empty space beside him on the couch.
You hesitated for a second before joining him, barely getting comfortable before he pulled you into his arms.
"I like this…" he muttered, his voice low, as if he was admitting something to himself more than to you.
A soft laugh escaped you. "Like what?"
"This," he whispered, arms tightening around you just enough for you to notice. "Being here with you again."
Your breath caught for a moment. His warmth, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne—it all felt so natural, so right. Like something neither of you had ever truly let go of.
You sighed, relaxing into him. "I missed this too."
The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of your breathing against Chan’s chest. His arms tightened around you slightly, as if grounding himself in this moment, as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.
You shifted just enough to look up at him, and Chan’s gaze met yours—warm, searching, lingering. His fingers brushed lightly along your arm before trailing up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
"You’re staring," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice.
"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation, his lips curling into a small smile. "I missed looking at you."
Your breath hitched slightly, your heart betraying you with the way it picked up pace. There was something so effortless about Chan, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the world with just a look.
"Then make up for lost time," you whispered.
His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation flashing in his features for just a second—one last moment of restraint before he closed the distance between you.
The first brush of his lips was slow, careful, almost like he was testing the waters. But the second? The second was deeper, fuller, laced with all the unsaid words and emotions that had been hanging between. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to his as he pressed in closer, his thumb stroking gently along your cheek.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed—it was unhurried, savoring, like both of you wanted to memorize this moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a fleeting dream.
Chan sighed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Tell me this isn't just nostalgia," he whispered, voice slightly breathless.
You shook your head, brushing your fingers through his hair. "It’s not."
Relief washed over his face before he captured your lips again, this time with more certainty. Like he wasn’t just falling—he was diving headfirst. And this time, he wasn’t afraid of the landing.
Chan woke up with you in his arms almost every morning. Not that he planned it every time, but he tried—and he could. Sometimes he crashed at your place, claiming it was too late to drive home. Other times, he dragged you to his, using the excuse that his bed was bigger, softer, warmer. The truth was, he just wanted to see you first thing in the morning.
Like now.
He blinked against the morning light filtering through your curtains, the weight of your body pressed against his chest grounding him in the best way. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your hand lazily resting on his hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly in your grasp as if even in your sleep, you didn’t want him to go.
Chan smiled, his fingers brushing along your back, tracing idle patterns. You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips before your body relaxed again.
"You're staring," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.
Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah. I like looking at you."
"You say that too much," you whined, but the way your fingers curled against his hoodie betrayed the warmth spreading through you.
"Then you should get used to it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop."
You sighed, tilting your head up just enough for your lips to find his. It was slow, lazy—like the morning itself, like neither of you were in any rush to move, to leave the bubble of warmth you’d created. Chan sighed into the kiss, his hand slipping under the hem of your sweater, resting against the bare skin of your waist.
"You have to open the bakery today?" he asked between kisses.
You hummed, but made no move to pull away. "Not until ten."
Chan smirked. "That means we have at least two more hours."
You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile as Chan flipped you onto your back, leaning over you with that mischievous look in his eyes—the one that always, always made you weak.
"Two hours," you reminded him, though the way you pulled him closer told a different story.
"Plenty of time," he whispered before capturing your lips again.
*
"You're back together."
Hansol mentioned it too casually one day during their recording session for the next comeback, his voice carrying over the hum of instruments and the quiet chatter of the producers.
Chan raised a brow, glancing at him from his seat. "How do you know? Jihoon hyung told you?"
Hansol furrowed his brows. "Jihoon hyung knew?"
Chan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean—he saw us. So..."
Hansol nodded slowly, then sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I saw her in your clothes this morning. That shirt—I gave it to you."
Chan’s mouth formed an "O" as realization hit. Right. That oversized, faded gray shirt you had grabbed from his closet before rushing out the door.
"You're right..." He huffed a laugh before shrugging. "And yeah, we’re talking again."
Hansol smirked. "Isn’t it a bit much to be wearing your clothes in the morning while still in the ‘talking again’ phase?"
Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "Hey, respect all the effort. It took me a whole year to finally realize everything."
Hansol’s smirk softened into something gentler. "Well, I’m happy for you, though." His voice was quieter now, more sincere.
Chan met his gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up. It felt nice, hearing that from Hansol—like the pieces of his life were finally clicking back into place.
"Did Seungkwan know about this?" Hansol asked suddenly, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Chan blinked, then quickly shook his head. "Haven’t told him yet."
Hansol snorted. "Oh, that’s gonna be fun."
The next day, Seungkwan strolled up to Chan with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was about to deliver some sort of life-altering news.
"You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday," Seungkwan started, watching Chan’s face closely.
Chan barely looked up from his phone, tapping out a quick message before pocketing it. "Who?"
"Wonha."
That got Chan’s attention. He blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to place the name properly. Wonha. His ex from his early twenties. One of the few exes he actually had a good relationship with after the breakup.
"Huh," Chan muttered, tilting his head. "How’s she doing?"
Seungkwan raised a brow. "She’s doing well. And—" He leaned in slightly as if dropping a bombshell. "She asked for your number."
Chan blinked again, this time in mild surprise. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Said she wanted to catch up."
Chan leaned back in his chair, processing that. Wonha had always been a good friend, even when they realized romance wasn’t for them. There was no dramatic fallout, no resentment. Just two people who grew apart but still wished each other well.
"Did you give it to her?"
Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "Would I be telling you this if I didn’t?"
Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."
And so, he waited. Not anxiously, not with any particular anticipation, but with a vague curiosity. He knew he wouldn’t reach out first—that wasn’t his style. If she really wanted to talk, she’d text.
And she did.
A simple Hey, Chan! It’s been forever. How’ve you been? popped up on his screen later that evening.
Chan hesitated for half a second before typing back.
Hey, Wonha! Yeah, it has been. I’ve been good. You?
The conversation flowed easily after that, casual and familiar. Like two old friends catching up. Because that’s all it was. A friendly catch-up.
Or at least, that’s what Chan told himself.
The next day, Chan found himself spending the entire afternoon at your bakery, pretending he was just there to help out but mostly just looking for excuses to be near you. He chatted with Sunoo, stole a few samples of the new pastries you were testing, and even helped clean up when things got a little messy in the kitchen. But really, he was just waiting for the clock to hit nine.
And the second it did, he was already grabbing your coat from the rack and tossing it over your shoulders.
"Let's go," he said, nudging you toward the door.
You raised a brow, amused by his impatience. "I need to close up first, you know?"
"I’ll help," he insisted, already moving to flip the sign to closed and gathering whatever needed tidying up.
It barely took five minutes before he was pulling you to his car, a familiar routine by now—one that neither of you questioned anymore.
"Where to?" he asked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at you.
You hummed, thinking. "Han River. Convenience store. Instant noodles and maybe a can of beer."
Chan grinned, nodding as he shifted gears. "Classic."
The drive was smooth, city lights blurring past as the two of you fell into easy conversation about your day. It was moments like this that made Chan realize how much he had missed this—the late-night drives, the effortless company, the way you made him feel like no matter how exhausting his schedule was, this was always worth it.
When you arrived, the convenience store was quiet, only a few other night owls scattered around, either enjoying their own late-night snacks or lost in their own worlds. Chan grabbed a basket, filling it with your usual picks—two cups of instant noodles, a can of beer for you, and a bottle of water for himself. He threw in a bag of chips for good measure before heading to the cashier.
As you both settled at one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river, the crisp night air wrapped around you, but it wasn’t cold. Not with Chan beside you.
"You ever think about how we always end up here?" you mused, watching the steam curl up from your noodles.
Chan chuckled, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. "Yeah. It’s like our thing, isn’t it?"
You nodded, smiling softly. "Our thing."
Chan watched you for a moment, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe it had always been this simple. Maybe it had always been you.
After a while, between bites of noodles and sips of beer, the conversation flowed effortlessly—talking about anything and everything, teasing each other, reminiscing old memories. The laughter came easily, and for Chan, it felt like breathing.
Then someone approached.
"Chan?"
He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Wonha?"
She smiled, standing there with casual ease, as if running into him was the most natural thing in the world. They greeted each other, the familiarity still lingering despite the years apart.
Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity flickering in her expression. "And you are...?"
Chan blinked. He hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about how to define this, to define you. Girlfriend? Ex? Friend? What were you now?
"We're close," he finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.
You, ever composed, simply smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n."
Wonha shook your hand, offering a polite nod. The conversation that followed was friendly—catching up, lighthearted small talk. Wonha mentioned she was back in town for a while, talked about work, asked about Chan’s schedule. But despite the casual nature, there was an underlying awkwardness, a tension Chan couldn’t quite shake.
And when Wonha finally excused herself, the silence she left behind was even heavier.
You didn’t say anything at first, just finished the last of your drink, eyes focused on the rippling water of the river. Chan shifted in his seat, glancing at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.
Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke.
"Let’s go home."
It was simple, but it carried weight.
Chan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Finally, the silence is cut.
He nodded, standing up and grabbing the trash, his mind racing as he followed you back to the car.
*
Chan couldn’t reach you for almost a week. At first, he thought you were just busy. He texted, called a couple of times, but the replies were short, if they came at all. He even stopped by your bakery, only to have Sunoo mention in passing that you had gone on a business trip to another town.
That was when the uneasy feeling started creeping in.
You hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to him. And worse—when he thought about it, he realized you had been slowly distancing yourself for the past week. Maybe even longer.
He wanted to believe he was overthinking, but deep down, he knew better. You were avoiding him.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, another problem decided to make an appearance.
That morning, his phone was bombarded with notifications—texts, calls, mentions. At first, he thought it was just another work update or a group chat going off. But then Seungkwan's name flashed on his screen.
"Congrats, man. So, when were you planning to tell us?"
Chan frowned. "Tell you what?"
Seungkwan sighed dramatically. "The dating news, obviously. Your article is everywhere."
Chan's heart dropped. He pulled up social media, and there it was—a headline with his name splashed all over the place:
"Seventeen's Dino spotted on a date? Rumors of a relationship surface after café sighting!"
Accompanied by a picture.
A picture of him sitting across from a girl at a café.
And the girl in the photo?
It wasn’t you.
It was Wonha.
Chan froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. His members started chiming in one by one—congratulations, playful teasing, all assuming the article was true.
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "This isn’t true."
The only thing he could do now was call the company, demand a clarification, and make sure the world knew that Wonha was just a friend.
But even if he could fix this problem, there was still you.
And right now, you were already slipping away.
"Why don’t you ask the girl you met at the café about her?"
Sunoo’s response was sharp, his words slicing through the tension in the air. Chan had barely stepped foot into the bakery before being met with that cold remark.
It had been a week since the scandal broke, a week since he had last seen you. And now, here he was, standing in the familiar warmth of your bakery, trying to explain himself.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Chan started, his voice firm but laced with frustration. “The media twisted it, like they always do.”
Sunoo didn’t look convinced. He crouched behind the counter, rummaging for something, before standing back up and placing a small sign in front of the register.
Chan furrowed his brows, reading the words aloud.
"House reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."
"Wait—this is a thing?" Chan asked, blinking in disbelief. He had never seen that sign here before.
Sunoo nodded, arms crossed. "House rule. F&B industry stuff. You wouldn’t understand since you come from entertainment."
Chan let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You keep talking about industries. Why don’t you just tell me where Y/n is?"
Sunoo’s expression hardened. He leaned against the counter, gaze unwavering. "Why? You want to see her? Talk to her? Do you always check in on your ex like this?"
Chan felt his breath hitch. "What are you talking about?"
But before Sunoo could respond, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. In an instant, his demeanor shifted.
"Welcome!" Sunoo greeted with a bright, polite voice, flashing a smile at the guest. But just before he turned away completely, he cast Chan one last glance—one filled with something unreadable.
And just like that, Chan was left standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady.
"He's gone..." Sunoo murmured, still watching through the bakery window as Chan disappeared down the street.
You stepped out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel before settling onto one of the bar stools. Your expression was unreadable, but Sunoo could see the tension in your shoulders.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.
You let out a chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Why wouldn’t I be okay?"
Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, you’ve been avoiding him for a week. And second, you were just hiding in the kitchen the moment he walked in."
You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was busy."
"Right," Sunoo drawled, crossing his arms. "Too busy to tell him you were going on a business trip? Too busy to tell him you're upset?"
You exhaled, resting your elbows on the counter as you looked down at your hands. "What do you want me to say, Sunoo?"
"Maybe the truth?" he suggested. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."
You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything.
Sunoo sighed, softening his voice. "You know, whatever it is you're feeling, you're allowed to feel it. You don’t have to act like nothing happened."
You glanced at him, eyes flickering with something close to hesitation. Sunoo didn’t push further, but he didn’t back down either.
"Just… think about it," he said before turning back to work, leaving you with your thoughts.
*
You went home, exhausted, only to halt in surprise at the sight of Chan squatting in front of your unit, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his furrowed brows, but the moment his eyes caught yours, he stood up immediately.
"Now we meet," he said, his voice firm. You could hear the frustration laced in his words, see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But you were more upset than he was, and in your mind, he deserved every second of silence you'd given him.
"You're just going to give me the silent treatment? Like you always do?"
Your hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, you turned to face him.
"I thought we were over a year ago," you said, your tone indifferent.
Chan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "And here I thought we had a chance."
You crossed your arms, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "What do you want, Chan?"
"You have no idea how crazy I’ve been this past week. After everything between us, you just disappeared, like you always do. This isn’t how you handle things. You don’t just vanish when things get tough."
You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. "Oh, sure…" Lifting your head, you met his gaze with something sharp, something cold. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Playing with someone’s heart."
Chan's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you trying to say?"
"You’re good at it," you said, voice unwavering. "Messing with people's feelings."
His frustration cracked into something closer to disbelief. "You’re the one who left me. A year ago and now. Don’t make it seem like I was the one who walked out that night."
Your jaw clenched as you turned away, gripping the door handle once more. "You have no right to tell me that."
"Grow up."
You stopped.
"Nobody in this world is a mind reader," Chan continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "So grow up and say what’s in your head. I can’t guess what you’re thinking, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong, what needs fixing. I know I lack a lot, but after everything—after seeing you again—I want to be better. But the way you treat me... it's making me feel small."
You didn't respond immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hit you in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.
"Have you ever thought," you started, voice softer now, "how things would’ve been different if you had asked me to stay that night?"
Silence.
You let out a breath, your lips curling into something bitter. "You wouldn’t know, would you? Because you never even tried. And that’s what hurt me the most."
Finally, you turned fully to him, looking straight into his eyes. "You never knew how hard it was to speak my mind just to be ignored. And that’s why you never understood how much it hurt."
Chan exhaled sharply, as if your words had physically struck him.
"And now, you want me to speak?" Your voice didn’t waver, but there was a slight tremble in your fingertips. "Tell me, Chan, if I do—will you actually listen this time?"
Chan stared at you, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but no words came out. The weight of your words sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He had spent so long trying to understand you, but he had never really asked himself whether he had truly listened.
His silence was enough of an answer.
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned back to your door. “Exactly.”
Chan stepped forward, desperate. "I know I messed up. I know I should’ve done things differently, but Y/n, do you really think I didn’t want you to stay?"
You let out a dry laugh, gripping the doorknob but not turning it yet. "Wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things, Chan. And I waited—God, I waited for you to just say something. But you didn’t."
"I was scared," he admitted, voice raw. "I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without being selfish. I thought maybe—maybe if you left, you’d be happier."
You turned around, eyes narrowing. "And who gave you the right to decide what would make me happy?"
He faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I—"
"Chan," you sighed, your voice softer this time, tired. "I don’t want to do this again if it's just going to end the same way."
"Then don’t let it," he pleaded. "We can be better this time. I can be better. But I need you to talk to me. No more running, no more silence. Just us—figuring this out together."
You searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation, the regret. But was it enough?
"You broke my heart," you whispered.
Chan swallowed hard, his own heart aching at your confession. "I know," he said quietly. "But if you let me, I'll spend however long it takes putting it back together."
The air between you was thick with emotion, the past lingering like a ghost neither of you could quite shake. The choice was yours now. To let him try—or to walk away for good.
You let out a quiet sigh before pushing the door open wider. "Come in."
Chan hesitated for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to actually let him in, but he stepped inside nonetheless. You didn’t want anyone witnessing the two of you arguing in the hallway, and frankly, you were too tired for a public spectacle.
The door clicked shut behind you as you walked to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. You didn’t look at him. Instead, you focused on the smooth surface of the table, tracing invisible patterns with your fingertips.
Chan, meanwhile, stood by the window, three meters away. His hands were in his pockets, his back against the frame, his posture tense yet composed. His eyes weren’t on you either. The space between you was filled with silence—thick, suffocating, and louder than any argument you could’ve had outside.
Seconds stretched into minutes, neither of you speaking. The weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, settled heavily in the room.
Eventually, Chan broke the silence. His voice was quieter this time, hesitant but firm.
"Why did you leave that night?"
Your fingers stilled against the table. You swallowed, debating whether to answer honestly or give him the same indifference you had been holding onto.
"Because I was tired," you finally said. Your voice was calm, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable.
In the past, you had always known that Chan was friendly and well-liked. That wasn’t the problem. The problem started when you kept hearing from other people—friends, fans, even strangers—that he was still close with all of his exes. Some people even made jokes about how he had never been single for more than a month before jumping into another relationship.
At first, you brushed it off, trusting him. But over time, it started to bother you—not just the rumors, but the way Chan never reassured you about them. Instead of addressing your concerns, he dismissed them like they were insignificant.
“Why are you listening to those people? You know me.”
“Come on, it’s just people making up stories. Don’t let it get in your head.”
“So what if I’m on good terms with them? It’s called being mature.”
Every time you tried to talk about it, he shut it down, making you feel like you were overreacting. He never cheated, but he never made you feel secure either. And that’s what hurt the most—his failure to recognize that trust isn’t just about being faithful, it’s about making your partner feel like they’re the only one who matters.
As months passed, you tried to hold on, tried to trust him, tried to ignore the way doubt kept creeping into your heart. But it became exhausting—feeling like you were the only one fighting against the rumors, the only one trying to hold the relationship together.
Then, there was one final moment that broke you. Maybe it was another passing comment from someone about him still being close to a particular ex. Maybe it was seeing a picture of him with one of them, looking too comfortable, too familiar. Whatever it was, you tried one last time to make him understand.
“Chan, I’m tired of always hearing about you and your exes. I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing with ghosts.”
But instead of listening, he got defensive.
“You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why are you making this such a big deal?”
You sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I was tired of fighting with my own thoughts. Because whenever I tried to bring them to the table, you brushed them away.”
Your voice was steady, but Chan could hear the exhaustion beneath it. That quiet kind of hurt—the one that lingers long after the wound is made.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I did that?”
You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. And I started to feel alone. Alone… alone… while you were out, hanging out—a lot—with your exes. And I was left by myself. I saw you that night. You were with your friends, and there was her…”
You didn’t have to say her name. He knew exactly who you were talking about.
Chan exhaled sharply, looking away. The weight of your words pressed against his chest, tightening like a vice.
He remembered that night—the night everything between you fell apart.
He could still hear his phone ringing, your name flashing on the screen. He had answered casually, thinking it was just another call. You told him you were at his place. You wanted to talk.
He said he’d be home soon. But he hadn’t meant it.
Instead, he stayed. Another drink. Another story. Another hour.
When he finally did go home, you were already waiting—but not in the way he had expected. You weren’t curled up on his couch, waiting to be held. You weren’t upset, demanding an explanation.
No, you were standing there—rigid, distant, already pulling away.
And before he could even process what was happening, before he could even reach for you—
You ended it.
Just like that. No screaming, no accusations, no dramatic fights.
Just quiet devastation.
“You didn’t trust me.” His voice barely broke the silence.
You met his eyes, and it sent a shiver down his spine. There was no hesitation when you answered.
“You’re right.”
The finality of it crashed into him like a wave.
Chan clenched his fists, his mind spiraling back to that night. He had stood there, watching you walk away, unable to move, unable to say a single word. Because at that moment, he was too caught up in himself.
He hadn’t thought about you. About how you had tried—again and again—to tell him what was wrong. About how you had begged, without ever raising your voice, for him to reassure you.
Instead, he had let his own frustration consume him. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were the problem—that you were overthinking, being irrational, asking for too much.
But now, hearing you say it so plainly—
You didn’t trust him. And he had given you every reason not to.
His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You never told me why…”
Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—hurt, regret, maybe even disappointment.
“Because you weren’t on the same page as me.”
Silence.
And it was deafening.
Because he knew it was true. Even if you had explained back then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would’ve dismissed it, convinced himself that you were just being insecure.
But this wasn’t insecurity.
This was trust breaking, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.
And suddenly, he realized—you hadn’t left because you wanted to. You left because, at that moment, you had no other choice.
And that realization hurt more than he ever thought it would.
Chan knew he had lost you once because he failed to listen. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He stood there, leaning against your window frame, the weight of everything sinking in. The silence between you was thick—so many words left unspoken, so much hurt neither of you had truly acknowledged until now.
But this time, he wasn’t going to brush it aside. He wasn’t going to let his own emotions overshadow yours.
Chan took a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with raw sincerity. “I was selfish.”
You didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch in your expression told him you were listening.
“I thought I was doing enough just by being with you. I thought… if I wasn’t doing anything wrong, then there was nothing to fix. But I never stopped to ask myself if I was making you feel safe with me. If I was making you feel like you mattered.”
He pushed off the window frame, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough to show you that this time, he wasn’t running from the conversation.
“You were right to leave me that night,” he admitted. “Because I wasn’t ready to hear you. I wasn’t ready to understand. But I am now.”
The room felt smaller with Chan standing there, his presence filling the silence between you. The weight of everything—the past, the heartbreak, the unspoken words—pressed down on both of you, but for the first time, neither of you looked away.
You exhaled slowly, your arms still crossed, the shield you had built around yourself refusing to fall so easily. "You say all the right things now," you muttered, your voice quieter than before. "But words don’t erase what happened."
Chan nodded, his expression serious. "I know." He took a cautious step forward, just enough to close the emotional distance without overwhelming you. "I know words aren’t enough. But I’m not saying this just to make you forgive me. I just... need you to know that I finally get it."
His voice carried none of the frustration or defensiveness you had once been so used to. Instead, there was something raw—an understanding, a regret that felt real.
You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "It took you losing me to understand?"
"Yeah," he admitted, a small, humorless smile on his lips. "I guess I had to lose you to really see how much I took for granted."
Your shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in your chest loosening. You weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. But something about the way he was speaking—**without excuses, without pushing blame onto you—**made you feel like, for once, he was truly listening.
He glanced down at his hands, exhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I don’t even expect you to give me another chance. But if you ever think there’s even the slightest possibility of trusting me again..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Then I want to be someone worth trusting."
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as suffocating this time. The anger that had once flared between you had softened into something else—something uncertain, something hesitant, but no longer painful.
You sighed, finally lowering your arms. "I don’t know if I can just believe you overnight."
Chan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into the smallest, most understanding smile. "Then let me prove it to you. No rush, no expectations. Just… let me be here. This time, I’ll listen."
And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he would.
*
"Have you seen this?"
Attached was a screenshot—an official announcement from Pledis Entertainment.
"Dino of SEVENTEEN is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. We ask for your support and understanding."
The news took you by surprise.
Your name wasn’t mentioned in the official announcement, but you knew. You were the non-celebrity. The one the world was suddenly talking about. The one they were wishing happiness for.
Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—friends, acquaintances, even people you hadn’t spoken to in years, all reaching out with the same excitement. "Is it true?" "Are you really dating Dino?" "How did this even happen?"
You stared at the screen, overwhelmed, heart racing.
And then, there was the photo. The one of Chan in an apron, standing behind the counter of your bakery. Box on his hands, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile as he handed a customer their order. It had been taken just last weekend, completely candid. You knew because you had been standing right beside him, laughing as he struggled to tie the apron properly.
You weren’t sure how the photo got out. Maybe a customer had snapped it. Maybe a fan had recognized him. Maybe it didn’t even matter anymore—because now, the world knew.
And surprisingly, they were happy for you.
You had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what people might say, of the scrutiny that would come with being associated with him again. But as you scrolled through the comments, you saw nothing but excitement, nothing but support.
"Dino looks so happy!"
"He really found someone special."
"He’s literally boyfriend goals, helping out at her bakery like that."
"I hope they stay together for a long time."
Your chest tightened. It felt surreal.
It had taken months to get here. Months of hesitation, of slow conversations, of learning to trust again. Months of Chan proving to you—through actions, not just words—that he had changed.
That he had finally understood.
You thought back to the first time he had shown up at your bakery. He hadn't said much, just stood there awkwardly, asking if you needed help. You had been hesitant, but you let him stay. Then he kept coming back. On his free days, between schedules, whenever he could.
And somewhere in between rolling dough, wiping flour off his face, and sneaking bites of pastries when he thought you weren’t looking—he became part of your life again.
Not as an idol. Not as the Chan you once fought with. Just as him.
You put your phone down, heart still racing.
Chan had yet to text you about the announcement. He was probably waiting, letting you process it on your own.
And for once, you weren’t afraid.
You looked toward the kitchen, where he was now—tying his apron, completely unaware that the world had just found out about you two.
You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and smiled.
"Hey, boyfriend," you teased, leaning against the counter.
Chan looked up, confused for a second, before his phone finally buzzed. His eyes widened.
"You okay?" he asked immediately, concern flickering in his gaze.
You nodded. "Are you?"
He exhaled, then grinned. "Well… at least they got my best angle."
You rolled your eyes, but you laughed. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking at the past anymore.
At first, you weren’t sure how things would change.
Chan had always been social, always surrounded by people, and a part of you feared slipping back into old patterns. The nights where you’d feel left out. The moments where you questioned your place in his life. But this time, things were different.
He made sure of it.
The first time he invited you to hang out with his friends, you hesitated. You still remembered how it felt before—watching from the sidelines while he laughed with people who had known him longer, had history with him in a way you didn’t. But Chan noticed.
And instead of brushing it off, he reached for your hand.
"Hey, come here," he had said softly, pulling you into the conversation. "They’ve been wanting to meet you properly."
Properly.
Not as someone in the background. Not as just another presence in the room. But as his girlfriend.
From that day on, he never made you feel like an outsider. You were part of his world now, not just someone looking in.
Whenever he was with his friends, his arm always found its way around your shoulders. If you were feeling quiet, he’d gently pull you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, whispering, "You okay?" If he laughed at an inside joke, he’d take the time to explain it to you. If his friends teased him, saying he had changed, he’d just smile and say, "Yeah. I did."
And then there were his exes.
Chan never cut them out of his life—not because he was holding onto the past, but because he had learned how to balance things. He didn’t hide it from you. He was transparent, always telling you if he happened to run into them, if they caught up once in a while.
But the difference now? He never let it make you feel small.
If his exes were around, he made it clear where he stood. His hand in yours. His attention on you. His presence next to you, always.
"You don’t have to worry," he’d say, eyes sincere. "I know what I want."
And he showed you.
When someone brought up his dating history, he never entertained it. If an old friend joked about how he’d never been single for long, he’d only shrug and say, "That’s in the past."
And if there was ever a moment—even the smallest second—where doubt crept into your mind, he always knew.
One night, after a dinner gathering, he noticed how you grew quiet as an old conversation about his past relationships resurfaced. He didn’t wait for you to bring it up.
In the car ride home, he reached for your hand and held it against his chest.
"Talk to me," he murmured.
You sighed, unsure how to put it into words. "I know you’re close with them. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s insecure about it. But sometimes…"
"Sometimes it still lingers?" he finished gently.
You nodded.
Chan didn’t get defensive. He didn’t dismiss it. He just squeezed your hand and said, "I get it. And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings. Just… let me remind you, whenever you need it."
You looked at him, heart softening. "How will you remind me?"
He turned to you, eyes full of certainty.
"Like this."
And before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.
Not rushed. Not just for reassurance. But because he wanted to. Because he chose you.
And he would always make sure you knew that.
*
Seungkwan had absolutely nothing in his head as he stood near the break room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. It was one of those rare moments where his brain wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour—no schedules to stress over, no members to yell at for losing their things nor refusing to take their vitamins. Just mindless scrolling.
That was until he overheard Hansol’s voice from inside the room.
“She sent me some pictures. It looked good.”
Seungkwan barely paid attention at first, but then Chan’s voice followed, casual as ever.
“Yeah, she was developing a new recipe last night. She told you about that? Jeez, you’re still her favorite member, hyung.”
Seungkwan’s thumb froze mid-scroll.
She?
Recipe?
His eyes narrowed. He replayed the sentence in his head, dissecting it like a scientist analyzing a new discovery. There was only one “she” in their circle who was obsessed with baking.
His heart dropped to his stomach.
His brain took a second too long to process the words. The next thing he knew, he was barging into the room, his eyes darting between Hansol and Chan.
"WAIT, WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!"
Chan looked up lazily from his phone, blinking at Seungkwan like he had just asked if water was wet. "Uh… what do you mean?"
Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. "DID YOU JUST SAY SHE—AS IN Y/N?!"
Hansol smirked but said nothing, sipping his drink.
Chan nodded, still looking completely unbothered. "Yeah? Why?"
Seungkwan’s face contorted in a mix of betrayal and disbelief. "YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"
"Uh-huh."
"AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!"
Hansol chuckled, leaning back. "Dude, it’s been months."
Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "Months?!" He placed a hand on his chest as if he had just been personally attacked. "And I was the last to know?"
Chan shrugged, completely unfazed. "We didn’t exactly keep it a secret. You were just… too busy freaking out over the whole scandal thing."
"Busy freaking out—Chan, I lost SLEEP over that! I thought I ruined your life! I was having nightmares about it!" Seungkwan clutched his head as if reliving the trauma. "And the whole time, you two were just happily together behind my back?!"
Hansol patted his shoulder, failing to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, man. You really stressed yourself out for nothing."
Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Unbelievable. This is betrayal. I feel so betrayed." He pointed an accusatory finger at Chan. "You should’ve told me! I deserve better than this!"
Chan chuckled, finally setting his phone down and walking over to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair. "Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you. How about we all hang out at the bakery tomorrow? She’s testing out her new recipe."
Seungkwan’s ears perked up slightly, but he kept up his sulking act. "...The one with the cream filling?"
Chan smirked. "Yup."
Silence.
"...Fine," Seungkwan muttered, crossing his arms. "But only because of the food."
Hansol shook his head. "He forgives fast."
Seungkwan scoffed but didn’t deny it. "You’re lucky I love desserts. But I’m still mad at you."
Chan laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Sure, sure. I’ll let her know her favorite member is coming by."
Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "liar. You said it was Hansol earlier." But he couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.
And just like that, the weight of the past lifted, leaving only laughter, warmth, and the start of something even better.
to think that your marriage has come to an end, you consider divorce as the only solution. that was until something seemed wrong with your husband. although you're not quite sure what it was, his sudden change forces you to put everything on hold. throughout the process, you find yourself falling in love all over again, remembering why you loved him in the first place.
pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader
genre: drama, comedy, angst, fluff, smut (mdni)
warnings: mature content, strong language, mental health themes, DID (dissociative identity disorder), split personality, marriage conflict, one-sided love, arranged marriage, avoidant attachment, emotional impermanence, anxious attachment, miscommunication between couples, mention of divorce (more detailed warnings in specific chapters).
add tags❤︎: established relationship, CEO! seungcheol, target audience: me, wife!reader, sun x moon dynamic, cheol is a little mean, she fell first he fell harder type of shii aye, grumpy x sunshine trope, second chance(?), attorney!jeonghan, secretary!mingyu, dr. jeon as moral and emotional support, therapist! joshua, i write tragedy, not sins. this is actually sad, but we are coping. third-person pov, kkuma cameo!
disclaimer: i am not a professional. therefore, i am aware that this story contains themes related to mental health, which will be written with care and respect. please expect upcoming chapters to include experiences inspired by real-life accounts. please read the warnings before proceeding and take care of yourself while reading. no self-harm will be mentioned, i can assure you of that. additionally, some mental health conditions and diagnoses may not be portrayed with complete accuracy, as experiences can vary greatly from person to person.
notes: phew, this is going to be a loooong ride. anyway, i feel like the banner and the genre tags are a little misleading bc there's nothing cute about this fic at all. but hey! i finally found the courage to post this, and i hope you guys will trust me with this one :D
Summary: After submitting your resignation letter, you drunkenly called your boss of seven years. After that, his behavior toward you changed unexpectedly.
You heard the elevator ding softly in the hallway—the unmistakable signal that your superior had arrived, as he did every morning at precisely this time. You stood from your desk, smoothing your blazer and preparing to greet him as usual. Moments later, he appeared: Choi Seungcheol, followed closely by Jeonghan, your colleague and his main secretary, who read the day’s schedule to him in a steady, practiced voice. Confidence radiated from both men as they walked, commanding the room's attention without trying.
When Seungcheol passed by your desk, you bowed politely, offering a respectful, “Good morning, Mr. Choi.”
He paused, surprising you by stopping in front of your desk rather than continuing down the corridor. “Morning,” he replied, his voice low but steady. After a brief pause, he glanced at you and asked, “Where’s Mingyu? Isn’t today his first day of training?”
You nodded, feeling a twinge of something bittersweet. Mingyu, a new recruit with undeniable talent, was here to train as your replacement. After seven years of routine mornings, assisting the superiors through countless meetings, projects, and unexpected crises, you were leaving. Resigning had been your choice, but the weight of this change hadn’t truly hit you until now, standing here in the familiar morning light of the office.
“Yes, Mr. Choi,” you replied with a slight smile, “He should be arriving shortly. I’ll bring him over as soon as he does.”
Seungcheol gave you a curt nod, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes before he continued down the corridor.
“Mingyu… That guy should know to be on time,” Seungcheol muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice. “His training is two months, right?”
You nodded as Jeonghan stepped out of Seungcheol’s office behind him, finally able to relax. He let out a sigh. “I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”
You offered him a knowing smile. “Me either. But it’s been seven years.”
Seven years ago, you and Jeonghan had been recruited and trained together to assist Mr. Choi, Seungcheol’s father. When Mr. Choi passed away, the board quickly assigned Seungcheol to take his father’s place. Thankfully, he was gracious enough to retain both you and Jeonghan as part of his secretary team, easing the transition for everyone.
Jeonghan suddenly looked at you with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Did you book the restaurant I asked about? Mr. Choi has that lunch meeting with the client, remember?”
You gave him a thumbs-up. “All set. I even double-checked that they have vegan options on the menu.”
Jeonghan clutched his chest dramatically. “I have no idea how I’ll manage after you leave me with Mingyu!”
Just then, a tall, slightly disheveled guy with a backpack hurriedly appeared, out of breath and looking a little flustered. “Sorry I’m late!” Mingyu panted, giving you both a quick nod. “There was an accident—the bus I took lost a wheel!”
You and Jeonghan exchanged unimpressed glances, trying not to laugh at Mingyu’s unusual excuse. He was here to take over your position, but it was clear he had some big shoes to fill—and that he might need a few more lessons in time management.
After the lunch meeting, Jeonghan placed a takeout box on your desk, right as you were deeply focused on the manual you were putting together for Mingyu. You glanced up, intrigued by the unexpected treat.
“Mr. Choi finally declared his favorite secretary,” Jeonghan announced, leaning casually against your desk with a sly grin.
You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Really?” you asked, your tone dripping with doubt. In all your years working for Seungcheol, he had never done anything like this.
Jeonghan nodded, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Is there something going on between the two of you that I don’t know about?” His tone was teasing, hinting at the kind of office romance you'd only read about in novels.
Rolling your eyes, you smirked. “You wish. Besides, you know he’s dating that model,” you replied, thinking of the stunning woman Seungcheol had brought to a recent social event.
Jeonghan shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe he’s softened up since you handed in your resignation. Maybe he’s finally realized what an incredible secretary he’s losing.”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Shut up!”
Before Jeonghan could reply, your phone rang, interrupting the moment. On the third ring, you picked it up, recognizing Seungcheol’s deep voice on the other end, summoning you to his office. Through the glass wall of his office, you noticed him looking—no, glaring—your way. You weren’t entirely sure what he was thinking, but the intensity of his gaze made you stand up quickly, leaving no time for second-guessing.
“He called. Gotta go,” you said to Jeonghan, setting down the phone and straightening your blazer.
He gave you an exaggerated nod and moved back to his own desk across from yours. “Alright, Ms. Secretary,” he called after you with a wink, making it clear that the teasing was far from over.
You knocked on the office door before opening it and stepping inside. Seungcheol was there, his suit jacket draped over his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of him in this more casual state threw you off, even if only for a moment—you were never fond of this job, but professionalism kept you grounded.
You bowed politely, standing a respectful two meters from his desk, hands clasped in front of you. As he looked up from his paperwork, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You felt oddly exposed under his scrutiny.
“Are you always this rigid, Ms. Ji?” he asked, a slight scoff in his voice.
You blinked, caught off guard. Had you been? “I’ve always been this way, sir,” you replied, keeping your tone professional. You prided yourself on maintaining boundaries; that’s why you were leaving—to stay true to your professionalism.
He nodded thoughtfully. “What do you think of Mingyu?”
Resting his chin on his clasped hands, he watched you intently as you spoke. “From what I’ve seen, he’s quick, sharp, and adaptable, which is promising. He’s also retained everything I’ve shown him so far, so I don’t think you need to worry.”
Seungcheol nodded, but you caught a hint of dissatisfaction in his expression. It seemed there was something he didn’t quite like about Mingyu, though he didn’t say so outright.
“He can be a little clumsy,” you admitted, recalling with a slight grimace how Mingyu had spilled Seungcheol’s coffee that morning. “But he’s working on it.”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Yes, please guide him well. Are you sure two months will be enough?”
After this morning, you weren't so sure. But prolonging your stay here wasn’t an option you wanted to consider. “I’ll ensure he makes significant progress within two weeks, sir. If more time is needed, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and you took this as your cue to leave. But you couldn’t help noting how strange this was. Oddity number two: he rarely called you into his office; normally, communication was handled over phone or email. That, combined with the unexpected lunch takeout, left you wondering if this was all coincidence—or if something had shifted in Seungcheol's usual demeanor.
“You can go, Y/n,” Jeonghan called out as he wrapped up his final check of the materials for tomorrow’s meeting, catching you by surprise.
“Who says?” You turned, eyes wide.
“The boss himself,” he replied with a smirk. “I know he’s been acting a little strange. Face it, Y/n—he’s trying to keep you here. I think he’s finally realized just how essential you are to this place,” Jeonghan added playfully.
You chuckled, shaking your head as you grabbed your things. “I’m flattered, but I’m taking this as my cue to go. It’s been so long since I finished work at this hour,” you said, smiling as you headed for the elevator.
Once outside, you flagged down a cab, sinking into the back seat as it pulled away. You couldn’t help but reflect on the day. Oddity number three: Seungcheol letting you go home early.
Staring out the window at the city lights, you resolved to stay focused. You’d given this company seven years—enough was enough. You were moving forward, and no amount of unexpected gestures could change your decision.
*
You sat uncomfortably in Seungcheol's car as he drove the two of you to a lunch meeting with Hong Group. Normally, you'd be the one arranging transportation, but today you hadn’t. In fact, you couldn't—because you didn’t know how to drive. You still remembered the brief flash of surprise in his eyes before he smoothly took the driver’s seat, saving you the trouble of calling a driver at the last minute.
“I’m sorry, sir, I should’ve arranged for a driver earlier,” you mumbled, embarrassed. For the first time in your career, you felt humiliated by something so trivial. Maybe you really should take driving lessons after this.
Seungcheol only chuckled behind the wheel. Ahead, a sea of cars sat at a standstill in traffic, making you curse yourself a little more for this uncomfortable situation.
“It’s alright,” he reassured, glancing over. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven myself, actually. Jeonghan usually handles it—and he’s a great driver.”
As he turned his attention back to the road, you recalled Jeonghan’s parting words before you left the office. “See? I told you—he’s trying to win your heart, Y/n,” Jeonghan had teased, though you’d brushed it off.
The silence stretched, until Seungcheol finally broke it. “Is it rude to ask why you don’t drive?” He sounded curious, as if this was unusual for someone in your position.
“Oh, it’s just... a bit of a silly reason,” you admitted. “I’m actually scared of driving.” You glanced down, hesitating. Even just sitting in the front seat made your heart race a little; the thought of being behind the wheel terrified you.
He seemed to take that in, and then, with surprising gentleness, asked, “But are you comfortable now? You seem a bit tense.”
You were caught off guard but exhaled, realizing he’d noticed your fidgeting hands and the way you avoided looking at the road ahead. “I’m fine, sir. I’m sorry if I seem distracted,” you said quickly, grateful when the restaurant finally came into view.
Inside, Seungcheol introduced you to Mr. Hong and his son, Joshua. As the three men began discussing business, you took notes on key points. Seungcheol was interested in investing in Joshua’s new automotive line, and you tried to focus, but following the conversation was difficult. Every so often, Mr. Hong or Joshua would turn to you for your opinion, and you felt your confidence waver. This wasn’t your area of expertise; Jeonghan was the one who shone in meetings like these. You started to regret agreeing to join the lunch.
“You didn’t seem to enjoy lunch earlier,” Seungcheol commented as the two of you headed back to the office, now seated in the back while the driver took over. You were relieved you’d managed to arrange a driver before the meal ended, sparing you from any more time on the front seat.
“Oh, no, sir. I enjoyed it very much,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. But even as you spoke, you had the strange feeling that he’d seen through you.
Seungcheol sighed softly, then spoke to the driver, instructing him to close the soundproof partition between the front and back seats. Your curiosity stirred—why would he need privacy? But the next thing he did startled you even more. He turned, looking at you with an expression you’d never seen on his face before: a mix of hesitation and vulnerability.
“Let me be honest,” he began, his voice low and sincere. “When you first submitted your resignation letter, I wasn’t bothered. I thought you simply wanted to develop your career in ways that maybe our company couldn’t provide.”
Your breath caught, heart thudding as you tried to anticipate where he was going with this.
“But when you called that night…” he continued, pausing as if weighing his next words. “I—I felt like a very bad person. I didn’t realize how my actions might have affected you, and for that, I want to apologize, Ms. Ji.”
His words struck you like a bolt, leaving you reeling. What was he talking about? What call?
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since,” he went on, his gaze never leaving yours. “And your idea… it seemed very tempting. So if the offer is still valid, I’d like to take you up on it.”
What on earth was he talking about?
You felt panic creeping in as you tried to process his words. You called him? You couldn’t remember ever calling Seungcheol outside of office hours, let alone making him an offer. And what kind of offer could you possibly make to someone who, practically speaking, owned your career for the next two months?
Heart pounding, you took a steadying breath, unsure of what to say. Yet the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. “Of course, sir…” you heard yourself reply.
A small, almost relieved smile crept onto Seungcheol’s face as he turned his gaze to the window. He seemed content, as if a weight had lifted from him.
Was it about your resignation? Had you asked to delay your departure without remembering it? Jeonghan had hinted that Seungcheol might not want you to leave. Or was it something else entirely? Questions buzzed through your mind as the car pulled up to the company building.
“Talk to you later, Ms. Ji,” Seungcheol said, his face lighting up with the dopiest smile you’d ever seen on him as he exited the car.
Jeonghan, waiting by the entrance, raised an eyebrow, clearly as perplexed as you felt. Mingyu, the new hire, looked at you like he’d seen a ghost, noting the stunned expression on your face and your unusually pale complexion.
*
You did call him.
You really did, the night after you submitted your resignation letter—the night when you grabbed can after can of beer, drowning yourself in them like a madwoman, trying to forget everything.
You let out a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the bed. What happened that night when you called him? Why was he suddenly treating you so differently? And what exactly was the offer he mentioned this afternoon?
You felt the weight of the questions pressing down on you, swirling in your mind, but no answers came. Just more confusion.
Your phone rang, startling you. The caller ID displayed Choi Seungcheol, your very boss himself, calling you outside of working hours.
"Good evening, Mr. Choi. Is something wrong?" you answered, your voice betraying a hint of confusion.
You could hear him chuckling on the other end. "I can't call you?"
The casual tone caught you off guard. "Yes—I mean, no! I just thought… you never call at this hour, so I assumed you needed help with something."
"Actually, I do. I was looking over the presentation you sent me this morning, and I need you to get it ready by tomorrow morning."
Wait, he sent you home early, yet now he expected you to work overtime?
You couldn’t help but wonder: Is this the reason I wanted to leave this company?
"Please let me know which section you want me to edit," you said, trying to remain professional.
"No, actually… I’m in the office right now. Come in, and I’ll show you exactly what I need."
Great, you thought to yourself.
"Alright… I'll be there," you replied, hanging up.
Thirty minutes later, you arrived at the office. The lights in Seungcheol’s office were on, and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. You knocked on the door, announcing your presence.
"I'm sorry to drag you back here," Seungcheol said as you entered. "I need this material first thing in the morning."
You walked over to his desk, studying the part of the presentation he wanted changed. As you did, he stood and stepped aside, letting you sit in his chair to examine the presentation on his computer—he hadn’t printed anything out.
"Jeonghan had to leave. Today’s his anniversary with his girlfriend," Seungcheol added, his tone almost apologetic.
You nodded in acknowledgment. "You know, I didn’t want to be the jerk boss who makes him stay late on his anniversary," Seungcheol said.
You tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to continue.
"I called you because, well… I’m already the jerk boss to you," he added, his voice lighter than before.
"Sorry?" Your hand froze over the mouse as you processed his words.
Seungcheol let out a soft, almost playful laugh. "You called me a jerk boss that night, Ms. Ji."
Your heart skipped a beat. His casual tone, combined with the unexpected mention of that night, made you feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks.
You had a blind date that night—the first one in seven years, after working yourself to the bone for Seungcheol. But just as you were getting ready, Seungcheol sent you a voice note an hour before you were supposed to leave. He needed you to reschedule his entire agenda for next week because he was taking a vacation.
A vacation. Was it with the supermodel girlfriend he’d brought to the last social event?
With a heavy sigh, you dove into his agenda, making calls, negotiating with a dozen third parties. It took far longer than you expected. And by the time you finally finished, you received a text from your date.
"If you're too busy with your work, let’s cancel our date."
The words hit you harder than you expected. You remembered crying all week because of Seungcheol, how he had treated you so poorly, despite everything you had done for the company. That was it. You were done. You made up your mind—you were going to resign. You wrote up your resignation letter and handed it to him first thing in the morning.
The night after, you drowned yourself in cans of beer. And somewhere between the haze of alcohol and frustration, you remembered calling him.
“Jerk!”
You heard nothing on the other end.
“Jerk! Are you there?” you called again, louder this time, the anger boiling in your voice. Finally, he responded, his voice tight with confusion. “Ms. Ji, are you drunk?”
“Don’t ask me if I’m drunk! The reason I’m drunk right now is you!” you snapped.
“Ms. Ji? Where are you?” His voice softened, but you could hear the undercurrent of concern.
You chuckled bitterly. “Don’t act like you care. All you’ve done these years is take advantage of your quiet secretary. You’ve never treated me fairly, but I’ve been doing everything for you, bending over backward for the company. You're a jerk!"
And then the words you’d held in for so long spilled out in a rush. “And what? You’re going off on a vacation with your model girlfriend while I’m stuck here, working my ass off on your schedule? You’re a total jerk, Choi Seungcheol! You heard that?”
*
You gasped as the memory of that conversation came rushing back, like a freight train you couldn’t escape. Your hands shot up to cover your mouth, and your eyes widened. You did call him a jerk.
"I missed my blind date last week because of you, Choi Seungcheol! Do you know how lonely I've been, working for you? I bet you don’t, because you're off gallivanting with your supermodel girlfriend while I’m stuck with your endless schedule!"
"Ms. Ji, I don’t have a—" Seungcheol started, but you cut him off, your words coming faster than your brain could keep up.
"How are you going to take responsibility for that, huh, Mr. Choi? Do you even want to be my date? No? Well, then there’s no reason for me to stick around. I’m out of here! I’m leaving, you jerk! You big, dumb, heartless jerk boss!"
You leaned back in his chair like you were starring in your own drama series, dramatic pause and all. Of course, you tried to keep your distance, but Seungcheol was standing right next to you, practically breathing down your neck. The closest you could get to escaping was a meter away—one meter—as if that would be enough to save you from this mortifying moment. You could practically hear the earth laughing at you, but not helping you disappear.
"You remember now?" Seungcheol’s voice was amused, like he’d just stumbled upon a hidden gem. "I see, you forgot about it. No wonder you’ve been acting all... normal since then."
You should’ve been taking a dramatic exit, but instead, your brain was screaming for you to run to the nearest plane out of the country. You were so done.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Choi. It was... I mean, I... It’s just..." You froze, completely out of words. The awkward silence between you was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. You shoved your hands over your face, wishing you could just melt into the desk.
You quickly tried to apologize, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I'm really sorry, Mr. Choi. I didn’t mean to... to... say all that. It was just the alcohol talking, you know? I wasn’t thinking clearly."
Seungcheol paused for a moment, his expression shifting from teasing to something more thoughtful. He didn’t look angry. In fact, he seemed... grateful? “You know, I actually appreciate your honesty. I didn’t realize how badly I’ve been treating you.” His eyes softened as he continued, “I guess it took you saying all that for me to really get it.”
You blinked, not sure how to respond. Was this really happening? Did Seungcheol just thank you for calling him a jerk? You were still in shock, but it felt... different now. Not bad, just unexpected.
Seungcheol leaned forward, his voice suddenly turning serious. “You called me a jerk, but... about that offer to be your date—" He paused, glancing at you with a small, almost mischievous smile. "I meant it."
You immediately shook your head, trying to dismiss the idea. "Oh, no, no, no," you quickly interjected, waving your hands dismissively. "Please, forget that, Mr. Choi. Besides, you have a girlfriend. I’m not about to get mixed up in that drama."
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, unfazed. He didn’t back down. “I’m serious, Ms. Ji. I want to take you out. No work, no obligations, just you and me. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
You looked at him incredulously, half-laughing to yourself. "Are you... are you really serious right now?"
Seungcheol nodded, his voice low and sincere. “Dead serious. I know I messed up, but I’d like a chance to make it right. To be something more than just your boss. So, what do you say?”
You immediately felt a strange flutter of something in your chest. The idea of dating Seungcheol seemed ridiculous—too complicated, too messy. You had spent so much time thinking about leaving, about cutting ties with this company. You had worked your ass off for him, and now he was here, offering something completely different. Something unexpected.
You quickly shook your head again, trying to keep your composure. "I—I'm not sure what you're trying to do here, but I don't think dating you is the solution to this... whatever this is."
Seungcheol’s expression softened. “I’m not trying to fix anything, Ms. Ji. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t leave with regrets... especially when it comes to me.” His gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “So, just think about it, alright? No pressure.”
The words hung in the air, and despite your best efforts to shake the idea off, a small voice inside you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like...
Seungcheol let out a small, knowing smile as you kept shaking your head, clearly trying to dismiss the idea. "You know," he began, his tone suddenly light, "I don't actually have a girlfriend."
You froze, your hand halfway through waving him off. "What?"
"I don’t have a supermodel girlfriend," he repeated, leaning back slightly, his arms crossing casually over his chest. "I mean, I might’ve brought someone to a social event, but that doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend. You assumed a lot, didn’t you?"
*
"What's going on between you and him?" Jeonghan asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped out of Seungcheol's office this morning.
You glanced at him, raising your own brows. "What do you mean?"
Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a knowing smirk. "I saw you two stepping out of his car with a driver."
You shrugged nonchalantly. "We met on our way."
Jeonghan hummed, unconvinced. "He always drives himself to work, but today he brings a driver? Suspicious," he said, walking back to his desk with a grin.
You tried to shake off Jeonghan’s teasing and focused on your work. You walked over to Mingyu’s desk, where he was already sorting through some papers. "These two haven’t fixed yet, so you need to make a call and finalize the date and time with the other party," you instructed. Mingyu immediately nodded, giving you a thumbs up.
As you turned back to your desk, your phone rang, and you quickly rushed to pick it up. Your eyes flickered to Seungcheol’s office, where he was standing by the door. You answered the call just as he made eye contact with you.
"Ms. Ji?" Seungcheol’s voice was calm but warm.
"Yes, Mr. Choi?" you replied.
"Do you have any plans for lunch?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.
You paused for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Uh, no, not yet," you answered, trying to keep your voice steady. "Why?"
"Great. Come to my office, then. I’d like to discuss something with you," he said, before hanging up.
You knocked softly on Seungcheol's office door before stepping inside. He was sitting at his desk, looking as composed as ever, but there was a warmth in his expression when he saw you.
"Ms. Ji," he greeted, his voice smooth. "Come in. Have a seat."
You hesitated for a moment, then took a seat across from him. The silence lingered briefly before he spoke again, his tone more casual than usual.
"I was thinking, since it’s almost lunch hour, why don’t we go out and grab something to eat?" he suggested, leaning back in his chair slightly. "I’ll let you pick the place. Anywhere you want."
You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. This was... unexpected. Was he being genuine? Or was this just another one of his attempts to be "nice" when it suited him? You tried not to overthink it, but you couldn’t help the feeling of unease creeping in.
"You... want me to pick the place?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"
He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "Of course. I’m sure you know better than I do what’s good around here."
You thought for a moment. Choosing a lunch spot was something you usually did for Seungcheol, not with Seungcheol. Usually, lunch was a quick, impersonal affair—grab something from the café downstairs or eat at your desk. But today, the offer felt different. You couldn’t deny that a part of you was curious about what he was really up to.
"Alright, I’ll choose," you said, feeling a little bold. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you if it turns out to be something too casual for your taste."
Seungcheol raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’ll trust your judgment," he said with a grin. "Lead the way."
You nodded and stood up, your mind already racing through the possibilities of where to go.
"Thanks for the meal, Mr. Choi!" Mingyu cheered as he eagerly began inhaling his food, Jeonghan following suit with a satisfied hum. Seungcheol, however, sat at the head of the table with a polite but strained smile, poking at his food with none of Mingyu's enthusiasm.
You leaned closer, lowering your voice. "Is it to your liking, Mr. Choi?"
He sighed, briefly meeting your gaze before nodding curtly. "It’s fine," he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise.
It dawned on you too late that you might have misunderstood him earlier. When he said he wanted to have lunch, you assumed it was a casual team lunch with all the secretaries—Mingyu and Jeonghan included. So, you’d taken the liberty of booking a four-seat table at a decent restaurant and informing everyone.
You hadn’t noticed until now that Seungcheol’s face had been slightly sour since stepping out of his office.
"Is this one of those farewell lunches for Ms. Ji?" Mingyu asked innocently in the middle of the meal, completely oblivious to the tension brewing.
Everyone froze. Jeonghan shot Mingyu a sharp look, and you cringed, knowing full well your resignation was still a sensitive topic for Seungcheol. It had only been three weeks since your notice, and the new secretary-in-training was nowhere near your level of efficiency. No boss wanted to lose a competent staff member, especially not one they relied on as much as Seungcheol relied on you.
Seungcheol’s fork paused mid-air before he cleared his throat and shook his head. "If this were a farewell lunch, it would need to be much grander than this, don’t you think, Mr. Yoon?"
Jeonghan immediately nodded, catching on to the unspoken signal. "Absolutely, Mr. Choi. I’ll start planning one later. Ms. Ji has been with you for seven years—it’s only fitting to make it a big celebration."
Your eyes widened in surprise as you shook your head. "No, no. Really, there’s no need for that. It’s not exactly something to celebrate," you insisted, feeling a mix of awkwardness and guilt.
Seungcheol set down his fork and leaned back slightly, his gaze firmly on you. His lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, don’t be like that, Ms. Ji. I’d like to treat you to something you’ll never forget."
You froze, feeling your face heat up at the deliberate weight of his words. Before you could process what he’d just said, you choked on your food, your eyes watering as you coughed violently. Jeonghan jumped into action, handing you a glass of water while Mingyu leaned forward in concern.
"Are you okay?" Mingyu asked, looking genuinely worried.
You nodded hastily, gulping down the water while avoiding Seungcheol’s gaze. Meanwhile, the man in question calmly resumed eating his meal, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell in front of his other staff.
Jeonghan and Mingyu exchanged curious glances, clearly aware that something unusual was going on. You, however, were too busy trying to regain your composure to notice. This lunch was not turning out the way you’d imagined.
"Ms. Ji... I'll drive you home," Seungcheol announced as he stepped out of his office, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
You glanced up, startled, and then looked around the empty office. Jeonghan and Mingyu had already left, leaving you alone to crosscheck everything before calling it a day. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Choi. I’ll just take the bus," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Seungcheol frowned, clearly displeased. "Why? The bus is going to be packed at this hour." He checked his watch, then shifted his gaze back to you. His expression softened, but his stance remained firm as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
"And besides," he continued, his lips curving into an easy smile, "I want that dinner date. Just the two of us."
Your breath hitched before you could stop it. "Mr. Choi... I..." You trailed off, your brain scrambling to process his words. A dinner date? With him? The thought sent your heart racing in ways you didn’t want to admit.
He shrugged, utterly unbothered by your flustered state. "I told you, Ms. Ji, I’d like to be your date. I want to get to know you better," he said, his tone so casual it was almost maddening.
Then, as if he had just decided on the matter, he clapped his hands together and straightened up. "Alright then, I’ll book a restaurant for dinner. We can watch the sunset beforehand." Without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and disappeared into his office, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.
Dinner? Sunset? With your soon-to-be ex-boss? Your mind raced. This was either going to be the most surreal experience of your life—or a disaster waiting to happen.
*
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
All the material for this morning’s meeting had disappeared from your computer, and to make matters worse, it seemed like your system had been attacked by a virus. Your computer was practically frozen and would need time to be repaired. Glancing at your watch, you realized there was only an hour left before the meeting started. Panic clawed at your chest as you made a beeline for Seungcheol’s office.
“I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” you blurted out, cutting into Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s morning conversation as you barged into the room, not bothering with pleasantries.
“What’s wrong, Ms. Ji?” Seungcheol asked, his brows furrowed in concern.
“My computer’s been attacked by a virus, and I can’t access the materials for the morning meeting. Is it okay if I use your computer, Mr. Choi?”
Without hesitation, Seungcheol stood from his chair, gesturing for you to take his place. “Go ahead.”
You quickly logged into his system and started searching, your fingers flying over the keyboard. But as you combed through his files, a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. “You can’t find it either?” Seungcheol’s voice broke the tense silence, sounding as baffled as you felt. “I’m sure I finalized the file and saved it. It should be here.”
“It’s gone,” you said grimly, turning to look at him. “Even the recycle bin is empty.”
“What about Mingyu? Does he have a backup?” Jeonghan asked as you all hurried out of Seungcheol’s office, heading to the workstation to regroup.
You shook your head in frustration. “I haven’t handed the final version over yet. Mingyu only manages the schedules and documents that need signing."
Jeonghan patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, don’t panic. We’ll figure it out. We can finish this in 30 minutes if we work together.”
Taking a deep breath, you nodded and sat at Jeonghan’s desk, taking over his computer. Opening the last version of the file, you began revising it at a frantic pace. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” you muttered, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed. “Maybe I’ve been too distracted.”
Jeonghan shook his head, offering a small smile. “You’ve been juggling so much; it’s bound to happen. Just focus—we’ve got this.”
The clock ticked closer to the meeting time, and the pressure mounted. Mingyu darted into the room, his face lined with worry. “The printer broke down,” he said apologetically. “She’s trying to fix it, but it’ll take at least five more minutes.”
Jeonghan let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Just what we needed.”
In the meeting room, heads of departments and their assistants were already seated, shuffling in their chairs as they sipped coffee and waited. Mingyu quickly returned, distributing refreshments in an effort to keep them placated.
“Is everything settled?” Seungcheol asked as Jeonghan re-entered his office, his voice calm but tinged with impatience.
“I’m afraid we’ll need to delay the meeting. It’s taking longer than expected to fix everything,” Jeonghan admitted.
Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully, glancing at his watch. “Announce to everyone that the meeting will start in fifteen minutes. I’ll handle the delay personally.”
Jeonghan gave a quick nod, rushing out to relay the message, while you continued frantically typing at Jeonghan’s desk. Though the tension was palpable, you reminded yourself to stay calm. There wasn’t any room for error now.
“Focus, Ms. Ji,” you whispered to yourself, steeling your nerves as you worked against the clock.
“The meeting is delayed for 15 minutes, and you printed out the wrong document?” Mr. Park, the head of the marketing department, raised his voice, his tone cutting through the tense air as you handed out the material.
You froze, glancing down at the section he was pointing at. Your heart dropped when you realized he was right. The document you printed wasn’t their presentation—it was entirely unrelated. You were sure it was the correct file when you sent it to print, but now, staring at it, there was no denying the mistake.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it imme—”
Before you could finish, Mr. Park threw the paper onto the table with a loud thud. “This is unacceptable! How do we expect to run a successful meeting with this level of incompetence? I knew something like this would happen when they decided to overburden the director’s secretary team instead of hiring specialized staff for each department.”
You flinched at his words, bowing your head in shame. Whispers broke out among the other heads of departments. Some seemed to agree with Mr. Park, nodding subtly, while others exchanged concerned looks.
The door opened, and Seungcheol stepped in, his commanding presence making everyone rise to their feet. His sharp eyes scanned the room, immediately locking onto you, standing there with your head lowered, tension radiating off your frame. Papers were scattered across the table, a clear sign of discord.
Seungcheol’s gaze flicked to Mingyu, who leaned in to whisper a quick explanation. As Seungcheol listened, his jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. Straightening his posture, he addressed the room with a calm but authoritative tone.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Ji, for your hard work,” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Someone from the marketing department, please accompany Ms. Ji to ensure the correct material is printed this time.”
His eyes shifted to Mr. Park, who immediately lowered his gaze, uncomfortable under Seungcheol’s direct attention. “It takes patience to get things right,” Seungcheol added, his tone firm but controlled, “and patience is something we all need to practice.”
You felt a rush of gratitude and embarrassment as Seungcheol diffused the situation, taking the spotlight off you. Nodding quickly, you turned to one of the marketing assistants, signaling them to follow you out of the room.
As you left, Seungcheol’s calm but commanding words lingered in the room, leaving no space for further criticism. Instead, the atmosphere shifted as everyone quietly reorganized themselves for the meeting ahead.
*
"You're not taking lunch," Seungcheol observed as he stepped out of his office, heading to grab a meal. He glanced around, noticing that both Mingyu and Jeonghan were nowhere to be seen—they must have left already, leaving you alone.
You shook your head, adjusting your posture in your seat. "I’m fine, Mr. Choi," you replied, your face carefully composed with professional restraint.
Seungcheol frowned slightly but took a few steps closer, leaning his frame casually against the edge of your desk. "Is it because of what happened this morning?" he asked, his tone softer now.
You hesitated before shrugging, unable to completely mask the frustration bubbling under your calm exterior. "I mean... I can’t just shake it off like nothing happened. And honestly, I’m sorry for messing up like that."
He crossed his arms and tilted his head, studying your face. "This is the first time, isn’t it?"
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t believe it myself. Seven years without a major mistake, and then this happens," you muttered, more to yourself than him.
Seungcheol let out a quiet chuckle, the sound both warm and reassuring. "That’s an improvement, then. No one goes seven years without a single mistake—it just means you’re human."
You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint, tired smile. "And that’s exactly the point, Mr. Choi. I’ve set a standard for myself, and now I’ve blown it. Maybe Mr. Park was right—I might really be incompetent."
His expression hardened at your words, and he straightened slightly. "That’s not how I see it, Ms. Ji," he said firmly. "Whatever Mr. Park said has no bearing on your competence. I supervise you, and I know the quality of your work better than anyone here."
His confidence in you was disarming, and you found yourself relaxing just a little under his steady gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Choi. That means more than you realize," you admitted softly, your voice almost breaking with relief.
Seungcheol glanced at his watch and then back at you. "We’ve got thirty minutes left before the break ends," he said thoughtfully. His eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "What do you say we grab some sandwiches together? My treat."
The offer caught you off guard. You blinked up at him, unsure whether to accept or refuse. "Are you sure?" you asked cautiously, not wanting to impose.
"Positive," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ve been beating yourself up all morning. A good sandwich and some fresh air might do you good. Come on."
With a reluctant but grateful nod, you stood up. For the first time since the chaotic meeting earlier, you felt a flicker of comfort creeping back into your day.
"I thought we were going to sit down and eat," you said, taking a bite of your sandwich while walking back to the company building.
Seungcheol’s suit had been left behind in his office, leaving him in a dark grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loosened slightly, giving him an unexpectedly casual air as he took a bite of his own sandwich. He shook his head at your comment, chewing quickly. "We don’t have time for that," he said, his voice muffled.
You giggled at the sight of him, noticing a crumb stuck on his cheek. "You’ve got something on your face," you said, pointing.
He immediately tried to wipe it off but missed.
"Here, let me," you offered, stepping closer. Without a second thought, you used a napkin to gently clean his cheek. Your fingers brushed his skin briefly, and Seungcheol froze mid-chew, his eyes locking on yours.
"All clean," you said, stepping back with a smile before taking another bite of your sandwich, oblivious to the faint blush creeping up his neck.
"I told you not to call me Mr. Choi when we’re outside," he teased, trying to mask his flustered expression.
You laughed softly, shaking your head. "It’s weird to call you casually when I’ve been calling you Mr. Choi for the past seven years."
Seungcheol’s expression shifted slightly, a thoughtful look settling on his face. "Last night," he began, his voice softer now. "When you told me why you don’t drive anymore…"
Your steps faltered for a moment, but he stopped completely at the crosswalk as the pedestrian signal turned red.
"Did it happen here?" he asked gently, his eyes scanning the intersection.
You nodded, the food in your hand suddenly feeling much heavier. The memory, though buried, resurfaced vividly as if it had happened yesterday.
Seven years ago. You’d just started working with Seungcheol after his father had passed away, and the transition had been anything but smooth. Unlike his father, Seungcheol had seemed colder, more distant. His way of doing things clashed with what you were used to, and the tension in the secretary team had been palpable—especially for you.
That morning, your car had broken down, and you’d decided to walk to get Seungcheol’s favorite coffee. You were already flustered, trying to make a good impression despite your frustrations with him. Then, everything changed.
You had witnessed it—a car collision right before your eyes. The screeching tires, the bone-chilling sound of impact, the desperate cries of onlookers. And then, the blood. You still remembered how it splattered onto your blouse and face, how your legs had frozen in place, unable to move.
"Y/n? Where are you? We have a meeting in an hour, and Mr. Choi has been asking for his coffee," Jeonghan had called, his voice impatient through the phone.
You’d managed to drag yourself to the office after buying a new blouse, your hands trembling the entire time. Yet, instead of compassion, you’d been met with Seungcheol’s sharp reprimand for forgetting his coffee. The sting of that moment had stayed with you for years.
And now, you couldn’t believe you had shared it all with him last night, over casual conversation, when he’d asked why you no longer drove.
The pedestrian signal turned green, snapping you out of your thoughts. But before you could move, a hand gently gripped yours.
Seungcheol’s warm fingers curled around yours, grounding you in the present. He led you across the road, his pace steady, his grip firm yet comforting.
You glanced at him, surprised by the gesture. His gaze remained forward, focused on the path ahead. Yet, the warmth of his hand in yours spoke volumes, a quiet reassurance that lingered even after you’d crossed the street.
*
The complaints began to pour in like an unrelenting tide. Every time you opened your inbox, you found more emails from department heads, their tone varying from formal discontent to outright disdain. Words like incompetence, unprofessional, and unacceptable were repeated so often they seemed to blur together, creating a cloud of frustration and doubt in your mind.
What made it worse were the thinly veiled accusations of favoritism. Several emails implied that Seungcheol’s supposed bias toward you was undermining the secretary team’s performance and credibility. The insinuation was like a dagger, cutting into the team’s morale and creating an atmosphere heavy with unease.
It wasn’t long before you noticed the shift among your colleagues. Mingyu, usually cheerful and talkative, had grown quieter. His usual playful remarks were absent during lunch breaks, replaced by an awkward silence. Even Jeonghan, who always maintained an easygoing demeanor, seemed troubled, though he tried to hide it behind his usual smirks and teasing words.
“Ignore those emails,” Jeonghan said one afternoon, leaning against your desk. He spoke casually, but his eyes held a seriousness that betrayed his concern. “It’s the marketing department stirring up trouble again. They’ve been trying to undermine the secretary team for years.”
You glanced at him, startled. “Why would they do that? What do they have to gain?”
Jeonghan shrugged, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Power dynamics, politics, control—you name it. Ever since Mr. Choi took over, the marketing department hasn’t been happy. They thrived under his father’s management because they were given more autonomy, but Mr. Choi’s stricter policies clipped their wings. They’ve been retaliating ever since.”
“And we’re caught in the middle,” you murmured, feeling the weight of the situation settle over you.
Jeonghan nodded. “Exactly. They’re using the secretary team as a scapegoat to make Mr. Choi look bad. And now that they’ve noticed how close you and him seem lately, they’re exploiting it to fuel their narrative.”
Your stomach churned at his words. The accusations weren’t just baseless; they were carefully orchestrated attacks designed to destabilize the entire team.
“But what can we do?” you asked, your voice tinged with helplessness. “If this continues, it’ll ruin our reputation—and Mr. Choi’s.”
Jeonghan leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We fight back, but carefully. First, we need to fix the immediate issues—no more mistakes, no more complaints. Then, we gather evidence. If we can prove the marketing department is behind this sabotage, we’ll turn the tables on them.”
Seungcheol walked you to your door after he drove you home, his steps calm but purposeful. "You don’t have to worry about all the complaints," he said, his voice smooth, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he bid you goodbye.
"You saw them too?" you asked, your voice a little strained from the weight of it all. He nodded with a small grin. "Receiving complaints is part of my job, you know," he teased, throwing you a wink as if he were trying to make light of the situation.
"So you know they’re all from Mr. Park’s people?" you asked, unable to hide the slight bitterness in your voice.
He smiled, that reassuring smile of his. "I told you, you don’t have to worry about that," he said, his tone confident, almost as if he already had everything under control.
You lowered your head, feeling the weight of it all. You were involved now, and the rumors were only growing. Whispers of your relationship with him were circulating the office, and worse, someone had posted pictures of the two of you on the company community page. It felt impossible to escape.
Seungcheol seemed to sense your unease. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle, "it’s just a month left before you leave. A little plot twist will make it great, right?" His words were meant to lighten the mood, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.
He reached for your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry."
You hesitated for a moment, then asked, "You want to come inside?" You bit your lip, unsure of how he’d respond. Would he take the offer seriously, or was it too much, too soon?
After a brief pause, he sent a quick message to his driver. Moments later, he was already seated on your couch, his suit jacket and tie discarded, his sleeves rolled up casually.
"I expect this kind of vibe," Seungcheol remarked as his eyes wandered around your apartment, taking in the cozy space. His gaze lingered on everything, from the soft lighting to the quiet hum of your personal sanctuary.
"Two rooms?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Sometimes my brother visits. He lives in a dorm, but he stays here on his days off," you explained, your voice casual, but you felt a little self-conscious explaining it. You weren't sure why, but it felt like you were giving him a piece of your personal life you hadn’t shared with anyone before.
"He's still training for the national team?" Seungcheol asked, and you looked at him, surprised that he remembered.
"You remembered?" you asked, your voice soft with disbelief.
Seungcheol nodded, his smile warm. "Of course, it’s you."
It was a casual evening after work, everyone gathered in the break room. Jeonghan and Seungcheol had just returned from a trip, and he couldn’t wait to share some exciting news.
"My sister just got accepted into one of the top companies!" Jeonghan had announced, beaming with pride. "We’re celebrating this weekend!"
The team cheered, raising their glasses in a toast. It was a happy moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic for the simplicity of those times.
Seungcheol had joined in, his voice nonchalant but with a hint of pride. "My brother decided to go into the culinary field instead of business," he had mentioned. "Can you believe it? A chef, not a businessman."
You’d overheard it all, and for some reason, it had stayed with you—how casually everyone shared their family stories, how different yet similar your lives were.
Seungcheol’s voice broke through your thoughts. "Do you have siblings, Ms. Ji?" he asked, his tone playful, though there was a touch of curiosity beneath the words.
"She has a brother," Jeonghan had added once, with a wink. "Do you know Ji Chang Wook, the former football player? That’s her brother."
Seungcheol raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. "Really?" he asked, looking at you with a mix of disbelief and admiration.
You nodded shyly. "He now works for the national team as their coach."
Seungcheol’s eyes softened, impressed. "That’s incredible," he said. "You’re surrounded by greatness."
You smiled at his words, feeling a swell of pride for your brother. As the conversation shifted back to the present, you placed a glass of iced tea on the coffee table for Seungcheol before settling back onto the couch next to him.
"How am i as a boyfriend?" Seungcheol suddenly asked, his question coming out of nowhere. You let out a soft chuckle at his unexpected inquiry. His gaze was playful, yet there was something deeper beneath it, as if he was genuinely waiting for your answer.
You paused, thinking about how to answer. "I don’t know that you’d be willing to go down with a mere secretary staff like me, Mr. Choi," you teased, trying to mask the flutter of uncertainty in your chest.
Seungcheol rolled his eyes at the "Mr. Choi." He had been correcting you ever since the beginning, insisting you call him Seungcheol.
"Can I ask you a question?" you asked, your voice tentative. He nodded, leaning in slightly, his expression serious.
"Why were you being an asshole at the beginning?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t the most delicate way to phrase it, but you couldn’t help yourself.
Seungcheol closed his eyes, clearly not thrilled about being reminded of his past behavior. "I was a lowly bastard, wasn’t I?" he admitted, his voice quiet, almost regretful. "I’m sorry... I was just very insecure."
"Insecure?" you repeated, surprised by his honesty.
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to brush a stray hair from your face. "My father passed away, and my brother didn’t want to take over the business. I didn’t have enough experience to rule a company. I was just trying to figure things out."
You blinked, caught off guard. "I had no idea about that."
Seungcheol nodded again, his gaze softening. "I made sure no one knew about it. But I broke down at one point, and Jeonghan helped me a lot. You did, too. You always did your best at work. But I just..." He trailed off, his fingers grazing your skin as he continued, "I didn’t want to get distracted by you. Maybe that’s why I treated you so badly."
You furrowed your brow in confusion. "Distracted? By me? How come?" You chuckled, still processing the idea. Was it really possible?
Seungcheol’s smile deepened, and his gaze softened. "I used to like you a lot. My father always spoke highly of you, and I couldn’t help but admire you."
"No way," you whispered, your eyes widening in disbelief.
"I’m serious," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "You were always shining at that desk of yours."
You laughed, the sound a mix of disbelief and warmth. "Since when?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.
"Since you visited my house," he said, his tone turning nostalgic. "I saw how you treated my father—so professional, yet so graceful. I tried to find a secretary like you, but I guess there’s only one of you."
Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him, the realization settling in. Despite all the tension and confusion, there was something undeniably genuine about his words, and for the first time in a while, it felt like things between you and Seungcheol might finally be falling into place.
Seungcheol leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on your lips, the moment growing more intimate with every passing second. Just as you felt your breath hitch, the sound of someone punching in the passcode to your door broke the tension, startling both of you.
“Y/n! I brought some—” The baritone voice trailed off abruptly as the door swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying two plastic bags. His steps halted, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. His sister, tangled up with a stranger on the couch, looking far too close for comfort.
You and Seungcheol scrambled apart, both of you stumbling to your feet as if caught red-handed.
“Did I interrupt something?” the man asked, his tone sharp and accusatory. His gaze darted between you and Seungcheol before settling on you. “Who’s this, Y/n?”
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself. “Uh... this is Choi Seungcheol, my... my boss,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.
Seungcheol extended a hand, his expression polite and composed despite the awkwardness of the situation. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Your boss?” the man interrupted, completely ignoring the handshake. His eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to you. “He’s the one who made you work overtime and miss my birthday?”
You froze. Shoot. You had vented about Seungcheol to your brother countless times, never expecting him to meet the man himself.
“Oppa, it’s not like that,” you tried to explain, but your brother wasn’t having it.
“You talked ill of him to me all the time,” Changwook said, his tone laced with disbelief and a hint of anger. His grip on your arm tightened slightly as he pulled you further away from Seungcheol. “Why is he here now? In your apartment?”
Your mind raced, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t make things worse. “We’re... umm...” You waved your hands in the air helplessly, your words failing you.
Seungcheol, however, didn’t hesitate. “I’m her boyfriend,” he said firmly, his voice steady and confident as he stepped forward.
Your eyes widened in shock at his bold declaration. “That’s—” you started, but the words died in your throat as your brother’s gaze hardened, his protective instincts kicking in.
“Boyfriend?” Changwook echoed, his voice filled with skepticism as he gave Seungcheol a once-over. “Since when? And why am I just now hearing about this?”
You cringed inwardly, feeling trapped between Seungcheol’s unexpected claim and your brother’s scrutiny. The fact that you’d spent months complaining about Seungcheol didn’t help. How did I end up here?
“Changwook, calm down,” you said, trying to diffuse the situation. “It’s... new.”
“New?” your brother repeated, his frown deepening as his eyes bored into you. “How new? And why would you date your boss of all people? Especially someone you’ve always badmouthed?”
You felt the blood drain from your face. You’re dead, your mind screamed at you, but before you could even attempt a defense, your brother turned to you with an authoritative wave of his hand.
“Go to your room,” Changwook said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “This is a men’s conversation.”
*
You were trapped between two drunken men. Changwook, still pouring himself another shot of soju, mumbled incoherently about everything under the sun, while Seungcheol, clearly in no better condition, had his head dropped onto your shoulder. The weight of him was comforting yet overwhelming, especially with the alcohol fumes wafting off him.
"Our Y/n couldn’t drink dairy, so you have to make sure her latte is always with oat milk,” Changwook slurred, his words slightly jumbled as he tried to sit up straight. He pointed a wobbly finger at Seungcheol as though delivering a life-or-death instruction.
Seungcheol gasped dramatically, his head lifting momentarily before snuggling back into the crook of your neck. “Our Y/n can’t handle dairy? Oh my god, poor Y/n!” His words came out in a hushed, exaggerated whisper. “I’ll buy you tons of oat milk, Y/n. Gallons of it! So you’ll never, ever get a stomachache again!”
You tried to suppress your laugh, but a chuckle escaped as Seungcheol tightened his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck like a sleepy puppy. He smelled like soju mixed with the faint remnants of his cologne—a mix that somehow still made your heart skip.
“Alright, Mr. Gallant Knight,” you murmured, brushing his hair back gently. “Let’s get you home before you start a crusade against all dairy products.”
“Nooo,” Seungcheol whined softly, his voice muffled against your skin. “Let me stay here. I promise I won’t do anything! I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to, cross my heart.”
You shook your head, unable to contain your amusement. He was far too cute like this. “Alright, fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But we’re at least getting you into bed. Let’s get up on the count of three, okay?”
Seungcheol groaned in protest, but you felt him adjust slightly, his arms loosening around your waist.
“One,” you began, bracing yourself. “Two… three—"
You tried to pull him up, but Seungcheol, true to his drunken state, flopped back onto the couch like a boneless doll.
“Too heavy,” he mumbled, pouting. “You have to help me, Y/n. I’m weak, but you’re strong.”
“Strong?” you repeated with a laugh. “What are you even talking about? You’re twice my size!”
“Exactly,” Seungcheol replied, his tone overly serious. “That’s why you’re amazing. You’re tiny but mighty.”
From across the room, Changwook let out a grunt as he finally rose from his seat, wobbling slightly before glaring at Seungcheol. “Stop flirting with my sister, you lightweight,” he muttered, pointing a finger at him before stumbling toward his room. “And don’t you dare think about sharing a bed with her!”
“Noted, Coach Ji,” Seungcheol mumbled sleepily, waving his hand in the air.
You sighed, shaking your head as you tugged at Seungcheol’s arm again. “Come on, big guy. Let’s at least get you lying down before Changwook comes back with a lecture.”
Seungcheol finally complied, leaning heavily on you as you helped him to your room. “Thanks, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice soft. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. “Just don’t puke on my bed, okay?”
“I’d never,” he promised, his words slurring as he flopped onto your mattress, instantly dozing off.
You sighed again, pulling a blanket over him before retreating to the couch. As you settled in, you couldn’t help but smile at the chaos that was your life—and at the man now snoring softly in your bed.
“Where’s Mr. Choi? He’s not here yet?” Mingyu’s voice broke the usual morning buzz of the office. He glanced around, noting the conspicuous absence of the boss. It was already 8 a.m., and Mr. Choi was typically seated at his desk by 7:45, meticulously reviewing his schedule or flipping through a book.
Jeonghan checked his watch and frowned. “I know, right? He hasn’t called or texted me either. Do you think he’s sick or something?” he wondered aloud, a hint of concern creeping into his tone.
“He’s late,” you mumbled, barely glancing up from your phone as you replied.
“How do you know that?!” Mingyu and Jeonghan exclaimed in unison, their voices tinged with surprise.
“He texted me,” you replied nonchalantly, still focused on your phone.
Mingyu’s jaw dropped, and he pouted, looking genuinely hurt. “He texted you? But not me? He still doesn’t trust me with his schedule. What if he hates me?” he whined, the last part almost a whisper.
You chuckled softly, grabbing a stack of documents from your desk and placing them in front of him. “That’s why I’m tutoring you today. We’re going over how to prepare presentation materials and manage other tasks.”
Mingyu sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright…” He reluctantly took the documents, the pout still lingering on his face, but his determination to improve was clear.
Suddenly, Jeonghan’s voice interrupted the moment. “Oh…”
Both you and Mingyu turned toward him, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping over to Jeonghan’s desk.
Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on his computer screen. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at something. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned in to look.
On the screen was a post from the company’s internal community. The headline read, “Mr. Park Is Caught!” Beneath it was a photo of Seungcheol standing in the marketing department alongside the head of HR.
Your brows knitted together. “What’s that supposed to mean? Is Mr. Choi investigating him behind our backs?”
Jeonghan bit his lip, his gaze still glued to the screen. “Looks like it…” he murmured.
You quickly scanned the comments below the post. Employees from the marketing department were sharing snippets of gossip. Someone had claimed that Mr. Park had been caught falsifying records and embezzling departmental funds.
Mingyu, who had walked over to peek at the screen, let out a low whistle. “Wow. I didn’t think Mr. Park would actually get caught.”
You frowned, a mix of surprise and worry swirling in your chest. “He didn’t mention any of this to us,” you said softly, almost to yourself.
Jeonghan finally looked away from the screen, his expression thoughtful. “If he’s handling this personally, it must be serious.”
Mingyu crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Well, if Mr. Park’s really guilty, it’s good that Mr. Choi’s taking action. But why keep it so secretive? I mean, we’re his team.”
Jeonghan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s probably because this involves embezzlement. You know how sensitive that kind of accusation is. He probably didn’t want anyone tipping Mr. Park off before he had solid evidence.”
You nodded slowly, processing everything. “Still, I hope Mr. Choi’s being careful. This kind of situation can get messy.”
Jeonghan gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything. Mingyu, however, turned to you with a cheeky grin. “Wow, you’re so concerned about him. Are you sure you’re not his girlfriend”
You shot him a glare, heat rising to your cheeks. “Shut up and get back to your documents, Mingyu.”
He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But seriously, I’m curious how this all plays out.”
Jeonghan nodded, his gaze returning to the screen. “Me too. If Mr. Park’s really guilty, this could shake things up in the company.”
You bit your lip, silently hoping Seungcheol would return soon—with answers.
Seungcheol’s arrival on the floor sent a wave of tension through the secretary team. His usual composed demeanor was even more rigid than usual, and without wasting a second, he summoned Jeonghan into his office. The atmosphere was thick with curiosity and unease, but you kept your head down, silently supervising Mingyu as he prepared materials for tomorrow’s meeting with all the department heads.
“So, what’s Mr. Park’s status now?” Mingyu asked, flipping through a document from the marketing department. His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity.
You shook your head. “I don’t know, Mingyu, and honestly, I don’t want to fill my head with too much right now. I’m leaving this company in a week, remember?”
Mingyu sighed, setting his pen down. “Yeah, I remember… But you know what? As much as I believe in myself, I can’t help but worry. What if I can’t replace you?”
You gave him a reassuring smile and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mingyu. It took me seven years to get to where I am. You’ll get there too.”
Mingyu bit his lip, nodding. “You’re right… You’re really good at comforting people, Ms. Ji,” he said playfully, his usual pout returning.
You laughed. “Of course, I am! Now, finish this and send it to me before lunch.”
Just then, Jeonghan stepped out of Seungcheol’s office, his expression unreadable. The entire team turned their attention to him as he cleared his throat.
“Mr. Park has officially been fired as of today. HR has concluded the investigation, and with all the evidence gathered, there was no room for negotiation. A replacement needs to be found as soon as possible. There’s already a potential candidate, but the final decision still needs to be made.”
A murmur spread across the room, but before you could react, Jeonghan turned to you. “Can we talk in private, Y/n?”
You blinked at him but nodded, following him to the pantry. The moment the door shut behind you, Jeonghan exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Mr. Choi mentioned your name as the potential head of the marketing department.”
Your eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Jeonghan sighed, looking at you seriously. “I know it’s sudden, but he has his reasons. And honestly? After hearing him out, I found myself agreeing with him.” He still seemed surprised at himself for admitting that.
“But… next week is my last day!” you protested, your voice rising slightly in disbelief.
Jeonghan placed a firm grip on your arms, steadying you. “Listen to me—HR and Mr. Choi are definitely going to call you soon. You need to prepare yourself.”
You let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s too much responsibility! You know I was planning to travel across Asia after this.”
Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “And that’s what you’re most worried about, huh?” His tone was amused, but there was also a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Look, whatever decision you make, I’ll support you. But just think about it, alright?”
Your mind was already spinning with the weight of the unexpected offer. A promotion just as you were about to leave? It was almost ironic.
"Ms. Ji, can you come to my office for a sec?"
You nearly jumped from your seat at the sudden sound of Seungcheol’s voice filling the secretary team’s office. The room fell silent as all eyes darted toward him. He stood behind his office door, only half of his body visible as he peeked outside, waiting for you.
You stole a glance at Jeonghan, who was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes silently sending you a thousand words of encouragement. You sighed, smoothing down your blazer before standing up and making your way to Seungcheol’s office.
The moment you stepped inside, you noticed that the blinds had been down since this morning. You figured after the confrontation with Mr. Park, he must have needed some privacy.
"Mr. Choi," you called his name softly as you stopped in front of his desk.
Without a word, Seungcheol handed you a file. You hesitated for a moment before taking it, flipping it open to find pages upon pages of evidence—proof of Mr. Park’s embezzlement during his tenure as the head of the marketing department. Your brows furrowed. This file was supposed to be confidential, a matter strictly between him and HR. So why was he showing it to you? Especially when you were set to leave in just a week?
"You told me about this last night," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Your mind raced back to your conversation with him the night before. You had mentioned it—your suspicions about the marketing department’s financial discrepancies. You had noticed missing reports from the past two years that didn’t sit right with you. And despite your reluctance, you had handed him the findings you had gathered over time.
Wait.
Your eyes flickered up to Seungcheol, your expression shifting. "You weren’t drunk?"
He smirked, leaning against the edge of his desk. "I was just acting."
Your breath hitched as the realization hit you. The way he had suddenly become lighter when he was supposedly dead weight on your shoulder last night. The way he had pulled you aside, listening intently as you spoke about the missing reports.
You didn’t remember much about how the conversation had unfolded, but somehow, in that moment, you had found the courage to show him everything.
"And you were right," Seungcheol continued, pulling out another document from his desk—your resignation letter.
Your heartbeat quickened.
"I have an offer for you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "Be our new head of the marketing department."
Silence hung in the air.
You stood frozen, the weight of his words sinking in.
"You’re probably the only person who knows the ins and outs of the marketing department better than anyone else," he reasoned, his voice steady. And he wasn’t wrong. You had spent the past seven years collecting reports, reviewing files, and meticulously studying every department before handing them over to him. You knew how the department functioned, where its strengths and weaknesses lay.
But despite the logic in his argument, you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Not now. It was too sudden, too unexpected. You knew Seungcheol always had a plan—he never made decisions lightly. But the real question was, were you ready for more?
"What do you think, Ms. Ji?" His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
You swallowed, taking a deep breath before finally speaking. "I’ll think about it, sir."
Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding. "Alright. You can go back."
That was your cue to leave. You turned on your heels, stepping out of his office, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
Why did everything suddenly lead to this?
*
"Want to talk about it?" Seungcheol’s voice was soft as he cuddled you close, his warmth seeping into your skin. His hand moved lazily through your hair, fingers tracing slow, comforting patterns.
He had invited you over tonight after you received a text from your brother, letting you know he was having friends over. You hadn’t wanted to be home with all the noise, and without asking too many questions, Seungcheol had offered his place. Now, nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm draped around his torso, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you.
"I'm all ears," he murmured, sensing your hesitation about his earlier offer.
Doubt flickered through you before you finally spoke. "Are you..." You hesitated. "Are you going to listen to me as my boss or as my boyfriend?"
His answer caught you off guard. It sounded too neutral, almost detached, and something about it stung more than you expected. Without thinking, you shifted away from him, turning your back.
"Hey," Seungcheol's arm immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, grounding.
"Tell me, baby," he coaxed, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "I'll listen to you as your partner. Go ahead."
Slowly, you turned back to face him, meeting his steady gaze. "I don’t want to accept the offer."
Seungcheol said nothing, only watching you carefully, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist, a silent sign that he was listening.
"It’s too much for me," you admitted. "A big responsibility. And I don’t think I’m cut out for that—I’m not that passionate about it."
Seungcheol frowned. "You're a very passionate person, Y/n."
You shook your head. "Not about this. Not anymore." A deep sigh left your lips. "I'm tired of working, Cheol. I just want to travel the world, maybe get a job with less responsibility. Something that doesn’t drain me like this."
Seungcheol remained quiet, his dark eyes locked onto yours, absorbing every word. His fingers traced absentminded circles on your waist, a silent reminder that he was there, that he heard you.
"I need a break," you whispered, voice barely audible. "Before I break."
Something flickered in Seungcheol’s expression—regret, concern, maybe even guilt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "I’m sorry," he murmured, his lips lingering for a moment. "I didn’t realize how much you’ve been carrying. And I—" He exhaled sharply. "I’ve been a jerk, haven’t I?"
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I think I wore myself out, Cheol. I hit my limit."
Seungcheol nodded, his thumb brushing along your cheek. "Then you should rest. You need to rest. Or else you’re going to—"
"Explode," you finished for him, smiling faintly. "Like when I called you drunk months ago."
A chuckle rumbled from his chest, the tension in the air easing. "I should thank your drunk self. If not for that, I wouldn’t have known my secretary wanted me to be her date.
You rolled your eyes, fingers threading through his hair. "That’s what you took from that?"
He grinned. "Well, that, and the fact that you can’t handle your alcohol."
You swatted his arm playfully, and he caught your wrist, tugging you closer.
"I just want to stay home for a while," you murmured, your voice softer now. "Do things I actually enjoy. Maybe pick up a hobby. Get a pet." You sighed as if the mere thought of it was a relief. "And none of it involves going back to work anytime soon."
Seungcheol studied you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like a good wife."
You chuckled, raising a brow. "I would make a good wife."
His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Really?"
Before you could answer, he tackled you onto the bed, his hands finding your sides as he tickled you mercilessly. Laughter filled the room as you squirmed beneath him, the weight of your earlier worries momentarily forgotten.
Your heart raced as Seungcheol hovered above you, his eyes dark with warmth and something deeper—something that made your breath hitch. His weight against you was comforting rather than overwhelming, his presence grounding.
"You tried my cooking earlier," you teased, giggling when he trailed soft kisses across your face—your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose. Each touch was featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine.
Seungcheol hummed in agreement, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "You’ll make a good wife."
Before you could react, he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb stroking gently, while his other arm held you firmly against him, as if he never wanted to let go.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
*
It was your favorite place—a simple barbecue restaurant where you and Jeonghan used to have dinner together during your early years at the company. The scent of grilled meat filled the air, blending with the warmth of laughter and chatter. Tonight, the atmosphere buzzed with a mix of celebration and bittersweet goodbyes as everyone gathered for your farewell party.
Seated around the long wooden tables were your colleagues—the secretary team members, department representatives, and even a few unexpected guests. Among them was Seungcheol, his presence instantly commanding attention. It was rare to see him at casual company gatherings like this, and his attendance left many curious. But since it was you—one of his most trusted employees—who was leaving, everyone assumed that was the reason he sat beside you, his presence a quiet yet significant statement.
After a while, you stood, clearing your throat as conversations died down. With a grateful smile, you delivered your speech—thanking everyone for their support, for the years of teamwork and shared challenges, and apologizing for any moments you might have fallen short.
When you finished, the room erupted into cheers and applause, glasses raised in a heartfelt toast. Laughter followed, but beneath it all was an unspoken truth: this chapter was ending, and things would never quite be the same again.
Seungcheol cleared his throat, the deep sound cutting through the lingering laughter and drawing everyone's attention like a switch had been flipped. Conversations faded, and all eyes turned to him.
He sat upright, his expression composed yet sincere. "First of all, I want to thank Ms. Ji for her hard work all these years," he began, his voice steady but carrying weight. "She’s been one of the most dedicated people in this company, and honestly, it’s hard to imagine this place without her. We’re losing not just a talented employee but also someone who made things run smoother for all of us."
A murmur of agreement swept through the group, and you felt a mix of pride and guilt settle in your chest.
Seungcheol glanced at you briefly before continuing. "And... I also want to take this chance to apologize," he said, his tone softening. "For any unnecessary pressure, for the late nights, for expecting too much sometimes. I know I wasn’t always the easiest boss to work with."
You shook your head slightly, about to reassure him, but before you could say anything, he inhaled deeply and, with absolute confidence, added,
"Also, since we’re all here, I think now’s a good time to make an announcement."
You frowned, confused, and Jeonghan—who was sipping his drink beside you—arched an eyebrow.
Seungcheol’s gaze met yours, then he turned back to the room. "Ms. Ji and I are dating."
A moment of silence. Then—
"What?!" Mingyu choked on his drink, coughing as Jeonghan patted his back. Gasps and murmurs spread through the group like wildfire. Even the usually composed members of the secretary team looked at each other in shock.
You stiffened, your body going rigid as the realization sank in. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of your dress under the table, your pulse hammering in your ears. Slowly, almost mechanically, you turned to Seungcheol, your voice barely above a whisper.
"What—why would you—"
"Wait, wait, wait." Jeonghan put a hand up, smirking. "That's expected. Since when?"
Seungcheol chuckled, resting his arm on the back of your chair. "For a while now."
Meanwhile, Jeonghan just sat there, utterly amused, swirling his drink in his glass before finally saying, "So this is why you’ve been sneaking around, huh?"
"Jeonghan!" You hissed, shooting him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly enjoying your suffering.
Mingyu, still coughing slightly, gaped at Seungcheol like he had just grown a second head. "Wait, wait, wait—you two?! Since when?! And why didn’t I know?!"
Your face burned as everyone’s eyes darted between you and him, trying to process the sudden revelation. Someone from marketing whispered, That explains why he’s actually here tonight.
"You could’ve warned me first," you hissed under your breath, still reeling from the shock.
Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his voice teasing, "Where's the fun in that?"
The room exploded into a mix of cheers, teasing remarks, and incredulous laughter. Some congratulated you, others demanded details, and Mingyu, still processing, just groaned, "Why am I always the last to know?!"
You sighed, covering your face, but despite the initial embarrassment, you couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips. Seungcheol had just made sure this farewell party was one no one would forget.
Your fingers twitched. If there weren’t so many witnesses, you might have actually smacked him.
"So you two have actually been together this whole time?" One of the HR reps asked, her mouth still slightly open in disbelief. "Like, during work hours? During meetings? While she was still his secretary?"
Oh no. That was a dangerous line of questioning.
You opened your mouth, scrambling to regain some sort of control over the situation, but Seungcheol, of course, was faster.
"It started after work," he clarified, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "And it’s not like she’s breaking any rules. She’s leaving the company, after all."
The way he said it—so effortlessly confident—made your stomach twist. You wanted to argue, to regain some control over this mess he had just thrown you into, but then you caught the way he was looking at you.
There was something possessive in his gaze, a quiet certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t ashamed. He wasn’t hiding.
And suddenly, the tension shifted.
"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, barely able to contain the heat rising to your cheeks.
He chuckled, finally turning back to his drink. "And yet, you’re still here."
The table erupted into laughter, cheers, and even a few claps. Someone from the legal department shouted, "Well, damn. We need to drink to this!"
"Oh—another thing to celebrate," Seungcheol announced, his voice effortlessly cutting through the laughter and clinking glasses.
You turned to him, sensing something in his tone, but before you could ask, he raised his glass.
"Congratulations to Mr. Yoon, our new Marketing Department Head."
A moment of silence hung in the air before the entire table erupted in cheers and applause.
"What?!" Mingyu nearly knocked over his drink in shock. "Jeonghan-hyung? When did this happen?"
Jeonghan, ever composed, simply smirked as he leaned back in his chair. "A while ago."
"You knew?!" Mingyu gawked at him before turning to Seungcheol. "And no one thought to tell me?!"
Seungcheol chuckled, completely unfazed. "HR finalized it this afternoon. He was my first choice from the start."
"But—but—" Mingyu stammered, looking between you and Jeonghan. "I thought she was the best candidate?!"
You smiled, lifting your drink. "I’m leaving, remember?"
Jeonghan shrugged, tapping his fingers against his glass. "And someone had to clean up after her, so here I am."
Laughter filled the table, and soon, everyone was raising their drinks toward Jeonghan, congratulating him on the promotion.
Seungcheol leaned in closer to you, his hand finding yours under the table. His voice was low, meant only for you.
"Now you really have no reason to stay at work."
You rolled your eyes playfully but squeezed his hand in return. "You planned all of this, didn’t you?"
He smirked, his thumb brushing against your fingers. "Maybe. But I also knew it was what’s best for everyone."
You sighed, glancing at Jeonghan, who was basking in the attention, and then at Seungcheol, who was watching you with that knowing look.
Despite everything, you couldn’t deny it—this felt right.
*
It had been ten months since you left the company, but something about Mingyu working as Seungcheol’s secretary still didn’t sit right with you. This morning only confirmed your suspicions. Seungcheol, who once carried himself with unwavering composure, now sat at the breakfast table with noticeable dark circles under his eyes. You couldn’t recall a single time in the past when he looked this tired.
“What’s your schedule like today?” you asked, setting a plate of breakfast in front of him along with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Seungcheol gave you a faint smile before replying, “Just a quick briefing with finance. I’ll probably be home late; I have a meeting with Joshua over dinner."
Your arms crossed as you stood beside the table, watching him. “You never memorize your own schedule,” you pointed out, your tone laced with concern.
He nodded in agreement, his attention on his food. “I used to have Jeonghan to remind me about everything. And you,” he added, glancing up at you with a soft smile. “You made sure everything ran smoothly.”
You watched him take another bite before leaning against the table. “How many staff members is Mingyu working with?” you asked, your tone more curious this time.
Seungcheol chuckled, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Why are you asking?”
“Because it’s obvious you’re overworking yourself, babe,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms again.
He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m fine, love. Don’t worry,” he reassured, though his voice didn’t quite convince you. “Mingyu’s my only secretary now, but the system’s changed. He’s managing just fine.”
You sighed and sat down in front of him, resting your chin on your hand. “Is Mingyu still an idiot?”
Seungcheol couldn’t help but laugh, his tired expression lifting just a little. “He is,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But he’s getting better, I promise. You’d be surprised.”
You weren’t entirely convinced, and your frustration showed as you frowned at him. “You used to come home looking less like a zombie,” you muttered.
Seungcheol reached across the table and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I know you’re worried,” he said, his voice soft. “But really, I’ve got this. Mingyu may be a work in progress, but we’re managing.”
You squeezed his hand in return, but your concern lingered. “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, alright?”
He smiled at you, a warmth in his eyes that made you feel just a little more at ease. “I won’t. I promise.”
As Seungcheol finished the last bite of his breakfast, he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as it shifted to you. "How’s the baking class going?" he asked, his tone casual but genuinely curious.
You perked up slightly at his question, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s going really well. I finally mastered the chiffon cake yesterday," you said, your excitement seeping into your voice.
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "The one you said was impossible to get right?"
You nodded eagerly. "Yep. It took me three tries, but I did it. The instructor even said I nailed the texture and flavor."
He smiled, the fatigue on his face momentarily fading as he watched you talk. "Look at you, becoming a pro baker already," he teased, though there was an unmistakable pride in his tone.
You chuckled, waving off his comment. "I wouldn’t say ‘pro,’ but it’s been fun. I didn’t think I’d enjoy baking as much as I do now."
Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you. "So, when are you going to let me taste this famous chiffon cake?"
You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair. "Soon. I just want to perfect it a little more before I let you try it. You’re too honest with your feedback," you said, narrowing your eyes at him with mock suspicion.
He laughed, the deep sound filling the room and making your chest warm. "You know I only critique because I care," he said, reaching out to poke your arm. "But fine. I’ll wait until you think it’s ready."
You smirked, crossing your arms. "You better. No sneaking bites when I’m not looking."
"I wouldn’t dare," he replied, his tone exaggeratedly serious.
The two of you fell into an easy silence for a moment, the tension from earlier easing as you both enjoyed the quiet morning together.
"Maybe," Seungcheol began, breaking the silence, "you could make a batch of something for Joshua’s dinner meeting. He has a sweet tooth, you know."
You raised an eyebrow at him, pretending to be skeptical. "Are you volunteering me to impress your business partner with baked goods now?"
"Maybe," he admitted with a cheeky grin. "But only because I know you’d knock it out of the park."
You shook your head with a laugh, but you couldn’t deny how his words filled you with a small sense of pride. "Fine," you said. "I’ll make some cookies or brownies. But you owe me."
Seungcheol smirked. "Deal. I’ll make it worth your while."
The restaurant was dimly lit, with soft jazz music playing in the background. Seungcheol sat across from Joshua at the private dining table, his posture relaxed but still exuding authority. Mingyu, seated beside him, diligently took notes and managed the documents for the formal part of the meeting.
The discussion went smoothly, with both parties agreeing on the next steps for their partnership. As the waiter cleared their plates and brought out coffee and dessert, the atmosphere gradually shifted to a more casual tone. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself to relax.
Joshua stirred his coffee, a friendly smile on his face as he looked at Mingyu. "I have to say, Mingyu, you’ve really grown into your role. The professionalism you’ve shown tonight is impressive. So different from how you were!"
Mingyu let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I had to step up, didn’t I? Working for Seungcheol hyung isn’t exactly a walk in the park."
Seungcheol chuckled, glancing at Mingyu with a raised eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"
"Not at all!" Mingyu quickly replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I’m just saying, I had to adapt."
Joshua laughed, clearly amused by their dynamic. "It’s good to see, though. I remember the Mingyu who couldn’t sit still in meetings or keep track of his tasks. Now look at you—organized, professional, and confident."
Mingyu puffed out his chest jokingly, but there was a hint of genuine pride in his smile. "Well, I had a great mentor," he said, nodding toward Seungcheol.
Seungcheol scoffed, though a small smile played on his lips. "Don’t get too cocky, Mingyu. You still have a long way to go."
Joshua tilted his head, a curious expression crossing his face. "By the way, how did Mingyu end up working for you, Seungcheol?"
"Trust me," Seungcheol said, a playful glint in his eye, "I didn’t want to hire him at first. But he insisted, and I figured if he was going to work anywhere, it might as well be under someone who wouldn’t go easy on him."
"And he doesn’t go easy on me," Mingyu added, holding up his hands. "This man is tough."
Joshua laughed, clearly entertained. "Well, I have to say, it’s working. You’ve come a long way, Mingyu. But I bet it’s also a little intimidating, working for your family."
"It is," Mingyu admitted, "but it’s also motivating. I can’t slack off when my boss knows everything about me, including my bad habits."
Seungcheol shook his head, though his expression softened. "To be fair, he’s proven himself. He’s still Mingyu, though, so he keeps things interesting."
Seungcheol chuckled to himself as he sipped his coffee, the memory of that day playing vividly in his mind. It was his aunt's anniversary, and the gathering at his house was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to his family. At least, that was his plan.
You had looked stunning that day, wearing a soft pastel dress that complimented you beautifully. Yet, your nervousness was unmistakable—the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag, the quick glances you stole at Seungcheol for reassurance, and the tiny, hesitant smile that melted his heart every time he caught you looking at him.
He remembered how your confidence faltered the moment you stepped into the living room, where the cheerful buzz of conversation filled the space. His family greeted you warmly, but then your eyes landed on Mingyu standing casually by the snack table.
Your reaction was priceless. Your eyes widened as if you'd seen a ghost, and before you could stop yourself, you mouthed to Seungcheol, What is he doing here?
Mingyu’s face lit up instantly when he noticed you. "Noona!" he called out excitedly, leaving his spot to approach you.
Seungcheol stifled a laugh as you turned to him, utterly baffled, while Mingyu pulled you into a friendly hug. "What... what is happening?" you whispered urgently to Seungcheol as Mingyu grinned beside you.
Seungcheol smirked, enjoying your confusion. "Mingyu is my cousin," he explained casually. "He’s my aunt’s son."
You blinked in shock, staring at both men as if the pieces of a puzzle were suddenly falling into place. "That explains a lot," you muttered, earning a laugh from Seungcheol and a curious look from Mingyu.
From that day on, your dynamic with Mingyu took a playful turn. What started as harmless teasing quickly became your favorite way to keep him on his toes, especially after he became Seungcheol’s secretary.
"You should work harder, Mingyu," you had told him one day when he stopped by your place to drop off some files for Seungcheol. Leaning against the doorframe, you smirked knowingly at him. "You only got that job because the boss is your cousin. Nepo baby."
Mingyu groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Noona, you can’t keep calling me that! I’m actually working really hard, you know."
"You better," you shot back, grinning mischievously. "I worked hard supervising you."
Seungcheol, who had been silently observing the exchange from the couch, couldn’t hide his amusement. "Don’t go too hard on him, love," he teased, though his tone was far from serious.
Mingyu pouted, looking between the two of you. "Great. Now I have two bosses to impress."
"You should be honored," you quipped, sending him a wink before heading back to the kitchen.
As Seungcheol watched Mingyu’s exasperated expression, he couldn’t help but smile. Despite all the teasing, the camaraderie between you and Mingyu warmed his heart. It was proof of how naturally you had integrated into his life—his family—and how, even in moments of chaos, you brought lightness and joy to everything you touched.
Summary: after happily living an arranged marriage, he found out that his charismatic, flawless, and admirable wife has a secret hiding from him.
Warning: mention of violence, car accident, blood, knife stabbing, gunshot, stuff.
Seungcheol watched you from his position, his ears tuned to the men’s conversation, but his eyes were fixated on you, following your every move. He noted how your gaze lingered on the speaker’s lips, how your expression shifted subtly with every word. That smile—poised, eloquent, and effortlessly charming—spread across your face, leaving no one in the room unaffected. A sharp pang of jealousy coursed through him. His grip tightened around the glass in his hand, the cool surface grounding him against the rising heat in his chest. It was supposed to be his. His lips. His gaze. The attention you dared to lavish so intensely on anyone but him.
"How do you think, Seungcheol?"
His father's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Seungcheol turned slightly, meeting the older man’s expectant eyes. The glass of wine in his father’s hand swirled lazily, a stark contrast to the tension in Seungcheol's.
"Don't pressure him, Mr. Choi," another man interjected with a chuckle. "The younger generation these days—they’re different. They won’t rush into having children immediately."
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as he registered the conversation. Children. Family. An image of you flashed through his mind, your soft laughter echoing in a distant memory. His shoulders squared as he finally replied, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.
"We’re working on it," he said smoothly, casting a brief glance your way. "My wife and I want to have a child as soon as possible, but with business being so hectic, it’s been a challenge."
The men nodded in understanding, their attention shifting back to him. Seungcheol seized the opportunity to steer the conversation away.
"Speaking of challenges," he continued, his tone shifting effortlessly, "how’s the harbor, Mr. Kim? Has your son resolved the issues with the government yet?"
Mr. Kim let out a disgruntled sigh. "It’s been nothing but delays," he grumbled, shaking his head.
Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his presence commanding yet unassuming. "Delays can be costly," he remarked. "If you need additional support, let me know. I’ve had some success navigating similar situations."
As the conversation deepened into business matters, Seungcheol's gaze flickered back to you. You were laughing now, your head tilting slightly as you responded to someone. His chest tightened again, the earlier jealousy morphing into something deeper—something unspoken, buried under the weight of his responsibilities.
But for now, he played his role, the perfect husband in a room full of expectations.
Seungcheol excused himself from the group, his movements purposeful as he made a beeline toward where you were standing. You turned toward him, sensing his presence before he even spoke, and the corner of his lips twitched in satisfaction. Without hesitation, his hand found its place on your waist, a silent claim that did not go unnoticed.
“Choi Seungcheol, Ji Y/n’s husband,” he introduced himself to the man in front of you, his voice firm and polished.
The man extended a polite smile. “I’m Hong Jisoo. I attended your wedding a few months ago. Nice to meet you.”
Seungcheol nodded curtly, his sharp gaze scanning the man before replying, “From Hong Property, I presume?”
Jisoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That’s my father and brother. I work in a hospital,” he clarified, pulling out a business card and offering it.
Seungcheol accepted the card, his eyes briefly scanning the text. Dr. Hong Jisoo, Psychiatry Department. His lips curved slightly, though his grip on your waist tightened almost imperceptibly. When he glanced up, his gaze landed on you, noticing how your eyes flickered to his lips, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Just like every day. Just like how it was supposed to be.
“I wasn’t aware my wife was acquainted with a psychiatrist,” he remarked, his tone casual yet laced with an underlying edge.
“Old friend,” you replied smoothly, your tone light as you cast a brief glance at Jisoo.
That glance didn’t sit well with Seungcheol.
His thumb gently brushed against your side, a subtle reminder of his presence, as he straightened slightly. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave,” he said, his voice firm yet polite. His attention shifted to you, softening just enough to mask the possessiveness simmering beneath the surface. “Love, should we go home?”
You nodded, offering Jisoo a polite smile. “It was nice catching up, Jisoo. Take care.”
“Likewise. Have a good evening,” Jisoo replied, his tone warm yet reserved.
Seungcheol didn’t wait for further pleasantries. With his hand firmly on your waist, he guided you toward the exit, his strides confident and unwavering. The air between you carried a tension he couldn’t quite articulate, but the quiet sense of satisfaction in reclaiming your focus was enough for now.
Seungcheol used to be just a man obsessed with his work, a relentless workaholic. His life revolved around business—expanding, negotiating, multiplying his family’s wealth tenfold. Relationships? They were an afterthought, a distraction. Blind dates came and went, each one predictable and forgettable.
That was, until his parents introduced him to you.
He approached the blind date with little expectation, assuming it would end like all the others: polite small talk, forced smiles, and no sparks. But with you, everything was different.
The moment your eyes fixated on him, he felt it—a current of electricity that surged through his entire being. The way your gaze roamed over him, studying him with quiet intensity, left him unnerved in the best way. You started with his eyes, then trailed downward, your focus lingering on his lips just a second too long. That moment branded itself into his memory, leaving him restless and preoccupied for a week.
He couldn't get you out of his mind. And that was how he agreed to an arranged marriage, a decision that surprised even himself.
Now, months later, he lay beside you in the dim morning light, the quiet intimacy of your shared space filling the air. As he felt you stir awake in his arms, he opened his eyes, his thoughts drifting to the night before. He had been a little rough, a little too consumed by the jealousy that burned in his chest when he caught you looking at someone else’s lips.
“Did I go too rough with you last night?” he murmured, his voice husky and low, thick with concern as he tightened his embrace around you.
You squirmed slightly, shifting to face him, your sleepy eyes meeting his. He searched your expression, his brow furrowing as silence stretched between you.
“Was I too rough? Are you okay, love?” he asked again, his worry evident now.
You shook your head slowly, your lips curving into a soft smile. Reaching up, your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin as you pulled him closer. Without a word, your lips met his in a tender, reassuring kiss, melting away the tension in his chest.
When you pulled back, your voice was gentle, teasing. “Was something wrong last night? You seemed… different.”
Seungcheol hesitated, the tips of his ears flushing red as he avoided your gaze for a moment. How could he admit that the fire in him last night was born of jealousy? That the mere thought of your attention lingering on someone else’s lips had driven him to near madness?
Instead, he exhaled softly and shook his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he lied, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. “I just can’t help myself around you.”
You laughed lightly, the sound warm and soothing. “Good,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his like a promise. Because, as much as Seungcheol tried to play it cool, you already knew—you had him completely undone.
"We’re going to be late if we don’t start getting ready now," you told Seungcheol, glancing at the clock with mild urgency.
He chuckled, his deep voice laced with mischief as he leaned closer. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his hand brushing yours before pulling you along with him toward the bathroom. A teasing grin spread across his face. “Together, of course.”
Later, as the two of you settled at the dining table, Seungcheol joined you with a fresh, clean look and a calm demeanor that betrayed none of his usual morning rush. “I’ll drive you,” he said casually, sipping his coffee.
You blinked, looking up from your plate in surprise. “What?”
“I’ll drive you,” he repeated, meeting your gaze. “And I’ll pick you up today.”
His firm tone left little room for debate, but the soft warmth in his expression made your heart flutter. You quickly nodded, taking the last bite of your sandwich with a smile tugging at your lips.
At the office, Seungcheol was all business. The moment he stepped through the door, his trusted right-hand man, Lee Jihoon, was already waiting with updates and a detailed briefing.
“Today’s schedule is packed,” Jihoon began, keeping pace with Seungcheol as he strode toward his desk. “The shipping updates are as follows: the cargo from Incheon has cleared customs, and the team is preparing the distribution reports. The Hong Kong shipment—”
“What’s the status on that?” Seungcheol interrupted, his sharp eyes flicking toward Jihoon.
“It’ll arrive tonight,” Jihoon replied promptly. “Do you want to oversee it yourself?”
Seungcheol shook his head as he sat down, loosening his tie slightly. “No need. I trust you to handle it. Just make sure everything is documented thoroughly.”
Jihoon nodded, jotting down a quick note. “Understood, sir.”
As Jihoon left to attend to the shipment, Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, glancing briefly at his watch. His thoughts wandered to you, wondering how your day was going and reminding himself to clear his evening to pick you up as promised. Balancing business and you wasn’t always easy, but for him, it was a priority he wouldn’t compromise.
*
There were a few strict rules in your office, and everyone at Ji Art Gallery knew to follow them without question.
Rule one: never speak to you with your back turned. Communication had to happen face-to-face, ensuring nothing was misunderstood.
Rule two: click the light switch whenever someone entered your office. You always had a mountain of tasks, and multitasking was not your forte. The light switch was an unspoken signal to gain your attention without disrupting your workflow.
Rule three: lunch hours were sacred. During this time, you watched the news alone. No one was allowed to enter, except for your family. It was an unbendable rule, one you wished could explain itself.
To everyone else, you were a perfectionist boss, firm but fair. What they didn’t know was that behind the rules lay a quieter truth—you are deaf, relying on observation and lip-reading to navigate the world.
It wasn’t perfectionism that demanded your routines. It was survival.
As you worked, engrossed in reviewing a painting’s exhibition proposal, the door to your office suddenly opened, and your mother stepped in unannounced. She clicked the blinds shut with a sharp movement before tossing a branded paper bag onto your desk.
"Here," she said brusquely. "Wear this for your next intercourse with Seungcheol."
You glanced at the bag, your expression calm despite the storm brewing inside. The name of an expensive lingerie brand was emblazoned across it in bold letters.
"I’ll send some herbal remedies to your house later,” she continued, her tone cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you get yourself pregnant within the next two months."
She flopped onto the couch in your office, crossing her legs elegantly as if she hadn’t just barged in to dictate your life. Her sharp eyes focused on you, scrutinizing every detail of your reaction—or lack thereof.
"Why don’t you say something? You’re deaf, not mute," she snapped, her words slicing through the air.
You sighed softly, your eyes fixed on her lips as you watched each word fall out of her mouth with precision and purpose.
"Yes, Mother," you replied, your voice measured, betraying none of the turmoil inside.
A smile curved on her lips—a smile that never reached her eyes. "Be a good girl for me and your stepfather, Y/n. You have a lot to repay. No one wants to raise a deaf child," she said cruelly, standing up with the air of someone who believed they were owed the world.
Her words were poison, but you stood stoically, refusing to let her see the cracks she left behind.
"But," she added, adjusting the hem of her designer jacket, "once you have the Choi family heir growing inside you, we’ll all be fine. So, make sure you do your job."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heels, the sound of her expensive shoes clicking against the floor echoing in your office. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.
You sat still, staring at the paper bag she had so carelessly thrown onto your desk. The weight of her expectations pressed against your chest, but you forced yourself to exhale, straightening your shoulders.
Every day, you practiced watching the news, focusing intently on the movement of lips to perfect your ability to read them. It was a quiet, relentless routine, your way of ensuring no one would ever discover your deafness. You wanted people to communicate with you comfortably, unaware of your secret.
It was a weakness you’d been forced to accept 15 years ago. The result of a tragic car accident that not only robbed you of your hearing but also took the life of your stepsister.
You still remembered waking up in the hospital, disoriented and frightened. The first thing you saw was your mother, her face twisted with rage as she screamed at you. Her mouth moved furiously, but you couldn’t hear a single word. You could only guess at her accusations, but you were certain of one thing—she wished it had been you who died instead of your stepsister.
That was the turning point.
From that moment on, you became the scapegoat of the Ji family, the one burdened with their collective frustrations and failures. Surviving that accident, instead of being a blessing, turned into a curse. They treated your survival as an inconvenience, a debt you were expected to repay with unwavering obedience.
“You survived, his daughter didn’t,” your mother’s lips had said once, her voice forever silent to you but still haunting in its clarity. “So make yourself useful.”
From then on, you learned to carry their expectations silently, shouldering the weight of their contempt while striving for perfection. You worked tirelessly, honing your skills, building your reputation, and hiding your deafness as if it were a crime.
Being the "goat" of the Ji family meant you were their sacrifice, their scapegoat, but it also fueled your determination. If survival was your punishment, you would ensure it wasn’t in vain. You would rise above their cruelty, even if it meant enduring the pain of their indifference and the burden of their demands.
You weren’t just surviving anymore—you were fighting. And every day you practiced, every lip you read, every rule you enforced in your life was proof of that.
Every moment of intimacy with Seungcheol was blissful, a haven where the world outside ceased to exist. Even though you couldn’t hear the sounds he made—the soft gasps, the whispered words you imagined he might say—you felt every touch, every movement, as if they spoke directly to your soul. But you always wondered if he felt the same way. Did he share the same satisfaction, the same warmth, the same euphoria at the peak of it all?
You wished you could hear him. Just him.
Seungcheol always looked at you with such tenderness, his gaze soft and unwavering. It made your heart ache with guilt. The guilt of knowing that you and your family had trapped him in this marriage. The guilt of hiding your secret from him—your deafness, the one part of you you couldn’t bring yourself to reveal. And the guilt of knowing your family was draining his wealth under the guise of a business arrangement.
Every time he smiled at you, every time he touched you like you were his world, the weight of your lies grew heavier.
How could you allow yourself to be happy in a marriage built on deception?
The warmth you felt with Seungcheol was tainted by the cold reality of your circumstances. He deserved honesty, love without strings, a partner who could give him everything. And yet here you were, bound to him by a contract you had never wanted but couldn’t escape.
Every night you lay beside him, listening to the silence that enveloped you, longing for a world where your love could be as pure as the way he looked at you.
*
Seungcheol was always amazed by how poised and graceful you carried yourself in public. As a Ji, it was expected, but being married to you had brought a constant stream of surprises he never anticipated.
One of those surprises came during a business meeting involving Wen Junhui, the son of a long-time Chinese producer Seungcheol had worked with for years. Since the business had been handed down to Junhui, negotiations hadn’t been as smooth as before. Seungcheol hoped that meeting in person during Junhui’s visit, accompanied by his wife, would be the perfect opportunity to revive their partnership.
But what Seungcheol didn’t expect was what happened next.
Junhui’s wife, Daisy, had been deaf since birth. It was something Seungcheol had learned in passing but hadn’t given much thought to—until now. As he turned to look for you, he saw you standing with Daisy, engaging her effortlessly in sign language.
His breath hitched. You moved your hands with such confidence and fluidity, your expression lighting up as Daisy responded with equal enthusiasm. Neither Junhui nor Seungcheol could hide their surprise.
“Your wife is incredible. I didn’t expect this,” Junhui said, clinking his glass lightly against Seungcheol’s. “Daisy rarely gets to meet someone who can sign fluently. Thank you for bringing her; she’s finally relaxed for the first time in a long while.”
Seungcheol offered a polite smile, but inwardly, he was stunned. “Thank you,” he said simply, his eyes drifting back to you.
Junhui glanced at his wife before turning back to Seungcheol. “I heard you wanted to negotiate the pricing of our products.”
Seungcheol’s attention snapped back to the conversation. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. We haven’t found a supplier with the same quality as yours. I’d like to propose that we continue the terms we had before. Would you have time tomorrow? I’ll bring the paperwork.”
Junhui thought for a moment before nodding. “Sure. But how about bringing your wife as well? Daisy seems comfortable around her, and it would be nice for her to have someone to talk to while we discuss business.”
“Of course,” Seungcheol agreed, still taken aback by what he’d just witnessed. “I’ll speak to her about it.”
As Junhui moved to speak with someone else, Seungcheol found his gaze lingering on you. He had never known you knew sign language, let alone that you were so fluent. Seeing you connect with Daisy in a way so few others could made him feel something deeper—a mixture of awe, pride, and a touch of guilt for underestimating just how remarkable you truly were.
As Seungcheol mingled with a group of businessmen, his mind was suddenly pulled elsewhere when he realized he couldn’t spot you anywhere. A twinge of unease crept in, but he brushed it off—until his phone vibrated in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he was surprised to see your caller ID.
You never called.
In fact, you hated calling, even in emergencies. It was a well-known rule that anyone needing to contact you had to text or call your secretary, Seo Myungho. For you to call directly was entirely out of character.
Seungcheol excused himself from the lively conversation, weaving through the crowd toward a quieter area. Pressing the answer button, he brought the phone to his ear.
“What’s wrong, love? Where are you?” His voice softened, filled with concern.
The voice that responded wasn’t yours. It was sharp and unfamiliar, carrying a sinister undertone that sent a chill down his spine.
“‘Love?’ Very funny, Choi Seungcheol. Didn’t your father ever teach you not to care too much? Makes you weak, vulnerable.”
Seungcheol froze, his jaw tightening. The words hit like a taunt, a deliberate jab meant to rattle him.
“Who is this?” he asked, his voice dropping to a cold, controlled tone.
“Relax. I’m just a fan of your wife. She looks stunning in black tonight. I’d love to—”
“Where is she? Why do you have her phone?” Seungcheol snapped, his composure slipping as his eyes darted across the ballroom.
A low laugh came through the receiver. “You know, secrets can be dangerous, Seungcheol. Especially the ones your lovely wife is keeping from you.”
“Stop playing games! Tell me where she is!” His voice was edged with desperation now.
The call ended abruptly, leaving Seungcheol gripping the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white. His heart pounded as he scanned the room again, his mind racing.
“Ji Y/n!” he called out, his voice booming across the corridor.
There was no sign of you. The air felt heavier with each passing second, the tension clawing at his chest. He dialed your number again, but the call went straight to voicemail.
Just as he rounded a corner, his hurried steps brought him face-to-face with someone. Relief flooded through him when he realized it was you.
“Cheol?” you asked, startled by his sudden embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his breath uneven as though he’d been holding it in.
“Thank God,” he whispered, burying his face into your shoulder for a moment.
“What’s going on?” you asked, confused by his reaction.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you as if to ensure you were unharmed. “Where were you? Where’s your phone?”
You blinked, frowning at his intensity. “I don’t know. I can’t find it,” you admitted, rummaging through your clutch only to find it empty.
Seungcheol’s expression darkened. Without another word, he pulled out his phone and called Jihoon. “Get the car ready. We’re leaving now.”
The ride home was tense and silent, the weight of his unspoken thoughts filling the space between you. You glanced at him repeatedly, but his stern expression gave nothing away. His grip on your hand was firm, almost as if he feared letting go.
Once home, Seungcheol ensured you were safely tucked into bed. “Get some rest. I’ll handle this,” he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead.
After he left, you stared at the closed door, unease creeping into your chest. Something was wrong, but you knew better than to press him when he was in this mood.
Meanwhile, Seungcheol retreated to his office, his hands trembling slightly as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. The liquid swirled in the glass, much like the chaos in his mind.
He dialed Jihoon again. “Trace her phone immediately. Whoever has it was at the event. Secure the guest list and cross-check everyone.”
Jihoon hesitated. “That’s going to take time, sir. We’ll need to involve third parties.”
“I don’t care how long it takes. I want answers,” Seungcheol growled, his voice low but seething with authority.
After ending the call, he sank into his chair, his mind running over every possible angle. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest as he stared at the glowing city skyline through his office window.
“Who are you?” he muttered under his breath. The question gnawed at him, the weight of it pressing heavily on his chest.
And more importantly, why would anyone dare to use the person he loved most to threaten him?
*
Seungcheol jolted awake, his breath hitching when his hand reached out to find the other side of the bed cold and empty. A sense of dread gripped him as the events of last night resurfaced in his mind. The mysterious phone call and its ominous implications lingered like a heavy shadow, refusing to let him rest. He’d only managed to get some sleep because you had come into his office and practically dragged him to bed. But even now, his thoughts raced—who was the caller? What secret could they possibly be referring to?
His heart pounded as he sat up, scanning the room for any sign of you. Then, a faint sound from the bathroom caught his attention. He was out of bed in an instant, his strides purposeful as he approached the door.
“Y/n?” he called, his voice laced with concern as he pushed the door open.
There you were, crouched in front of the toilet bowl, your body wracked with discomfort as you emptied the contents of your stomach. The sight made his chest tighten.
“You okay, baby?” Seungcheol took a step closer, but you weakly waved a hand, signaling for him to stay back.
“Don’t… I’m fine,” you muttered between breaths, your voice strained.
Ignoring your protests, Seungcheol was by your side in seconds. He knelt beside you, his large hand gently soothing the back of your neck while his other gathered your hair to keep it out of the way.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his concern palpable.
When you were finally done, he helped you to your feet, steadying you as you rinsed your mouth at the sink. His hand remained firm on your waist, his protective instincts in full swing.
“Talk to me,” he said gently, guiding you back to the bed. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to call the doctor?” His brows knitted in worry as he tucked you in, his hand brushing stray hairs from your damp forehead.
You shook your head weakly. “I think it’s just food poisoning from last night’s dinner,” you murmured, offering him a faint smile in an attempt to ease his concern.
Seungcheol let out a small chuckle, though the tension in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. “Food poisoning or not, I’m calling Dr. Kim just to be safe. No arguments.”
You sighed but didn’t resist, too exhausted to protest further.
“And no work for you today,” he added firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed as he reached for his phone. “I’ll let them know you’re not feeling well. Just focus on resting, alright?”
You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as his soothing presence eased some of the discomfort. As he dialed the doctor, his gaze lingered on you, the lines of worry deepening on his face.
Jihoon’s phone buzzed just as Seungcheol finished his meeting with a client. He glanced at the screen before answering the call from Dr. Kim, a slight frown crossing his face as he listened. Seungcheol, sitting across from him in the car, noticed the shift in Jihoon’s expression.
"Yes... she is? I see." Jihoon’s voice was calm, but Seungcheol's instincts told him something was off.
After a beat, Jihoon ended the call and turned to Seungcheol, his face betraying nothing but the weight of the news he was about to deliver.
"Your wife is pregnant, sir."
Seungcheol’s heart seemed to stop, his entire body going still as the words hit him like a cold wave. But it wasn’t just the pregnancy that unsettled him. The next words were the ones that sent a flicker of anger through his veins.
"But your wife is in the office now," Jihoon continued, his voice measured. "She has an important meeting with the curator that she couldn’t leave."
Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, the fury within him rising. The news of your pregnancy only added to the questions swirling in his mind, but the fact that you were in the office—at this very moment—was what pushed him over the edge.
"Drive me to her gallery," Seungcheol ordered, his voice dangerously cold.
Jihoon nodded, without a word, and signaled to the driver to make a sharp turn. Seungcheol’s thoughts raced as the car sped toward the gallery. His heart pounded with a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and a deep, gnawing worry.
Seungcheol arrived at your office just in time to see your psychiatrist friend, Dr. Hong, leaving. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the man walk out, the realization settling uneasily in his chest. He turned to Myungho, your assistant, who had stepped forward to greet him.
"I heard she had a meeting with the curator. Is the curator... apparently also a psychiatrist?" Seungcheol asked, his words barely more than a murmur as his thoughts raced.
Myungho looked momentarily taken aback, his eyes widening before he answered, "Are you referring to Mr. Hong, sir?"
Seungcheol shook his head, frustration mounting as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. The events from last night, the shocking news of your pregnancy, and the fact that you had still gone to work this morning despite his request—everything was colliding in his mind, leaving him on edge.
"Is she free? Can I see her?" Seungcheol asked, his voice quiet but firm.
Myungho nodded without hesitation, immediately leading him to your office. He announced Seungcheol’s arrival before stepping out, leaving the two of you alone.
You looked up from your desk as Seungcheol entered, your gaze softening at the sight of him. "Seungcheol, you're here," you said gently as you stood up.
He approached you slowly, his fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His voice was softer than usual, a tenderness beneath the usual calm. "I told you not to work," he murmured, his gaze searching yours.
You met his eyes, guilt flickering across your face. You bit your lip slightly, feeling a pang of regret. "I'm sorry. But I had a meeting with a foreign curator earlier. I'm glad it went well," you said, offering him a small, reassuring smile.
Seungcheol’s expression softened as he leaned in and kissed your temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual. "I heard about it," he said quietly, his smile widening. "We're going to be parents." The excitement in his voice was undeniable as he took your hands in his. He looked at you with a warmth that melted some of the tension in the air.
You smiled weakly, leaning into his embrace as your head rested against his chest. His comforting presence grounded you, even as the weight of the moment settled over you both.
"You’re going to be an amazing mother, love," Seungcheol whispered, his hands gently cradling you as you closed your eyes, basking in the sincerity of his words. The world outside the two of you seemed to disappear as the reality of your future together began to take root.
*
You stepped into your childhood home, the weight of the news you had to share pressing heavily on your chest. Your mother’s wide grin greeted you before you even crossed the threshold, her hands moving wildly as she signed with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Oh, look who’s finally here," she signed, her expression one of mock excitement. "What’s the good news, Y/n?"
You hesitated for a moment before signing, "I’m pregnant."
Her hands froze mid-air, her face flickering with surprise, but it didn’t take long for that emotion to morph into something much darker. She straightened up, her sharp gaze locking onto you. "Pregnant?" she signed, her movements quick and sharp. "Of course, you are. The Choi heir..."
You fought to steady your breath, trying to brace yourself for the storm you knew was coming. But your mother’s expression softened into something far too calculating. "This will fix everything, Y/n. You’ve done your part, finally. You’ve done something right," she signed, her eyes now gleaming with something almost predatory, like she was already envisioning what this could do for her.
The sting of her words was familiar, yet still sharp. You looked away briefly, trying to gather your thoughts before signing back, "This isn’t what I wanted."
Her laughter was sharp and cruel. "Oh, please," she signed, her tone dismissive, as if your words had no weight at all. "What else could you possibly want, Y/n? You’ve got the Choi family wrapped around your finger. You’re carrying the heir. " Her hands moved with exaggerated flourishes, her gestures mocking the sincerity of your feelings. "You should be thanking us."
You could feel the bile rising in your throat, but you bit your lip, refusing to let her see how much her words stung. "I didn’t ask for this," you signed again, more forcefully this time.
She shook her head, her expression almost pitiful. "Of course, you didn’t," she signed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Who would, right? A girl like you—deaf, unremarkable, never good enough for anything more than a marriage of convenience. But look at you now. You’ve done it. You’ve secured your place."
You bit your tongue, trying not to let the tears sting at your eyes. She had always been this way, using your deafness to remind you of how little she thought of you.
Her next words were even sharper, and you could feel the coldness in every words as she signed, "You’ll never be anything more than a stepping stone for your husband's wealth and power. Look at you, finally fulfilling your role as a good little Choi wife."
You flinched at the bitterness in her words, but you held your ground, trying to keep the hurt from showing on your face. It was clear now that she wasn’t speaking to you as a daughter but as a means to an end. You were nothing more than a transaction in her eyes.
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, signing with as much defiance as you could muster, "I’ll make my own future, with or without your help."
She rolled her eyes, signing back with a mocking smirk, "You think you’ll be anything without us, Y/n? The Choi family is your ticket. Don’t you see? You’ve got your future set, and this baby—this baby—is the final piece. You’ll be taken care of for the rest of your life, all thanks to us."
The words hit you like a slap to the face, but you didn’t react. You didn’t need to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.
With a final glance at her, you signed, "I’ll make my own choices. You can’t control me anymore."
Your mother’s lips curled into a sardonic smile, her eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, sweetie," she signed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You never did have any real choices, did you?"
The finality in her words hit you hard, but you turned your back on her before she could say more. It didn’t matter anymore. You had made your decision long ago. The Choi family may have given you a life of comfort, but at what cost?
You left her house feeling emptier than when you arrived, the weight of your family’s expectations a bitter reminder of the path you had been forced onto.
"You've been silent. You don’t like the food? I can ask the cook to make you something else," Seungcheol’s voice was soft but laced with concern as he noticed you staring blankly at your plate, barely touching the food. You shook your head, offering a weak smile in his direction, though it didn’t reach your eyes.
"It’s just... I don’t feel like eating," you mumbled, your voice barely a whisper as the weight of everything you were feeling pressed down on you.
Seungcheol sighed, his expression tinged with worry as he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving you. "Do you have anything in mind that you want to eat? You have to eat, love," he urged gently, his tone firm yet filled with care.
You shook your head once more, the knot in your throat tightening as you stood up from the dining table, your legs feeling heavier than usual. "I’m going to bed. My head hurts," you said, avoiding his gaze as you walked away, the words feeling suffocating in your chest.
Seungcheol didn’t push further, though his worry was palpable. He nodded quietly, watching you retreat to your shared bedroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you left an unsettling silence in the air, one that lingered in the room long after you were gone.
As soon as the door was shut, the weight of everything that had been building up inside you crashed over you. You let the tears fall, each one a painful reminder of the life you had been forced into, of the expectations you could never seem to escape. The facade you’d held up for so long finally crumbled, and you were left in the quiet emptiness of your own despair.
Till when do I have to endure this kind of life?
The question echoed in your mind, unanswered, as the tears continued to flow.
*
Seungcheol received a package that morning, its plain exterior offering no hint of the chaos it would bring. At first, there was nothing suspicious about it. But as he opened it, his stomach churned. Inside was a pair of women’s underwear, carefully folded, accompanied by a note that sent a cold shiver down his spine:
"Do you like it when she stares at your lips? I like it too."
Seungcheol crumpled the paper immediately, his fists tightening around it. His heart raced, not from surprise, but from the overwhelming disgust he felt. He knew exactly what the note was referring to—and he hated it. Hated that everyone found your gaze just as captivating as he did. It made him furious, this feeling of possessiveness creeping over him.
"Who sent this?" Seungcheol demanded, holding up the package to Jihoon.
Jihoon glanced at the contents, his brow furrowing with concern. Without hesitation, he dialed the security team. Moments later, he turned back to Seungcheol, his face tight with frustration.
“They said it was just a courier,” Jihoon informed him.
Seungcheol scoffed in disbelief, tossing the crumpled paper onto the desk. "A courier? That’s all they have? I want more than that."
"Can we track the sender?" Seungcheol pressed, his voice sharp with impatience.
Jihoon took the package from his hands, his eyes scanning it briefly. "I’ll get on it. I’ll let you know what I find," he assured him.
Seungcheol wasn’t satisfied, but he knew there was little else to do but wait. He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration building in his chest. There were still so many questions left unanswered.
“What about the person who took my wife’s phone? Have you found them?” Seungcheol asked, his voice hard.
Jihoon handed him a file, his tone quieter now. "The phone was found near the hotel the next day. Whoever took it must have gotten rid of it immediately. It’ll take some time to track the voice, though."
Seungcheol flipped through the file, his gaze hardening as he processed the information.
“Are you familiar with the voice?” Jihoon asked, sensing Seungcheol’s growing unease.
Seungcheol shook his head, frustration bubbling inside him. "No. I don’t think they’re from anyone around me. And as for the Jeon family… Haven’t heard from them since Wonwoo got married."
He said it with a bitterness that was hard to miss. The Jeon family, once a rival of the Choi family, had always been a thorn in his side when it came to business dealings. And now, with a situation like this unfolding, it didn’t feel like a coincidence. Seungcheol couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than simple revenge or some random act.
"Whoever’s behind this is going to regret messing with my family," Seungcheol muttered under his breath.
The same threats arrived with relentless frequency—through emails, packages, and anonymous phone calls. But Seungcheol had long since stopped letting them consume him. None of it mattered as long as he knew you were safe with him. He’d doubled the security around your gallery and fortified the guards at his house. With his child growing inside you, his protective instincts had only intensified. You and the life you carried were his priority—his entire world.
For a while, that mantra kept him grounded. But by the fifth month of your pregnancy, as your belly began to show, the threats took a darker turn. They became more pointed, more unsettling. One email read, “Close her eyes and see what she heard.” Another note taunted, “She’ll never listen.” Each message seemed to inch closer to the secret they claimed to know.
He kept the weight of it all to himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of burdening you. You already endured enough—carrying his child, enduring the discomfort of pregnancy from morning until night. The last thing you needed was to shoulder his fears. No, this was his fight, and he was determined to keep it that way.
“As long as she’s safe.” That was the mantra he repeated to himself every day. It was his anchor, the thought that kept him moving forward despite the shadow looming over him.
“Do you think it could be someone from your past, sir?” Jihoon asked one evening, breaking the silence in Seungcheol’s office. He looked frustrated, just as perplexed as Seungcheol about the source of the threats. Ten years of working together still hadn’t prepared Jihoon for something like this.
Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I’ve pissed off plenty of people, sure, but nothing to warrant this kind of obsession.”
Jihoon frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “It doesn’t make sense for this to be random. Someone claims to know her secret. Someone knows you.”
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. That was the part he couldn’t wrap his head around. He’d always been someone who preferred moving forward rather than dwelling on the past. That was how he lived—how he thrived. But now, the threats weren’t just confusing; they were demanding something he didn’t know how to give.
“I’m not sure what they want. But they’re not getting her. They’ll have to go through me first,” Seungcheol said, his voice low and resolute.
Jihoon nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll figure this out, sir. But the longer it takes, the more dangerous it gets. These messages aren’t empty threats.”
“I know,” Seungcheol said quietly, his gaze hardening. He looked out the window, his hand instinctively resting on his phone in case you called. As long as she’s safe, he reminded himself. That was all that mattered. For now.
*
On your first anniversary, Seungcheol wanted to celebrate with an intimate dinner at home. He hired a renowned chef to curate a fine dining experience and had the house meticulously decorated with flowers and candles. It was meant to be a perfect evening, a celebration of your bond and the life you were building together. You were unaware of his plans, but a single photograph shattered the illusion.
The picture showed your home transformed into a romantic haven, the dining table adorned with delicate arrangements and warm, glowing lights. But as you stared at the photo, your surroundings brought a stark contrast. You were seated in a dim, suffocating room, the air damp and reeking of decay.
Jisoo stood before you, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone as he grinned. He closed the device with a soft click, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. You struggled to process the situation, piecing together fragments of memory.
Jisoo had offered to drive you home, assuring everyone—Myungho, the guards, and even yourself—that you were safe in his care. Yet here you were, trapped in a place you’d never seen, with a man you thought you trusted.
"Even like this, you still look pretty," Jisoo murmured, his voice gentle but laced with something sinister. He crouched down to meet your gaze, his hand brushing against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.
It took a moment for the realization to sink in: Jisoo had kidnapped you. The man who had been your psychiatrist, your lifeline when you lost your hearing, had betrayed you. He wasn’t the kind and attentive figure you had thought; he had been paid by your parents to ensure you stayed functional, nothing more.
"It took me months to get to this point, Y/n, so you better cooperate," Jisoo said, his grin widening. "Or else I’ll reveal everything to Choi Seungcheol."
Your stomach churned as his words sank in.
"A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve him, to be honest," he added, almost as if he were musing aloud. "But hear me out. You’ll leave him in a month. Come with me, or no one will be able to protect you."
"What are you talking about, Jisoo?" you asked, your voice trembling as your hands instinctively moved to shield your growing belly.
Jisoo chuckled, leaning back as though amused by your confusion. "Don’t act so innocent. I know you didn’t marry him for love. It was all for your family’s benefit."
You froze, his words striking a chord of truth that left you paralyzed.
"The investment the Choi family made into your family’s business—it saved them from ruin. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Your parents wanted more," Jisoo continued, his gaze dropping to your stomach with a flicker of disdain.
"No one wants this baby to disappear except for you and me, Y/n," he said, his tone softening into a chilling whisper. "I can give you the life you deserve, away from all of this."
His words sliced through you, leaving a gaping wound of betrayal. You had trusted Jisoo, confided in him during your most vulnerable moments. He had been there when no one else was, not even your mother. You had believed in his kindness, even supported him when he confided about the pain of losing someone he loved. But now, that same man was holding you hostage.
"You don’t understand, Y/n," Jisoo continued, his expression darkening. "All your secrets—your deafness, your marriage—they’ll all come out eventually. Seungcheol will find out everything. And when he does, he'll destroy you. But you don’t have to wait for that to happen. Leave him and run away with me."
"And if I don’t?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Jisoo’s grin faded, replaced by a cold, menacing stare. "Then you and the baby... will get hurt."
Your heart pounded as you sat frozen in the suffocating room, his words reverberating in your mind. The man you had trusted was a stranger, his obsession and bitterness now a threat to everything you held dear. Betrayal tightened its grip around you, suffocating and inescapable. This was not a situation you had ever imagined for yourself, and yet here you were, trapped in a nightmare.
"Happy anniversary, love." Seungcheol’s voice was warm as he leaned down to kiss your temple. You barely managed to stand in front of him, your legs shaky and your heart heavier than ever as Jisoo’s words echoed in your mind.
"Seungcheol will find out everything. And when he does, he’ll destroy you."
Your eyes wandered across the room, taking in the meticulously arranged decorations, the fragrant flowers, and the elegant dinner set for two. The sight should have filled you with joy, but instead, it suffocated you. This wasn’t a celebration. It was a cruel reminder of everything you had been hiding. Every affectionate gesture, every whispered “I love you,” all laced with deceit.
Your chest tightened as you looked at Seungcheol. He stood before you with a loving smile, holding a bouquet in his hands, radiating pure happiness. Yet all you could see was the weight of your betrayal pressing down on you.
"It was all for your family’s benefit." Jisoo’s voice rang in your head, relentless and unyielding. You tried to silence it, but it only grew louder, drowning out the world around you.
Every night, as you lay beside Seungcheol, watching his peaceful figure in the dim light, you were reminded of the lies. The way his chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his features soft in sleep, it made you ache. He was so innocent, so trusting, so undeserving of the darkness you had brought into his life.
"I love you," Seungcheol said, his voice steady and sincere. The three words you feared most hung in the air, piercing through your facade. They weren’t just words to him—they were a promise, a testament to how deeply he cared for you. And you had used that love as a weapon, a means to an end.
Your family’s plan had succeeded flawlessly. They had wanted him to fall for you, to depend on you, to bind him to your family with a child. And now, here you were, carrying his baby, living a life built on manipulation.
"You’ll leave him in a month. Leave him and run away with me." Jisoo’s words were a persistent shadow, haunting every step you took.
You wished you could hear Seungcheol’s voice in this moment, soothing and full of love, reassuring you that everything would be alright. But you couldn’t. The silence in your world was unrelenting, leaving you trapped with only your thoughts and regrets.
And you wished you could hear yourself. Maybe then you would know how broken your voice sounded as tears streamed down your face, how your words betrayed your trembling resolve.
"I’m happy," you whispered, a lie wrapped in fragile sincerity. You weren’t happy—not with this life, not with the choices forced upon you. But you had made your decision. You had chosen to stay, chosen to protect the baby growing inside you, chosen to shield Seungcheol from the pain of the truth.
Because despite the lies, despite the betrayal, you couldn’t bear to hurt him. Seungcheol was the first person to love you without condition, without ulterior motives. And you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy the one person who had shown you what real love could be.
*
Seungcheol came home with his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing. Earlier that evening, Seo Myungho, your assistant, had paid him an unexpected visit at his office. It was past working hours, but the usually quiet and composed man had come with urgency etched across his face.
"I'm sorry for taking your time, but there's something you need to know," Myungho said, pulling out a photograph.
Seungcheol leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. Myungho placed the picture on the desk.
"I've worked for your wife for years, and my observations have never been wrong," Myungho began cautiously.
In the photograph, you were stepping out of a building with Jisoo, and the timestamp matched the day of your anniversary.
"I was supposed to drive her home that afternoon," Myungho continued, "but Mr. Hong insisted on taking her instead. I followed them. It took them two hours to get home, and this picture was taken while I was tailing his car."
Seungcheol's brows furrowed deeply. "Are you trying to say she's cheating on me?" he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
Myungho hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It's not something I can confirm, sir. But I will say this—she hasn’t been the same since that day. If they were involved in an affair, she wouldn’t have told me to stop letting Mr. Hong visit her gallery."
Seungcheol’s jaw clenched as he leaned back in his chair. "What exactly are you insinuating, Seo Myungho?"
After a pause, Myungho finally said what had been weighing on his conscience. "Your wife… I think she’s in danger."
The words hit Seungcheol like a thunderclap.
When he stepped into the house, his voice echoed through the empty halls. "Y/n!" he called. There was no answer. He hurriedly searched every room, his calls growing louder and more frantic.
"Y/n!"
Finally, he made his way to his home office. That’s when he noticed your phone lying on his desk, ringing in response to his calls. The top drawer of the desk, where he kept the bank books, was slightly ajar. His stomach twisted when he realized the bank book with your name was missing.
Unlocking your phone, Seungcheol’s blood ran cold. On the screen was a series of messages, the tone eerily similar to the threats he had been receiving over the past months.
"Leave the house now, or I’ll tell everything about your secret."
Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the phone as he immediately dialed Jihoon. His voice was steady but filled with urgency as he barked orders. "Mobilize everyone. Start searching for her now."
He scanned the phone again, another message flashing on the screen.
"I’ll wait for you at the park near the bank."
Seungcheol sent Jihoon the location before sprinting to his car. He had no doubt now—whoever had been threatening him was after you too.
"My boss… your wife…" Myungho’s earlier words echoed in his mind, the revelation twisting like a knife in his gut.
"She’s deaf," Myungho had said quietly. "She lost her hearing in a car accident. I overheard a conversation between her and her mother once."
Seungcheol pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through traffic as Myungho’s voice played on repeat in his head.
"Do you know how much your wife has suffered in this marriage? I thought she found solace in Mr. Hong at first. But then she told me to stop allowing him to visit, and that’s when I realized—he wasn’t helping her anymore."
Seungcheol gripped the wheel tighter, fury and dread clawing at his chest.
"Mr. Hong likes your wife, sir. And I believe he’s the one behind these threats."
The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Jisoo had been manipulating everything, orchestrating the threats, and now he had escalated to targeting you. Seungcheol’s heart raced as he sped toward the park, the weight of the truth pressing down on him.
"What is his deal?" Seungcheol muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling in his chest as he raced toward the park. His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ring of his phone. Seeing Jun’s name on the screen, he immediately answered, his voice commanding, "Speak!"
"Sir, where are you?" Jun’s voice came through, laced with confusion. "Everyone is in front of Seoul Bank, but we don’t see you or Mr. Lee here."
Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as anger flared in his chest. "It’s the park near SK Bank, not Seoul Bank!" he snapped, his voice booming.
Jun hesitated for a moment, clearly taken aback, before replying, "But sir, Mr. Lee instructed us to gather at Seoul Bank."
Seungcheol’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. His mind raced as he processed the situation. Why had Jihoon sent his team to a different location? Was it a mistake, or was there something more sinister at play?
"Forget what Mr. Lee said and head to SK Bank immediately," Seungcheol barked.
"Understood, sir. We’re moving now," Jun replied before the line disconnected.
Seungcheol’s mind churned as he pushed the car to its limit. Was there something he was missing? Jihoon was one of his most trusted people, yet this discrepancy felt off. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, whispering that this was more than just a miscommunication.
Every second felt like an eternity as Seungcheol’s thoughts spiraled. Had Jihoon deliberately sent his team elsewhere to buy time? If so, why?
His gut told him the pieces of the puzzle weren’t adding up. If Jihoon was involved in this, there would be hell to pay. For now, all that mattered was finding you.
*
Seungcheol first met Jihoon during the interview for his secretary team recruitment. Even then, he could see the passion and fire in Jihoon’s eyes—a fighting spirit that convinced him this man could help navigate the treacherous waters of the dark business he was trying to expand. Back when Seungcheol left his position at his father’s company to build his own empire, Jihoon had been his first hire, his personal assistant. For the past ten years, they had been inseparable, working side by side through every challenge and victory. Jihoon wasn’t just an employee; he was someone Seungcheol trusted with his life.
But that trust was now hanging by a thread.
Seungcheol’s heart dropped when he saw Jihoon’s car parked by the curb. He hurried over, peering inside only to find it empty. His gaze darted around the area, but there was no sign of Jihoon—and more importantly, no sign of you.
Panic mixed with fury as emotions churned violently inside him. He clenched his fists, his breathing ragged, and immediately dialed Jun. His voice was sharp and commanding when Jun picked up.
“Understood, sir,” Jun replied quickly, not daring to ask further questions.
Seungcheol ended the call, his mind racing. Jihoon had been the first person he’d confided in about the threats. He’d trusted Jihoon to investigate, to handle everything discreetly. But now, the puzzle pieces were falling into place. Jihoon had sent the team to the wrong location deliberately—to buy himself time.
And that could only mean one thing. Jihoon wasn’t just aware of the threats. He was one of them.
A cold realization settled over Seungcheol, chilling him to the core. The man he had trusted for a decade had betrayed him, and now you were in danger because of it.
Seungcheol gritted his teeth, gripping his phone tightly as he fought the urge to call the police. That wasn’t an option, not for him. He’d made the mistake of involving the police before and paid dearly for it. His hands weren’t clean, and he knew better than to invite unnecessary scrutiny into his life.
All he could do now was rely on his people, his resources, and his determination. He couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud his judgment. He had to focus on two things: finding you and finding Jihoon.
And when he did, Jihoon would have to answer for everything. For the lies, for the betrayal, and most of all, for putting you in harm’s way.
A phone call shattered the tense silence as Seungcheol sat in the living room of his parents' house. The air was heavy with shared worry and shock, each family member struggling to process the sudden revelation of Jihoon’s betrayal.
Seungcheol’s spine stiffened the moment he heard the voice on the other end of the line. It was unmistakable—Jihoon. The man who had been his closest confidant for ten years had finally revealed himself.
“Choi Seungcheol,” Jihoon’s voice came cold and calculated, carrying a chilling undertone.
Seungcheol sighed deeply, the weight of realization pressing down on him. “So it’s you,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
A low, mocking laugh echoed through the line, and Jihoon’s voice followed, dripping with venom. “Hong Jisoo did a great job moving Y/n. He’s a better player than I expected.”
Seungcheol gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles whitening. “What do you want, Jihoon? What dragged you into this madness?”
Another laugh escaped Jihoon’s lips, sharper and colder this time. “Beg, Choi Seungcheol,” he hissed. “At least suffer for a bit. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Ruining lives and walking away.”
“Stop speaking in riddles!” Seungcheol barked, frustration and desperation mingling in his voice.
But Jihoon’s next words stopped him cold. “You killed my mother that night,” Jihoon spat, his voice trembling with years of suppressed rage. “Do you even remember? Or is it just another ghost buried under the weight of your family’s sins?”
Seungcheol froze, the accusation hitting him like a freight train. “I never killed anyone! Especially not a woman!” he shouted, his mind scrambling to make sense of Jihoon’s claim.
Jihoon let out a bitter laugh, his tone growing harsher. “Oh, maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe it was your father. Honestly, I don’t care anymore. Your entire family is a wreck!”
“Jihoon,” Seungcheol started, trying to piece it together. “What are you talking about? What happened to your mother?”
Jihoon’s voice cracked with raw emotion. “You could’ve saved her, Seungcheol. You were there. You saw her lying in the street after that accident. Instead of helping, you let your driver speed off. You left her—my mother—alone to die at the crossroad near Jongno.”
The memory stirred faintly in Seungcheol’s mind, a shadowy fragment from years ago. A car accident. A desperate night. Could it be true? Had his family been responsible? Was this all Jihoon’s revenge?
Seungcheol swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “Jihoon, if what you’re saying is true, let’s talk about it. Let’s fix this.”
But Jihoon’s response was icy. “Fix it? You can’t fix what’s already broken, Choi Seungcheol. Your family destroyed mine, and now it’s my turn to take everything from you.”
There was a pause on the line, a dreadful silence that made Seungcheol’s heart race.
“Let’s see if your wife survives this,” Jihoon said, his voice eerily calm.
And then, a deafening gunshot rang through the phone.
“Jihoon!” Seungcheol yelled into the receiver, his voice cracking with panic. But the call had already ended, leaving him in a suffocating void of silence and dread.
*
"You promised not to hurt her!" Jisoo shouted, his voice trembling as he held up a gun, his eyes wide with panic. He had just witnessed Jihoon aiming the weapon at you, your unconscious form sprawled on the cold floor. At the last second, Jisoo lunged, shoving Jihoon’s hand away. The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off the far wall, narrowly missing you.
Jihoon snarled in frustration, swinging his arm to shove Jisoo aside. Jisoo stumbled and fell hard onto the floor, the gun now pointed directly at him. Jihoon’s gaze burned with fury.
“This is your fault,” Jihoon hissed, his voice like ice. “You left her phone at Seungcheol’s house. Do you realize how close he came to finding us?”
Jisoo glared up at him, his expression a mixture of anger and betrayal. “This isn’t about her! What you want is Seungcheol! There’s no need to hurt her!”
Jihoon let out a cold, humorless chuckle. “Seungcheol made me lose someone I loved. Isn’t it only fair he loses his? Who told him to have a weakness in the first place?”
“You’re insane, Jihoon,” Jisoo spat, his voice rising with disbelief. “This was never the deal!”
“I make the deal,” Jihoon said with a cruel smirk. “I decide how it plays out.”
Jihoon had pieced everything together when he discovered who had called Seungcheol using your phone that fateful night. It was Hong Jisoo—your old friend and, ironically, your psychiatrist. Jihoon’s curiosity was piqued. Why would an old friend go so far as to threaten his friend's husband?
The answer came quickly: Jisoo was in love with you. He had been ever since you became his patient. Jihoon saw the truth in Jisoo’s eyes—the way he lingered on your name, the way he spoke about you with barely contained bitterness. Jisoo had been waiting patiently, hoping for his chance. But that chance never came. Your family, powerful and calculating, had arranged your marriage to the Choi family. To someone far wealthier, far more influential than Jisoo could ever be.
Jisoo felt betrayed. Everything he’d done for you, all the time he’d spent caring for you, meant nothing in the end. His motives became clear: he wanted to end your marriage at any cost. And when Jihoon offered an alliance, Jisoo jumped at the opportunity, even if it meant working with someone as dangerous as Jihoon.
The final piece of Jihoon’s plan clicked into place when he saw you. The day of your blind date with Seungcheol, Jihoon had been there, driving the car to pick up his boss. He noticed you speaking with someone in sign language, your hands moving fluidly as you signed, “I can sign because I’m deaf.”
It was a fleeting moment, but it struck Jihoon deeply. His mother had been deaf too, and in that instant, he saw the vulnerability Seungcheol had brought into his life. Jihoon began to watch closely, waiting for Seungcheol to fall for you, and when he did, Jihoon knew he had found the Choi family’s Achilles’ heel.
You.
Seungcheol’s love for you had turned you into his greatest weakness. Jihoon’s plan had been carefully orchestrated, each move designed to exploit that vulnerability and make Seungcheol pay for the sins of his family.
And now, standing over Jisoo with a gun in hand, Jihoon felt the culmination of his years of planning. The question was no longer whether Seungcheol would suffer—it was how much.
Jisoo’s hands trembled as he slowly pushed himself off the ground, his gaze locked on Jihoon, who stood menacingly with the gun aimed at him. The weight of betrayal, desperation, and fear swirled in Jisoo’s mind.
“I won’t let you do this,” Jisoo growled, his voice raw with emotion.
Jihoon cocked his head to the side, his smirk unwavering. “You won’t let me? What can you possibly do, Jisoo? You’ve already played your part. It’s over.”
But it wasn’t over—not for Jisoo. In one swift motion, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light. Without hesitation, he lunged at Jihoon with all his strength, his movements driven by pure instinct and fury.
Jihoon’s eyes widened in surprise as Jisoo’s body collided with his. The gun went off, the sound of the shot reverberating through the air, but the bullet missed its mark, hitting the wall instead. Jihoon staggered back, his grip on the gun faltering as Jisoo shoved the knife into his side with brutal force.
A guttural cry of pain tore from Jihoon’s throat as he felt the blade sink into his flesh. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the fabric crimson. Jihoon’s hand instinctively tightened around the gun, his vision blurring from the searing pain.
“You think this will stop me?” Jihoon hissed, his voice strained but laced with venom.
Jisoo didn’t respond, his breathing ragged as he pushed the knife deeper, his resolve unshaken. He could feel Jihoon weakening beneath his grip, but he underestimated just how dangerous Jihoon could be, even in his wounded state.
With a surge of adrenaline, Jihoon raised the gun and fired again, this time hitting Jisoo square in the shoulder. The force of the shot sent Jisoo stumbling backward, his grip on the knife loosening as he fell to the ground.
Both men were now gasping for air, their bodies trembling from the pain and exertion. Blood pooled on the floor between them, the room thick with the metallic scent of violence.
Jihoon clutched his side, his hand slick with blood as he leaned against the wall for support. His gaze flickered to Jisoo, who lay sprawled on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and groaning in agony.
“You really thought you could outsmart me?” Jihoon sneered, though his voice was weaker now, his energy draining rapidly.
Jisoo coughed, his chest heaving as he glared at Jihoon through the haze of pain. “You’re no better than the people you claim to hate,” he spat. “You’ve become the monster you wanted to destroy.”
Jihoon’s expression darkened, his fingers tightening around the gun. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his tone cold. “But at least I’ll have justice for my mother. You? You’re nothing but a coward, Jisoo. Hiding behind your obsession.”
Jisoo’s hand twitched, reaching for the knife still embedded in Jihoon’s side. But before he could grab it, Jihoon raised the gun again, aiming directly at Jisoo’s chest.
“I warned you,” Jihoon said, his voice icy and devoid of emotion. “Stay out of my way.”
The sound of another gunshot echoed through the room. Jisoo’s body went still, his eyes wide in shock before they slowly fluttered shut.
Jihoon let out a ragged, shaky breath, his knees giving way as he collapsed to the floor. His hand instinctively moved to the knife buried in his side, but he didn’t dare pull it out, knowing it would only hasten the flow of blood. Pain shot through him with every shallow breath he took, sharp and unrelenting, as if his body were punishing him for every choice that had led to this moment.
His vision blurred, the room tilting as the strength in his legs failed him completely. He pressed his back against the wall, trying to steady himself, but the cold surface only amplified the chill spreading through his body. Each heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears, a reminder of how quickly his time was slipping away.
As his gaze wandered across the room, it landed briefly on the lifeless form of Jisoo, crumpled a few feet away, his blood staining the floor in dark, viscous pools. The memory of the fight replayed in Jihoon's mind like a broken record—Jisoo’s desperate lunge, the glint of the blade, the deafening crack of the gun.
Jihoon’s breath hitched, his hand pressing harder against his wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The edges of his vision darkened, the world around him losing focus. His chest heaved as he tried to stay conscious, but the weight of his injuries was too much to bear.
The room felt eerily quiet now, the echoes of their struggle replaced by the faint, distant hum of the city beyond these walls. Jihoon tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling as a bitter smile played on his lips.
*
Seungcheol’s heart hammered in his chest as he and his team stormed through the abandoned harbor. The old warehouse loomed ahead, a towering silhouette against the dark sky. Every breath felt heavier as he pushed forward, each step fraught with mounting dread. They had tracked Jihoon’s location down to this forsaken place—now, all he could think of was finding you, ensuring you were still alive.
The sound of his boots pounding against the cracked pavement echoed in the still night air as he reached the heavy doors of the warehouse. With one forceful push, they creaked open, revealing the cavernous interior dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. The air was thick with the smell of rust and dampness, the kind of place that whispered forgotten secrets.
But what greeted him inside was far worse than he’d imagined.
Blood. It was everywhere. Pools of dark crimson staining the cold concrete floor. A wave of nausea threatened to overtake him as his eyes darted across the scene. His team fanned out, but Seungcheol’s gaze was drawn to the lifeless body of Jisoo, sprawled across the floor in an unnatural position. The unmistakable evidence of a gunshot wound on his chest confirmed that he was beyond saving.
Seungcheol’s pulse quickened, a suffocating pressure forming in his chest. He couldn’t stop his legs from carrying him toward the body. His eyes briefly shut as the weight of the situation settled into his bones. Jisoo—dead.
But where were you?
His breath hitched as his gaze swept the warehouse. There was no sign of you. No trace of Jihoon. The blood led into a narrow corridor at the back of the warehouse. His pulse raced, the fear gnawing at him like a festering wound.
“Search the entire place. Don’t leave a single corner unchecked,” Seungcheol ordered, his voice tight with barely controlled panic.
His men scattered, checking every shadow, every room, but still, no sign of you. His heart sank with every passing second. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of their frantic searching.
Seungcheol moved toward the back, following the blood trail. It led to a door cracked slightly open, its edges stained with crimson. Without hesitation, he pushed it open, his eyes scanning the area for any clue, anything that could point him to you.
There were drag marks. Disturbingly faint, but they were there. Leading toward the docks.
His mind screamed at him to hurry. “Get to the docks! Block all exits!” Seungcheol barked. He could barely hear his own words over the rush of blood in his ears, his vision narrowing with each second.
He needed to find you. He would find you. No matter what it took, no matter the cost.
The water lapped softly against the shore, the only sound that seemed to break the tense stillness. Seungcheol stared out at the dark horizon, feeling the weight of the past few hours pressing on him. Was it too late?
“I’ll find you,” he whispered, barely audible to anyone but himself, as he squared his shoulders. “I swear I will.”
*
You ran, your heart pounding in your chest as the cold night air stung your skin. Your feet, bare and scraped from the rough pavement, barely registered the pain as you pushed your body to its limits. You could still hear the haunting memory of Jihoon’s voice in your head, feel the weight of Jisoo’s betrayal in your bones.
They wouldn't come back. They couldn't come back.
The thought of them finding you again, of them dragging you back into their nightmare, was enough to keep you moving even as exhaustion threatened to pull you under. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your throat dry and tight with thirst, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.
And then, just as you were beginning to feel your legs betray you, you saw them—a group of women, dressed in thick wetsuits, their movements confident and assured. They were divers, the kind who harvested abalone, their hands strong from years of working the sea. They noticed you before you could stagger past them, their trained eyes immediately scanning your bloodstained dress and the wild, frantic look in your eyes.
"Young woman? Are you okay?" One of them called out, her voice gentle but concerned.
You lifted a hand, weakly waving in their direction. You could feel your body weakening, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off. The ground beneath you tilted, and your knees nearly gave way. You knew you couldn’t keep running for much longer. Your vision blurred, but you forced the words out.
“I was kidnapped…” Your voice cracked, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The truth hung in the air like a heavy weight. They could see it in your eyes—the terror, the exhaustion, the desperation.
The women exchanged quick glances, scanning your disheveled state, the blood on your dress that stained the night darker still. They didn’t question you. Instead, one of them stepped forward, her tone gentle but firm.
“Come with us,” she said. “You’re safe now.”
You didn’t have the energy to protest. Your legs wobbled beneath you as they carefully supported you, guiding you away from the dangers you’d just escaped.
With each step, you felt yourself slipping closer to unconsciousness. The dim lights of the village shimmered like a distant dream, and you clung to the hope that, maybe, for the first time in what felt like forever, you were finally safe.
*
"What happened that night?" Seungcheol demanded, his voice cold and heavy as he confronted his father. The room was dimly lit, the weight of the topic casting a suffocating shadow over them. The matter at hand was the death of a woman his father’s car had struck 15 years ago—a moment that had come back to haunt them both.
His father took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. "She was a cleaner at our company. But before that, she was a witness to one of our transactions. She confronted the leaders and threatened to report everything to the police unless she got paid off." His tone was calm, detached, as though recounting a mundane business deal.
Seungcheol’s fists clenched. "And?"
"I gave her enough money to raise her children. More than enough. I even found her a job. She was deaf, Seungcheol, and no one was willing to hire someone like that back then."
Seungcheol’s jaw tightened as the pieces fell into place. Jihoon’s mother had been employed as a cleaner for several months before that fateful night. But it didn’t end there.
"She demanded more money," his father continued, voice devoid of remorse. "She wanted more, and I had no better option than to make her disappear."
Seungcheol felt a wave of nausea as his father’s words hit him. He nodded grimly, the memory of that night flashing in his mind. "That’s what I knew. She wanted more money," he muttered, almost to himself. "That’s why I left her that night. I thought she was just another extortionist."
There was silence between them until his father broke it. "And your wife? Has anyone found her?"
Seungcheol shook his head, his heart sinking further into despair. "No. Neither her nor Jihoon." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. The thought of you out there—alive or worse—was unbearable. You were the first person he had ever truly loved, and now you were gone, all because of the vengeance Jihoon had carried for years.
His father frowned, his brows knitting together. "No body was found in the water either?"
Seungcheol exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "No. But there was blood on the edge of the dock."
His father’s eyes darkened. "Do you think it was Jihoon’s?"
Seungcheol hesitated, biting his lip as his gaze met his father’s. "I wish it was. But..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
His father studied him carefully before speaking. "There’s something else, isn’t there?"
Seungcheol’s throat tightened as he admitted quietly, "was it possible? She’s pregnant."
The weight of the revelation hung in the air. His father nodded in understanding, his expression grim. "We’ll send more people tomorrow," he said firmly, rising to his feet. He placed a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder, his grip surprisingly steady. "We’ll find closure, one way or another."
Seungcheol didn’t respond, his thoughts spiraling. He didn’t want closure. He wanted you. And the uncertainty of whether you were alive or gone was a torment he wasn’t sure he could endure.
One week.
Two weeks.
A month.
Three months.
Time crawled by as the search for you carried on, only to come to a devastating halt. After three agonizing months, Seungcheol made the painful decision to officially call off the large-scale search. The slowdown in the business was affecting countless lives, and he couldn’t justify sacrificing so many for his own personal grief. Yet, in his heart, the search never truly stopped.
Every weekend, Seungcheol would find himself wandering from one village to another near the abandoned harbor, relentless in his quest. He’d strike up conversations with locals and ask questions.
“Do you have a picture of her?” a villager would ask.
Seungcheol would pull out the photograph, his fingers trembling slightly as he handed it over. You always looked beautiful to him, flawless in every way. Even now, with the ache of your absence, he could only see perfection in your face. The day he’d first laid eyes on you, he’d been captivated, unable to believe someone like you could exist.
The truth of your deafness, which your parents finally revealed to him on the night you disappeared, hadn’t changed his view of you at all. If anything, it made him ache more for what you had endured.
“It was my idea to hide the fact she is deaf! Please forgive me, Son-in-law,” your mother had pleaded, her voice cracking with guilt.
Seungcheol had stared at her, his chest tightening with anger and disbelief. “Tell me one reason why her deafness was a secret.”
“Because a woman’s obligation as a wife is to listen,” she replied, the words cutting through him like a knife.
His hands clenched at his sides. He couldn’t imagine the kind of torment you must have endured growing up in a household like this. The burden of expectations, the cruel standard you were forced to meet—it was suffocating to even think about.
Your mother continued, as if the words excused her actions. “We were relieved when we found out she was pregnant. At least she fulfilled one of her obligations. She lost so much after the accident...”
“Stop,” Seungcheol snapped, his voice laced with restrained fury. “Stop speaking about her in the past tense. She’s still with us. She has to be.”
But even as he confronted your mother’s callousness, doubt and fear gnawed at his heart. Every village he visited, every person he spoke to, left him with nothing but disappointment.
“We’ve never seen anyone like her,” a villager said, shaking their head. “She’s so beautiful. Is she your wife?”
Seungcheol nodded, a faint, hollow smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, she’s my wife.”
That evening, as he drove back home, the weight of his failure pressed down on him. The house, once filled with your warmth, now felt unbearably quiet. The memories of you lingered in every corner—the way you smiled, the way you turned your head to face him whenever he spoke, the way you stared at his lips, a habit he’d never fully understood until now.
It was during those lonely nights that everything started to make sense.
Your habit of always needing to face him when he spoke. The lack of phone calls. The way you’d tilt your head and say, “What?” if he wasn’t looking directly at you.
You couldn’t hear him.
And he’d never realized it.
He thought back to all the times Hong Jisoo had tried to hint at the truth through his cryptic threats. Jisoo had known, just as your parents had, that you had been forced into the marriage. Seungcheol clenched his fists, anger and regret churning inside him.
He felt like he had failed you—not just as a husband but as the man who should have protected you from all of this.
And now, you were gone.
His phone rang in the dead of night, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. Seungcheol groggily reached for it, his heart sinking at the thought of more bad news. But when he saw the caller ID, his exhaustion was replaced by curiosity.
Seo Myungho.
Your former assistant had never called him again after that time, let alone at this hour.
Seungcheol answered, his voice hoarse, “Hello?”
“I found her.”
Three words. Just three words. But they hit him like a lightning bolt, sending him bolting upright from the bed.
“What did you say?” he asked, his voice sharp and desperate now, as if he couldn’t trust what he’d just heard.
“I found her, sir.”
*
Myungho’s search for you had been relentless, driven by a determination he couldn’t explain but refused to ignore. He carefully tracked your weeks, estimating your birthing date. His method was simple but meticulous—he regularly visited hospitals and clinics in the areas surrounding the harbor where you had last been seen. It was a grueling process, but last week, his persistence paid off.
He spotted you stepping out of a small clinic, your rounded stomach unmistakable. Myungho’s heart skipped a beat. If his calculations were correct, you were due any day now.
Discreetly, he followed you back to a modest village nestled along the coastline. There, he discovered an elderly woman had taken you under her wing, providing you with shelter and care during these past months. Myungho watched from a distance, observing how you seemed to have created a life for yourself despite everything. He saw you teaching local children sign language, your hands moving gracefully as the kids mirrored your gestures with bright, eager faces.
“What are you doing here, young man?” A gruff voice startled him one afternoon. He turned to see an elderly man approaching, his gaze sharp but curious. “You’re not from around here. Are you from the city?”
Caught off guard, Myungho scrambled for a believable response. “Uh, yes. I’m here looking for a great restaurant,” he said quickly. “The kind that serves abalone.”
The old man’s face brightened. “Well, you’re in luck! I’ve got the best abalone in the area. Come on, come on, I’ll serve you myself!”
With little choice but to follow, Myungho was soon seated at a modest table in the man’s small home. A steaming plate of abalone was placed in front of him, the rich aroma filling the air.
As the man chatted, he grew more animated. “You know, there was a big fuss a few months ago. A young woman came here—a deaf woman, staying at Mrs. Jeong’s house. They say she ran away from her husband. Nobody knows what really happened to her, though.”
“Enough, old man!” a woman’s voice scolded. Myungho turned to see the man’s wife slapping his arm lightly. “It’s supposed to be a secret!”
“I was just talking,” the old man grumbled, rubbing his arm.
The woman sighed and turned to Myungho apologetically. “Mrs. Jeong is a respected figure in this village, and she asked us to keep the young woman’s presence a secret. I hope you understand.”
Myungho nodded, hiding his relief. Mrs. Jeong. Now he had a name—a connection to you. He had finally found the key to bringing you back.
When the due was coming, the pain from the contractions gripped your body like a vice, leaving you breathless. The small clinic in the village had tried their best, but it quickly became clear they couldn’t handle the complications of your delivery. You needed a cesarean, and time was running out.
As you sat hunched on the clinic bench, clutching your swollen belly, Myungho appeared. His presence was unexpected, his expression calm but urgent.
“I’ll take her to the hospital,” he said firmly, addressing the worried midwife.
The midwife looked at you, hesitant. “It’s a long drive, and the baby could come anytime,” she said.
Myungho met your gaze. “We don’t have a choice. Let’s go.”
You blinked, stunned by his sudden appearance. “Why are you here?” you asked weakly, the pain stealing the strength from your voice.
He didn’t answer immediately, guiding you carefully toward his car. His hands were steady but firm as he helped you into the passenger seat. “I’ll explain later,” he said, closing the door and rushing to the driver’s side.
The contractions were coming faster now, each one making you grip the seat harder. The car sped down the uneven village roads, Myungho’s hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
“Breathe,” he said, glancing at you. “Focus on breathing.”
You tried, but the pain was overwhelming. Sweat dripped down your temple, and your vision blurred. Between the waves of agony, your mind buzzed with questions. How did he find you? Why was he here?
The ride felt like an eternity, each second stretching into minutes. Myungho’s jaw was tight, his focus unwavering as he navigated the winding roads.
When the lights of the hospital came into view, a weak sigh of relief escaped your lips. Myungho pulled up to the emergency entrance and jumped out, shouting for help.
Within moments, a team of medical staff surrounded you, gently lifting you onto a gurney. Myungho stayed by your side until the doors to the operating room loomed ahead.
You reached out, grabbing his sleeve. “Why are you here?” you asked again, your voice trembling.
He paused, looking down at you with an intensity that made your heart ache. “Because someone had to protect you,” he said softly. “And I owe it to him.”
Before you could process his words, the doors swung open, and you were whisked away. As the bright lights of the operating room blurred your vision, one thought lingered in your mind—was he talking about Seungcheol?
*
Seungcheol stormed into the administration ward, his breath ragged as his frantic eyes scanned the room. When he spotted Myungho standing near the counter, clutching a pen and a clipboard, he closed the distance in long, hurried strides.
Without hesitation, Seungcheol grabbed Myungho’s arm, his grip firm but trembling. His voice was raw, almost pleading. “Tell me she’s alive.”
Myungho looked up, startled but composed. “Please calm down, sir,” he said, his tone steady yet empathetic. “I assure you, she’s fine. She’s in the operating room right now.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widened in shock, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The operating room? Why? What’s wrong?!” His chest tightened with dread as scenarios raced through his mind.
Setting the clipboard aside, Myungho placed a reassuring hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder and guided him toward the waiting lounge outside the operating room. “Today is her due date,” Myungho explained as they walked. “She’s giving birth to your child.”
The words hit Seungcheol like a tidal wave, rendering him momentarily speechless. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on Myungho as if needing confirmation that he’d heard correctly. “My… child?” he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief and a glimmer of hope.
Myungho nodded firmly. “Yes, sir. She went into labor earlier, but the clinic in the village couldn’t handle the delivery. It’s a cesarean operation. That’s why I brought her here.”
Seungcheol’s shoulders sagged, a mix of relief and anxiety washing over him. He pressed a hand over his mouth, his thoughts racing between fear for your safety and the realization that he was about to become a father.
“I need to see her,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to maintain his composure.
Myungho shook his head gently. “The doctors are doing everything they can. All we can do now is wait.”
As they reached the waiting lounge, Seungcheol sank into one of the chairs, his head falling into his hands. The sterile smell of the hospital and the faint hum of medical equipment filled the silence around him.
“She’s strong,” Myungho said softly, standing beside him. “She’s been through so much, but she’s strong. And she’s going to make it through this.”
Seungcheol nodded, his jaw clenched as he fought back tears. “I should’ve found her sooner,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “I should’ve protected her.”
“You’re here now,” Myungho said firmly. “And that’s what matters.”
Time crawled by with agonizing slowness as Seungcheol remained in the waiting lounge. His gaze never left the double doors leading to the operating room. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on his anxious expression, emphasizing the deep lines of worry etched into his face.
He tapped his foot impatiently, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Every passing second felt like an eternity, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on his chest. Myungho sat a few seats away, silent but observant, giving Seungcheol space while staying close in case he was needed.
Finally, the double doors swung open. A doctor stepped out, his surgical mask still in place, his face partially obscured but his eyes calm and professional. Seungcheol shot to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribcage.
“Doctor, how is she? Is she okay? And the baby?” he asked in a rush, his voice trembling.
The doctor gave a small, reassuring nod. “Both the mother and baby are safe. The operation went smoothly.”
Relief flooded through Seungcheol like a wave, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. He exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to his chest as if to steady his racing heart. “Thank God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“The mother is resting now, but you can see her shortly,” the doctor continued. “The baby has been moved to the nursery for observation, but everything looks good.”
“Thank you,” Seungcheol said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out and shook the doctor’s hand firmly, his gratitude evident in his grip.
Moments later, a nurse led Seungcheol to your recovery room. The sight of you lying in the hospital bed, pale but peaceful, made his chest tighten. He approached cautiously, his footsteps soft as if afraid to disturb you.
You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. When your gaze met his, a flicker of recognition crossed your tired face. “Seungcheol…” you murmured, your voice weak but laced with emotion.
He sank into the chair beside your bed, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry for everything. For not finding you sooner, for everything you’ve been through…”
You managed a faint smile, your fingers curling weakly around his. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re here now.”
Seungcheol leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I’m never leaving again,” he vowed.
The nurse returned moments later, wheeling in a small bassinet. Inside, a tiny bundle of life stirred, letting out a soft cry. Seungcheol stood, his breath catching as he saw the baby for the first time. The nurse carefully lifted the infant and placed them in your arms.
You both gazed down at the child, a mix of emotions reflected in your tired but radiant faces. “It’s a boy,” the nurse said with a smile before quietly stepping out to give you privacy.
Seungcheol leaned over, his hand resting gently on the baby’s tiny head. “He’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.
For the first time in months, the weight on Seungcheol’s heart lifted as he held onto the two people who now meant everything to him.
*
"We don't have to talk about anything yet. Your recovery is my priority now," Seungcheol said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He gently tucked the blanket around you, his touch as careful as if you might break. Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your temple, the warmth of his lips lingering like a silent promise.
"Choi Doahn," you whispered, the name slipping from your lips as you cradled your baby for the first time. It was barely audible, but Seungcheol caught it. The way you spoke the name—so full of love and meaning—etched itself into his heart. From that moment, he began calling the baby Doahn.
Doahn now rested peacefully in the small crib beside your bed, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with his soft breaths. Seungcheol couldn’t take his eyes off him. The baby was so small, so delicate, yet he already held a monumental presence in Seungcheol’s life. He crouched beside the crib, his hand hovering over Doahn as if afraid his touch might disturb the baby's perfect tranquility.
Seungcheol’s heart ached with a bittersweet mix of love and regret. How much of this had he missed? The small kicks, the first signs of life, the moments you must have longed to share with him during your pregnancy—he hadn’t been there. He had failed to protect you both when you needed him most.
When the nurse handed Doahn to him for skin-to-skin bonding, Seungcheol felt his breath hitch. The baby stirred slightly in his arms, a soft murmur escaping his tiny lips before settling again. As Seungcheol cradled him against his chest, the warmth of Doahn’s fragile body against his skin unleashed a flood of emotions he had held back for too long.
Tears streamed down Seungcheol’s face, unbidden and unstoppable. They weren’t just tears of relief, but also of guilt, sorrow, and overwhelming love. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Doahn’s head, his lips trembling as he whispered, "I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. But I’m here now, and I’ll never leave you or your mother again. I promise, Doahn."
You watched from the bed, your heart full despite your exhaustion. Seeing Seungcheol with your baby, the tenderness in his touch, and the raw emotion on his face reminded you of the man you fell in love with—the man who always cared so deeply, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.
Seungcheol turned to you, his tear-streaked face breaking into a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Thank you for giving me him… for fighting through everything. I don’t deserve either of you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you both feel loved and safe."
In that quiet room, the three of you found a moment of peace amidst the chaos that had brought you here. It wasn’t the end of the journey, but it was the beginning of a new one—a chance to heal, to grow, and to finally be a family.
It was late afternoon when Seungcheol finally broached the subject. The soft glow of the sun streamed through the hospital room window, casting a warm light over you as you rested in bed. Doahn was asleep in the crib beside you, his small form wrapped in a blanket. Seungcheol sat on the edge of your bed, his hands clasped tightly together, as though gathering the courage to speak.
"I think we need to talk now," he said gently, his voice low so as not to wake the baby. He searched your face, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotions.
You nodded, your fingers fidgeting with the blanket draped over your lap. You had been waiting for this moment, dreading it but knowing it was inevitable. "Where do we start?" you asked softly, your voice carrying both hesitation and resolve.
Seungcheol took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I want to start with an apology," he said, his tone steady but thick with emotion. "I failed you, love. I should’ve protected you, been there for you when you needed me most. Instead, you had to face all of this alone." His voice cracked slightly, and he paused, looking down at his hands. "I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. And I’m sorry for not realizing sooner… about your hearing. I should’ve known."
You swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "It wasn’t your fault," you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "I kept it a secret because I was scared. My parents…" You hesitated, the memories of their harsh words and expectations still painful. "They told me I wouldn’t be good enough for anyone if people knew. I didn’t want to burden you with it."
Seungcheol’s heart clenched at your words. "Y/n, you’re not a burden. You never were, and you never will be. I hate that they made you feel that way." He reached out, his hand covering yours. "You’re perfect to me, just the way you are."
Tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze. "I was so scared, Seungcheol," you admitted, your voice trembling. "When Jihoon took me, when I was alone in that village… I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d given up on me."
"I never gave up," Seungcheol said firmly, his grip on your hand tightening. "Not for a second. I searched for you every day. Even when the official search ended, I couldn’t stop. I knew you were out there, and I had to find you."
You nodded, the sincerity in his words soothing some of the pain you had carried. "I know now," you said softly. "And I’m grateful. For everything you’ve done for me and for Doahn."
Seungcheol’s eyes softened as he looked at you. "We’ve both been through so much," he said. "But I want us to move forward together. As a family. No more secrets, no more fear. Just us, starting fresh."
Seungcheol had been watching you with quiet anticipation, his gaze filled with patience and love. You took a deep breath, meeting his eyes with a resolve you hadn’t felt in years.
"If.." you began, your voice steady but laced with emotion. "If we’re going to move forward, I need you to know there are things I can’t compromise on anymore."
Seungcheol’s brows furrowed slightly, his concern evident, but he nodded. "I’m listening," he said softly, leaning closer.
You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. "I want my freedom," you said firmly, your voice carrying a weight that left no room for doubt. "I want to be free from my parents’ control. They’ve dictated so much of my life—how I should live, how I should act, even who I should marry. I can’t go back to that."
Seungcheol nodded slowly, his expression serious. "You won’t have to," he assured you. "I’ll make sure they understand that you’re your own person now. Whatever it takes, I’ll stand by you."
Tears pricked at your eyes, but you pressed on. "And also...," you said, your voice faltering for a moment. "I… I want to hear. I want to try to get my hearing back."
Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You mean… surgery?"
You nodded, swallowing hard. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while," you admitted. "Living in that village, teaching sign language to those kids… it made me realize how much I’ve missed out on. But more than that…" You paused, your voice breaking as tears rolled down your cheeks. "I want to hear you, Seungcheol. And I want to hear Doahn."
The raw emotion in your voice made Seungcheol’s chest tighten. He reached out, taking your hands in his. "Love," he said softly, his voice steady and full of warmth, "if that’s what you want, then we’ll make it happen. Whatever the cost, whatever the process, I’ll be with you every step of the way."
You let out a shaky breath, relief washing over you at his unwavering support. "Thank you," you whispered, your fingers clutching his as though he was your lifeline.
Seungcheol smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You don’t have to thank me," he said. "This is your life, your choice. And I’ll do everything in my power to help you live it the way you want."
In that moment, you felt a surge of hope—hope for a future where you could finally take control of your own life, where you could experience the world in ways you’d only dreamed of. And with Seungcheol by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face it alone.
*
Months passed, and the promise of a new beginning grew stronger with each passing day. With Seungcheol’s unwavering support, you underwent the delicate surgery to restore your hearing—a decision that filled you with equal parts hope and fear. The process wasn’t easy; it was marked by long days of recovery, uncertainty, and moments of self-doubt. Yet, every time you felt like faltering, Seungcheol was there, holding your hand, his quiet reassurance anchoring you to the dream of what could be.
When the moment finally came, when you heard Doahn’s soft, melodic coos for the very first time and Seungcheol’s deep, steady voice calling your name, it was as if the world had burst into vibrant color. A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, tears spilling down your cheeks as you clutched Doahn close to your chest, his tiny hands gripping your shirt.
"He sounds… perfect," you whispered, your voice trembling with wonder, every syllable carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.
Seungcheol knelt beside you, his gaze filled with warmth and relief. Resting his hand gently on your shoulder, he whispered, "Just like his mother." His voice, rich and tender, was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard.
With your hearing restored, the world transformed into a symphony of wonders. Every sound was a discovery—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore, the laughter of children playing. Even the hum of the city streets, once distant and imagined, felt alive and vibrant. But nothing compared to the sound of Seungcheol’s laughter. The way his voice softened when he spoke your name made your heart swell, reminding you of how far you’d come together.
Seungcheol honored his promise to give you the freedom you craved. The chains of old expectations were broken, and you stepped into a new chapter of your life with a renewed sense of purpose. You found joy in teaching sign language, helping others rediscover their voices, and advocating for those who had been silenced by circumstance. Doahn grew up surrounded by unconditional love and support, his first words—soft and innocent—brought tears to everyone’s eyes, especially Seungcheol’s.
Though the scars of your past lingered, they no longer defined you. Instead, they became a testament to your resilience. Seungcheol, too, carried the weight of his guilt but turned it into strength. He made it his mission to make up for lost time, pouring his love into every moment he shared with you and Doahn.
One quiet evening, the three of you sat by the ocean, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of gold and amber. Doahn toddled between you and Seungcheol, his giggles echoing like music against the gentle waves. You leaned into Seungcheol, resting your head on his shoulder as a soft sigh escaped your lips.
"This is freedom," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with certainty and peace.
Seungcheol turned to you, his lips brushing your temple in a kiss as tender as his words. "And it’s just the beginning," he replied, his voice brimming with quiet determination and love.
In that moment, you knew that despite everything—the pain, the struggles, the loss—you had finally found your place in the world. A place where love, freedom, and hope could coexist, and where the future stretched out before you like the endless horizon.
*
The moon was about to cast its pale light on the quiet dock as you dragged Jihoon's limp, injured body toward the water. His breathing was shallow, labored, and each step you took felt heavier than the last. Blood seeped through his torn shirt, staining your hands as you struggled to pull him closer to the edge. He groaned, a faint sound of resistance, his body twitching in pain as he fought to stay conscious.
"Stop..." Jihoon rasped, his voice weak but filled with defiance. His head lolled to the side, his eyes flickering open to meet yours.
You crouched beside him, your breath coming in shallow pants. For a moment, you simply stared at him, the man whose vengeance had cost you so much. Despite his condition, Jihoon’s gaze burned with stubborn determination.
But you didn’t speak. Instead, you raised your hands, signing slowly and deliberately so he could follow your words.
“눈에는 눈, 이는 이로는 세상은 눈먼 자들로 가득 찰 것이다.” (An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.)
Jihoon’s brows furrowed as he struggled to focus on your hands, on the message you were conveying. His lips twitched, forming the faintest shadow of a bitter smile.
“Do you think…” he coughed, blood specking his lips, “… that this will change anything?”
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you signed again, your hands moving with precision, your expression unwavering.
“복수는 또 다른 상처를 남길 뿐이다. 넌 네 복수의 무게를 견딜 수 있겠어?” (Revenge only leaves another wound. Can you bear the weight of your vengeance?)
Jihoon’s head sank back, his strength waning as he closed his eyes. You could see the conflict in him—the doubt creeping into the cracks of his resolve. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and for a moment, silence enveloped the dock, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the wood.
“You… don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t just revenge… It was justice.”
You shook your head, your hands signing one final phrase, your movements deliberate and steady.
“정의는 희생으로부터 나와야 한다, 증오가 아니라.” (Justice must come from sacrifice, not hatred.)
Jihoon’s eyes opened, tears brimming at the corners as he gazed at you, his face a mixture of pain and regret. The weight of your words—or perhaps the truth in them—seemed to settle on him like a crushing tide.
You stared down at him, your heart pounding. For a fleeting moment, your resolve wavered. Memories of the good times—of his laughter, his loyalty—flashed through your mind. But those moments were gone, drowned beneath the weight of his betrayal.
“Goodbye, Jihoon,” you signed slowly, the finality in your movements echoing in the air between you.
Then, with a steady breath, you placed your hands on his shoulders and shoved.
Jihoon’s body slid across the wooden planks, his weak protests lost to the flow. The splash as he hit the water shattered the stillness, ripples spreading out in every direction.
You stood at the edge, watching as he sank beneath the surface. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the water settling, the ripples fading into stillness once more.
Your hands curled into fists at your sides as you turned away, the weight of your actions sinking in. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.
The dock felt endless as you walked away, the stars overhead offering no solace. Whether Jihoon would rise from the water or disappear into its depths was no longer your concern.
This was the end of the path you had both walked together—and the beginning of a new one, without him.
Summary: Mingyu was preparing for a divorce when he began to sense that something was wrong with his wife.
Mingyu hadn’t been home since yesterday—or maybe since the day before that. He stopped counting after the fight, the kind that didn’t end with slammed doors but with silence, thickening the wall that had been building between you for over a year. He chose to stay in his humble studio, surrounded by paintings never meant for the world—only for him to face. Each canvas stared back in accusation, as if every unfinished stroke was cursing him.
You didn’t call—you never did, and he told himself it was because you had stopped caring. You chose that, and Mingyu found it unbearably hurtful. Sometimes, when his gaze lingered on the band wrapped around his finger, he thought of you—the version of you who loved him fiercely, who would have done anything for him. And when you stopped doing that, when you stopped caring, something in him made a quiet decision: he needed to protect himself.
Kim Mingyu was an aspiring painter when he met you. You were radiant the moment you walked into the meeting room, introducing yourself as the curator of the gallery where his work would be displayed. When he heard your name, recognition struck immediately—he knew you were one of them.
And yes. You were the daughter of the former prime minister.
His career flourished with your help. He had always believed his work would reach its peak someday—and it did. His pieces became widely known, his name circulating through galleries across the world, until Kim Mingyu was no longer just an aspiring painter, but one of the most sought-after artists globally.
“This is An Angel Who Couldn’t Paint.”
He said it the way he introduced all his recent works, calm and practiced. The angel on the canvas was adored by everyone—soft wings, gentle light—yet her expression was unmistakably sad.
You stood beside him as the gallery emptied. Footsteps faded, lights dimmed, until there was no one left but the two of you, both too nervous to be the first to leave. Tomorrow was a big day.
“Why couldn’t it paint?” you asked, turning toward him.
He looked at you then, smiling softly.
“Her family didn’t let her.”
Mingyu hadn’t expected to win your heart that night. Yet when you looked at him—really looked at him—it felt like a confession made without words. Your gaze carried an offering, quiet and devastating, as if you were placing your heart in his hands along with your soul, your bones, everything that made you whole.
And yet, here he was—sitting on the couch with the curtains drawn open, staring into the night with a glass of whiskey in his hand. There was no you here, and lately, there had been no you in his life at all.
The man he was five years ago wouldn’t have believed this version of himself if someone had told him: the woman you think you love the most will change. And so will you.
On the table lay a fresh print of the divorce papers, waiting to be signed. Finally. His lawyer had notified him countless times—about the plan to divorce you, about how it had been inevitable since the first fight a year ago. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had been too naive to understand that the two of you had lost each other long before this moment.
And there was no reason left to stay.
Even your family—your powerful, conglomerate family—couldn’t be the reason he stayed. He was adored there, praised for his easy charm, his manners. But was any of it genuine? Honestly, he no longer knew.
He had witnessed the way your brother-in-law was spoken about behind closed doors, criticized for being too absorbed in his own law firm, for refusing to fold himself into the family company. And Mingyu couldn’t forget that one night either—the way your brother’s wife had broken down during a family gathering, crying quietly because five years of marriage had passed and she still hadn’t conceived.
Three years of marriage—to an artist. No children. Would your parents still treat him the same?
*
“Is she with you? We couldn’t find her.”
It was late when Mingyu received the call from your parents. He sighed as he pulled on his shirt and coat, grabbing his keys before heading toward their house.
“We found out you two were fighting,” your mother said gently. “She came here a week ago. Was it that bad?”
Her voice was soft, but Mingyu could hear the worry beneath it.
“I’ll be there, Mother,” he replied, already driving away from his studio.
There were only a few places you might go at this hour to clear your mind. He had lived through this before. When you weren’t in bed, when the house felt too quiet, he would find you somewhere close, in the garden, or walking through the neighborhood under the dim streetlights.
“It’s dangerous,” he had told you once, rushing out of the house after realizing you were gone—only to find you returning, an ice cream melting slowly in your hand.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Mingyu had sighed then, the tension draining from his shoulders.
“Wake me up, love,” he’d said softly. “I’ll walk with you.”
Mingyu immediately typed out the places where your parents’ people might find you. He drove carefully, his mind running through scenarios—what would happen once he found you, what he would say to your parents afterward.
He sighed again, for what felt like the hundredth time.
Your parents had spoiled you too much.
Mingyu had never been the type to celebrate every moment extravagantly—if at all. He expressed his gratitude, acknowledged the milestone, and kept moving forward.
Your family, however, lived by a different tradition: everything was celebrated, and always with excess.
Your engagement was meant to be intimate. Instead, your parents insisted on renting out a hotel ballroom, inviting nearly everyone they knew—most of whom Mingyu didn’t—and turning the day into a spectacle.
The wedding was no different. Whatever imagination he had left of a small ceremony—one with only the closest people present—disappeared the moment your parents took over the planning. A grand venue. An expensive dress. Hundreds of invitations, while his side amounted to barely ten.
They loved you. And they loved spoiling you.
He tried calling your phone as he drove toward the park near your parents’ house—the one you used to run to as a child whenever your parents fought or your siblings became too much. You didn’t answer. Not once.
Mingyu parked the car and immediately scanned the area, his steps quick and restless as he searched the park. He called your name a few times, voice cutting through the night, but there was no sign of you—only a group of teenagers smoking near the benches. When he asked if they had seen a woman walking alone, they shook their heads, irritation clear in their faces.
He called your parents’ security team next. They hadn’t found you near the lake either—the place you had mentioned before, half in passing.
“Check the gazebos too,” he told them. They moved at once.
He started running then. He wasn’t sure why—whether it was the need to find you quickly so he could take you back to your parents, or simply to end the search and the fear gnawing at his chest.
He exhaled sharply when he spotted a familiar figure walking ahead. His pace slowed without thinking, steps cautious now as he drew closer.
“Ji Y/n…”
As if summoned, you turned your head at the sound of your name.
“Kim Mingyu..”
“Why are you here at this hour?” Mingyu asked, breath still uneven from the run.
You didn’t answer right away. Your gaze drifted past him, circling the trees, the dim lamps, the path beneath your feet—until something in your expression shifted, like recognition arriving late.
“I was just out for air.”
Mingyu swallowed. “Your parents called me because they couldn’t find you. I thought we were done talking about this—”
He stopped himself too late, only then realizing the edge in his voice.
“Don’t yell at me.”
The words were quiet, but they landed heavy.
Mingyu exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not,” he said, softer now. “Let’s go home.”
He reached out, fingers closing around your wrist. You looked down at his hand. Then back up at him.
“Which home?”
He froze.
For a moment, the park seemed too quiet—no wind, no footsteps, no distant traffic. Mingyu loosened his grip and turned to face you fully.
“Our home.” he said.
The two of you walked toward his car in silence. Mingyu moved a few steps ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, mind already elsewhere. It wasn’t until he reached the door and turned back that he realized—
You were wearing nothing but a thin sleeping dress and with no shoes. Bare feet touching the cold pavement.
He cursed under his breath.
Mingyu shrugged off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders, movements careful now, almost hesitant. “Where are your shoes?” he asked, already sighing as he opened the passenger door for you.
You stared at the ground, brows knitting together as if the answer were buried somewhere just out of reach.
“I don’t know,” you said quietly.
As Mingyu got into the driver’s seat, his eyes drifted back to you. Only then did he notice the bruises and dirt smudged along your feet, as if you had been running barefoot long before he found you. His jaw tightened.
He called your mother and spoke quietly.
“She’s with me now. She’s safe.”
A pause.
“I’m taking her home.”
Another pause, heavier this time.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
You leaned back against the seat, exhaustion overtaking you as your eyelids fluttered shut. Sleep claimed you quickly, as if your body had been waiting for permission to rest.
Mingyu sighed and started the engine, guiding the car back toward the house. A place the two of you used to call home.
*
Mingyu entered your home office after months of doing nothing more than walking past it. It was one of the rooms you treasured most—a space you had insisted on keeping for yourself when your father was choosing the house you would live in after the wedding.
You were already asleep in the bedroom after tonight’s walk. He had carried you in from the car, careful and slow, yet you hadn’t stirred at all. It surprised him. You had always been a light sleeper.
He stood by the bed for a moment before leaving, watching you breathe, watching the familiar rise and fall of your chest. You were still you when you slept—soft, unchanged, untouched by the distance that had grown between you.
But when you were awake? He realized with a quiet ache, he had started to hate that version of you.
He closed the door of your office and stepped inside with a carefulness only a cautious husband could muster. Once, he had never knocked. He would barge in without warning, a photograph of a new painting already in his hand, words tumbling over one another as he spilled every concept crowding his mind.
“It must be nice to be a genius,” you would say, leaning back in your chair, eyes warm as you smiled at him.
“I’m far from a genius, love,” Mingyu would reply shyly, brushing off the compliment even though you both knew he enjoyed it.
“I’m just good.”
You would laugh then—soft and unguarded. It had been a beautiful, gentle love. One he realized how much he missed.
He sat in your chair, its familiarity unsettling, and wondered how busy you had been lately. You barely stayed in the house anymore, choosing instead to live with your parents. He told himself it was practical—the gallery was closer to their place. A project, maybe. An exhibition.
He used to witness the way your eyes lit up when you worked, the passion that consumed you so completely.
Since when had he started to hate your work?
It was your work that had once lifted his name, carried him into rooms he never imagined entering. But now—now it felt like nothing more than the current pulling the two of you farther apart.
The next morning, Mingyu sat by the counter after a night without a wink of sleep. He had meant to rest on the couch, but his body never followed his intentions. His thoughts wandered everywhere except toward rest.
A cup of coffee sat untouched beside him. Freshly brewed. Something he used to miss every time he stayed away. Coffee in his own house used to feel grounding. Familiar. Safe.
He heard the bedroom door open. He didn’t turn. He already knew the questions that would usually follow—why he drove you home, why he was here, why he crossed a boundary you both had drawn after the last fight. He knew you hated this house now. Hated the two of you existing in the same space.
However, none of that came.
Instead, you stepped into the kitchen in the same thin sleeping dress from the night before. Bare feet against the floor. Your voice came soft, almost fragile.
“Morning.”
Before he could react, your hand rested briefly on his shoulder. Your lips brushed his—light, absent, almost instinctive. A peck that lasted less than a second. Months.
That was all it took to freeze him in place.
You moved away as if nothing had happened, opening the fridge, taking out fruits, eggs. Normal. Too normal. As if this was still your routine. As if you hadn’t shattered him just now.
“You want some?” you asked, casual. “I can make you a sandwich too.”
You went on tiptoe to reach a cup.
The sound of a sharp wince—and glass crashing to the floor—snapped Mingyu back into motion.
“What’s wrong?” He was already beside you, hands hovering, instinct kicking in. “Careful. Don’t move—there’s glass.”
You looked at him for a moment, then down.
Your feet.
Bruised. Scraped. Dirt still clinging faintly to your skin—marks he had cleaned in silence while you slept.
“I didn’t realize it,” you murmured. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Sit down,” Mingyu said instead, steady but firm. “I’ll make your breakfast.”
You didn’t argue. You walked away while he cleaned the broken glass, movements practiced, controlled—like he hadn’t spent the entire night watching you breathe, wondering when everything had gone so wrong.
He placed the plate in front of you not long after. Boiled eggs. Fruits. Toast.
Your favorite.
He watched you quietly, already planning to knock some sense into you later—once you’d eaten, once the color returned to your face, once he was sure you were really here.
Mingyu waited. Not because he needed time, but because he was afraid that if he spoke too soon, the morning would crack completely. The kettle clicked softly on the counter. Outside, the day went on like nothing inside this house had shifted its axis.
“You were out last night,” he said slowly, as if pacing the truth would make it easier to swallow. “Where were you?”
You sat across from him, legs tucked under the chair, toast held loosely between your fingers. You took another bite, chewing carefully, eyes unfocused—not avoiding him, but not looking either.
“I was home,” you said. “Waiting for you.”
The words landed wrong. Too neat. Too certain.
Mingyu felt his chest tighten. “You weren’t.”
You paused. Just for a second. Then you tilted your head, confused, almost amused by his contradiction. “I fell asleep,” you replied. “I remember sitting there. I must’ve dozed off.”
He searched your face for cracks. For hesitation. For guilt. There was none.
That was when he noticed it—the darkness beneath your eyes, heavier than fatigue alone. Your skin looked different too. Not sick, not pale. Just… muted. Like someone had turned the saturation down little by little and no one had noticed until now.
“Were you high last night?” he asked quietly, the question tasting wrong in his mouth.
Your brows pulled together immediately. “What?”
He didn’t explain. His mind had already run ahead of him, replaying the night before—your office, untouched. The drawers he opened slowly, the shelves he scanned twice. No medication. No substances. No signs of panic or recklessness. If you had taken something, you had hidden it well. Or it wasn’t there at all.
“You were at your parents’ house,” he said instead, voice firmer now. “For a week. They called me. They couldn’t find you.”
You blinked.
Once.
Then again.
“Really?” you said, a small laugh slipping out. “I was in my office. I’ve been finishing my work.”
There it was again. That certainty. That calm insistence.
Mingyu stared at you like he was looking at a stranger wearing your face. The way you spoke wasn’t defensive. You weren’t lying the way people usually lied—not rushed, not evasive. You believed in yourself.
That frightened him more than any argument you’d ever had.
His eyes drifted down unconsciously. To your hands. To the faint tremor you didn’t seem to notice. To your bare feet resting against the cold floor, still marked faintly with bruises that hadn’t been there before last night.
He followed his own gaze down the hallway, back to your office. On your desk—exactly where he had found it last night—lay the resignation letter.
Your resignation.
You were going to leave the job you loved most. The one that kept you alive when everything else felt heavy. And he didn’t know why.
The question had been drilling into his head since last night, since he folded that paper with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Why? It followed him to the couch, to the kitchen, to the sound of you saying morning like nothing was wrong.
Why would you give this up?
Was it for him?
For us?
The kitchen suddenly felt too familiar this morning—like a version of home Mingyu hadn’t visited in a long time.
You said it casually. Too casually during breakfast. “Maybe…” you started, as if you were commenting on the weather. “Maybe raising a kid would help us. Change how we see things.”
The words caught him off guard. Mingyu looked up slowly, as if he hadn’t heard you right. For a moment, he just stared.
Surprise came first—sharp and unguarded. His mind scrambled, trying to match this calm version of you with the memory of how firmly you had once said no. How your voice shook, not with anger, but fear. Fear he hadn’t understood then and hadn’t bothered to ask about since.
Why now?
You weren’t looking at him the way you used to when you tried to compromise. There was no hesitation in your posture, no defensive edge. Just a stillness that unsettled him more than anger ever did.
Then came the nervousness.
His fingers curled slightly against the counter, grounding himself. He wondered if this was something you had been thinking about for a while, or if it was something you decided this morning—born out of exhaustion, out of guilt, out of wanting peace at any cost.
Was this your way of reaching out?
“Maybe raising a kid would help us.”
As if that conversation hadn’t torn something apart last year. As if it hadn’t ended with silence stretching for months, with him leaving more often, with you learning how to sleep alone in a marriage.
The words hung in the air. You didn’t mention the fear. Didn’t mention hospitals, or test results, or how your hands had shaken when the doctor spoke too gently. You just stood there, calm on the surface, offering the idea like it hadn’t once broken you.
He searched your face for signs—hope, reluctance, sincerity—but all he found was calm. A calm that scared him more than resistance ever had.
*
Mingyu had once thought it was a coping mechanism. You had this way of waving away guilt—of smoothing things over without ever touching them. Every time a fight stretched too far, too heavy, you would return the next day as if nothing had happened. As if the night before hadn’t existed at all.
He first noticed it during your first anniversary. Mingyu had prepared everything himself that night. A quiet dinner, nothing extravagant—just the two of you, the way he preferred it. The table was set long before the food began to lose its warmth, candles burning lower with every passing minute as he waited.
You were working late at the gallery. At first, he told himself it was fine. You had always been passionate about your work—he loved that about you. But as the hours passed, as his messages remained unread and your calls went unanswered, something inside him began to tighten.
You had forgotten. Not just the dinner. Not just the time. Him. When you finally came home, the apology came easily from you—too easily. Soft, quick, almost practiced. Mingyu had been upset then. Not loudly, not enough to start a war, but enough. He told you to be more mindful. To keep track of time. To think about the person waiting for you. To think about him.
You listened. Nodded. Stayed quiet. He thought it had meant something. But the next morning, you kissed him like you always did. Sat beside him at the breakfast table, close enough for your shoulder to brush against his, asking him something trivial—what he wanted to do that day, maybe, or whether he would be at the studio. Your voice was light, untouched, as if the night before had slipped cleanly out of your memory.
Mingyu stared at you, something sharp and burning settling behind his eyes. There was no trace of it. No hesitation. No guilt. No attempt to fix what had been said. Just you. Normal. Warm. Unchanged.
And that was the first time it unsettled him, how easily you could wake up the next day and act as if there had never been anything to fix at all.
The last real fight you had—before everything turned into silence—was about a child. It wasn’t even supposed to be a fight. Mingyu had brought it up casually that night, almost carefully, like testing the temperature of something fragile. The house had been quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy yet. You were sitting across from him, absentmindedly scrolling through something on your phone, half-listening.
“Have you ever thought about it?” he asked.
You looked up. “About what?”
“A kid.”
The reaction was immediate. Not loud. Not explosive. But immediate. Your expression changed in a way he couldn’t quite name back then—something closing off behind your eyes, something pulling away from him before he could even reach it.
“No,” you said. Too quick.
Mingyu frowned slightly, leaning back in his chair. “No?” he repeated, softer this time, like maybe you hadn’t understood the question.
“I don’t want one.”
There was no hesitation in your voice. No room left for discussion. And that—more than the answer itself—irritated him.
“Why not?” Mingyu asked, the edge slipping in despite himself. “We’ve been married for three years.”
You let out a small breath, setting your phone down slowly. “Because I don’t want to.”
“That’s not a reason.”
Your eyes flickered then, something sharper surfacing. “It is.”
Mingyu exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to start anything. He just—didn’t understand. “People don’t just decide they don’t want kids for no reason,” he said, voice tightening. “You’re not even willing to think about it?”
“I have thought about it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Silence stretched between you for a second too long. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter—but not softer. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Something in him bristled at that. “Try me.”
You hesitated. And for a moment—just a moment—he thought you wouldn’t say anything at all. That you would brush it off the way you always did, walk away, let it dissolve into nothing.
But you didn’t.
“I don’t want my body to change like that,” you said finally.
Mingyu blinked. “What?”
“Pregnancy,” you continued, more steadily now, even if your fingers had begun to curl slightly against the table. “The weight gain. The way your body stops feeling like yours. I’ve seen it. I’ve—” You stopped yourself, jaw tightening. “I don’t want that.”
He stared at you, the explanation settling wrong in his chest.
“That’s it?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Your head snapped up. “That’s it?” you echoed, something incredulous slipping into your voice now.
Mingyu shook his head slightly, already frustrated. “You’re saying you don’t want a child because you’re scared of gaining weight?”
“It’s not just weight.”
“Then what is it?” he pressed.
You looked at him then—really looked at him—and whatever was in your eyes made him falter for half a second.
“Exactly,” you said quietly. “You don’t get it.”
The conversation went nowhere after that. It circled. Tightened. Broke in places neither of you tried to fix. Mingyu remembered the way your voice had risen—not loud, but strained, like something was pulling at it from the inside. He remembered the way you kept repeating the same thing in different words, as if you were trying to explain something bigger but couldn’t quite bring yourself to say it.
And he remembered how, at some point, he stopped listening. It sounded trivial to him. Avoidable. Something that could be reasoned through if you just—tried. But you didn’t.
You shut down instead. And the next morning—the next morning wasn’t normal.
There was no quiet greeting, no soft kiss pressed against his lips like a habit you refused to break. No gentle presence beside him in the kitchen, no small attempt to smooth over what had been said.
Mingyu woke up to silence. The kind that felt wrong the moment he opened his eyes. He found you already dressed, standing by the door with your bag slung over your shoulder. Your shoes were on. Your hand rested on the handle, like you had been about to leave for a while now.
“You’re going already?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep.
You didn’t turn immediately.
“I have work,” you said. Simple. Flat. No mention of last night. No mention of anything.
Mingyu pushed himself up slightly, frowning. “You’re not going to eat first?”
“I’m not hungry.”
That was it. No pause. No glance back to check if he would say something else. No hesitation in the way you opened the door and stepped out.
The sound of it closing lingered longer than it should have. Mingyu sat there for a while after that, staring at nothing in particular, something unfamiliar settling deep in his chest. It wasn’t anger—not fully.
It was something quieter. Colder. And it didn’t stop there. Days turned into a pattern he didn’t remember agreeing to.
You left early. Came home late. Sometimes not at all. And when you were there, you weren’t really there.
Conversations shortened. Then it disappeared. Meals became optional. Shared space became something you both moved around carefully, like stepping through a room filled with fragile things neither of you wanted to touch.
Mingyu stopped asking after a while. Stopped waiting, too. The house—once something warm, something grounding—began to feel unfamiliar. Too quiet in the wrong ways. Too empty, even when you were inside it.
So he stayed at the studio more often. At first, it was just to work. Then to think. Then, eventually… to breathe.
The smell of paint, the unfinished canvases, the silence that didn’t expect anything from him—it all felt easier than walking into a home that no longer felt like one.
Somewhere along the way, without either of you saying it out loud, the studio became his place of rest, and the house you shared became somewhere he only returned to out of habit.
*
“What is this?”
Mingyu froze at the sound of your voice. He hadn’t expected to find you there—standing in the middle of his studio, as if you had every right to be. As if this place still belonged to both of you.
His gaze dropped to your hand. The papers. A copy of the divorce documents his lawyer had prepared, edges slightly crumpled where your fingers held them too tightly.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
It had been—what—almost a year since you last stepped into his studio?
A year since you last stood among the canvases, the smell of paint, the quiet that used to feel like a shared language between you.
Mingyu had stopped expecting you to come back. Somewhere along the way, he thought you had forgotten this part of him existed. That the version of him who painted, who stayed up all night chasing colors and light and meaning—had slowly disappeared in your eyes. All that was left was a husband. A role you had grown tired of. A man you no longer looked at the same way.
And yet, here you were. Holding the proof of everything he hadn’t said out loud.
Mingyu exhaled slowly, setting his keys down on the nearest surface, the sound sharper than intended in the stillness.
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” he said. His voice came out calmer than he felt. Controlled. Practiced.
Like this moment had been waiting for him long enough that he had already rehearsed it in his head. But something in your expression made that composure feel fragile.
Because you weren’t angry. You weren’t even upset in the way he expected. You just… looked lost.
Your eyes moved over the paper again, slower this time, like the words refused to settle properly in your mind.
“What do you mean?” you asked, quieter now.
And that made something twist in his chest. Mingyu frowned, confusion flickering through the irritation he had been holding onto for months. “It’s a divorce, Y/n,” he said, the words landing heavier than he intended. “What else would it mean?”
You didn’t answer right away. Your grip on the paper loosened slightly, like your hands had forgotten why they were holding it in the first place. Your brows pulled together—not in anger, not in hurt but in something closer to disbelief.
“No,” you murmured, almost to yourself.
Mingyu’s jaw tightened.
He had expected resistance. Denial, maybe. Even anger. But not this. Not the way you looked at him like he had just said something that didn’t make sense. Like the idea itself didn’t belong to your reality.
“We’re not—” you started, then stopped, your voice faltering in a way he hadn’t heard in a long time. “We’re not at that point.”
Mingyu let out a short, humorless breath.
“Aren’t we?”
The question hung between you, sharp and unforgiving.
You looked at him like he was saying something unreal. Like the ground beneath you hadn’t already been breaking for months.
Mingyu watched that expression linger on your face, and for a second—just a second—something in him wavered. Then it settled. Back into something heavier. Quieter.
“I’m tired, Y/n.”
The words came out low. Not sharp. Not accusing. Just… tired. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly as if even speaking took more effort than it should. “I don’t think you understand how long I’ve been tired.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.
So he continued. “I’ve been trying to figure us out for a year now,” Mingyu said, his voice steady but worn at the edges. “Trying to understand what went wrong. What changed. What I did—what you did—what we did.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before returning to you. “And every time I think I’m getting somewhere, it just—” He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “It just resets.”
There it was. The thing he never knew how to explain without sounding irrational.
“You act like nothing happened,” he went on, slower now, choosing his words carefully. “Or you disappear. Or you come back and it’s like we’re not even talking about the same things anymore.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I don’t know how to keep up with that.”
The studio felt smaller with every word. Mingyu took a step back, more for himself than for distance between you.
“I feel like I’m the only one fighting,” he said. “The only one holding onto them. The only one trying to fix something that—” He stopped, swallowing. “—that you don’t even seem to think is broken.”
Silence pressed in again. Heavy. Unforgiving.
“I used to think you stopped caring,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now. “That maybe you just… fell out of love. And I tried to accept that.”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
“Because at least that would make sense.”
But this? This didn’t. Mingyu looked at you then—really looked at you—and whatever he saw didn’t ease anything inside him. It only made him more tired.
“I don’t recognize us anymore,” he said. “I don’t recognize you.”
The words weren’t harsh. But they landed harder because of it.
“And I don’t want to keep living like this,” he added, almost gently. “Coming home and not knowing which version of you I’m going to get. Wondering if anything we say to each other is going to matter the next day.”
He let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for months.
“I can’t keep doing that.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the papers again, but you still hadn’t said anything.
That scared him more than anger would have. So he finished it.
“I just…” Mingyu paused, his voice dipping lower, quieter—like the truth had finally settled into something he couldn’t avoid anymore. “I just want it to end.”
A beat. Then, softer—
“I want a divorce.”
No anger. No raised voice. Just a man who had run out of ways to hold something together on his own.
*
Your head was spinning by the time you stepped out of Mingyu’s studio.
The air outside felt different—too open, too sharp against your skin—as you made your way toward your car. Each step came a little uneven, like your body hadn’t quite caught up with everything that had just happened.
Your breath hitched. Something tight lodged itself in your throat as you reached for the door handle, fingers fumbling for a second before finally pulling it open. You slid into the driver’s seat, the quiet inside the car closing in around you almost immediately.Too quiet.
You shut the door. And for a moment, you just sat there. Your hands came up to your face instinctively, pressing against your eyes, your temples—like you could steady the spinning inside your head if you just held on tight enough.
Take a breath. Just—breathe. You tried.
But it came out uneven. Shallow.
“Divorce…?” The word felt wrong in your mouth. Unfamiliar. Like it didn’t belong to you.
Your brows pulled together, confusion settling deeper as you leaned back against the seat, staring blankly at the windshield. You didn’t understand. Not really.
Why would Mingyu—out of nowhere—want a divorce? The question circled, over and over, but never landed anywhere solid. Out of nowhere. That’s what it felt like.
There hadn’t been a conversation. No warning. No moment where things felt that broken. Yes, you’d been busy. Yes, things had been quieter between you. But that was normal, wasn’t it?
It had to be.
Your fingers tightened slightly against your sleeves as you tried to retrace your steps—last night, the days before, the past week—
But the thoughts didn’t line up the way they should. They slipped. Blurred at the edges. You exhaled shakily, pressing your lips together. This didn’t make sense. None of it did. Mingyu looked serious. Tired. But that didn’t match the version of things in your head.
Because in your mind, you were still trying.
You drove to the gallery on autopilot.
The roads blurred past you, familiar turns taken without thought, your hands steady on the wheel even as your mind refused to settle. By the time you pulled into the parking lot, the tightness in your chest hadn’t eased—it had only sunk deeper, quieter.
You couldn’t afford to think about it now. Not here. Not when people were waiting. You stepped out of the car, smoothing down your clothes, forcing your expression into something composed—something professional. The moment you walked through the doors, the noise of the gallery wrapped around you. Conversations. Footsteps. The low hum of a place alive with people.
Normal. Everything looked normal. You held onto that as you made your way toward your office.
But then—
Seungkwan. He was standing a few steps away, already looking at you. Not casually.bNot like he’d just noticed you. He was staring. And something about the look on his face made your steps falter, just slightly.
Before you could reach your office door, he moved—quickly, cutting you off.
“Y/n,” he called, breath uneven like he had rushed over. “What are you doing here?”
You blinked at him. “What do you mean?” you replied, frowning slightly. “I have work.”
His expression didn’t change. If anything, it deepened.
“How are you?” he asked instead, his tone shifting—careful now, like he was testing something fragile.
The question threw you off more than it should have.
“I’m fine,” you said, a little too quickly. “Seungkwan, I have a lot of things to do. No time for—” you waved your hand slightly, searching for the word, “—casualty.”
His brows furrowed.
“What?” he said, almost under his breath. Then louder, more certain, “What are you talking about?”
A pause.
Then—
“It’s been a week since you resigned.”
The words didn’t land all at once. They hit, then echoed—like your mind needed time to catch up.
You stared at him.
“…What?”
Seungkwan didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh it off like it was a joke. He just looked at you—really looked at you this time, something serious settling into his expression.
“Y/n,” he said slowly, “you said it yourself.”
Your chest tightened. “No,” you interrupted, shaking your head immediately. “Why would I do that?”
He didn’t answer right away.
And that hesitation, that was worse.
“Babe,” he said softly, the word sounding more like concern than familiarity now, “you told me you were trying to conceive. That you wanted to focus on that.”
Your breath caught.
“That’s why you resigned.”
Something in your stomach dropped.
Hard. You shook your head again, more firmly this time, even as the movement felt disconnected—like your body was reacting before your mind could.
“I never said that,” you insisted, your voice tightening. “And I never resigned.”
The words came out certain. Too certain. Because the moment they left your mouth, something flickered.
A fragment. A feeling. Not quite a memory. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
“That doesn’t make sense,” you added, quieter now, like you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. “Why would I resign?”
Seungkwan didn’t respond. He just watched you. You noticed it. The way he was looking at you. Not confused. Not annoyed. But worried.
“You know I don’t want to get pregnant and get those morning sickness again, Seungkwan…”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
They hung in the air—wrong.
Your own voice sounded distant to your ears, like it didn’t quite belong to you. The moment stretched, thin and fragile, as something inside your chest tightened sharply.
Seungkwan froze.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just—still. His expression faltered in a way you had never seen before, the concern in his eyes shifting into something heavier. Something that made your stomach drop before he even said a word.
“Again?” he asked quietly.
Your breath caught. You blinked at him, confusion knitting your brows as your mind scrambled to catch up with what you had just said.
“I—” You stopped, swallowing. “That’s not what I meant.”
But it was. Wasn’t it? The word lingered in your head now, louder than anything else.
Again.
Your fingers curled slightly against your palm, nails pressing into your skin as if that could ground you, anchor you to something real.
“I’ve never—” you started, your voice unsteady now, “I’ve never been pregnant.”
Seungkwan didn’t answer immediately.
And that silence—
it was too long. Too careful. Too heavy.
Your heart began to pound, slow and uneven, as something cold crept up your spine.
“Y/n…” he said finally, his voice softer now, like he was approaching something breakable. “You don’t remember?”
The question didn’t feel like a question. It felt like a confirmation.
Your head shook almost instinctively, small at first, then firmer. “Remember what?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “What are you talking about?”
But even as you said it, your chest tightened. Your body knew. Before your mind did.
A flicker, white walls. A smell you couldn’t place. Your hands gripping something—hard. Pain.
A sharp inhale tore through your throat as you staggered back a step, your hand reaching blindly for the edge of a desk to steady yourself.
It slipped. Gone before you could hold onto it.
“What—” you whispered, your voice breaking, “what is that?”
Seungkwan moved closer instinctively, but stopped himself just short of touching you, like he wasn’t sure if he should.
“You…” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “You were pregnant.”
The world tilted.
“No,” you said immediately. Too fast. Too desperate.
“No, that’s not—no.”
But the denial didn’t settle the way it should have. It didn’t feel solid. It felt like something you were trying to force into place over a crack that had already split open.
Seungkwan’s gaze didn’t leave you. “You miscarried,” he said, gently.
The word hit harder than anything else.
Miscarried.
Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, your grip tightening on the desk as your knees threatened to give out.
“That’s not possible,” you whispered..
Seungkwan didn’t say anything for a while after that. Like he had already said too much. The space between you stretched thin, fragile, filled with things neither of you seemed ready to touch. You weren’t sure how long you stood there—seconds, minutes—time felt… off. Slower. Heavier.
“They’re recruiting a new director,” he said.
Your head snapped up. “What?”
His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Management made the announcement three days ago. I thought you knew.”
You didn’t. Of course, you didn’t.
“I…” Your voice trailed off, the words refusing to come together. “No one told me.”
Seungkwan hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “You weren’t here, Y/n.”
That again. That same sentence, dressed differently. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
“I packed your things,” he added after a moment, gesturing toward your office. “Just in case you needed them.”
You didn’t respond. You just walked past him. Each step felt heavier than the last as you pushed the door open and stepped into your office—your office. The space looked untouched at first glance. Clean. Organized. The way you always kept it. But something was off. Too neat. Too… finished.
There, on your desk, sat a box. Simple. Brown. Sealed loosely, like it had been opened and closed more than once.
You approached it slowly. Your hands hovered for a second before finally lifting the lid. Inside was your things. Files. Notebooks. Small personal items you barely registered as you shifted them aside, your movements growing more restless, more urgent—as if you were looking for something without knowing what it was.
Anything that would make sense. Anything that would prove this was wrong.
Your fingers brushed against a document. You pulled it out. Your name. Printed clearly at the top. The rest of the words blurred for a second before your vision steadied, your eyes tracing the lines slowly—too slowly, like your mind was resisting every letter.
Patient Name: Y/n.
Date: two weeks ago.
Your breath caught. And then, there it was.
Miscarriage.
The word sat there, unchanging. Unforgiving. You stared at it. Waiting for it to make sense. Waiting for something—anything—to connect. But nothing came. No memory. No image. No feeling strong enough to claim it as yours. Just… emptiness.
Your grip on the paper tightened slightly, the edges crumpling under your fingers without you realizing. Two weeks ago. You tried to think back. Tried to force your mind to go there,to that day, that moment, anything. But it was like reaching into a void. Nothing.
Your lips parted slightly, a breath escaping you that didn’t quite feel like your own.
“…No.”
It came out barely audible. Because if this was real, if this had happened, then what else had you forgotten? And why, why did your body feel like it already knew?
*
You woke up with a sharp inhale. Dark. For a second, you didn’t move. The ceiling above you felt unfamiliar—too high, the corners of the room too shadowed. Your body was stiff, like you had been lying there for hours, unmoving.
Your breath came uneven as you pushed yourself up, the sheets falling from your shoulders. The room slowly came into focus. You knew it. Your parents’ house.
The realization settled in, slow and heavy, as your eyes moved around the space. The furniture. The curtains. The faint scent lingering in the air—familiar in a way that made your chest tighten.
How did you get here? You couldn’t remember. Not the drive. Not arriving. Not even deciding to come. Nothing. A flicker of unease crept up your spine.
You swung your legs off the bed, your bare feet meeting the cold floor as you stood. The house was quiet as you stepped out of the room, the hallway dimly lit by a single lamp left on somewhere in the distance.
You checked the time. Midnight. Your brows furrowed. Why… were you here?
The thought came quickly, almost instinctive—
Mingyu.
Wouldn’t he be waiting for you? At home. The idea felt solid. Certain. Like something you could hold onto.
You stepped outside without thinking much of it, still in your pajamas, the night air brushing against your skin as you wrapped your arms around yourself. It felt colder than it should have.
Your phone was already in your hand before you realized it. You called him. It rang once. Twice.
“Hello?” His voice was there. Low. Tired. Familiar.
Your throat tightened slightly.
“Can you pick me up?” you said, the words coming out softer than you intended. “I’m at my parents’. I don’t know why I’m here…”
There was a pause on the other end. Short. But heavy.
“…Alright,” Mingyu replied finally. “I’ll be there in ten.”
The line went dead. You stood there for a moment longer, staring at your screen before lowering it slowly, something uneasy settling deep in your chest. You couldn’t name it. Only that it didn’t feel right.
Mingyu arrived exactly ten minutes later. His jeep pulled into the driveway, headlights cutting through the darkness before the engine went still. You didn’t wait. You moved toward the car immediately, opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat.
The warmth inside hit you all at once. You shut the door quietly. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The engine started again. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye.
He looked… tired. More than usual. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw set in a way that made something in your chest twist.
“You seem tired,” you said gently, trying to ease the silence. “Long day?”
The words felt normal. Casual. Like something you had said a hundred times before. Mingyu didn’t answer right away. The car kept moving. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you.
“Really?” he said. His voice wasn’t loud. But it wasn’t soft either. There was something under it. Something sharp.
“Are you acting right now, Y/n?”
The question didn’t land all at once. It hit. And then— everything followed. At once. Too fast. Too much. The fight. Your voice—strained, repeating the same thing over and over. The door closing. Silence stretching for days. Getting lost, No—Walking. Barefoot—Cold pavement—Hands shaking. White walls. Pain. A word. Miscarriage. Paper. Your name. Seungkwan’s voice— You resigned. You were pregnant. Mingyu. The studio. The papers in your hand. Divorce.
Your breath caught violently, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat as your head spun, the pieces crashing into each other without order, without mercy.
You froze. Completely still. Because none of it— none of it lined up. Not cleanly. Not clearly. Some of it felt real. Too real. But some of it— felt distant. Blurry. Like something you had dreamed and then half-forgotten.
Your chest rose and fell unevenly as your mind scrambled, trying to sort through it—trying to separate what was real from what wasn’t.
The car felt too small, like the air inside had been sucked out. Your breath came uneven, fingers gripping the edge of the seat as if that was the only thing keeping you grounded. Something was wrong—deeply, terribly wrong. “Mingyu…” your voice trembled, barely audible. “I… I don’t—” The words dissolved before they could form, because it started.
Not like remembering. Not clean, not whole—but like something cracking open inside your head.
A flash of white. Too bright. The sharp, sterile smell hit you first, making your stomach twist violently. You flinched, your hand flying to your abdomen without thinking. Pain followed—sudden, overwhelming—your body curling into itself as if reliving it. “Mingyu—” your voice echoed weakly in your head, breaking, but no one answered.
The car slowed, Mingyu glancing at you, saying something—your name, maybe—but you couldn’t hear him. The memories kept coming.
A phone screen. Your own reflection staring back—pale, hollow-eyed. A message half-typed: Where are you? Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. The door closing—his voice, distant, muffled like it was underwater. I need space.
Your chest tightened painfully. “No…” you whispered, shaking your head, but it didn’t stop.
The floor was cold beneath your knees. Your hands clutched your stomach, breath breaking into uncontrollable sobs. Something warm. Wet. Your vision blurred as you looked down.
Red.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your body recoiling as if burned. “Mingyu—” this time louder, desperate. Still, the memory didn’t release you.
Voices—strangers. Panic, urgency. “Stay with me, ma’am—” “Call someone—does she have someone—?” Your head felt heavy, your fingers weakly gripping someone’s sleeve. “Mingyu…” barely a sound.
Then silence.
A room too quiet. Your hands resting on your stomach, and you already knew. Before anyone told you, before any words were spoken—you knew. Empty.
Time blurred. Hours, days—you couldn’t tell. Curtains drawn, your phone lighting up beside you. His name on the screen. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Another shift.
You stood in front of the mirror, staring at someone who looked like you but didn’t feel like you. Your lips moved, forcing a smile that didn’t belong. “Everything’s fine.” Again. “Everything’s fine.” Again. Again.
“Y/N!”
The world snapped back violently.
The car. The road. Mingyu’s voice, closer now. His hand gripping your arm, his face tight with something between fear and disbelief. “Hey—hey, look at me—what’s wrong with you?” Your breathing came in short, broken gasps as you stared at him, not fully seeing him, because the last piece settled in—slow, heavy, unavoidable.
The paper in your hand. Miscarriage. Your name printed beneath it. Two weeks ago.
Your lips parted, but no sound came at first. Your eyes trembled as they searched his face, like you were seeing him for the first time—or finally understanding. “I…” your voice came out hollow. “I was pregnant.” The words felt distant, unreal. “I—” your breath hitched sharply. “I lost it.”
Silence filled the car, thick and suffocating.
Your fingers curled into your clothes, shaking. “And you…” your voice cracked—not accusing, not angry, just broken. “You weren’t there…”
The moment the words left you, something shifted again. Your expression faltered, confusion creeping back in, fragile and disoriented. “I…” your brows furrowed weakly. “Why weren’t you there?”
Not blame. Not yet. Just a question. A real one.
Like you didn’t remember asking it before. Like you didn’t remember living through it at all.
And that was when it truly broke—not just the memory, not just the loss, but the realization that you had lived through something that shattered you… and your mind had decided you couldn’t survive remembering it.
*
Mingyu didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he couldn’t.
His hand was still wrapped around your arm, fingers tightening without him realizing, like if he let go you might disappear right in front of him. His eyes searched your face, scanning every inch of it as if the answer was written somewhere there, hidden beneath your expression.
“I—what?” he let out a breathless, disbelieving sound. “What are you talking about?”
His voice came out sharper than he intended, confusion laced heavily through it. There was something else too—something unsettled, almost uneasy.
“You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. “Y/N, what—”
He stopped. Because you didn’t look like you were lying. You didn’t look like you were avoiding him, or deflecting, or doing that thing he had grown so used to—smiling like nothing happened, brushing everything under the rug until he was the only one left holding onto it.
No. You looked… lost. Completely, terrifyingly lost.
“I lost it,” you said again, softer this time, like you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Your eyes drifted away from him, unfocused, like you were seeing something else entirely.
Mingyu’s grip loosened slightly. Something about this felt wrong. Not wrong like your usual fights. Not wrong like miscommunication or stubbornness or hurt pride.
This felt off. Like he had walked into the middle of something he didn’t understand, something that had been happening without him even knowing.
“Y/N,” his voice dropped, slower now, cautious. “What are you saying?”
You didn’t answer him directly. Instead, you looked back at him, your expression fragile, almost childlike in its confusion. “You left,” you murmured. “You said you needed space.”
Mingyu’s brows pulled together immediately. “Yeah, I—” he started, but stopped halfway.
Because the way you said It didn’t sound like you were recalling a recent argument. It sounded like you were reliving something.
“And then…” your voice wavered, your hand instinctively pressing against your stomach again. “It hurt. I was alone.”
His stomach dropped. A strange, cold feeling crept up his spine.
“Alone?” he echoed, quieter now.
You nodded faintly, eyes glossing over. “I called you,” you whispered. “I think I did… I don’t—” Your breathing picked up again, panic slipping back in. “I don’t remember if you answered.”
Mingyu froze.
“I didn’t—” he said quickly, almost defensively. “You didn’t call me.”
But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t sit right. Did you? He would’ve remembered, wouldn’t he?
His mind raced back, trying to piece together the timeline—the fight, him leaving, the days after. Everything felt… blurred. He remembered being angry. He remembered ignoring a few calls—no, not calls, messages. Or were they calls?
His chest tightened.
“Y/N,” he said again, but his voice had changed. Less certain. “When… when did this happen?”
You blinked at him. Slowly. Like the question itself didn’t make sense.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice small, trembling. “I thought it was just today. But…” Your fingers curled into your clothes again, shaking. “They said two weeks.”
Two weeks. The words echoed in his head. Two weeks ago. Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles paling as something heavy began to settle in his chest. Two weeks ago, he wasn’t there.
He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering back to you. You were still looking at him like you needed him to make sense of it. Like he was supposed to explain what happened to you.
But he couldn’t. Because none of this made sense. Not the pregnancy. Not the miscarriage. Not the way you were remembering things in pieces—out of order, like broken fragments that didn’t quite fit together.
And most of all, ot the way you were looking at him right now. Like he was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Like you knew him, but didn’t fully remember what he had done. A quiet, unsettling realization crept into his mind, one he didn’t want to touch, didn’t want to fully form.
“This isn’t…” he started, his voice low, uncertain. “Y/N, this isn’t you just… pretending, is it?”
The question hung in the air. Fragile. Dangerous.
You didn’t answer him. Not right away.
Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something—explain, maybe—but nothing came out. The words were there, somewhere in your head, but they felt out of reach, slipping further the harder you tried to grab them.
“I…” your voice cracked, barely holding together. “I don’t know.”
And that was it. That was the last thing keeping you from falling apart.
Your breath hitched sharply, your chest tightening like something inside had finally snapped loose. The fragments in your head—voices, images, pain, silence—crashed into each other all at once, too loud, too overwhelming.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” you whispered, but it quickly broke into something heavier, something desperate. “I don’t know what’s real, Mingyu—”
Your hands came up to your head, fingers tangling in your hair as if you could physically hold yourself together. “I remember things—but then I don’t—and it hurts and I don’t know why it hurts and I don’t—”
Your voice collapsed into a sob. Raw. Uncontrolled.
“I don’t understand,” you cried, shaking now, your whole body folding in on itself. “Why can’t I remember? Why does it feel like I forgot something important? Something really important—”
Your words dissolved into broken sobs, your breathing uneven, almost choking as you tried to take in air.
“I feel like I lost something,” you whispered weakly, your voice barely there now. “But I don’t even remember losing it…”
Mingyu didn’t think anymore. Didn’t question. Didn’t try to piece anything together. Because seeing you like this—breaking right in front of him, not pulling away, not pretending, not brushing it off. It did something to him. Something heavy. Something sharp.
“Hey—hey,” he said quickly, his voice dropping, panic threading through it as he reached for you.
You didn’t resist. Didn’t even react. Your body leaned into him the moment his arms wrapped around you, like you had nothing left to hold yourself up. His hand came up to the back of your head, pressing you gently against his chest, the other arm tightening around you as if he could keep you from falling apart any further.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, though his voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. “Hey… it’s okay. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. He knew that. You knew that. Still—you clung to him.
Your fingers gripping onto his shirt, clutching it tightly as your sobs broke freely now, muffled against his chest. Your whole body trembled, each breath shaky and uneven, like you were trying to breathe through something too heavy to carry.
“Mingyu…” his name came out broken, barely recognizable. “I’m scared.”
That did it.
His arms tightened around you instinctively, his jaw clenching as something painful twisted deep in his chest.
“I know,” he whispered, his hand gently pressing against your hair, trying to soothe you even though he had no idea how. “I know… I’m here.”
Your grip on him only tightened.
“Don’t leave,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out in a fragile, desperate plea. “Please don’t leave me again—I don’t… I don’t think I can handle it if you—”
Your voice broke completely. Mingyu froze.
Again.
The words hit him harder than anything else had.
Again.
His throat tightened, something heavy lodging itself there as his mind flashed back—to the door closing, to his own voice saying he needed space, to the silence he left you in. To two weeks ago. To the time you said you couldn’t remember.
He swallowed hard, his hold on you tightening almost protectively now, like he was trying to make up for something that had already happened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, but this time there was something different in his voice.
“I’m here,” he repeated, softer, his hand moving gently against your hair. “I’m right here, Y/N.”
You didn’t question it. Didn’t pull away. You just held onto him tighter, like he was the only thing that still made sense in a world that suddenly didn’t.
*
The hospital felt too bright—too clean, too unforgiving. Mingyu sat outside your room, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them. They were still trembling, though he barely noticed anymore. Everything felt distant, like he was sitting behind glass, watching someone else’s life unfold.
You were inside. Unconscious.
Again. He didn’t know how it got to this point. One moment you were in his arms—shaking, crying, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—and the next, your body went slack. Your voice disappeared. Your grip loosened.
And just like that, you were gone.
The doctor said it wasn’t physical. Not entirely. “Severe stress response,” they called it. Something about your body shutting down because your mind couldn’t handle it anymore. Mingyu didn’t fully understand, but he knew one thing—this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t you avoiding fights or pretending nothing happened. This was something deeper. Something he had completely missed.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it from the inside. How long has this been happening? The question wouldn’t leave him alone. How long had you been like this… and he just didn’t see it?
Footsteps approached from the end of the hallway—soft, careful, familiar. Mingyu lifted his head slightly.
Your parents. Your mother looked like she hadn’t slept. Your father stood beside her, quieter, but just as tense. The moment their eyes met Mingyu’s, something shifted—something uneasy, something unspoken. They already knew.
“Is she awake?” your mother asked, her voice low, controlled, though the fear beneath it was obvious.
Mingyu shook his head. “No… not yet.”
Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. Your father nodded slowly, like he expected that answer—like this wasn’t new. And that made something twist painfully in Mingyu’s chest.
“…Has this happened before?” he asked, his voice quieter now, careful.
Your parents exchanged a look—not confusion, not surprise, but hesitation. And that alone told him more than he wanted to know.
Mingyu straightened slightly, his brows pulling together. “Please,” he said, more firmly this time. “I need to know what’s going on with her.”
Your mother’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. She looked at your father, like she needed permission—or strength. Your father exhaled slowly, then spoke.
“She’s had episodes like this before.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
“Episodes…?” Mingyu echoed, his voice tightening.
“Not exactly like this,” your mother added quickly, her tone fragile. “But… similar. When she was younger.”
Your mother looked away this time, her fingers tightening around each other. “She went through… something,” she said carefully. “Something that affected her deeply.”
The vagueness only made his chest tighten more. “What kind of something?” Mingyu pressed, his voice sharper now. “She’s losing her memory, she collapsed in my arms, she thinks she was pregnant and lost it but doesn’t even remember when it happened—how am I supposed to understand any of this if you keep—”
“She was assaulted.”
The words cut through everything. Clean. Immediate. Mingyu went completely still.
“…What?” The word barely left him.
Your father didn’t look away. “When she was a teenager,” he said. “She didn’t tell us right away. We only found out later… when things started getting worse.”
Mingyu’s mind struggled to process it. Assaulted. You. His gaze flickered instinctively toward your hospital room door, like it didn’t match the person lying inside.
“She developed severe depression after that,” your mother continued softly. “She was on medication for a long time. It affected her body… her weight. And people weren’t kind.”
Mingyu clenched his jaw, something sharp twisting in his chest. He could almost see it now—pieces of you he never knew existed. Pain you never spoke about.
“We sent her abroad,” your father added. “A change of environment. It helped… for a while.”
“For a while,” Mingyu repeated under his breath, because clearly—it didn’t fix everything.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked, quieter now, no anger left—just confusion.
Your mother gave a sad, knowing look. “She doesn’t talk about it,” she said. “Not even to us. She tries to move on. Pretend it doesn’t exist.”
Mingyu let out a hollow breath, leaning back slightly as everything started connecting—slowly, painfully. The way you avoided certain topics. The way you reacted to your body. The way you held onto control. The way you forgot.
“And the memory loss?” he asked, more hesitant now.
Your father paused, then answered, “It’s happened before. Not this severe. But when she’s under extreme stress… she dissociates.”
Mingyu closed his eyes briefly. Dissociates. So this wasn’t new. It was just worse now.
And suddenly, everything you said in the car came rushing back.
His chest tightened sharply. It wasn’t that you didn’t care. It wasn’t that you were ignoring things. It was that your mind simply couldn’t hold them—not when they hurt too much.
“And the pregnancy?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer. “Did you… know about that?”
Your parents fell silent. Your mother looked down. Your father didn’t answer. And that silence said everything.
Mingyu’s breath hitched.Because that meant—you went through it. Alone. While he was gone.
His jaw tightened, something heavy and suffocating settling in his chest. Not anger. Not frustration. Something worse. Regret.
Your mother hesitated, like she was debating whether to say more. Her fingers twisted together, eyes briefly flickering toward your hospital room before returning to Mingyu.
“Sometimes… she comes home. To us.”
“She shows up late. Sometimes in the middle of the night.”
Your mother let out a small, shaky breath. “Recently. The past few months.”
Something in his chest dropped.
“She comes crying,” your mother continued, her voice wavering now despite her effort to stay composed. “Saying you’re not home. That you haven’t been home for days. That she can’t reach you.”
Mingyu’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Because that didn’t make sense.
“I was home,” he said, almost instinctively. “I mean… not always, but I—” He stopped himself, his thoughts tangling. There were days he stayed longer at the studio. Nights he didn’t come back until late. Times he ignored your calls because he was still upset.
But days?
“…I didn’t leave for days,” he finished, though the certainty in his voice had already weakened.
Your father didn’t argue. Your mother only looked at him—sadly.
“She believed it,” she said. “Every time she came to us, she was convinced you were gone. That you left her.”
Mingyu felt something cold settle in his stomach.
“She would cry for hours,” your mother went on, her voice quieter now, like each word was getting harder to say. “She kept asking what she did wrong. Why you wouldn’t come back.”
His chest tightened painfully.
“She said you were upset,” your father added. “That you were tired of her. That you needed space.”
Mingyu’s jaw clenched. Because he did say that. Not once. Not lightly.
“I need space.”
The words echoed in his head now, heavier than before.
“But then…” your mother paused, her voice breaking slightly. “The next morning, she would wake up and act like nothing happened.”
Mingyu’s breath caught.
“She’d smile,” she continued. “Talk normally. Ask us why we looked so worried.”
Your father exhaled slowly. “Sometimes she didn’t even remember coming to us.”
Silence fell heavily between them. Mingyu stared ahead, but he wasn’t really seeing anything anymore. The hallway blurred slightly, his mind trying—failing—to process it all.
“She forgets?” he said, barely above a whisper.
Your mother nodded. “Not everything. But… the parts that hurt the most.”
Mingyu’s hands slowly curled into fists, resting against his knees.
Because suddenly, everything made sense in the worst way possible. The nights you accused him of being distant. The mornings you kissed him like nothing happened. The way your arguments never seemed to carry over. The way he thought you just didn’t care enough to hold onto them.
It wasn’t that you didn’t remember. It was that you couldn’t. A sharp breath left him as something twisted painfully in his chest.
“And the night…” your mother hesitated again, then continued softly, “the night she lost the baby…”
Mingyu’s head snapped up.
“She came to us,” she said. “Crying. In pain. We told her to go to the hospital, but she kept saying she needed to wait for you. That you’d come home.”
His stomach dropped.
“She kept calling you,” your father added quietly.
Mingyu froze.
“She said you weren’t answering,” your mother whispered.
His mind went blank for a second. Then, slowly, memories started creeping in. His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Again. He remembered glancing at it. Your name lighting up the screen. And him— turning it face down. Because he was still angry. Because he needed space.
Because he thought, it could wait. Mingyu’s breathing grew shallow.
“She left after a while,” your father continued. “Said she didn’t want to bother you anymore. That she’d handle it herself.”
Your mother’s voice broke this time. “We didn’t know it would get that bad.”
Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.
Mingyu couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
Because now, now he knew. You didn’t just go through it alone. You tried to reach him. And he wasn’t there.
Not because he couldn’t be. But because he chose not to be. His throat tightened painfully, something sharp pressing against it as his gaze slowly dropped to his hands.
And for the first time Mingyu realized that the moments he thought were small, the ones he brushed off as just another fight were the same moments you were breaking and reaching for him at the same time.
*
You noticed it. You had always noticed. At first, it was small. So small you could still pretend it was normal.
You would forget things—little things. Where you placed your keys, whether you had eaten, what day it was. You laughed it off, brushed it aside, told yourself you were just tired. Overworked. Distracted. But then it wasn’t just things.
It was moments. You would be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly feel like you had stepped out of your own body, like you were watching yourself speak from somewhere far away. Your voice would continue, your lips would move—but it didn’t feel like you anymore.
Like someone else had taken over for a second. You noticed it. The way time slipped. The way hours would pass without weight, without memory, without anything to hold onto when you tried to look back.
At first, you caught it. You would pause, frown, try to retrace your steps. What did I just do? What did I just say? Sometimes you could piece it together. Sometimes you couldn’t.
And when you couldn’t, that was when the fear started.
So you learned to fill the gaps. You smiled when you were supposed to smile. You spoke when it was expected of you. You followed routines, patterns, anything that could make you look normal enough so no one would notice the spaces in between.
Especially him. Especially Mingyu. You noticed how he would look at you sometimes. Confused. Frustrated. Like he was trying to hold onto something that kept slipping through his fingers.
And you hated that look. So you got better at pretending. Better at stitching things together. Better at acting like nothing ever happened. Like the fights never happened. Like the words you couldn’t remember saying were never spoken. Like the nights you cried yourself to sleep didn’t exist the next morning.
You told yourself it was easier that way.
Safer.
If you didn’t acknowledge it, then maybe it wasn’t real. If you kept moving, kept smiling, kept being—then maybe you wouldn’t have to face whatever was breaking inside of you.
But the shifts got worse. Longer. Deeper. There were days you couldn’t remember at all. Faces that felt familiar but distant. Places you didn’t remember going. Conversations that were thrown back at you like accusations, and all you could do was stare—blank, lost, guilty for something you didn’t even know you had done.
You started to question yourself. Your own mind. Did I say that? Did I do that? Or was it just… someone else wearing your skin? You noticed it.
You noticed the way fear slowly turned into something heavier. Something quieter. Something you couldn’t quite name. Until one day, you didn’t notice anymore.
The gaps stopped scaring you. Because you stopped seeing them. They became your normal. Your routine. Your way of surviving. And that terrified you more than anything ever had.
Because this was what you had been running from all along. Losing control. Losing yourself. Becoming something you couldn’t recognize. Something fragile. Unstable. Broken.
You had spent so long trying not to be that girl again. The one who needed help. The one people whispered about. The one who was too much, too heavy, too complicated to love without exhaustion.
And yet, without realizing it, without even noticing when it truly began, you became her again.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just slowly. Quietly. Piece by piece. Until there was nothing left of the version of you that knew how to stay.
*
Someone knocked on your door at nine in the morning. The sound felt… distant. Like it belonged to a place you hadn’t fully arrived in yet.
“Come in,” you said, though your voice came out softer than you expected.
The door opened, and a woman in a white dress stepped inside, pushing a small food cart. The wheels made a quiet sound against the floor as she approached you.
You were sitting on the bed. You noticed that. But the question came anyway. Why are you on the bed? And then, where are you?
“Ms. Ji, it’s time for breakfast,” she said gently. “I brought your favorite.”
She stopped beside you, lifting the cover from the tray. Cut fruits. Boiled eggs. Toast. Simple. Plain.
You stared at it for a moment. You felt like you should recognize it. Like your body knew something your mind didn’t.
“They look boring,” you murmured honestly. Then, after a small pause, “But… I think I like them.”
The woman smiled softly, like she had heard that before.
“I don’t remember having a favorite food,” you added, your eyes shifting to the small name tag pinned to her chest.
Suji.
“That’s okay,” Suji said, her voice calm, practiced in a way that didn’t feel cold. “You don’t have to remember anything today.”
She helped you adjust the tray on your lap, her movements careful, unhurried.
You picked up the toast. Took a bite. It was good. Not special. Not overwhelming. Just… right.
You chewed slowly, quietly, while Suji moved around the room. She reached for the remote and turned on the TV, letting the sound fill the silence just enough. Channels flickered one after another. Colors. Voices. Faces that meant nothing. Until it stopped. A news channel.
“Oh,” Suji said lightly, glancing at the screen. “That’s where you used to work. Remember?”
You paused mid-chew. You worked?
The question formed in your head, but it didn’t feel important enough to ask out loud. Instead, you shifted your gaze back to the screen, your hand reaching for a piece of fruit.
A man appeared on the screen. Well-dressed. Tall. Standing under bright lights as cameras flashed around him. There was applause. An award being handed to him. Your eyes lingered. Something, something moved. A small, quiet pull somewhere deep inside your chest. And then, before you could think—
“Kim Mingyu.”
The name slipped out of your mouth like it had always belonged there.
Suji froze slightly.
“…You know him?” she asked, her tone shifting just a little.
You nodded slowly, your eyes still on the screen. There was no confusion in your expression this time. No hesitation. Just certainty.
“Kim Mingyu,” you repeated softly.
A small pause.
Then—
“My husband.”
The words settled into the room. Heavy. Out of place. Too certain for someone who couldn’t even remember her own favorite food.
Suji looked at you, something unreadable passing through her eyes—surprise, maybe, or something closer to concern. But you didn’t notice. Because your attention stayed on the screen. On him. On the man you couldn’t remember, but somehow, your heart still did.
Suji didn’t bring it up again that morning. But she remembered. The way your voice changed when you said his name. The certainty. The quiet conviction that didn’t match the rest of you—the rest of the woman who couldn’t remember what she liked, where she worked, or even why she was there.
My husband.
It stayed with her. Later that day, during her break, Suji sat in the small staff room with your file open in front of her.
Name: Ji Y/N
Age: 56 years old
Condition: Severe dissociative amnesia with recurring identity disturbance
Guardian: —
Emergency Contact: —
Empty. All of it.
She frowned slightly, flipping through the pages again like something might appear if she looked hard enough.
Nothing did. No family listed. No spouse. No one.
For ten years, you had been there—admitted, treated, stabilized, relapsed, stabilized again. Notes written by doctors, observations by nurses, small fragments of who you used to be scattered across clinical language.
But no one had ever come. No one had ever claimed you. Suji leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the file.
“…Kim Mingyu,” she murmured to herself. It didn’t take long. Articles came up almost immediately. Interviews. Exhibitions. Photographs. A man stood behind most of them—tall, composed, carrying an air that only came with years of recognition.
Kim Mingyu. A maestro painter. Renowned. Respected. Sixty years old.
Suji’s brows furrowed as she scrolled further, eyes scanning quickly until something caught her attention.
A profile. A short personal history. And there is a name. Yours. Listed not as current. But as something that had already ended. Former spouse.
Suji went still.
“…Former?” she whispered. Her gaze flickered back to the photo of him. Then to your name beside his. Then back again. It didn’t line up.
Not with the way you said it. Not with the way your eyes had looked at the screen. My husband. Not was. Not used to be.
She closed the file slowly. Her mind wandered back to the small things you had said over the years.
Fragments. You worked at a gallery. You liked quiet mornings. You didn’t like being alone—though you often were. You had mentioned painting once. Or maybe twice. Never clearly. Never consistently. Like pieces of a story that refused to stay in place. Ten years. You had been here for ten years.
And somehow, in all that time, that name stayed. Out of everything your mind had lost, everything it had rewritten, everything it had buried. He remained. Not fully. Not correctly. But enough.
Enough for you to recognize him without remembering yourself.
Enough to call him yours—even when the world had already written him as something else.
Suji exhaled slowly, her grip tightening slightly around her phone. There was something about it that didn’t sit right with her. A gap. A missing piece.
Or maybe too many pieces that didn’t fit together anymore. She glanced back at your file one more time. Then at the name still on her screen.
Kim Mingyu.
*
The visiting room was quiet when you stepped in. Sunlight stretched across the floor, pale and distant. The chairs were arranged neatly, untouched, like no one ever stayed long enough to leave a trace.
And then you saw him. Sitting by the window. Older. Time had settled on him in quiet ways—grey threaded through his hair, the sharpness of his youth softened into something heavier. But there was still something unmistakable about him.
Something your chest recognized before your mind could. You walked toward him slowly. He looked up. And for a moment, everything in him stilled.
Mingyu hadn’t expected this. Not this version of you. Not the softness in your eyes. Not the absence of anger. Not the way you looked at him like you were trying to place him into a story you couldn’t fully remember.
He had come here with something else in his chest. Old resentment. Old confusion. Questions that had stayed unanswered for decades. Because back then, he thought he knew. He thought you were distant.
Careless.
Cold.
He thought you chose to forget. Chose to walk past every fight like it meant nothing. Chose to leave him alone in a marriage that felt like it only existed on paper. So he left. He signed the papers. He told himself it was the only thing left to do. He never once thought you were sick.
“…Y/N,” he said, your name unfamiliar after so many years.
You stopped a few steps away. You studied him. Carefully.
“I know you,” you said softly.
Mingyu’s breath caught.
“My husband,” you added.
The word hit him harder than anything else. Not because it was wrong— but because of how easily you said it.
Like nothing had ever broken. Like nothing had ever ended.
Mingyu swallowed.
“…I was,” he corrected, his voice quieter now.
You blinked.
“…Was,” you repeated, like you were trying to understand it. There was a pause. Something flickered behind your eyes. A shadow of something heavier—
A studio.
Raised voices.
His voice—
I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.
A paper in your hand.
The word divorce.
Your chest tightened—
And then it slipped.
Gone.
You smiled instead. Small. Polite. Like you always did when something didn’t make sense.
Mingyu felt it. That shift. That disappearance. His brows pulled together slightly.
“…Do you remember?” he asked, more carefully this time.
You looked at him again. “I think I do,” you said. Then softer— “but it doesn’t stay.”
Your fingers curled lightly against your palm.
“I was trying to tell you something,” you added suddenly.
Mingyu stilled.
“What?” he asked.
Your lips parted. This time you felt it more clearly. The weight sitting in your chest. The words pressing against your throat.
I was scared.
I was hurting.
I didn’t understand what was happening to me.
I wasn’t ignoring you—I was losing myself.
Your breathing faltered slightly.
“I—” you started.
Mingyu leaned forward just a little.
For the first time he was listening. Really listening. Not judging. Not assuming. Just waiting.
“I think… I was sick,” you said, your voice trembling faintly.
His chest tightened. “Sick how?” he asked.
You tried.
God, you tried.
“I…” Your fingers pressed against your temple, like you could hold the thoughts in place. “There was something wrong with me. I couldn’t— I couldn’t remember things. I couldn’t stay… I kept… disappearing.”
Your voice cracked.
Mingyu’s expression shifted. Confusion. Then something closer to realization.
But you weren’t done. You couldn’t be. You needed him to know.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whispered, your eyes glistening now. “I think… I think I was trying to tell you. Before.”
Mingyu’s breath hitched. Before. All those times you brushed things off. All those mornings you acted like nothing happened. All those empty spaces he filled with his own anger.
“…Why didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low, almost breaking.
The question wasn’t sharp. It was tired.
You shook your head weakly. “I tried,” you said. And you meant it. You really did. You tried in the silence. In the hesitation. In the moments where you looked at him, hoping he would see what you couldn’t explain.
“I just—” your voice faltered again, your thoughts slipping, unraveling even as you reached for them. “I just can’t…”
The words blurred. The meaning faded. The weight disappeared. Like it always did.
You blinked. And suddenly there was nothing. No explanation. No memory. No pain. Just emptiness.
“…I forgot,” you finished quietly.
Mingyu stared at you. At the woman in front of him. At the way your shoulders sank slightly, like even you were tired of failing to hold onto your own thoughts. And something inside him broke. Not loudly. Not suddenly. Just—quietly.
The kind of breaking that comes too late to fix anything. All those years. All those assumptions. All those times he thought you didn’t care enough to try— when you had been trying all along. Alone.
“…I didn’t know,” he said finally.
Your eyes lifted to him.
He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy with something he had never allowed himself to feel before.
“I thought you just… didn’t love me the same way anymore.”
The words hung in the air. You frowned slightly. Love. The word felt distant. Familiar. But not something you could fully reach.
“…I think I did,” you said softly.
And somehow, that hurt him more.
Silence settled between you again. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full of everything that had been missed. Everything that had never been understood. Everything that had come too late.
“…You liked toast,” Mingyu said after a while, his voice quieter now.
You looked at him. A small smile appeared. “I think I still do.”
When it was time to leave, you stood first. You always did. You looked at him one last time. Not holding on. Not letting go. Just… looking.
“Goodbye, Mingyu.”
He watched you walk away. And this time, he knew. He hadn’t lost you because you didn’t love him. He lost you because you were already disappearing, and he never saw it.
However, you wanted him to know, you always wanted him to know. You just couldn't. You couldn't. And you didn't remember since how long. . .
Summary: Mingyu started to enjoy the arrangement between him and you. What should he do?
Why do birds suddenly appear everytime that you near? Just like me i long to be close to you. - Close To You by Carpenters
Mingyu sprinted from his car, heart pounding, as he rushed toward the scene. One of the doctors at the hospital had mentioned that a fire had broken out in a Gangnam district building—your building. His breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area, the flames now subdued, but the remnants of the fire still smoked in the air. A police officer stopped him from moving closer.
"My fiancée lives there," Mingyu gasped, his voice tight with anxiety.
Just as the officer held him back, he spotted you in the distance. You were casually walking, still in your pajamas, holding a half-eaten ice cream cone. Mingyu's eyes widened, watching as your expression changed the moment you took in the sight of your charred apartment building.
"My apartment!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with frustration as Mingyu hurried over to you.
Mingyu quickly examined you, scanning for any signs of injury. A wave of relief washed over him when he realized you had been safely outside while the fire ravaged your home. His tense shoulders relaxed for the first time since hearing the news.
"Where were you?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you seemed so unfazed by the chaos around you.
You blinked, a bit dazed by everything. "I was out for a meal..."
Mingyu glanced at his watch—half and an hour left before his surgery. "I'm glad you're alright. I’ll drive you to my place for now. I’ve got surgery in an hour."
The procedure went smoothly, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he sat in his office afterward. All he wanted was to go home and collapse into bed. But he hesitated, remembering that you were now at his apartment. The two of you had never really shared a space before, and the thought made him uneasy. After all, this wasn’t a typical engagement.
A year ago, your families had arranged for you two to be engaged. It was strictly business—a merger of two powerful legacies. Your family owned the hospital where Mingyu worked, while his family operated a successful medical and paramedical equipment company. It made sense for the families to align themselves, and though the proposal had taken him by surprise, Mingyu agreed to the engagement. What really caught him off guard was that you agreed too.
From what Mingyu knew, you ran a small homemade Korean restaurant near Seoul University. It wasn’t a huge enterprise, but it had a loyal customer base thanks to its affordable prices and excellent food. When news of the engagement broke, everyone speculated that your family needed Mingyu to step in and continue running the hospital, especially since you showed no interest in taking it over yourself. Mingyu knew he benefited a lot from this arrangement—more than he was willing to admit sometimes.
It was nearly morning when Mingyu finally arrived home, expecting you to be fast asleep. He took a quick shower, hoping to unwind before getting some rest. But when he stepped into the living room, he nearly jumped out of his skin. You were sitting on the couch, staring into the darkness.
"You scared me!" Mingyu muttered, his heart still racing. "Why aren’t you sleeping?"
You shot him a sharp look, your voice dry. "My house just burned down. How could I possibly sleep soundly?"
Ah, right. He had forgotten that small but important detail.
"Right... of course." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, make yourself at home. Feel free to use the kitchen if you want breakfast. I’ll head to bed."
Mingyu retreated to his room, hoping for some much-needed rest. But as he lay there, he found sleep impossible. His mind kept drifting back to the strange reality that the two of you were now sharing a roof. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—far from it. You were smart, independent, and capable. But the idea of being engaged, living together, and yet still feeling like you were strangers unnerved him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.
"Yeah, she's fine. She's alright. She's with me. I'll handle things with the building owner about her place. You don’t have to worry, sir." Mingyu reassured your father over the phone as he finished getting ready for work.
Despite having only gotten three hours of sleep, Mingyu needed to be at the hospital for an early morning meeting as the branch director. He had already filled your father in on last night’s fire, assuring him that you were safe and staying with him for the time being. Ending the call, he stepped out of the closet and made his way to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of you preparing breakfast.
You were wearing one of his shirts.
"I’ll call you later, sir," Mingyu said quickly before hanging up, his eyes immediately locking with yours as he entered the kitchen.
You glanced at him briefly, then gestured for him to sit down as you placed the plates on the table. Mingyu couldn’t help but stare for a moment. You must have noticed because you spoke up.
"I didn’t have any clothes with me," you explained, a hint of self-consciousness in your voice. "I borrowed your shirt, if you don’t mind."
Mingyu nodded. "It's fine."
An awkward silence lingered for a moment before he asked, "Is there anything you need to do today?"
You thought for a second. "I definitely need to get some clothes first. And maybe check on the restaurant."
Mingyu thanked you for the food as you joined him at the table. He picked up his spoon, and as soon as he took a bite, his eyes widened in surprise. The breakfast was incredible. He had visited your restaurant a couple of times and knew you were the mastermind behind the recipes, having graduated with a degree in culinary arts. But still, he hadn’t expected his simple morning meal to taste this good.
"How about your belongings?" he asked between bites. "Anything important you need to check, like documents or valuables?"
"Luckily, I left all my important documents at my parents' place," you said, relieved. "But I do need to talk to the building owner about the fire and the damage."
Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll go with you."
You both finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and as Mingyu got up to leave for work, he thanked you again for the meal. Before heading out, he made a few calls, one to the aunt who cleaned his house regularly, asking her to pick up some women’s clothes for you, and another to the building manager to arrange an extra parking space for your car.
As he drove to the hospital, he reflected on the morning. He hadn’t expected starting the day with you to feel so... easy. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if your engagement weren’t just a business arrangement. The thought lingered in the back of his mind as he went on with his day.
"Doctor Kim, thank you for the meal!" the nurses chimed in as Mingyu passed by the emergency room station during his daily rounds.
He blinked in confusion, unsure of what they were referring to. Then, he spotted the neatly packed meals from your restaurant sitting on the counter. You had sent food to his staff. It was thoughtful—something he hadn't expected but appreciated. Mingyu smiled and waved to the nurses, telling them to enjoy the meal before heading to his office, where he found a meal from your restaurant waiting for him as well.
Mingyu quickly shot you a text: Thanks for the meal, everyone’s enjoying it.
You didn’t respond, and Mingyu wasn’t surprised. He rarely texted you, and from what he had observed, you were just as busy as he was. He could understand if you weren’t glued to your phone all the time. Besides, it’s not like he was your priority when it came to messaging.
Over the past week of living together, Mingyu had noticed that the two of you had fallen into a quiet, predictable routine. You would both wake up early, have breakfast together, head off to work, return late in the evening, and go straight to bed. The cycle repeated itself day after day, with only a few short exchanges of "How was work?" or "Did you sleep well?" in between. It was strange to be living under the same roof, sharing meals, and yet feeling like you were still strangers in many ways.
That morning, you casually mentioned that you had signed the lease on a new apartment, not far from your restaurant.
"Do you want to go furniture shopping with me?" you asked over breakfast.
"Sure" Mingyu agreed without hesitation.
And now, here he was, sitting on his couch in a casual outfit, waiting to go furniture shopping with you. It felt like an odd thing to be doing with someone who was supposed to be his fiancée, yet didn’t quite feel like one. Still, Mingyu couldn’t shake the curiosity growing inside him—the thought of spending more time with you, learning more about you beyond the polite small talk and daily routine. He wasn't sure if it would change anything between you, but part of him wanted to try.
"This couch looks good. It fits a lot of people," Mingyu said, running his hand over the fabric as you continued to browse.
You shook your head, clearly unimpressed. "I don't get visitors."
Mingyu chuckled, leaning in a little closer. "What about friends? Boyfriend, maybe?" he teased with a playful grin.
You scoffed and held up your left hand, flashing the engagement ring in front of him. "In case you forgot, I’m engaged."
Mingyu’s eyes flickered to the ring, and he was momentarily struck by the sight of it. You always wore the ring, even though the engagement had been arranged. He, on the other hand, rarely wore his—only during major events or family meetings where it was expected. His profession didn’t really allow for accessories, so he often went without it. But seeing you wear it regularly was a subtle reminder of the commitment hanging between you both.
"Right, how could I forget?" he replied, smoothly continuing the conversation as if the ring hadn’t stirred something unspoken inside him.
Despite the casual banter, the moment felt a little heavier than it should have. He couldn't quite shake the realization that the ring—a symbol of their engagement—was more present in your life than his. It was a quiet declaration, whether intentional or not, that you were his fiancée.
When it came time to pay, Mingyu insisted on covering everything, even after your countless protests. He waved off your refusals, casually brushing them aside as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to take care of it.
"A rib for dinner?" Mingyu requested once he done paying. How dare you to refused.
*
After ten days of living together, Mingyu realized how quiet and empty his place felt without you around. He found himself looking for any excuse to see you, whether it was a quick text, a call, or even dropping by your restaurant. Without fully realizing it, the relationship between the two of you had begun to shift into something he hadn’t expected.
At this point, almost all of your staff knew him. They had even started referring to him as "the boss's handsome fiancé" every time he walked through the door. This month alone, he had visited your restaurant 8 times—sometimes for a meal, sometimes just to drive you home. And he was relieved that you didn’t seem uncomfortable with his presence. In fact, you appeared to be getting used to it, just as he was.
One afternoon, as Mingyu made his rounds at the hospital, he overheard a group of nurses whispering as he passed by, his name mentioned in their conversation.
"If she's the daughter of the owner, then she must be Doctor Kim’s fiancée, right?"
Mingyu, always the friendly type, chimed in with a grin. "I heard my name."
The nurses looked a bit startled but quickly filled him in. "Doctor Kim, the owner's daughter was brought into the emergency room after being assaulted. Isn't she your fiancée?"
What?
Mingyu’s stomach dropped. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his phone and immediately dialed your number. It rang, but someone else picked up.
"Y/n?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.
"Ah, Mr. Kim? She left her phone behind. She's at the hospital right now. A crazy person caused a scene and she got hurt."
Mingyu didn’t wait for more details. He bolted to the emergency room, his mind racing. When he got there, he hurried to the nurses’ station and asked for your whereabouts.
They directed him to a bed where he finally saw you—sitting up, your arm and head wrapped in bandages, while a doctor carefully tended to your injuries. Relief washed over him, but it was mixed with a surge of worry and anger at what had happened.
He approached you cautiously, his heart still pounding in his chest.
You looked up at Mingyu and smiled, a wave of relief washing over you as soon as you saw him by your side. As the doctor finished tending to your wounds, he greeted Mingyu and explained that you would need to wait for the results of the X-ray, as you had hit your head during the incident.
Once the doctor left, Mingyu turned his full attention to you, his eyes scanning over your injuries with a mixture of concern and relief. Without saying a word, he gently pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if making sure you were really okay.
"I'm so glad it wasn't worse," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. He pulled back slightly to look at you. "What happened?"
You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lingering tension from the day. "There was this drunk guy, making a scene in the restaurant. He was about to hit one of my staff, so I stepped in. I got pushed and my head hit the table. This," you pointed to your bandaged arm, "is from some shattered glass."
Mingyu sighed, his jaw tightening in frustration. "I'm calling the police," he said firmly, standing up as if ready to take action immediately.
But you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. "It's already been reported. My staff handled it."
Mingyu paused, looking down at you, the worry still clear in his eyes. Though the situation had already been dealt with, his protective instincts were hard to turn off. He sat back down next to you, still holding your hand, as if to reassure himself you were safe now.
Your mother, the vice president, appeared in the emergency room, her presence commanding attention as she quickly made her way toward you. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, though you could see the worry etched in her expression.
"My heart dropped when I heard my daughter was in the emergency room. Are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she reached out to touch your arm.
"I'm fine, Mom," you reassured her with a small smile, trying to ease her worry.
Mingyu stood quietly to the side, observing the exchange with a sense of relief. He was glad to see how close you were with your family, something he hadn’t really gotten to witness much before.
Then your mother turned her attention to Mingyu, who stood respectfully behind her. Her gaze softened as she acknowledged him.
"Thank you, Mingyu. I heard you’ve been taking care of my daughter, especially after she lost her apartment in the fire. And now you're here again," she said, her gratitude clear.
Mingyu bowed slightly, feeling the weight of her words. "It's my pleasure, ma'am," he responded with sincerity.
Your mother waved off the formality with a warm smile. "No need for 'ma'am.' Call me Mother. After all, you're part of the family now—my daughter's fiancé."
The words caught Mingyu a little off guard, though he masked it with a polite nod. He glanced at you, noticing the subtle shift in the room. The formality of your engagement suddenly felt a bit more personal, more real.
After spending some more time talking with your mother and assuring her you were okay, the X-ray results came back clear. The doctor recommended rest and monitoring for the next few days to ensure there were no lingering effects from the head injury. With that, Mingyu insisted on taking you home.
As you left the hospital, Mingyu walked by your side, his hand resting gently on your lower back as he guided you to the car. The day had been exhausting, but knowing that Mingyu was there gave you a strange sense of comfort. It was a feeling that was becoming more familiar lately.
The drive home was quiet, with Mingyu occasionally glancing over to check on you. You stared out the window, your mind still processing everything that had happened, from the fire at your apartment to the incident today. You felt the weight of it all, but at the same time, there was a sense of relief that you weren’t alone in dealing with it.
When Mingyu pulled into his apartment complex, he parked the car and quickly came around to your side to help you out. You couldn’t help but smile at how attentive he was.
As you sat on the couch, trying to unwind from the long day, Mingyu hovered nearby, clearly still worried. You noticed his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, as if checking to make sure you were really okay.
"You really should rest," he said, standing up and grabbing a blanket from the nearby chair. "I can see you're exhausted."
"I’m fine, Mingyu," you protested softly, though you knew you needed the rest.
He walked over, gently draping the blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he looked down at you. “Just lie down, please. Doctor's orders,” he added with a small, teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.
You sighed, giving in. The exhaustion was catching up with you, and the couch felt more comfortable with the blanket wrapped around you. As you shifted to lie down, Mingyu crouched down beside you, his expression softening as he watched you settle.
"Better?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
You nodded, pulling the blanket closer. “Yeah, better.”
He lingered for a moment before standing up again, running a hand through his hair. "I think I’ll stay out here with you, just in case you need anything.”
"You don’t have to—" you started to protest, but Mingyu was already grabbing a pillow for himself and setting it on the other end of the couch.
"I know, but I want to," he said simply, lying down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. “We both need to rest anyway. This way, I’ll be right here if anything happens.”
You turned your head slightly to look at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he seemed lying next to you. The tension that had been hanging in the air for weeks felt like it was slowly fading, replaced by an unexpected sense of ease.
"Alright," you murmured, closing your eyes.
Mingyu lay there quietly, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence was steady, reassuring in a way that made you feel safe. After a few moments, he shifted slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours under the blanket. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke volumes.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let the quiet warmth between the two of you settle in, realizing that maybe this arrangement between you wasn’t so bad after all.
As you drifted off to sleep, you could feel Mingyu relax beside you. The weight of the day slowly lifted, and with him lying there next to you, it felt easier to rest.
As evening approached, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. You and Mingyu had both woken up from your nap, feeling more rested but still shaken from the day's events. Mingyu sat up, glancing over at you with a gentle smile.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice still soft but with a hint of concern.
You shook your head, feeling more at ease now. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for staying with me.”
He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I should probably check and clean your wound properly. Just to make sure it’s healing well.”
You hesitated for a moment but then nodded, realizing it would be reassuring to have him take care of you. Mingyu moved to get a first aid kit from the bathroom, then returned and sat next to you on the couch. As he began to carefully clean the wound on your head, his concentration was palpable.
The proximity brought an unexpected intimacy. Mingyu’s breath lightly brushed against your skin, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. You glanced up at him, and for the first time, you noticed how dangerously close his face was to yours. The closeness made both of you acutely aware of each other, and suddenly, your cheeks flushed a soft pink.
There was a moment of shared awkwardness where neither of you knew quite what to say. Mingyu’s fingers brushed lightly against your forehead, and a nervous laugh escaped both of you simultaneously. The sound was light and shy, a clear indicator of the tension and the new feelings stirring between you.
Mingyu’s hands paused as he looked at you, his eyes meeting yours with an earnest expression. The silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions. He seemed to be gauging your reaction, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.
Without breaking eye contact, Mingyu leaned in slowly, and you felt a rush of anticipation. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to stand still. Then, ever so gently, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and soft, a simple yet profound gesture that spoke volumes.
You responded instinctively, your lips moving against his in a hesitant, exploring dance. The kiss deepened just slightly, filled with a mutual tenderness that neither of you had expected but both seemed to crave. When Mingyu finally pulled back, his expression was a mix of relief and uncertainty.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, a slight blush still visible on his cheeks. “I just... I needed to do that.”
You smiled softly, reaching out to gently touch his face. “It’s okay. I think I needed it too.”
Mingyu’s smile was more relaxed now, a genuine warmth in his eyes. He resumed cleaning the wound with a renewed calm, the previous tension replaced by a new, comforting closeness. As he finished, you both settled back into the couch, the space between you now filled with a quiet, shared understanding.
Mingyu set aside the first aid kit and took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. “I... I know this might sound sudden, but I think we need to talk about where we go from here.”
You looked at him with curiosity and a hint of apprehension, waiting for him to continue.
He shifted slightly, his expression earnest. “I know our relationship started out as a business arrangement, and things between us have been... different from what I expected. But after spending time with you, especially today, I’ve realized something.”
You watched him closely, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest.
“Mingyu, what is it?” you asked softly.
He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how we’ve been living together, how you’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And honestly, I’ve come to realize that I really like you. More than just as my fiancée. I want to be with you, not just because of our families or the arrangement, but because I genuinely care about you.”
His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity behind them. Mingyu reached out and took your hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.
“I want to start over,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want us to settle everything that’s happened and move forward. I want to take you out on dates, to spend time with you as someone I truly treasure. Not just because it’s what’s expected, but because it’s what I genuinely want.”
Your heart raced as you listened, his confession a mix of relief and excitement. It was clear that Mingyu wasn’t just fulfilling a duty anymore—he was speaking from the heart.
“I’ve felt the same way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand. “I never expected this arrangement to lead to something real, but it has. I’ve come to care about you a lot, and I’d like to see where this could go, too.”
Mingyu’s face brightened with a hopeful smile. “So, are we starting over then? Taking a chance on something that’s more than just an arrangement?”
You nodded, a smile of your own spreading across your face. “Yes, let’s start over. I’d like that.”
With a sense of newfound clarity and excitement, Mingyu leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a deeper sense of commitment. It was a kiss that promised not just the continuation of an engagement but the beginning of something much more meaningful.
As the evening drew on, you and Mingyu talked more about your hopes and plans for the future, feeling a sense of anticipation and warmth. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but now it was a journey you were both eager to take together, as partners who truly cared for each other.
*
“Because you’re handsome?” Mingyu chuckled softly, clearly amused by your answer. He had asked you why you accepted the engagement in the first place, and he hadn’t expected your candid response.
“Of course, you’re very handsome and attractive,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “But beyond that, I didn’t have anyone special, and I didn’t want to go against my parents’ kind intentions, especially when it didn’t harm me.”
“You didn’t go against it?” Mingyu asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
You paused to think before shaking your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t planning to get married. I was just focused on my business.”
Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. “How about now?”
“What do you mean now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.
“Get married,” he clarified. “Do you want to get married?”
It had been three years since the engagement, and throughout that time, you and Mingyu had maintained your commitment to each other. Even though your parents had pushed for a wedding, you both had insisted on getting to know each other better. It was only after a year of engagement that you truly began to enjoy each other’s presence.
“With you?” you asked innocently, and Mingyu rolled his eyes with a chuckle.
“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t with me. Do you want to get married to me?”
A scowl formed on your face as you stared at him, your emotions a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Are you proposing?”
Mingyu laughed, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Why? You don’t like it, baby?”
The scowl melted away, replaced by a warm and genuine smile. “I’d love to. I’ve been happy these two years with you. Why not be happy forever?”
Mingyu’s expression softened as he cupped your cheeks gently. “You’re really happy?”
You nodded, your eyes shining with sincerity.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “Then I’m happy too.”
In that moment, it felt as if everything had come full circle. The uncertainty of the past had given way to a future filled with promise, and both of you were ready to embrace it together.
I read duty finished, open you page, and crying a river cause I found gold mine😭 im on my knees to YOU GIRL oH MY GOD thank you so much for writing bunch of mesmerizing story from the plot, the tension, the words, THE PAIN😭😭 everything is perfect i think angst is your genre im not even kidding you devoured it, I enjoy every story, smiling, gigling and obiously CRYING LIKE MY LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. Thank you sooo much for writing such outstanding story and thank you for being a writer❤️ hope everything you do goes smoothly and may life offer you tons of happiness, luck, wealth and health✨
omg—
My 4 years ago self wouldn't believe that someone would say this after reading her fic.
I'm genuinely so happy reading all of your feedbacks but i just couldn't find word to reply it. Squeezing into my hectic schedule, everyday, is the only thing i can do to write and give you guys a piece from my head.
It's never perfect, they will never be perfect. My writings. But you guys— you made them perfect for me and i can't be more grateful for that!
Hi Den! I hope you always have a great day because your fics are amazing. They're definitely making everyone's day (you write angst the best and i like the pain. Don't stop🫵)
Anyway, i was wondering if you ever consider writing for different group like NCT👉👈? Neosvt stan here✋☺
Anyway, no pressure. Just curious:p
Oh—? You read mind? Because I'm actually writing something. A personal archive. The hurting one. For my personal tear-jearking piece. When day is tough.
Lemme know of you're interested on reading other group from meeeeee😋😋
Summary: two ordinary worker have to deal with a baby. What should they do? Stay supple!
Missing Yoon Jeonghan hour:( but having so much fun writing this?
The weather was perfect, the sun shining just enough to complement the mood. Both you and Jeonghan waved as you split from the elevator—like clockwork. You headed left towards the design team, while he turned right to finance. Just another day as two regular employees at a food label under a large South Korean company.
"What's your relationship with Ji Y/N?" Jeonghan was first asked this after the two of you were seen leaving work together.
"She's my friend," he'd answer, as simply as possible, before walking off, leaving behind a trail of curious colleagues.
But when your coworkers found out you actually knew "the pretty guy from finance," their questions were relentless: “Is he single?” “Are you two dating?”
"He's my roommate," you revealed one day, much to their shock. "And, believe me, he looks way better than he actually is."
Exposing Jeonghan's less-than-angelic personality to his adoring fans became your daily amusement. It was a shock to everyone when they realized the two of you shared a flat. You’d known each other since junior high, moving to Seoul together in pursuit of better education, career prospects, and, maybe, love. But living in the capital wasn’t some dreamy K-drama. Everything was overpriced, especially rent. So, with some initial hesitation, you two decided to share an apartment.
"You failed your test?" Jeonghan mocked you years ago, when you returned from your architecture exam. He wasn’t surprised—you were hopeless at STEM subjects, and he loved to rub it in.
"I told you she was a snake," you reminded him when he came home heartbroken after his three-month relationship in university went up in flames. She'd used him to get through finals. Classic.
There was an ongoing joke between you two: "There are two types of people in this world—smart but evil, and kind but dumb." It didn’t take much guessing which label each of you wore.
“How was work?” Jeonghan asked as you both trudged home from the bus stop, a routine you had grown used to. The walk was long, so you filled the time with idle chat, unless you'd had an argument the night before, then it was all awkward silence.
You beamed at him, barely containing your excitement. "Amazing! The project I pitched was a hit! I can practically smell a promotion coming."
Jeonghan chuckled, amused by your enthusiasm. "Good for you. Finance was a bit of chaotic today. Did you know the production costs are getting cut by 2% next month?"
Your excitement dimmed. "Wait, what?"
Jeonghan laughed at your panicked expression. "Don’t worry. We're trying to keep it from affecting your department—maybe even that project of yours."
You sighed dramatically. "You finance people really hold the whole company together, huh?"
As you reached your floor and walked down the hallway, the sound of a baby crying echoed. You grimaced and commented on how loud it was, while Jeonghan mindlessly scrolled through his phone.
“Jeonghan,” you stopped just a few feet from your door, a strange feeling twisting in your gut.
Jeonghan turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, eyes still on his phone.
You pointed toward your apartment door. He finally looked up and saw what had rendered you speechless.
A baby box was sitting right there, in front of your door.
“Well, that's... unexpected,” Jeonghan quipped, scratching his head.
*
You stepped out of the police station, practically fuming, your brows knit together in frustration. Whatever happened inside had clearly pushed you to the edge.
"Do I look like a mother? Do I look old?" you snapped at Jeonghan, still seething over the way the officers had assumed things about you and the baby. You were taking it personally—way too personally.
"We need to investigate this situation further. There’s no CCTV on your apartment floor, so it’s hard for us to confirm whether the baby was really left there or if it’s, well... yours,” one of the officers had said, completely indifferent to your rising anger.
Jeonghan sighed, still holding the baby box as if it weighed a ton. His day had been chaotic enough at work, and now this? He just wanted to take a nap, but instead, he found himself standing in front of the police station, accused of something as wild as fathering a baby outside of marriage.
Yet, somehow, he wasn’t as furious as you.
"So, what do we do with this creature?" Jeonghan gestured at the baby, still sounding far too calm for your liking.
"It's a baby," you muttered.
"I know it’s a baby. But what are we supposed to do? The police won’t take it without more evidence, and we can’t exactly keep it," he said, his voice getting louder, almost desperate. His raised tone startled the baby, who began to cry—loudly.
Jeonghan sighed deeply, the sound of the wailing infant pushing him to his limit. He shot you a pleading look, as if expecting you to pull some miracle solution out of thin air. "You’ve never thought about being in a situation like this before?" he asked, clinging to the hope that you might have a plan.
You shook your head, helpless. "I don’t know... I want to cry too," you mumbled, your frustration bubbling over.
Jeonghan groaned. "Great. That’s exactly what we need—two people crying."
He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, resigning himself to the situation. "Let’s just... take it home first. Then we can figure out what to do."
The two of you exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes about how absurd your day had become—before heading back to your shared apartment, a tiny, crying bundle now in tow.
You and Jeonghan sat on the floor of your living room, the baby box placed carefully between the two of you. The baby was still crying, its tiny wails echoing off the walls, and neither of you had the faintest clue how to make it stop.
"Do you think it's hungry? Or maybe... the diaper’s full?" you asked, throwing out the first guesses that came to mind.
Jeonghan instantly grabbed his phone and started Googling. "Yeah, uh, let me just... get some baby stuff," he mumbled, still scrolling as he stood up. He made it a few steps toward the door before turning back to point at you, with a smirk. "And don't do anything dumb while I’m gone. It may be a baby, but trust me—it’s judging you."
You glared at him. "Shut up!" you snapped, though there was a hint of panic creeping into your voice. You had never felt so out of your depth in your own apartment before.
Jeonghan laughed softly under his breath and hurried out the door, leaving you alone with the crying bundle. You sighed, looking down at the baby, and for a second, you swore it was staring back at you, its cries growing more impatient as if it really was judging your lack of maternal instincts.
“Okay, okay, I get it... I’m not cut out for this,” you muttered, feeling a tiny bit of guilt, though mostly stress, wash over you.
When Jeonghan returned home, the sight that greeted him was the last thing he expected. You were sitting on the couch, cradling the baby in your arms, swaying gently as if you'd been doing it for years. The baby was finally quiet, its tiny face peaceful for the first time since you’d found it.
“What did you get?” you asked in a whisper, your voice barely above a breath, as if any louder might undo your newfound peace.
Jeonghan held up a bag and gestured to its contents. "Baby milk, diapers, and... these," he said, showing you a bottle and a baby-sized nipple.
You raised an eyebrow, a little amused. "You got the essentials. How’d that go?"
Jeonghan sighed, a bit sheepish. "The staff asked me how old the baby was. I panicked and just said, 'Uh, it’s a baby... like, you know, baby.’ She gave me the weirdest look because I kept calling it it.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, careful not to disturb the baby. “Good job,” you said, offering him a sarcastic thumbs-up before handing the baby over.
Jeonghan, now holding the baby with a mix of terror and curiosity, watched as you headed to the kitchen to prepare the formula. He could hear you from the other room, opening a tutorial video on YouTube, the sounds of "how to make baby formula" echoing faintly through the apartment.
“Will it be too hot?” you called out once you’d finished preparing the milk, holding up the bottle and inspecting it like you were conducting a science experiment.
Jeonghan smirked, bouncing the baby a little in his arms. "If it can handle my hotness, I think it'll be fine."
You shot him a withering look and promptly kicked his leg, just enough to make him grunt in pain.
“Ow,” he grumbled, trying to keep his voice low, but the baby squirmed in his arms, clearly disturbed by the commotion.
“Shh, shh,” he soothed quickly, gently rocking the baby back and forth. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene—a rare sight, Jeonghan being careful and gentle, though his usual antics weren’t too far behind.
"Careful, 'hot stuff,'" you teased, handing him the bottle. "You wouldn’t want to disturb your new fan."
Jeonghan gave you a mock glare before turning his attention back to the baby, slowly offering the bottle. "Let’s see if this works."
*
Neither of you had gotten a wink of sleep. And for once, the reason wasn't work—it was a baby. A very fresh, very loud baby. After fumbling through the process of changing a diaper and discovering the baby was a boy, you immediately passed him over to Jeonghan, wincing.
“I feel like I violated his privacy,” you mumbled, shoving the squirming infant into Jeonghan’s arms. “I didn’t have his consent.”
Jeonghan just rolled his eyes at your dramatic excuse to get out of diaper duty. “Right. Smart-dumb way to avoid the work.”
The next morning, utterly exhausted and desperate for some relief, you two were saved by an unexpected visitor. Your neighbor, a sweet woman in her 50s, knocked on the door, her face full of concern. She’d heard the crying all night and was curious about the sudden arrival of a baby in your apartment.
You and Jeonghan immediately launched into a frantic explanation, stumbling over your words as you described how you’d found the baby on your doorstep. To your immense relief, she offered to help babysit while the two of you went to work.
Now, finally, there was a moment of peace as you both leaned back in the bus seat, your heads resting against the windows. You shared a glance, silently hoping the short 10-minute bus ride would somehow erase the exhaustion weighing you down.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” you asked, your voice barely audible.
“She raised four kids. She’s more qualified than we are,” Jeonghan muttered, closing his eyes, the weariness catching up with him.
You sighed in agreement, sinking deeper into your seat. For now, all you could do was hope for the best and enjoy the few minutes of quiet before diving back into the chaos of your day.
"You should boil the bottle before using it, to kill the bacteria. Otherwise, the baby could get a stomachache and won't stop crying," your neighbor advised, her tone gentle but firm, as though the two of you were first-time parents instead of accidental babysitters.
Jeonghan and you stood there, nodding along, taking in her wisdom with wide eyes. "And don’t forget, after feeding, make sure he burps by patting his back gently. It’ll help him feel comfortable and sleep better."
With the baby in Jeonghan's arms, you both returned to the apartment, the weight of her advice hanging over you. You dropped everything you were carrying onto the floor, grateful when you noticed she’d even given you a small container of side dishes. You quickly stored them in the fridge while Jeonghan sat down, still rocking the baby gently in his arms.
"You should sleep," Jeonghan said after a few minutes. "I’ll watch the baby for now."
Without a second thought, you hummed in agreement, too tired to argue. You leaned over and gave Jeonghan a quick, tired kiss on the cheek as thanks before dashing off to your bedroom, ready to collapse. Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a smirk, though the small gesture made him chuckle.
As the door to your bedroom clicked shut, Jeonghan looked down at the baby, who had finally stopped fussing. “Well, it’s just you and me now, little guy,” he muttered, gently swaying from side to side. Exhaustion pulled at him, too, but the baby’s small face, now peaceful, kept him focused.
He yawned. "I need sleep as much as you do, buddy," he said softly, but continued rocking the baby, hoping the rhythmic motion would send him—and maybe himself—into a peaceful sleep.
*
Days of raising a baby you didn’t make—a running joke between you and Jeonghan to keep your sanity—were slowly becoming more manageable. The sleeping schedule was still a mess, but somehow, the two of you had adapted. You had even begun to master it. The real hero in your eyes, though, was Mrs. Moon, your neighbor, who had not only been babysitting but also offering wisdom, keeping both of you sane as you navigated this new, unexpected life.
One night, after a week of taking care of “Baby”—what you’d both started calling the little one—you and Jeonghan collapsed onto the couch. Baby lay peacefully in the rocking bed Mrs. Moon had lent you, her granddaughter's old one.
As you both sat there, half-delirious from exhaustion, the conversation inevitably shifted to the cost of suddenly having a baby around—mentally, physically, and especially financially.
“No wonder people in Korea aren’t having kids anymore,” you mused aloud, running a hand through your hair. “It’s a lot.”
Jeonghan, sprawled on the couch beside you, hummed in agreement. “I mean, it’s not news. Everyone knows how hard it is.”
“I’m so tired,” he said, his voice dripping with fatigue. “Like, mentally drained. All I want is to down five bottles of soju and just... disappear for a bit.”
You nodded, feeling the same way. “Right? I should be at a club right now, dancing, living my best life—maybe even finding someone to date,” you mumbled half-jokingly, staring at the ceiling.
Jeonghan turned his head to you, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to find the love of your life at a club?”
You shrugged, barely amused. “It doesn’t have to be love, you know... could just be, you know—distraction,” you said, hinting at something more casual.
Jeonghan gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cheap,” he teased, his eyes wide in mock judgment.
You swatted his arm, your voice dropping to a whisper, trying not to wake Baby. “I lost my virginity at 22! I wasn’t that cheap,” you hissed, more amused than angry.
Jeonghan burst into soft laughter, knowing full well you were just messing around. He’d known you for too long to take any of this seriously. “I’m just saying... you don’t exactly scream ‘wild-child looking for a one-night stand.’”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah, well, I could surprise you.”
“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan replied, still smiling. He glanced over at Baby, who remained peacefully asleep, and then back at you.
“When was the last time you had it? With Joshua?” Jeonghan asked, breaking into personal territory the two of you rarely ventured. He was referring to your ex, the American-Korean guy who had ended things when he had to leave the country.
You hummed thoughtfully, rubbing your face. “Honestly? I think I’ve forgotten how it even felt,” you admitted, casting a sideways glance at him. “What about you?”
Jeonghan leaned back, scoffing slightly. “With my last ex, obviously. I’m not some playboy, Y/N, no matter what you think,” he replied, sounding a bit annoyed by the label you often teased him with.
You smirked, resting your chin on your hand. “Was it hard? You know, to only do it with a few people?”
He nodded, glancing at you seriously. “Yeah. I only ever do it when I’m emotionally attached to someone.”
Your eyebrow quirked up. “Like when you did it with me?” you asked, playfully hinting at that one time between you two.
Jeonghan’s gaze shifted toward you, a small, knowing smile forming as he nodded slowly. “Yup. Including you.”
For a brief moment, the air felt heavier between you, the shared history lingering in the silence. But then, as always, the familiarity between you and Jeonghan smoothed over any tension, settling the moment into a comfortable memory rather than an awkward one.
*
“You want me to what?” Jeonghan asked, his tone laced with disbelief as he stood frozen by the door, still in his campus jacket.
He had just returned from a long day filled with senior-year responsibilities, juggling group projects and graduation prep. Lately, the two of you had barely exchanged more than a few words, with both your schedules completely packed. You were interning at an American-Korean company, and by the time you got home, you’d make a beeline straight to your room, too exhausted for much interaction.
“Please, Jeonghan,” you pleaded, sitting on the couch with clasped hands. “I don’t know who else to ask. I only trust you.”
Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He always knew you could be impulsive, but this? This was next-level.
“It’s not something casual, Y/N,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “It’s... complicated. You seriously want me to take your virginity?”
You pouted, your eyes wide with a mixture of desperation and resolve. “It’ll be a one-time thing,” you assured him. “I promise it won’t change anything between us. I won’t treat you differently.”
Jeonghan groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “We’ve been friends for eight years,” he reminded you, his voice soft but serious. “What if it doesn’t go well? What happens then? Where am I supposed to live? Are we just going to keep splitting rent and pretend nothing happened?”
You couldn’t help but chuckle, amused that he was worried about the rent in such a moment. “It won’t change anything. I swear.”
He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. He wanted to make sure you understood what you were asking for, that you were truly serious about this.
“I’m serious, Jeonghan,” you added softly, your voice more determined now.
He sighed again, his internal conflict clear. “You know this could get messy, right?”
You nodded, eyes unwavering. “I trust you.”
Jeonghan sat down beside you, still visibly unsure but also knowing that in all the years you had been friends, you had always been honest with each other.
After a long, tense pause, he finally spoke. “Alright. If you’re absolutely sure about this...”
*
The two of you took half a day off work, though the morning had started as any other. While you were still in your tank top, getting ready for the day, a knock on the door interrupted your routine. Thinking it was Mrs. Moon, you casually opened the door, only to be met by a police officer.
"Mr. Yoon? Are you Ms. Yoon?" the officer asked.
Caught off guard, you quickly excused yourself to change, leaving Jeonghan to greet the officer. When you rejoined them in the living room, the officer handed both of you a document.
"It's about the report you filed last week regarding the abandoned baby," the officer explained. "We apologize for the delay, but we've since received information about a missing person—a woman in her twenties who disappeared along with her infant."
You and Jeonghan exchanged looks, tension building in the room.
"So, we'd like you to bring the baby to the station. We'll meet with the family to confirm if the baby is theirs."
Later, at the police station, the baby was confirmed to be the missing woman's son, just two months old. The officer showed you and Jeonghan footage of a woman carrying the same baby box, wandering near your apartment complex before leaving it behind. While you weren’t given the full details about the mother, the footage left no doubt.
It was an unexpected turn of events, but also a relief.
“No more baby to babysit,” Jeonghan remarked on your way to work, a mix of exhaustion and amusement in his tone.
You nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of the last few days finally lifting. “We should get Mrs. Moon that apple mango she’s been wanting,” you said, your voice light. Jeonghan made a mental note, closing his eyes as he leaned back in the car seat.
Finally, peace was coming—real peace, and not just the brief moments of quiet between diaper changes and late-night feedings.
"I'm sorry to ask, but I just want to make sure—are you two married?" The officer's tone was polite but curious.
Both you and Jeonghan shook your heads simultaneously. "No, we're not. We're just roommates," Jeonghan replied, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced at you.
The officer nodded thoughtfully, taking in your response before offering a friendly smile. "Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any further questions or information, don’t hesitate to reach out."
As the officer turned to leave, you and Jeonghan stood in front of the company building, the bustling city life continuing around you. The weight of the past week was beginning to fade, replaced by a sense of relief.
Jeonghan let out a small chuckle, breaking the momentary silence. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if we had been married? The rumors would have been wild!"
You laughed, shaking your head at the thought. "Thank goodness for our status as roommates, then. At least it keeps things simple."
With a shared smile, you both stepped into the building, ready to face the day ahead—less burdened by the unexpected chaos and more in tune with each other than ever.
*
You arrived home a little later than usual, the warmth of the evening lingering around you. After a lively team dinner filled with laughter and a few glasses of soju, you decided to take a cab home, the comforting thought of Jeonghan waiting, to take care of the drunk you, made the ride feel shorter.
As you stepped inside, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. Jeonghan was slouched on the couch, drinking alone and engrossed in a variety show. The table in front of him was a chaotic scene of five bottles of soju and a box of fried chicken.
"You really have five bottles of soju?" you muttered, you sobered up from your own six glasses as the reality of the situation sank in.
"Hey, want to join?" Jeonghan offered, a lazy grin spreading across his face when he finally noticed your presence.
"You weren't joking when you said you would drink five bottles of soju," you replied, taking a seat beside him and pouring a shot of the clear liquid into a glass that had been left untouched, took in in one shot.
"Chill, girl. Did anyone bother you there?" Jeonghan asked, his words slightly slurred, yet still managing to express genuine concern.
You shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "Not really. But some higher-ups still made me pour drinks for them."
Jeonghan furrowed his brow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. Though he was clearly drunk, he was fighting to stay focused. "Which man should oppa kick his ass today?" he asked, referring to himself with a playful tone.
You chuckled, knowing how much he enjoyed the title. "Jeong Kiha," you mentioned, naming the vice president, which caught him by surprise.
"He came to your team dinner? That's rare," Jeonghan said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can’t help you there; he’s my boss as well."
You leaned in, amused by the whole situation. "What would you even do if you could? Challenge him to a drinking contest?"
"Absolutely! I’d take him down for you," he declared with exaggerated bravado, raising his glass in a mock toast. “But let’s be honest, I might need more practice after five bottles.”
"But if he bothered you, I might just have to make it personal." He continued.
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Personal, huh? What do you have in mind?"
With a playful glint in his eye, Jeonghan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could always take you out. Just the two of us. A more... intimate setting.”
Your heart raced at the suggestion, the alcohol fueling your boldness. "Intimate, you say? What would that look like, Jeonghan?"
"Maybe a cozy little restaurant where we can share more than just food and drinks," he teased, inching even closer. "I could help you unwind after your stuffy dinners with the higher-ups. Just you and me, no distractions."
A flutter of excitement surged through you. “And what else would we do, hmm?” you played along, your voice low and inviting.
Jeonghan smirked, leaning back slightly, eyes dancing with mischief. "I can think of a few ways to help you relieve some stress. You know, like teaching you how to really enjoy your drinks."
You laughed, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Is that your idea of a fun night? Getting me drunk so you can have your way with me?”
“Maybe,” he said, his tone turning serious for a moment. “But only if you want it, too. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”
His sincerity was disarming, and the tension hung in the air, electric. “You know, it’s tempting,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “Very tempting.”
Jeonghan grinned, raising his glass again. “Then let’s toast to temptation and see where the night takes us.”
You clinked your glasses together, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, both of you fully aware that this night could lead to something unexpected—and perhaps a little dangerous.
*
Jeonghan knew he was screwed the moment you asked him to take your virginity. The eight-year crush he had nurtured for you transformed into something much more profound once he kissed you for the first time. It felt right—like the universe had aligned in that single, electric moment. Your lips tasted sweet, like vanilla; maybe it was the chapstick you always used, or perhaps it was simply how you tasted. Either way, it was everything he had fantasized about.
He touched you with a gentleness that belied the whirlwind of emotions inside him, laying you down on his bed, because you didn't want to mess up your own. Watching your face shift through various expressions as he explored you sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t believe you were under him, something that the adolescent version of himself would have dreamt about while fantasizing in the dark, his hand working over his shaft as he thought of you.
The day after he took your virginity, you kept your promise, treating him as a friend and nothing more. And that, honestly, was the most disappointing part for him. While you moved on as if nothing had changed, his feelings remained steadfast, unwavering in their intensity. Eight years had passed since that night, yet his heart still raced at the thought of you.
Now, sitting beside you, he was acutely aware of the space that had grown between you, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. Jeonghan leaned in, cupping your cheeks in his hands, feeling the warmth of your skin against his palms. His heart pounded as he captured your lips with his once more. After all these years, you were still as sweet as he remembered, and the taste sent him spiraling back to that first kiss, igniting the flame that had never truly faded.
In that moment, all the years of friendship, all the laughter and shared memories, faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was the soft connection between your lips and the lingering sensation of what could be. He pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any sign of what you were feeling.
“Do you ever think about that night?” he whispered, vulnerability creeping into his voice.
You hesitated, your gaze flickering with uncertainty. “I try not to,” you admitted, your tone light but edged with honesty. “I didn’t want things to change between us.”
“And yet, here we are,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I never stopped wanting you.”
The weight of his confession hung in the air, and you could feel the tension between you shifting. Jeonghan’s heart raced, hopeful yet anxious, waiting for your response. Would you finally see him for more than just a friend?
You met his gaze, a mix of emotions dancing in your eyes. “What do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Let’s figure it out together,” he replied, closing the distance again, this time with a sense of urgency and purpose.
Jeonghan pulled you onto his lap, his hands roaming over every contour of your body, exploring the soft curves he had admired for so long. You kissed him with a passion that felt life-altering, pouring every ounce of desire and longing into that moment. The heat radiating between you ignited something primal in him—the idea that you wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted you was intoxicating.
He carefully unbuttoned your blouse, mindful that you would scold him if he broke even one button. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his fingers gliding over your bare skin, teasing your breast while his lips trailed kisses along your neck, igniting every nerve ending.
“J—Jeonghan…” A moan escaped your lips, and the sound sent shivers down his spine as he marked your neck with his lips, claiming you in ways that made his heart race. “I got you, baby. I got you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.
Your top lay discarded, and in a frenzy of desire, Jeonghan couldn’t even remember when he had removed it. He lifted your skirt, grabbing your ass as he kissed you deeply, pouring all his pent-up longing into that one kiss. He guided your hands to the hem of his t-shirt, encouraging you to strip him of his clothes. Your fingers traveled across his bare chest, and he let out a soft whimper at your touch, the sensation igniting a fire within him. This was the moment he had been waiting for—finally feeling your skin against his, a craving he had long held.
“Can you feel that?” he asked, thrusting his hips upward to let you feel how hard you made him. He noticed your cheeks tinting with a lovely blush at the revelation. “That’s how you make me, baby.”
He laid you back onto the couch, lifting your skirt higher until your thighs and underwear were fully exposed to him. One of his hands found its way to your breast, overwhelming you with sensations, while the other traveled lower, exploring your core beneath the thin, damp fabric that clung to you.
“You’re so wet, baby. And it’s all for me,” Jeonghan whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he nibbled on it playfully, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His tongue painted a path along your neck, igniting every nerve ending with desire.
“I need you, Jeonghan,” you whimpered under his skilled touch, desperation lacing your voice. But he hushed you with a passionate kiss, drowning your pleas in the heat of the moment.
“Be patient, baby… Just a little longer,” he replied, his voice a tantalizing promise as he continued to explore every inch of you, savoring the sweetness of your body and the thrill of this intimate connection.
He watched you gasp as he slid one of his fingers inside you, pulling it out slowly while your walls clenched around him. A smirk crept onto his face when you pleaded for more, and he was more than happy to oblige, moving his finger skillfully.
“Is it like the first time? When I fingered you, is it like what I did to you eight years ago?” Jeonghan teased, his voice low and sultry. You whimpered under him, craving everything he had to give.
“It feels amazing. Always.” You struggled to mutter the words, the pleasure overwhelming you as Jeonghan added another finger.
“You’re so tight, baby. I’m not sure you can take me well,” he breathed out, his fingers moving faster, each thrust eliciting a wince as you felt a pooling sensation deep in your tummy.
“I—I can, please… J—Jeonghan…” Your arms pulled him closer, your lips pouting for a kiss, and he obliged immediately, his lips capturing yours while his fingers continued their delicious torment.
“I want to cum,” you mumbled between kisses, and Jeonghan smirked against your lips. “Give it to me, baby.”
He could feel you tightening around his fingers, your body responding to him in a way that made his heart race. He pistoned his fingers with a brutal pace, feeling the pulsating tension building in your core. A loud moan escaped your lips, followed by your first orgasm with him after eight long years, and it was all for his fingers. The thought sent a surge of excitement through him; he couldn’t wait to make you cum with everything he had.
Withdrawing his fingers, he licked them clean, his gaze locked onto your blissed-out expression, riding high from the waves of pleasure he had just given you.
Without a word, he scooped you up from the couch and carried you to his bedroom. In one swift motion, he threw you onto the bed, his desire palpable as he pulled down his pants and joined you.
With an impatient urgency, he hovered over you, lips meeting in a heated kiss that spoke volumes of the longing built up over the years. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as your bodies melted into one another, igniting the passion that had simmered beneath the surface for so long.
"You want me raw or…?" Jeonghan asked, his voice low and filled with anticipation. His question sent a jolt through you, darkening your gaze as you whispered, "Raw." It was a bold confession, one that set the stage for everything that followed. "Just so you know, I’m on the pill."
He swore he could have died right in your arms at your admission, the thrill of it igniting something primal within him. As your hand traveled down to his abs, you let your fingers tease his skin for a moment before they finally grasped his hardened cock.
“Oh my god—” Jeonghan choked at your touch, his breath hitching. The smirk on your lips told him you were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it only intensified his desire.
“Put it in, please,” you begged, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. Jeonghan nodded, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss before he positioned himself, rubbing the tip against your slick entrance, feeling the heat radiating from you.
“Don’t tease,” you urged, your hand playfully pinching his arm, and he chuckled softly, the sound filled with desire.
With a teasing smile, Jeonghan finally pushed his member into your tight heat. He gasped at the overwhelming sensation, feeling you envelop him completely. Every inch of you was warm and inviting, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him, and he knew this was only the beginning.
He stilled inside of you, wanting you to adjust him for moment. You motioned him to move, a whimpered escaped his mouth as he pushed deeper to you slowly. Your walls clenching him tightly, pulling him deeper and making his head spinning. He pulled slowly before his hips thrusting, hitting you right, gaining a sensual moan from you.
"Keep it down, baby. Don’t want Mrs. Moon to hear us," Jeonghan murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pushed deeper inside you.
"Faster, Jeonghan…" you breathed out the words, your voice a desperate plea laced with urgency. The thrill of being so close, yet so vulnerable, sent your pulse racing.
He obeyed, quickening his pace as he filled you completely, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself amidst the intoxicating sensations.
The bed creaked beneath you. Jeonghan’s lips found yours again, silencing any sounds that threatened to escape, kissing you fiercely as if to drown out everything but the two of you.
"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched your expression morph from pleasure to pure ecstasy. "I’ve wanted this for so long."
You responded with a whimper, the sound echoing in the small space, and you felt the heat pooling in your core grow stronger with each thrust. "I want you to finish inside me, Jeonghan. Please," you begged, your words spilling out in a breathless rush.
His breath hitched at your request, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of control. "You’re going to make me lose it," he warned, voice thick with need. But the fire in your eyes only urged him on, driving him to give you everything he had.
"Then let go, baby. I’m ready," you encouraged, your body arching against him, meeting his thrusts with fervor. The world outside faded away as you lost yourselves in each other, the only sound filling the room being the rush of your breaths and the soft, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.
With one final, deep thrust, Jeonghan buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he let go, the pleasure washing over him like a tidal wave. You followed right behind him, your body tightening around him as your climax hit, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy from both of you.
As you both came down from the high, he collapsed beside you, breathless and spent, while you curled into his side, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief at how far you had come.
“That was... Amazing?” you said, your voice breathless but filled with satisfaction. The choice of word earned a tired laugh from Jeonghan, who could sense your smile before you leaned against his chest, the warmth between you still lingering in the air.
Jeonghan, his heart still racing from the intensity of what had just happened, felt a wave of heat creep up his cheeks. He couldn’t hide the flush staining his skin, and in an attempt to conceal it, he covered his face with his arm, laughing softly. You shifted, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes, clearly enjoying his sudden bashfulness.
“Where’s the confident, cocky Jeonghan I know?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic shyness.
Without missing a beat, Jeonghan pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of your head, refusing to let you see just how red he had become. It was rare for him to feel this flustered, but there was something about being with you that turned his usual bravado into something far more vulnerable.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your hair.
You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with curiosity. “Sorry? For what?”
“I just... I can’t help it,” Jeonghan confessed softly, his voice almost shy. “I—I really like you. It’s been driving me crazy for years, and now that it’s all out in the open... I’m still not sure how to act.”
His confession felt light, as if every action, every kiss, every touch was its own declaration of the feelings he had been holding onto for so long. Saying it aloud didn’t feel like it added anything new, but he needed you to hear it anyway.
You felt his heart beating faster under your palm, and instinctively, you tightened your hold on him. “I... I really like you too. Honestly, I don’t even know when it started, but after all these years, I finally have the courage to admit it. I don’t just like you, Jeonghan. I love you.”
Your words hung in the air between you, sweet and sincere, filling the room with a warmth that rivaled any physical closeness. Jeonghan’s heart soared at your confession, a feeling of complete contentment washing over him. He had dreamed of this moment for years, but nothing could have prepared him for how real and incredible it felt to finally hear you say it.
You chuckled softly, resting your head back against his chest. “You really should’ve told me earlier, you know,” you teased, playfully poking at his side. “Like... earlier earlier.”
*
You watched the football game on the field, your eyes catching a lanky boy with long hair, dribbling the ball as if his life depended on it. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, and it was hard not to be impressed.
"Who's that?" you asked one of your friends, pointing toward the boy, curiosity getting the better of you.
"That? Yoon Jeonghan," they replied casually, as though everyone already knew his name.
Days later, you found yourself standing in front of Jeonghan's desk, clutching your math homework nervously. He was deep in conversation with his friends, his usual calm demeanor unshaken by the chatter around him. Mustering up your courage, you pulled the book from your bag and held it out to him.
"Teach me math! I heard you're the best," you declared boldly, your heart racing, half-expecting him to brush you off.
Summary: After submitting your resignation letter, you drunkenly called your boss of seven years. After that, his behavior toward you changed unexpectedly.
You heard the elevator ding softly in the hallway—the unmistakable signal that your superior had arrived, as he did every morning at precisely this time. You stood from your desk, smoothing your blazer and preparing to greet him as usual. Moments later, he appeared: Choi Seungcheol, followed closely by Jeonghan, your colleague and his main secretary, who read the day’s schedule to him in a steady, practiced voice. Confidence radiated from both men as they walked, commanding the room's attention without trying.
When Seungcheol passed by your desk, you bowed politely, offering a respectful, “Good morning, Mr. Choi.”
He paused, surprising you by stopping in front of your desk rather than continuing down the corridor. “Morning,” he replied, his voice low but steady. After a brief pause, he glanced at you and asked, “Where’s Mingyu? Isn’t today his first day of training?”
You nodded, feeling a twinge of something bittersweet. Mingyu, a new recruit with undeniable talent, was here to train as your replacement. After seven years of routine mornings, assisting the superiors through countless meetings, projects, and unexpected crises, you were leaving. Resigning had been your choice, but the weight of this change hadn’t truly hit you until now, standing here in the familiar morning light of the office.
“Yes, Mr. Choi,” you replied with a slight smile, “He should be arriving shortly. I’ll bring him over as soon as he does.”
Seungcheol gave you a curt nod, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes before he continued down the corridor.
“Mingyu… That guy should know to be on time,” Seungcheol muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice. “His training is two months, right?”
You nodded as Jeonghan stepped out of Seungcheol’s office behind him, finally able to relax. He let out a sigh. “I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”
You offered him a knowing smile. “Me either. But it’s been seven years.”
Seven years ago, you and Jeonghan had been recruited and trained together to assist Mr. Choi, Seungcheol’s father. When Mr. Choi passed away, the board quickly assigned Seungcheol to take his father’s place. Thankfully, he was gracious enough to retain both you and Jeonghan as part of his secretary team, easing the transition for everyone.
Jeonghan suddenly looked at you with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Did you book the restaurant I asked about? Mr. Choi has that lunch meeting with the client, remember?”
You gave him a thumbs-up. “All set. I even double-checked that they have vegan options on the menu.”
Jeonghan clutched his chest dramatically. “I have no idea how I’ll manage after you leave me with Mingyu!”
Just then, a tall, slightly disheveled guy with a backpack hurriedly appeared, out of breath and looking a little flustered. “Sorry I’m late!” Mingyu panted, giving you both a quick nod. “There was an accident—the bus I took lost a wheel!”
You and Jeonghan exchanged unimpressed glances, trying not to laugh at Mingyu’s unusual excuse. He was here to take over your position, but it was clear he had some big shoes to fill—and that he might need a few more lessons in time management.
After the lunch meeting, Jeonghan placed a takeout box on your desk, right as you were deeply focused on the manual you were putting together for Mingyu. You glanced up, intrigued by the unexpected treat.
“Mr. Choi finally declared his favorite secretary,” Jeonghan announced, leaning casually against your desk with a sly grin.
You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Really?” you asked, your tone dripping with doubt. In all your years working for Seungcheol, he had never done anything like this.
Jeonghan nodded, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Is there something going on between the two of you that I don’t know about?” His tone was teasing, hinting at the kind of office romance you'd only read about in novels.
Rolling your eyes, you smirked. “You wish. Besides, you know he’s dating that model,” you replied, thinking of the stunning woman Seungcheol had brought to a recent social event.
Jeonghan shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe he’s softened up since you handed in your resignation. Maybe he’s finally realized what an incredible secretary he’s losing.”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Shut up!”
Before Jeonghan could reply, your phone rang, interrupting the moment. On the third ring, you picked it up, recognizing Seungcheol’s deep voice on the other end, summoning you to his office. Through the glass wall of his office, you noticed him looking—no, glaring—your way. You weren’t entirely sure what he was thinking, but the intensity of his gaze made you stand up quickly, leaving no time for second-guessing.
“He called. Gotta go,” you said to Jeonghan, setting down the phone and straightening your blazer.
He gave you an exaggerated nod and moved back to his own desk across from yours. “Alright, Ms. Secretary,” he called after you with a wink, making it clear that the teasing was far from over.
You knocked on the office door before opening it and stepping inside. Seungcheol was there, his suit jacket draped over his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of him in this more casual state threw you off, even if only for a moment—you were never fond of this job, but professionalism kept you grounded.
You bowed politely, standing a respectful two meters from his desk, hands clasped in front of you. As he looked up from his paperwork, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You felt oddly exposed under his scrutiny.
“Are you always this rigid, Ms. Ji?” he asked, a slight scoff in his voice.
You blinked, caught off guard. Had you been? “I’ve always been this way, sir,” you replied, keeping your tone professional. You prided yourself on maintaining boundaries; that’s why you were leaving—to stay true to your professionalism.
He nodded thoughtfully. “What do you think of Mingyu?”
Resting his chin on his clasped hands, he watched you intently as you spoke. “From what I’ve seen, he’s quick, sharp, and adaptable, which is promising. He’s also retained everything I’ve shown him so far, so I don’t think you need to worry.”
Seungcheol nodded, but you caught a hint of dissatisfaction in his expression. It seemed there was something he didn’t quite like about Mingyu, though he didn’t say so outright.
“He can be a little clumsy,” you admitted, recalling with a slight grimace how Mingyu had spilled Seungcheol’s coffee that morning. “But he’s working on it.”
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Yes, please guide him well. Are you sure two months will be enough?”
After this morning, you weren't so sure. But prolonging your stay here wasn’t an option you wanted to consider. “I’ll ensure he makes significant progress within two weeks, sir. If more time is needed, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and you took this as your cue to leave. But you couldn’t help noting how strange this was. Oddity number two: he rarely called you into his office; normally, communication was handled over phone or email. That, combined with the unexpected lunch takeout, left you wondering if this was all coincidence—or if something had shifted in Seungcheol's usual demeanor.
“You can go, Y/n,” Jeonghan called out as he wrapped up his final check of the materials for tomorrow’s meeting, catching you by surprise.
“Who says?” You turned, eyes wide.
“The boss himself,” he replied with a smirk. “I know he’s been acting a little strange. Face it, Y/n—he’s trying to keep you here. I think he’s finally realized just how essential you are to this place,” Jeonghan added playfully.
You chuckled, shaking your head as you grabbed your things. “I’m flattered, but I’m taking this as my cue to go. It’s been so long since I finished work at this hour,” you said, smiling as you headed for the elevator.
Once outside, you flagged down a cab, sinking into the back seat as it pulled away. You couldn’t help but reflect on the day. Oddity number three: Seungcheol letting you go home early.
Staring out the window at the city lights, you resolved to stay focused. You’d given this company seven years—enough was enough. You were moving forward, and no amount of unexpected gestures could change your decision.
*
You sat uncomfortably in Seungcheol's car as he drove the two of you to a lunch meeting with Hong Group. Normally, you'd be the one arranging transportation, but today you hadn’t. In fact, you couldn't—because you didn’t know how to drive. You still remembered the brief flash of surprise in his eyes before he smoothly took the driver’s seat, saving you the trouble of calling a driver at the last minute.
“I’m sorry, sir, I should’ve arranged for a driver earlier,” you mumbled, embarrassed. For the first time in your career, you felt humiliated by something so trivial. Maybe you really should take driving lessons after this.
Seungcheol only chuckled behind the wheel. Ahead, a sea of cars sat at a standstill in traffic, making you curse yourself a little more for this uncomfortable situation.
“It’s alright,” he reassured, glancing over. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven myself, actually. Jeonghan usually handles it—and he’s a great driver.”
As he turned his attention back to the road, you recalled Jeonghan’s parting words before you left the office. “See? I told you—he’s trying to win your heart, Y/n,” Jeonghan had teased, though you’d brushed it off.
The silence stretched, until Seungcheol finally broke it. “Is it rude to ask why you don’t drive?” He sounded curious, as if this was unusual for someone in your position.
“Oh, it’s just... a bit of a silly reason,” you admitted. “I’m actually scared of driving.” You glanced down, hesitating. Even just sitting in the front seat made your heart race a little; the thought of being behind the wheel terrified you.
He seemed to take that in, and then, with surprising gentleness, asked, “But are you comfortable now? You seem a bit tense.”
You were caught off guard but exhaled, realizing he’d noticed your fidgeting hands and the way you avoided looking at the road ahead. “I’m fine, sir. I’m sorry if I seem distracted,” you said quickly, grateful when the restaurant finally came into view.
Inside, Seungcheol introduced you to Mr. Hong and his son, Joshua. As the three men began discussing business, you took notes on key points. Seungcheol was interested in investing in Joshua’s new automotive line, and you tried to focus, but following the conversation was difficult. Every so often, Mr. Hong or Joshua would turn to you for your opinion, and you felt your confidence waver. This wasn’t your area of expertise; Jeonghan was the one who shone in meetings like these. You started to regret agreeing to join the lunch.
“You didn’t seem to enjoy lunch earlier,” Seungcheol commented as the two of you headed back to the office, now seated in the back while the driver took over. You were relieved you’d managed to arrange a driver before the meal ended, sparing you from any more time on the front seat.
“Oh, no, sir. I enjoyed it very much,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. But even as you spoke, you had the strange feeling that he’d seen through you.
Seungcheol sighed softly, then spoke to the driver, instructing him to close the soundproof partition between the front and back seats. Your curiosity stirred—why would he need privacy? But the next thing he did startled you even more. He turned, looking at you with an expression you’d never seen on his face before: a mix of hesitation and vulnerability.
“Let me be honest,” he began, his voice low and sincere. “When you first submitted your resignation letter, I wasn’t bothered. I thought you simply wanted to develop your career in ways that maybe our company couldn’t provide.”
Your breath caught, heart thudding as you tried to anticipate where he was going with this.
“But when you called that night…” he continued, pausing as if weighing his next words. “I—I felt like a very bad person. I didn’t realize how my actions might have affected you, and for that, I want to apologize, Ms. Ji.”
His words struck you like a bolt, leaving you reeling. What was he talking about? What call?
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since,” he went on, his gaze never leaving yours. “And your idea… it seemed very tempting. So if the offer is still valid, I’d like to take you up on it.”
What on earth was he talking about?
You felt panic creeping in as you tried to process his words. You called him? You couldn’t remember ever calling Seungcheol outside of office hours, let alone making him an offer. And what kind of offer could you possibly make to someone who, practically speaking, owned your career for the next two months?
Heart pounding, you took a steadying breath, unsure of what to say. Yet the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. “Of course, sir…” you heard yourself reply.
A small, almost relieved smile crept onto Seungcheol’s face as he turned his gaze to the window. He seemed content, as if a weight had lifted from him.
Was it about your resignation? Had you asked to delay your departure without remembering it? Jeonghan had hinted that Seungcheol might not want you to leave. Or was it something else entirely? Questions buzzed through your mind as the car pulled up to the company building.
“Talk to you later, Ms. Ji,” Seungcheol said, his face lighting up with the dopiest smile you’d ever seen on him as he exited the car.
Jeonghan, waiting by the entrance, raised an eyebrow, clearly as perplexed as you felt. Mingyu, the new hire, looked at you like he’d seen a ghost, noting the stunned expression on your face and your unusually pale complexion.
*
You did call him.
You really did, the night after you submitted your resignation letter—the night when you grabbed can after can of beer, drowning yourself in them like a madwoman, trying to forget everything.
You let out a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the bed. What happened that night when you called him? Why was he suddenly treating you so differently? And what exactly was the offer he mentioned this afternoon?
You felt the weight of the questions pressing down on you, swirling in your mind, but no answers came. Just more confusion.
Your phone rang, startling you. The caller ID displayed Choi Seungcheol, your very boss himself, calling you outside of working hours.
"Good evening, Mr. Choi. Is something wrong?" you answered, your voice betraying a hint of confusion.
You could hear him chuckling on the other end. "I can't call you?"
The casual tone caught you off guard. "Yes—I mean, no! I just thought… you never call at this hour, so I assumed you needed help with something."
"Actually, I do. I was looking over the presentation you sent me this morning, and I need you to get it ready by tomorrow morning."
Wait, he sent you home early, yet now he expected you to work overtime?
You couldn’t help but wonder: Is this the reason I wanted to leave this company?
"Please let me know which section you want me to edit," you said, trying to remain professional.
"No, actually… I’m in the office right now. Come in, and I’ll show you exactly what I need."
Great, you thought to yourself.
"Alright… I'll be there," you replied, hanging up.
Thirty minutes later, you arrived at the office. The lights in Seungcheol’s office were on, and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. You knocked on the door, announcing your presence.
"I'm sorry to drag you back here," Seungcheol said as you entered. "I need this material first thing in the morning."
You walked over to his desk, studying the part of the presentation he wanted changed. As you did, he stood and stepped aside, letting you sit in his chair to examine the presentation on his computer—he hadn’t printed anything out.
"Jeonghan had to leave. Today’s his anniversary with his girlfriend," Seungcheol added, his tone almost apologetic.
You nodded in acknowledgment. "You know, I didn’t want to be the jerk boss who makes him stay late on his anniversary," Seungcheol said.
You tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to continue.
"I called you because, well… I’m already the jerk boss to you," he added, his voice lighter than before.
"Sorry?" Your hand froze over the mouse as you processed his words.
Seungcheol let out a soft, almost playful laugh. "You called me a jerk boss that night, Ms. Ji."
Your heart skipped a beat. His casual tone, combined with the unexpected mention of that night, made you feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks.
You had a blind date that night—the first one in seven years, after working yourself to the bone for Seungcheol. But just as you were getting ready, Seungcheol sent you a voice note an hour before you were supposed to leave. He needed you to reschedule his entire agenda for next week because he was taking a vacation.
A vacation. Was it with the supermodel girlfriend he’d brought to the last social event?
With a heavy sigh, you dove into his agenda, making calls, negotiating with a dozen third parties. It took far longer than you expected. And by the time you finally finished, you received a text from your date.
"If you're too busy with your work, let’s cancel our date."
The words hit you harder than you expected. You remembered crying all week because of Seungcheol, how he had treated you so poorly, despite everything you had done for the company. That was it. You were done. You made up your mind—you were going to resign. You wrote up your resignation letter and handed it to him first thing in the morning.
The night after, you drowned yourself in cans of beer. And somewhere between the haze of alcohol and frustration, you remembered calling him.
“Jerk!”
You heard nothing on the other end.
“Jerk! Are you there?” you called again, louder this time, the anger boiling in your voice. Finally, he responded, his voice tight with confusion. “Ms. Ji, are you drunk?”
“Don’t ask me if I’m drunk! The reason I’m drunk right now is you!” you snapped.
“Ms. Ji? Where are you?” His voice softened, but you could hear the undercurrent of concern.
You chuckled bitterly. “Don’t act like you care. All you’ve done these years is take advantage of your quiet secretary. You’ve never treated me fairly, but I’ve been doing everything for you, bending over backward for the company. You're a jerk!"
And then the words you’d held in for so long spilled out in a rush. “And what? You’re going off on a vacation with your model girlfriend while I’m stuck here, working my ass off on your schedule? You’re a total jerk, Choi Seungcheol! You heard that?”
*
You gasped as the memory of that conversation came rushing back, like a freight train you couldn’t escape. Your hands shot up to cover your mouth, and your eyes widened. You did call him a jerk.
"I missed my blind date last week because of you, Choi Seungcheol! Do you know how lonely I've been, working for you? I bet you don’t, because you're off gallivanting with your supermodel girlfriend while I’m stuck with your endless schedule!"
"Ms. Ji, I don’t have a—" Seungcheol started, but you cut him off, your words coming faster than your brain could keep up.
"How are you going to take responsibility for that, huh, Mr. Choi? Do you even want to be my date? No? Well, then there’s no reason for me to stick around. I’m out of here! I’m leaving, you jerk! You big, dumb, heartless jerk boss!"
You leaned back in his chair like you were starring in your own drama series, dramatic pause and all. Of course, you tried to keep your distance, but Seungcheol was standing right next to you, practically breathing down your neck. The closest you could get to escaping was a meter away—one meter—as if that would be enough to save you from this mortifying moment. You could practically hear the earth laughing at you, but not helping you disappear.
"You remember now?" Seungcheol’s voice was amused, like he’d just stumbled upon a hidden gem. "I see, you forgot about it. No wonder you’ve been acting all... normal since then."
You should’ve been taking a dramatic exit, but instead, your brain was screaming for you to run to the nearest plane out of the country. You were so done.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Choi. It was... I mean, I... It’s just..." You froze, completely out of words. The awkward silence between you was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. You shoved your hands over your face, wishing you could just melt into the desk.
You quickly tried to apologize, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I'm really sorry, Mr. Choi. I didn’t mean to... to... say all that. It was just the alcohol talking, you know? I wasn’t thinking clearly."
Seungcheol paused for a moment, his expression shifting from teasing to something more thoughtful. He didn’t look angry. In fact, he seemed... grateful? “You know, I actually appreciate your honesty. I didn’t realize how badly I’ve been treating you.” His eyes softened as he continued, “I guess it took you saying all that for me to really get it.”
You blinked, not sure how to respond. Was this really happening? Did Seungcheol just thank you for calling him a jerk? You were still in shock, but it felt... different now. Not bad, just unexpected.
Seungcheol leaned forward, his voice suddenly turning serious. “You called me a jerk, but... about that offer to be your date—" He paused, glancing at you with a small, almost mischievous smile. "I meant it."
You immediately shook your head, trying to dismiss the idea. "Oh, no, no, no," you quickly interjected, waving your hands dismissively. "Please, forget that, Mr. Choi. Besides, you have a girlfriend. I’m not about to get mixed up in that drama."
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, unfazed. He didn’t back down. “I’m serious, Ms. Ji. I want to take you out. No work, no obligations, just you and me. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
You looked at him incredulously, half-laughing to yourself. "Are you... are you really serious right now?"
Seungcheol nodded, his voice low and sincere. “Dead serious. I know I messed up, but I’d like a chance to make it right. To be something more than just your boss. So, what do you say?”
You immediately felt a strange flutter of something in your chest. The idea of dating Seungcheol seemed ridiculous—too complicated, too messy. You had spent so much time thinking about leaving, about cutting ties with this company. You had worked your ass off for him, and now he was here, offering something completely different. Something unexpected.
You quickly shook your head again, trying to keep your composure. "I—I'm not sure what you're trying to do here, but I don't think dating you is the solution to this... whatever this is."
Seungcheol’s expression softened. “I’m not trying to fix anything, Ms. Ji. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t leave with regrets... especially when it comes to me.” His gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “So, just think about it, alright? No pressure.”
The words hung in the air, and despite your best efforts to shake the idea off, a small voice inside you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like...
Seungcheol let out a small, knowing smile as you kept shaking your head, clearly trying to dismiss the idea. "You know," he began, his tone suddenly light, "I don't actually have a girlfriend."
You froze, your hand halfway through waving him off. "What?"
"I don’t have a supermodel girlfriend," he repeated, leaning back slightly, his arms crossing casually over his chest. "I mean, I might’ve brought someone to a social event, but that doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend. You assumed a lot, didn’t you?"
*
"What's going on between you and him?" Jeonghan asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped out of Seungcheol's office this morning.
You glanced at him, raising your own brows. "What do you mean?"
Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a knowing smirk. "I saw you two stepping out of his car with a driver."
You shrugged nonchalantly. "We met on our way."
Jeonghan hummed, unconvinced. "He always drives himself to work, but today he brings a driver? Suspicious," he said, walking back to his desk with a grin.
You tried to shake off Jeonghan’s teasing and focused on your work. You walked over to Mingyu’s desk, where he was already sorting through some papers. "These two haven’t fixed yet, so you need to make a call and finalize the date and time with the other party," you instructed. Mingyu immediately nodded, giving you a thumbs up.
As you turned back to your desk, your phone rang, and you quickly rushed to pick it up. Your eyes flickered to Seungcheol’s office, where he was standing by the door. You answered the call just as he made eye contact with you.
"Ms. Ji?" Seungcheol’s voice was calm but warm.
"Yes, Mr. Choi?" you replied.
"Do you have any plans for lunch?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.
You paused for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Uh, no, not yet," you answered, trying to keep your voice steady. "Why?"
"Great. Come to my office, then. I’d like to discuss something with you," he said, before hanging up.
You knocked softly on Seungcheol's office door before stepping inside. He was sitting at his desk, looking as composed as ever, but there was a warmth in his expression when he saw you.
"Ms. Ji," he greeted, his voice smooth. "Come in. Have a seat."
You hesitated for a moment, then took a seat across from him. The silence lingered briefly before he spoke again, his tone more casual than usual.
"I was thinking, since it’s almost lunch hour, why don’t we go out and grab something to eat?" he suggested, leaning back in his chair slightly. "I’ll let you pick the place. Anywhere you want."
You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. This was... unexpected. Was he being genuine? Or was this just another one of his attempts to be "nice" when it suited him? You tried not to overthink it, but you couldn’t help the feeling of unease creeping in.
"You... want me to pick the place?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"
He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "Of course. I’m sure you know better than I do what’s good around here."
You thought for a moment. Choosing a lunch spot was something you usually did for Seungcheol, not with Seungcheol. Usually, lunch was a quick, impersonal affair—grab something from the café downstairs or eat at your desk. But today, the offer felt different. You couldn’t deny that a part of you was curious about what he was really up to.
"Alright, I’ll choose," you said, feeling a little bold. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you if it turns out to be something too casual for your taste."
Seungcheol raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’ll trust your judgment," he said with a grin. "Lead the way."
You nodded and stood up, your mind already racing through the possibilities of where to go.
"Thanks for the meal, Mr. Choi!" Mingyu cheered as he eagerly began inhaling his food, Jeonghan following suit with a satisfied hum. Seungcheol, however, sat at the head of the table with a polite but strained smile, poking at his food with none of Mingyu's enthusiasm.
You leaned closer, lowering your voice. "Is it to your liking, Mr. Choi?"
He sighed, briefly meeting your gaze before nodding curtly. "It’s fine," he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise.
It dawned on you too late that you might have misunderstood him earlier. When he said he wanted to have lunch, you assumed it was a casual team lunch with all the secretaries—Mingyu and Jeonghan included. So, you’d taken the liberty of booking a four-seat table at a decent restaurant and informing everyone.
You hadn’t noticed until now that Seungcheol’s face had been slightly sour since stepping out of his office.
"Is this one of those farewell lunches for Ms. Ji?" Mingyu asked innocently in the middle of the meal, completely oblivious to the tension brewing.
Everyone froze. Jeonghan shot Mingyu a sharp look, and you cringed, knowing full well your resignation was still a sensitive topic for Seungcheol. It had only been three weeks since your notice, and the new secretary-in-training was nowhere near your level of efficiency. No boss wanted to lose a competent staff member, especially not one they relied on as much as Seungcheol relied on you.
Seungcheol’s fork paused mid-air before he cleared his throat and shook his head. "If this were a farewell lunch, it would need to be much grander than this, don’t you think, Mr. Yoon?"
Jeonghan immediately nodded, catching on to the unspoken signal. "Absolutely, Mr. Choi. I’ll start planning one later. Ms. Ji has been with you for seven years—it’s only fitting to make it a big celebration."
Your eyes widened in surprise as you shook your head. "No, no. Really, there’s no need for that. It’s not exactly something to celebrate," you insisted, feeling a mix of awkwardness and guilt.
Seungcheol set down his fork and leaned back slightly, his gaze firmly on you. His lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, don’t be like that, Ms. Ji. I’d like to treat you to something you’ll never forget."
You froze, feeling your face heat up at the deliberate weight of his words. Before you could process what he’d just said, you choked on your food, your eyes watering as you coughed violently. Jeonghan jumped into action, handing you a glass of water while Mingyu leaned forward in concern.
"Are you okay?" Mingyu asked, looking genuinely worried.
You nodded hastily, gulping down the water while avoiding Seungcheol’s gaze. Meanwhile, the man in question calmly resumed eating his meal, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell in front of his other staff.
Jeonghan and Mingyu exchanged curious glances, clearly aware that something unusual was going on. You, however, were too busy trying to regain your composure to notice. This lunch was not turning out the way you’d imagined.
"Ms. Ji... I'll drive you home," Seungcheol announced as he stepped out of his office, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
You glanced up, startled, and then looked around the empty office. Jeonghan and Mingyu had already left, leaving you alone to crosscheck everything before calling it a day. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Choi. I’ll just take the bus," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Seungcheol frowned, clearly displeased. "Why? The bus is going to be packed at this hour." He checked his watch, then shifted his gaze back to you. His expression softened, but his stance remained firm as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
"And besides," he continued, his lips curving into an easy smile, "I want that dinner date. Just the two of us."
Your breath hitched before you could stop it. "Mr. Choi... I..." You trailed off, your brain scrambling to process his words. A dinner date? With him? The thought sent your heart racing in ways you didn’t want to admit.
He shrugged, utterly unbothered by your flustered state. "I told you, Ms. Ji, I’d like to be your date. I want to get to know you better," he said, his tone so casual it was almost maddening.
Then, as if he had just decided on the matter, he clapped his hands together and straightened up. "Alright then, I’ll book a restaurant for dinner. We can watch the sunset beforehand." Without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and disappeared into his office, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.
Dinner? Sunset? With your soon-to-be ex-boss? Your mind raced. This was either going to be the most surreal experience of your life—or a disaster waiting to happen.
*
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
All the material for this morning’s meeting had disappeared from your computer, and to make matters worse, it seemed like your system had been attacked by a virus. Your computer was practically frozen and would need time to be repaired. Glancing at your watch, you realized there was only an hour left before the meeting started. Panic clawed at your chest as you made a beeline for Seungcheol’s office.
“I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” you blurted out, cutting into Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s morning conversation as you barged into the room, not bothering with pleasantries.
“What’s wrong, Ms. Ji?” Seungcheol asked, his brows furrowed in concern.
“My computer’s been attacked by a virus, and I can’t access the materials for the morning meeting. Is it okay if I use your computer, Mr. Choi?”
Without hesitation, Seungcheol stood from his chair, gesturing for you to take his place. “Go ahead.”
You quickly logged into his system and started searching, your fingers flying over the keyboard. But as you combed through his files, a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. “You can’t find it either?” Seungcheol’s voice broke the tense silence, sounding as baffled as you felt. “I’m sure I finalized the file and saved it. It should be here.”
“It’s gone,” you said grimly, turning to look at him. “Even the recycle bin is empty.”
“What about Mingyu? Does he have a backup?” Jeonghan asked as you all hurried out of Seungcheol’s office, heading to the workstation to regroup.
You shook your head in frustration. “I haven’t handed the final version over yet. Mingyu only manages the schedules and documents that need signing."
Jeonghan patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, don’t panic. We’ll figure it out. We can finish this in 30 minutes if we work together.”
Taking a deep breath, you nodded and sat at Jeonghan’s desk, taking over his computer. Opening the last version of the file, you began revising it at a frantic pace. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” you muttered, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed. “Maybe I’ve been too distracted.”
Jeonghan shook his head, offering a small smile. “You’ve been juggling so much; it’s bound to happen. Just focus—we’ve got this.”
The clock ticked closer to the meeting time, and the pressure mounted. Mingyu darted into the room, his face lined with worry. “The printer broke down,” he said apologetically. “She’s trying to fix it, but it’ll take at least five more minutes.”
Jeonghan let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Just what we needed.”
In the meeting room, heads of departments and their assistants were already seated, shuffling in their chairs as they sipped coffee and waited. Mingyu quickly returned, distributing refreshments in an effort to keep them placated.
“Is everything settled?” Seungcheol asked as Jeonghan re-entered his office, his voice calm but tinged with impatience.
“I’m afraid we’ll need to delay the meeting. It’s taking longer than expected to fix everything,” Jeonghan admitted.
Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully, glancing at his watch. “Announce to everyone that the meeting will start in fifteen minutes. I’ll handle the delay personally.”
Jeonghan gave a quick nod, rushing out to relay the message, while you continued frantically typing at Jeonghan’s desk. Though the tension was palpable, you reminded yourself to stay calm. There wasn’t any room for error now.
“Focus, Ms. Ji,” you whispered to yourself, steeling your nerves as you worked against the clock.
“The meeting is delayed for 15 minutes, and you printed out the wrong document?” Mr. Park, the head of the marketing department, raised his voice, his tone cutting through the tense air as you handed out the material.
You froze, glancing down at the section he was pointing at. Your heart dropped when you realized he was right. The document you printed wasn’t their presentation—it was entirely unrelated. You were sure it was the correct file when you sent it to print, but now, staring at it, there was no denying the mistake.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it imme—”
Before you could finish, Mr. Park threw the paper onto the table with a loud thud. “This is unacceptable! How do we expect to run a successful meeting with this level of incompetence? I knew something like this would happen when they decided to overburden the director’s secretary team instead of hiring specialized staff for each department.”
You flinched at his words, bowing your head in shame. Whispers broke out among the other heads of departments. Some seemed to agree with Mr. Park, nodding subtly, while others exchanged concerned looks.
The door opened, and Seungcheol stepped in, his commanding presence making everyone rise to their feet. His sharp eyes scanned the room, immediately locking onto you, standing there with your head lowered, tension radiating off your frame. Papers were scattered across the table, a clear sign of discord.
Seungcheol’s gaze flicked to Mingyu, who leaned in to whisper a quick explanation. As Seungcheol listened, his jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. Straightening his posture, he addressed the room with a calm but authoritative tone.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Ji, for your hard work,” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Someone from the marketing department, please accompany Ms. Ji to ensure the correct material is printed this time.”
His eyes shifted to Mr. Park, who immediately lowered his gaze, uncomfortable under Seungcheol’s direct attention. “It takes patience to get things right,” Seungcheol added, his tone firm but controlled, “and patience is something we all need to practice.”
You felt a rush of gratitude and embarrassment as Seungcheol diffused the situation, taking the spotlight off you. Nodding quickly, you turned to one of the marketing assistants, signaling them to follow you out of the room.
As you left, Seungcheol’s calm but commanding words lingered in the room, leaving no space for further criticism. Instead, the atmosphere shifted as everyone quietly reorganized themselves for the meeting ahead.
*
"You're not taking lunch," Seungcheol observed as he stepped out of his office, heading to grab a meal. He glanced around, noticing that both Mingyu and Jeonghan were nowhere to be seen—they must have left already, leaving you alone.
You shook your head, adjusting your posture in your seat. "I’m fine, Mr. Choi," you replied, your face carefully composed with professional restraint.
Seungcheol frowned slightly but took a few steps closer, leaning his frame casually against the edge of your desk. "Is it because of what happened this morning?" he asked, his tone softer now.
You hesitated before shrugging, unable to completely mask the frustration bubbling under your calm exterior. "I mean... I can’t just shake it off like nothing happened. And honestly, I’m sorry for messing up like that."
He crossed his arms and tilted his head, studying your face. "This is the first time, isn’t it?"
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t believe it myself. Seven years without a major mistake, and then this happens," you muttered, more to yourself than him.
Seungcheol let out a quiet chuckle, the sound both warm and reassuring. "That’s an improvement, then. No one goes seven years without a single mistake—it just means you’re human."
You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint, tired smile. "And that’s exactly the point, Mr. Choi. I’ve set a standard for myself, and now I’ve blown it. Maybe Mr. Park was right—I might really be incompetent."
His expression hardened at your words, and he straightened slightly. "That’s not how I see it, Ms. Ji," he said firmly. "Whatever Mr. Park said has no bearing on your competence. I supervise you, and I know the quality of your work better than anyone here."
His confidence in you was disarming, and you found yourself relaxing just a little under his steady gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Choi. That means more than you realize," you admitted softly, your voice almost breaking with relief.
Seungcheol glanced at his watch and then back at you. "We’ve got thirty minutes left before the break ends," he said thoughtfully. His eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "What do you say we grab some sandwiches together? My treat."
The offer caught you off guard. You blinked up at him, unsure whether to accept or refuse. "Are you sure?" you asked cautiously, not wanting to impose.
"Positive," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ve been beating yourself up all morning. A good sandwich and some fresh air might do you good. Come on."
With a reluctant but grateful nod, you stood up. For the first time since the chaotic meeting earlier, you felt a flicker of comfort creeping back into your day.
"I thought we were going to sit down and eat," you said, taking a bite of your sandwich while walking back to the company building.
Seungcheol’s suit had been left behind in his office, leaving him in a dark grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loosened slightly, giving him an unexpectedly casual air as he took a bite of his own sandwich. He shook his head at your comment, chewing quickly. "We don’t have time for that," he said, his voice muffled.
You giggled at the sight of him, noticing a crumb stuck on his cheek. "You’ve got something on your face," you said, pointing.
He immediately tried to wipe it off but missed.
"Here, let me," you offered, stepping closer. Without a second thought, you used a napkin to gently clean his cheek. Your fingers brushed his skin briefly, and Seungcheol froze mid-chew, his eyes locking on yours.
"All clean," you said, stepping back with a smile before taking another bite of your sandwich, oblivious to the faint blush creeping up his neck.
"I told you not to call me Mr. Choi when we’re outside," he teased, trying to mask his flustered expression.
You laughed softly, shaking your head. "It’s weird to call you casually when I’ve been calling you Mr. Choi for the past seven years."
Seungcheol’s expression shifted slightly, a thoughtful look settling on his face. "Last night," he began, his voice softer now. "When you told me why you don’t drive anymore…"
Your steps faltered for a moment, but he stopped completely at the crosswalk as the pedestrian signal turned red.
"Did it happen here?" he asked gently, his eyes scanning the intersection.
You nodded, the food in your hand suddenly feeling much heavier. The memory, though buried, resurfaced vividly as if it had happened yesterday.
Seven years ago. You’d just started working with Seungcheol after his father had passed away, and the transition had been anything but smooth. Unlike his father, Seungcheol had seemed colder, more distant. His way of doing things clashed with what you were used to, and the tension in the secretary team had been palpable—especially for you.
That morning, your car had broken down, and you’d decided to walk to get Seungcheol’s favorite coffee. You were already flustered, trying to make a good impression despite your frustrations with him. Then, everything changed.
You had witnessed it—a car collision right before your eyes. The screeching tires, the bone-chilling sound of impact, the desperate cries of onlookers. And then, the blood. You still remembered how it splattered onto your blouse and face, how your legs had frozen in place, unable to move.
"Y/n? Where are you? We have a meeting in an hour, and Mr. Choi has been asking for his coffee," Jeonghan had called, his voice impatient through the phone.
You’d managed to drag yourself to the office after buying a new blouse, your hands trembling the entire time. Yet, instead of compassion, you’d been met with Seungcheol’s sharp reprimand for forgetting his coffee. The sting of that moment had stayed with you for years.
And now, you couldn’t believe you had shared it all with him last night, over casual conversation, when he’d asked why you no longer drove.
The pedestrian signal turned green, snapping you out of your thoughts. But before you could move, a hand gently gripped yours.
Seungcheol’s warm fingers curled around yours, grounding you in the present. He led you across the road, his pace steady, his grip firm yet comforting.
You glanced at him, surprised by the gesture. His gaze remained forward, focused on the path ahead. Yet, the warmth of his hand in yours spoke volumes, a quiet reassurance that lingered even after you’d crossed the street.
*
The complaints began to pour in like an unrelenting tide. Every time you opened your inbox, you found more emails from department heads, their tone varying from formal discontent to outright disdain. Words like incompetence, unprofessional, and unacceptable were repeated so often they seemed to blur together, creating a cloud of frustration and doubt in your mind.
What made it worse were the thinly veiled accusations of favoritism. Several emails implied that Seungcheol’s supposed bias toward you was undermining the secretary team’s performance and credibility. The insinuation was like a dagger, cutting into the team’s morale and creating an atmosphere heavy with unease.
It wasn’t long before you noticed the shift among your colleagues. Mingyu, usually cheerful and talkative, had grown quieter. His usual playful remarks were absent during lunch breaks, replaced by an awkward silence. Even Jeonghan, who always maintained an easygoing demeanor, seemed troubled, though he tried to hide it behind his usual smirks and teasing words.
“Ignore those emails,” Jeonghan said one afternoon, leaning against your desk. He spoke casually, but his eyes held a seriousness that betrayed his concern. “It’s the marketing department stirring up trouble again. They’ve been trying to undermine the secretary team for years.”
You glanced at him, startled. “Why would they do that? What do they have to gain?”
Jeonghan shrugged, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Power dynamics, politics, control—you name it. Ever since Mr. Choi took over, the marketing department hasn’t been happy. They thrived under his father’s management because they were given more autonomy, but Mr. Choi’s stricter policies clipped their wings. They’ve been retaliating ever since.”
“And we’re caught in the middle,” you murmured, feeling the weight of the situation settle over you.
Jeonghan nodded. “Exactly. They’re using the secretary team as a scapegoat to make Mr. Choi look bad. And now that they’ve noticed how close you and him seem lately, they’re exploiting it to fuel their narrative.”
Your stomach churned at his words. The accusations weren’t just baseless; they were carefully orchestrated attacks designed to destabilize the entire team.
“But what can we do?” you asked, your voice tinged with helplessness. “If this continues, it’ll ruin our reputation—and Mr. Choi’s.”
Jeonghan leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We fight back, but carefully. First, we need to fix the immediate issues—no more mistakes, no more complaints. Then, we gather evidence. If we can prove the marketing department is behind this sabotage, we’ll turn the tables on them.”
Seungcheol walked you to your door after he drove you home, his steps calm but purposeful. "You don’t have to worry about all the complaints," he said, his voice smooth, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he bid you goodbye.
"You saw them too?" you asked, your voice a little strained from the weight of it all. He nodded with a small grin. "Receiving complaints is part of my job, you know," he teased, throwing you a wink as if he were trying to make light of the situation.
"So you know they’re all from Mr. Park’s people?" you asked, unable to hide the slight bitterness in your voice.
He smiled, that reassuring smile of his. "I told you, you don’t have to worry about that," he said, his tone confident, almost as if he already had everything under control.
You lowered your head, feeling the weight of it all. You were involved now, and the rumors were only growing. Whispers of your relationship with him were circulating the office, and worse, someone had posted pictures of the two of you on the company community page. It felt impossible to escape.
Seungcheol seemed to sense your unease. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle, "it’s just a month left before you leave. A little plot twist will make it great, right?" His words were meant to lighten the mood, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.
He reached for your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry."
You hesitated for a moment, then asked, "You want to come inside?" You bit your lip, unsure of how he’d respond. Would he take the offer seriously, or was it too much, too soon?
After a brief pause, he sent a quick message to his driver. Moments later, he was already seated on your couch, his suit jacket and tie discarded, his sleeves rolled up casually.
"I expect this kind of vibe," Seungcheol remarked as his eyes wandered around your apartment, taking in the cozy space. His gaze lingered on everything, from the soft lighting to the quiet hum of your personal sanctuary.
"Two rooms?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Sometimes my brother visits. He lives in a dorm, but he stays here on his days off," you explained, your voice casual, but you felt a little self-conscious explaining it. You weren't sure why, but it felt like you were giving him a piece of your personal life you hadn’t shared with anyone before.
"He's still training for the national team?" Seungcheol asked, and you looked at him, surprised that he remembered.
"You remembered?" you asked, your voice soft with disbelief.
Seungcheol nodded, his smile warm. "Of course, it’s you."
It was a casual evening after work, everyone gathered in the break room. Jeonghan and Seungcheol had just returned from a trip, and he couldn’t wait to share some exciting news.
"My sister just got accepted into one of the top companies!" Jeonghan had announced, beaming with pride. "We’re celebrating this weekend!"
The team cheered, raising their glasses in a toast. It was a happy moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic for the simplicity of those times.
Seungcheol had joined in, his voice nonchalant but with a hint of pride. "My brother decided to go into the culinary field instead of business," he had mentioned. "Can you believe it? A chef, not a businessman."
You’d overheard it all, and for some reason, it had stayed with you—how casually everyone shared their family stories, how different yet similar your lives were.
Seungcheol’s voice broke through your thoughts. "Do you have siblings, Ms. Ji?" he asked, his tone playful, though there was a touch of curiosity beneath the words.
"She has a brother," Jeonghan had added once, with a wink. "Do you know Ji Chang Wook, the former football player? That’s her brother."
Seungcheol raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. "Really?" he asked, looking at you with a mix of disbelief and admiration.
You nodded shyly. "He now works for the national team as their coach."
Seungcheol’s eyes softened, impressed. "That’s incredible," he said. "You’re surrounded by greatness."
You smiled at his words, feeling a swell of pride for your brother. As the conversation shifted back to the present, you placed a glass of iced tea on the coffee table for Seungcheol before settling back onto the couch next to him.
"How am i as a boyfriend?" Seungcheol suddenly asked, his question coming out of nowhere. You let out a soft chuckle at his unexpected inquiry. His gaze was playful, yet there was something deeper beneath it, as if he was genuinely waiting for your answer.
You paused, thinking about how to answer. "I don’t know that you’d be willing to go down with a mere secretary staff like me, Mr. Choi," you teased, trying to mask the flutter of uncertainty in your chest.
Seungcheol rolled his eyes at the "Mr. Choi." He had been correcting you ever since the beginning, insisting you call him Seungcheol.
"Can I ask you a question?" you asked, your voice tentative. He nodded, leaning in slightly, his expression serious.
"Why were you being an asshole at the beginning?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t the most delicate way to phrase it, but you couldn’t help yourself.
Seungcheol closed his eyes, clearly not thrilled about being reminded of his past behavior. "I was a lowly bastard, wasn’t I?" he admitted, his voice quiet, almost regretful. "I’m sorry... I was just very insecure."
"Insecure?" you repeated, surprised by his honesty.
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to brush a stray hair from your face. "My father passed away, and my brother didn’t want to take over the business. I didn’t have enough experience to rule a company. I was just trying to figure things out."
You blinked, caught off guard. "I had no idea about that."
Seungcheol nodded again, his gaze softening. "I made sure no one knew about it. But I broke down at one point, and Jeonghan helped me a lot. You did, too. You always did your best at work. But I just..." He trailed off, his fingers grazing your skin as he continued, "I didn’t want to get distracted by you. Maybe that’s why I treated you so badly."
You furrowed your brow in confusion. "Distracted? By me? How come?" You chuckled, still processing the idea. Was it really possible?
Seungcheol’s smile deepened, and his gaze softened. "I used to like you a lot. My father always spoke highly of you, and I couldn’t help but admire you."
"No way," you whispered, your eyes widening in disbelief.
"I’m serious," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "You were always shining at that desk of yours."
You laughed, the sound a mix of disbelief and warmth. "Since when?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.
"Since you visited my house," he said, his tone turning nostalgic. "I saw how you treated my father—so professional, yet so graceful. I tried to find a secretary like you, but I guess there’s only one of you."
Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him, the realization settling in. Despite all the tension and confusion, there was something undeniably genuine about his words, and for the first time in a while, it felt like things between you and Seungcheol might finally be falling into place.
Seungcheol leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on your lips, the moment growing more intimate with every passing second. Just as you felt your breath hitch, the sound of someone punching in the passcode to your door broke the tension, startling both of you.
“Y/n! I brought some—” The baritone voice trailed off abruptly as the door swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying two plastic bags. His steps halted, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. His sister, tangled up with a stranger on the couch, looking far too close for comfort.
You and Seungcheol scrambled apart, both of you stumbling to your feet as if caught red-handed.
“Did I interrupt something?” the man asked, his tone sharp and accusatory. His gaze darted between you and Seungcheol before settling on you. “Who’s this, Y/n?”
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself. “Uh... this is Choi Seungcheol, my... my boss,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.
Seungcheol extended a hand, his expression polite and composed despite the awkwardness of the situation. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Your boss?” the man interrupted, completely ignoring the handshake. His eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to you. “He’s the one who made you work overtime and miss my birthday?”
You froze. Shoot. You had vented about Seungcheol to your brother countless times, never expecting him to meet the man himself.
“Oppa, it’s not like that,” you tried to explain, but your brother wasn’t having it.
“You talked ill of him to me all the time,” Changwook said, his tone laced with disbelief and a hint of anger. His grip on your arm tightened slightly as he pulled you further away from Seungcheol. “Why is he here now? In your apartment?”
Your mind raced, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t make things worse. “We’re... umm...” You waved your hands in the air helplessly, your words failing you.
Seungcheol, however, didn’t hesitate. “I’m her boyfriend,” he said firmly, his voice steady and confident as he stepped forward.
Your eyes widened in shock at his bold declaration. “That’s—” you started, but the words died in your throat as your brother’s gaze hardened, his protective instincts kicking in.
“Boyfriend?” Changwook echoed, his voice filled with skepticism as he gave Seungcheol a once-over. “Since when? And why am I just now hearing about this?”
You cringed inwardly, feeling trapped between Seungcheol’s unexpected claim and your brother’s scrutiny. The fact that you’d spent months complaining about Seungcheol didn’t help. How did I end up here?
“Changwook, calm down,” you said, trying to diffuse the situation. “It’s... new.”
“New?” your brother repeated, his frown deepening as his eyes bored into you. “How new? And why would you date your boss of all people? Especially someone you’ve always badmouthed?”
You felt the blood drain from your face. You’re dead, your mind screamed at you, but before you could even attempt a defense, your brother turned to you with an authoritative wave of his hand.
“Go to your room,” Changwook said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “This is a men’s conversation.”
*
You were trapped between two drunken men. Changwook, still pouring himself another shot of soju, mumbled incoherently about everything under the sun, while Seungcheol, clearly in no better condition, had his head dropped onto your shoulder. The weight of him was comforting yet overwhelming, especially with the alcohol fumes wafting off him.
"Our Y/n couldn’t drink dairy, so you have to make sure her latte is always with oat milk,” Changwook slurred, his words slightly jumbled as he tried to sit up straight. He pointed a wobbly finger at Seungcheol as though delivering a life-or-death instruction.
Seungcheol gasped dramatically, his head lifting momentarily before snuggling back into the crook of your neck. “Our Y/n can’t handle dairy? Oh my god, poor Y/n!” His words came out in a hushed, exaggerated whisper. “I’ll buy you tons of oat milk, Y/n. Gallons of it! So you’ll never, ever get a stomachache again!”
You tried to suppress your laugh, but a chuckle escaped as Seungcheol tightened his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck like a sleepy puppy. He smelled like soju mixed with the faint remnants of his cologne—a mix that somehow still made your heart skip.
“Alright, Mr. Gallant Knight,” you murmured, brushing his hair back gently. “Let’s get you home before you start a crusade against all dairy products.”
“Nooo,” Seungcheol whined softly, his voice muffled against your skin. “Let me stay here. I promise I won’t do anything! I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to, cross my heart.”
You shook your head, unable to contain your amusement. He was far too cute like this. “Alright, fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But we’re at least getting you into bed. Let’s get up on the count of three, okay?”
Seungcheol groaned in protest, but you felt him adjust slightly, his arms loosening around your waist.
“One,” you began, bracing yourself. “Two… three—"
You tried to pull him up, but Seungcheol, true to his drunken state, flopped back onto the couch like a boneless doll.
“Too heavy,” he mumbled, pouting. “You have to help me, Y/n. I’m weak, but you’re strong.”
“Strong?” you repeated with a laugh. “What are you even talking about? You’re twice my size!”
“Exactly,” Seungcheol replied, his tone overly serious. “That’s why you’re amazing. You’re tiny but mighty.”
From across the room, Changwook let out a grunt as he finally rose from his seat, wobbling slightly before glaring at Seungcheol. “Stop flirting with my sister, you lightweight,” he muttered, pointing a finger at him before stumbling toward his room. “And don’t you dare think about sharing a bed with her!”
“Noted, Coach Ji,” Seungcheol mumbled sleepily, waving his hand in the air.
You sighed, shaking your head as you tugged at Seungcheol’s arm again. “Come on, big guy. Let’s at least get you lying down before Changwook comes back with a lecture.”
Seungcheol finally complied, leaning heavily on you as you helped him to your room. “Thanks, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice soft. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. “Just don’t puke on my bed, okay?”
“I’d never,” he promised, his words slurring as he flopped onto your mattress, instantly dozing off.
You sighed again, pulling a blanket over him before retreating to the couch. As you settled in, you couldn’t help but smile at the chaos that was your life—and at the man now snoring softly in your bed.
“Where’s Mr. Choi? He’s not here yet?” Mingyu’s voice broke the usual morning buzz of the office. He glanced around, noting the conspicuous absence of the boss. It was already 8 a.m., and Mr. Choi was typically seated at his desk by 7:45, meticulously reviewing his schedule or flipping through a book.
Jeonghan checked his watch and frowned. “I know, right? He hasn’t called or texted me either. Do you think he’s sick or something?” he wondered aloud, a hint of concern creeping into his tone.
“He’s late,” you mumbled, barely glancing up from your phone as you replied.
“How do you know that?!” Mingyu and Jeonghan exclaimed in unison, their voices tinged with surprise.
“He texted me,” you replied nonchalantly, still focused on your phone.
Mingyu’s jaw dropped, and he pouted, looking genuinely hurt. “He texted you? But not me? He still doesn’t trust me with his schedule. What if he hates me?” he whined, the last part almost a whisper.
You chuckled softly, grabbing a stack of documents from your desk and placing them in front of him. “That’s why I’m tutoring you today. We’re going over how to prepare presentation materials and manage other tasks.”
Mingyu sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright…” He reluctantly took the documents, the pout still lingering on his face, but his determination to improve was clear.
Suddenly, Jeonghan’s voice interrupted the moment. “Oh…”
Both you and Mingyu turned toward him, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping over to Jeonghan’s desk.
Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on his computer screen. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at something. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned in to look.
On the screen was a post from the company’s internal community. The headline read, “Mr. Park Is Caught!” Beneath it was a photo of Seungcheol standing in the marketing department alongside the head of HR.
Your brows knitted together. “What’s that supposed to mean? Is Mr. Choi investigating him behind our backs?”
Jeonghan bit his lip, his gaze still glued to the screen. “Looks like it…” he murmured.
You quickly scanned the comments below the post. Employees from the marketing department were sharing snippets of gossip. Someone had claimed that Mr. Park had been caught falsifying records and embezzling departmental funds.
Mingyu, who had walked over to peek at the screen, let out a low whistle. “Wow. I didn’t think Mr. Park would actually get caught.”
You frowned, a mix of surprise and worry swirling in your chest. “He didn’t mention any of this to us,” you said softly, almost to yourself.
Jeonghan finally looked away from the screen, his expression thoughtful. “If he’s handling this personally, it must be serious.”
Mingyu crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Well, if Mr. Park’s really guilty, it’s good that Mr. Choi’s taking action. But why keep it so secretive? I mean, we’re his team.”
Jeonghan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s probably because this involves embezzlement. You know how sensitive that kind of accusation is. He probably didn’t want anyone tipping Mr. Park off before he had solid evidence.”
You nodded slowly, processing everything. “Still, I hope Mr. Choi’s being careful. This kind of situation can get messy.”
Jeonghan gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything. Mingyu, however, turned to you with a cheeky grin. “Wow, you’re so concerned about him. Are you sure you’re not his girlfriend”
You shot him a glare, heat rising to your cheeks. “Shut up and get back to your documents, Mingyu.”
He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But seriously, I’m curious how this all plays out.”
Jeonghan nodded, his gaze returning to the screen. “Me too. If Mr. Park’s really guilty, this could shake things up in the company.”
You bit your lip, silently hoping Seungcheol would return soon—with answers.
Seungcheol’s arrival on the floor sent a wave of tension through the secretary team. His usual composed demeanor was even more rigid than usual, and without wasting a second, he summoned Jeonghan into his office. The atmosphere was thick with curiosity and unease, but you kept your head down, silently supervising Mingyu as he prepared materials for tomorrow’s meeting with all the department heads.
“So, what’s Mr. Park’s status now?” Mingyu asked, flipping through a document from the marketing department. His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity.
You shook your head. “I don’t know, Mingyu, and honestly, I don’t want to fill my head with too much right now. I’m leaving this company in a week, remember?”
Mingyu sighed, setting his pen down. “Yeah, I remember… But you know what? As much as I believe in myself, I can’t help but worry. What if I can’t replace you?”
You gave him a reassuring smile and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mingyu. It took me seven years to get to where I am. You’ll get there too.”
Mingyu bit his lip, nodding. “You’re right… You’re really good at comforting people, Ms. Ji,” he said playfully, his usual pout returning.
You laughed. “Of course, I am! Now, finish this and send it to me before lunch.”
Just then, Jeonghan stepped out of Seungcheol’s office, his expression unreadable. The entire team turned their attention to him as he cleared his throat.
“Mr. Park has officially been fired as of today. HR has concluded the investigation, and with all the evidence gathered, there was no room for negotiation. A replacement needs to be found as soon as possible. There’s already a potential candidate, but the final decision still needs to be made.”
A murmur spread across the room, but before you could react, Jeonghan turned to you. “Can we talk in private, Y/n?”
You blinked at him but nodded, following him to the pantry. The moment the door shut behind you, Jeonghan exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Mr. Choi mentioned your name as the potential head of the marketing department.”
Your eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Jeonghan sighed, looking at you seriously. “I know it’s sudden, but he has his reasons. And honestly? After hearing him out, I found myself agreeing with him.” He still seemed surprised at himself for admitting that.
“But… next week is my last day!” you protested, your voice rising slightly in disbelief.
Jeonghan placed a firm grip on your arms, steadying you. “Listen to me—HR and Mr. Choi are definitely going to call you soon. You need to prepare yourself.”
You let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s too much responsibility! You know I was planning to travel across Asia after this.”
Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “And that’s what you’re most worried about, huh?” His tone was amused, but there was also a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Look, whatever decision you make, I’ll support you. But just think about it, alright?”
Your mind was already spinning with the weight of the unexpected offer. A promotion just as you were about to leave? It was almost ironic.
"Ms. Ji, can you come to my office for a sec?"
You nearly jumped from your seat at the sudden sound of Seungcheol’s voice filling the secretary team’s office. The room fell silent as all eyes darted toward him. He stood behind his office door, only half of his body visible as he peeked outside, waiting for you.
You stole a glance at Jeonghan, who was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes silently sending you a thousand words of encouragement. You sighed, smoothing down your blazer before standing up and making your way to Seungcheol’s office.
The moment you stepped inside, you noticed that the blinds had been down since this morning. You figured after the confrontation with Mr. Park, he must have needed some privacy.
"Mr. Choi," you called his name softly as you stopped in front of his desk.
Without a word, Seungcheol handed you a file. You hesitated for a moment before taking it, flipping it open to find pages upon pages of evidence—proof of Mr. Park’s embezzlement during his tenure as the head of the marketing department. Your brows furrowed. This file was supposed to be confidential, a matter strictly between him and HR. So why was he showing it to you? Especially when you were set to leave in just a week?
"You told me about this last night," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Your mind raced back to your conversation with him the night before. You had mentioned it—your suspicions about the marketing department’s financial discrepancies. You had noticed missing reports from the past two years that didn’t sit right with you. And despite your reluctance, you had handed him the findings you had gathered over time.
Wait.
Your eyes flickered up to Seungcheol, your expression shifting. "You weren’t drunk?"
He smirked, leaning against the edge of his desk. "I was just acting."
Your breath hitched as the realization hit you. The way he had suddenly become lighter when he was supposedly dead weight on your shoulder last night. The way he had pulled you aside, listening intently as you spoke about the missing reports.
You didn’t remember much about how the conversation had unfolded, but somehow, in that moment, you had found the courage to show him everything.
"And you were right," Seungcheol continued, pulling out another document from his desk—your resignation letter.
Your heartbeat quickened.
"I have an offer for you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "Be our new head of the marketing department."
Silence hung in the air.
You stood frozen, the weight of his words sinking in.
"You’re probably the only person who knows the ins and outs of the marketing department better than anyone else," he reasoned, his voice steady. And he wasn’t wrong. You had spent the past seven years collecting reports, reviewing files, and meticulously studying every department before handing them over to him. You knew how the department functioned, where its strengths and weaknesses lay.
But despite the logic in his argument, you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Not now. It was too sudden, too unexpected. You knew Seungcheol always had a plan—he never made decisions lightly. But the real question was, were you ready for more?
"What do you think, Ms. Ji?" His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
You swallowed, taking a deep breath before finally speaking. "I’ll think about it, sir."
Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding. "Alright. You can go back."
That was your cue to leave. You turned on your heels, stepping out of his office, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
Why did everything suddenly lead to this?
*
"Want to talk about it?" Seungcheol’s voice was soft as he cuddled you close, his warmth seeping into your skin. His hand moved lazily through your hair, fingers tracing slow, comforting patterns.
He had invited you over tonight after you received a text from your brother, letting you know he was having friends over. You hadn’t wanted to be home with all the noise, and without asking too many questions, Seungcheol had offered his place. Now, nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm draped around his torso, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you.
"I'm all ears," he murmured, sensing your hesitation about his earlier offer.
Doubt flickered through you before you finally spoke. "Are you..." You hesitated. "Are you going to listen to me as my boss or as my boyfriend?"
His answer caught you off guard. It sounded too neutral, almost detached, and something about it stung more than you expected. Without thinking, you shifted away from him, turning your back.
"Hey," Seungcheol's arm immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, grounding.
"Tell me, baby," he coaxed, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "I'll listen to you as your partner. Go ahead."
Slowly, you turned back to face him, meeting his steady gaze. "I don’t want to accept the offer."
Seungcheol said nothing, only watching you carefully, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist, a silent sign that he was listening.
"It’s too much for me," you admitted. "A big responsibility. And I don’t think I’m cut out for that—I’m not that passionate about it."
Seungcheol frowned. "You're a very passionate person, Y/n."
You shook your head. "Not about this. Not anymore." A deep sigh left your lips. "I'm tired of working, Cheol. I just want to travel the world, maybe get a job with less responsibility. Something that doesn’t drain me like this."
Seungcheol remained quiet, his dark eyes locked onto yours, absorbing every word. His fingers traced absentminded circles on your waist, a silent reminder that he was there, that he heard you.
"I need a break," you whispered, voice barely audible. "Before I break."
Something flickered in Seungcheol’s expression—regret, concern, maybe even guilt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "I’m sorry," he murmured, his lips lingering for a moment. "I didn’t realize how much you’ve been carrying. And I—" He exhaled sharply. "I’ve been a jerk, haven’t I?"
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I think I wore myself out, Cheol. I hit my limit."
Seungcheol nodded, his thumb brushing along your cheek. "Then you should rest. You need to rest. Or else you’re going to—"
"Explode," you finished for him, smiling faintly. "Like when I called you drunk months ago."
A chuckle rumbled from his chest, the tension in the air easing. "I should thank your drunk self. If not for that, I wouldn’t have known my secretary wanted me to be her date.
You rolled your eyes, fingers threading through his hair. "That’s what you took from that?"
He grinned. "Well, that, and the fact that you can’t handle your alcohol."
You swatted his arm playfully, and he caught your wrist, tugging you closer.
"I just want to stay home for a while," you murmured, your voice softer now. "Do things I actually enjoy. Maybe pick up a hobby. Get a pet." You sighed as if the mere thought of it was a relief. "And none of it involves going back to work anytime soon."
Seungcheol studied you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like a good wife."
You chuckled, raising a brow. "I would make a good wife."
His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Really?"
Before you could answer, he tackled you onto the bed, his hands finding your sides as he tickled you mercilessly. Laughter filled the room as you squirmed beneath him, the weight of your earlier worries momentarily forgotten.
Your heart raced as Seungcheol hovered above you, his eyes dark with warmth and something deeper—something that made your breath hitch. His weight against you was comforting rather than overwhelming, his presence grounding.
"You tried my cooking earlier," you teased, giggling when he trailed soft kisses across your face—your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose. Each touch was featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine.
Seungcheol hummed in agreement, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "You’ll make a good wife."
Before you could react, he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb stroking gently, while his other arm held you firmly against him, as if he never wanted to let go.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
*
It was your favorite place—a simple barbecue restaurant where you and Jeonghan used to have dinner together during your early years at the company. The scent of grilled meat filled the air, blending with the warmth of laughter and chatter. Tonight, the atmosphere buzzed with a mix of celebration and bittersweet goodbyes as everyone gathered for your farewell party.
Seated around the long wooden tables were your colleagues—the secretary team members, department representatives, and even a few unexpected guests. Among them was Seungcheol, his presence instantly commanding attention. It was rare to see him at casual company gatherings like this, and his attendance left many curious. But since it was you—one of his most trusted employees—who was leaving, everyone assumed that was the reason he sat beside you, his presence a quiet yet significant statement.
After a while, you stood, clearing your throat as conversations died down. With a grateful smile, you delivered your speech—thanking everyone for their support, for the years of teamwork and shared challenges, and apologizing for any moments you might have fallen short.
When you finished, the room erupted into cheers and applause, glasses raised in a heartfelt toast. Laughter followed, but beneath it all was an unspoken truth: this chapter was ending, and things would never quite be the same again.
Seungcheol cleared his throat, the deep sound cutting through the lingering laughter and drawing everyone's attention like a switch had been flipped. Conversations faded, and all eyes turned to him.
He sat upright, his expression composed yet sincere. "First of all, I want to thank Ms. Ji for her hard work all these years," he began, his voice steady but carrying weight. "She’s been one of the most dedicated people in this company, and honestly, it’s hard to imagine this place without her. We’re losing not just a talented employee but also someone who made things run smoother for all of us."
A murmur of agreement swept through the group, and you felt a mix of pride and guilt settle in your chest.
Seungcheol glanced at you briefly before continuing. "And... I also want to take this chance to apologize," he said, his tone softening. "For any unnecessary pressure, for the late nights, for expecting too much sometimes. I know I wasn’t always the easiest boss to work with."
You shook your head slightly, about to reassure him, but before you could say anything, he inhaled deeply and, with absolute confidence, added,
"Also, since we’re all here, I think now’s a good time to make an announcement."
You frowned, confused, and Jeonghan—who was sipping his drink beside you—arched an eyebrow.
Seungcheol’s gaze met yours, then he turned back to the room. "Ms. Ji and I are dating."
A moment of silence. Then—
"What?!" Mingyu choked on his drink, coughing as Jeonghan patted his back. Gasps and murmurs spread through the group like wildfire. Even the usually composed members of the secretary team looked at each other in shock.
You stiffened, your body going rigid as the realization sank in. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of your dress under the table, your pulse hammering in your ears. Slowly, almost mechanically, you turned to Seungcheol, your voice barely above a whisper.
"What—why would you—"
"Wait, wait, wait." Jeonghan put a hand up, smirking. "That's expected. Since when?"
Seungcheol chuckled, resting his arm on the back of your chair. "For a while now."
Meanwhile, Jeonghan just sat there, utterly amused, swirling his drink in his glass before finally saying, "So this is why you’ve been sneaking around, huh?"
"Jeonghan!" You hissed, shooting him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly enjoying your suffering.
Mingyu, still coughing slightly, gaped at Seungcheol like he had just grown a second head. "Wait, wait, wait—you two?! Since when?! And why didn’t I know?!"
Your face burned as everyone’s eyes darted between you and him, trying to process the sudden revelation. Someone from marketing whispered, That explains why he’s actually here tonight.
"You could’ve warned me first," you hissed under your breath, still reeling from the shock.
Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his voice teasing, "Where's the fun in that?"
The room exploded into a mix of cheers, teasing remarks, and incredulous laughter. Some congratulated you, others demanded details, and Mingyu, still processing, just groaned, "Why am I always the last to know?!"
You sighed, covering your face, but despite the initial embarrassment, you couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips. Seungcheol had just made sure this farewell party was one no one would forget.
Your fingers twitched. If there weren’t so many witnesses, you might have actually smacked him.
"So you two have actually been together this whole time?" One of the HR reps asked, her mouth still slightly open in disbelief. "Like, during work hours? During meetings? While she was still his secretary?"
Oh no. That was a dangerous line of questioning.
You opened your mouth, scrambling to regain some sort of control over the situation, but Seungcheol, of course, was faster.
"It started after work," he clarified, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "And it’s not like she’s breaking any rules. She’s leaving the company, after all."
The way he said it—so effortlessly confident—made your stomach twist. You wanted to argue, to regain some control over this mess he had just thrown you into, but then you caught the way he was looking at you.
There was something possessive in his gaze, a quiet certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t ashamed. He wasn’t hiding.
And suddenly, the tension shifted.
"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, barely able to contain the heat rising to your cheeks.
He chuckled, finally turning back to his drink. "And yet, you’re still here."
The table erupted into laughter, cheers, and even a few claps. Someone from the legal department shouted, "Well, damn. We need to drink to this!"
"Oh—another thing to celebrate," Seungcheol announced, his voice effortlessly cutting through the laughter and clinking glasses.
You turned to him, sensing something in his tone, but before you could ask, he raised his glass.
"Congratulations to Mr. Yoon, our new Marketing Department Head."
A moment of silence hung in the air before the entire table erupted in cheers and applause.
"What?!" Mingyu nearly knocked over his drink in shock. "Jeonghan-hyung? When did this happen?"
Jeonghan, ever composed, simply smirked as he leaned back in his chair. "A while ago."
"You knew?!" Mingyu gawked at him before turning to Seungcheol. "And no one thought to tell me?!"
Seungcheol chuckled, completely unfazed. "HR finalized it this afternoon. He was my first choice from the start."
"But—but—" Mingyu stammered, looking between you and Jeonghan. "I thought she was the best candidate?!"
You smiled, lifting your drink. "I’m leaving, remember?"
Jeonghan shrugged, tapping his fingers against his glass. "And someone had to clean up after her, so here I am."
Laughter filled the table, and soon, everyone was raising their drinks toward Jeonghan, congratulating him on the promotion.
Seungcheol leaned in closer to you, his hand finding yours under the table. His voice was low, meant only for you.
"Now you really have no reason to stay at work."
You rolled your eyes playfully but squeezed his hand in return. "You planned all of this, didn’t you?"
He smirked, his thumb brushing against your fingers. "Maybe. But I also knew it was what’s best for everyone."
You sighed, glancing at Jeonghan, who was basking in the attention, and then at Seungcheol, who was watching you with that knowing look.
Despite everything, you couldn’t deny it—this felt right.
*
It had been ten months since you left the company, but something about Mingyu working as Seungcheol’s secretary still didn’t sit right with you. This morning only confirmed your suspicions. Seungcheol, who once carried himself with unwavering composure, now sat at the breakfast table with noticeable dark circles under his eyes. You couldn’t recall a single time in the past when he looked this tired.
“What’s your schedule like today?” you asked, setting a plate of breakfast in front of him along with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Seungcheol gave you a faint smile before replying, “Just a quick briefing with finance. I’ll probably be home late; I have a meeting with Joshua over dinner."
Your arms crossed as you stood beside the table, watching him. “You never memorize your own schedule,” you pointed out, your tone laced with concern.
He nodded in agreement, his attention on his food. “I used to have Jeonghan to remind me about everything. And you,” he added, glancing up at you with a soft smile. “You made sure everything ran smoothly.”
You watched him take another bite before leaning against the table. “How many staff members is Mingyu working with?” you asked, your tone more curious this time.
Seungcheol chuckled, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Why are you asking?”
“Because it’s obvious you’re overworking yourself, babe,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms again.
He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m fine, love. Don’t worry,” he reassured, though his voice didn’t quite convince you. “Mingyu’s my only secretary now, but the system’s changed. He’s managing just fine.”
You sighed and sat down in front of him, resting your chin on your hand. “Is Mingyu still an idiot?”
Seungcheol couldn’t help but laugh, his tired expression lifting just a little. “He is,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But he’s getting better, I promise. You’d be surprised.”
You weren’t entirely convinced, and your frustration showed as you frowned at him. “You used to come home looking less like a zombie,” you muttered.
Seungcheol reached across the table and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I know you’re worried,” he said, his voice soft. “But really, I’ve got this. Mingyu may be a work in progress, but we’re managing.”
You squeezed his hand in return, but your concern lingered. “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, alright?”
He smiled at you, a warmth in his eyes that made you feel just a little more at ease. “I won’t. I promise.”
As Seungcheol finished the last bite of his breakfast, he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as it shifted to you. "How’s the baking class going?" he asked, his tone casual but genuinely curious.
You perked up slightly at his question, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s going really well. I finally mastered the chiffon cake yesterday," you said, your excitement seeping into your voice.
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "The one you said was impossible to get right?"
You nodded eagerly. "Yep. It took me three tries, but I did it. The instructor even said I nailed the texture and flavor."
He smiled, the fatigue on his face momentarily fading as he watched you talk. "Look at you, becoming a pro baker already," he teased, though there was an unmistakable pride in his tone.
You chuckled, waving off his comment. "I wouldn’t say ‘pro,’ but it’s been fun. I didn’t think I’d enjoy baking as much as I do now."
Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you. "So, when are you going to let me taste this famous chiffon cake?"
You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair. "Soon. I just want to perfect it a little more before I let you try it. You’re too honest with your feedback," you said, narrowing your eyes at him with mock suspicion.
He laughed, the deep sound filling the room and making your chest warm. "You know I only critique because I care," he said, reaching out to poke your arm. "But fine. I’ll wait until you think it’s ready."
You smirked, crossing your arms. "You better. No sneaking bites when I’m not looking."
"I wouldn’t dare," he replied, his tone exaggeratedly serious.
The two of you fell into an easy silence for a moment, the tension from earlier easing as you both enjoyed the quiet morning together.
"Maybe," Seungcheol began, breaking the silence, "you could make a batch of something for Joshua’s dinner meeting. He has a sweet tooth, you know."
You raised an eyebrow at him, pretending to be skeptical. "Are you volunteering me to impress your business partner with baked goods now?"
"Maybe," he admitted with a cheeky grin. "But only because I know you’d knock it out of the park."
You shook your head with a laugh, but you couldn’t deny how his words filled you with a small sense of pride. "Fine," you said. "I’ll make some cookies or brownies. But you owe me."
Seungcheol smirked. "Deal. I’ll make it worth your while."
The restaurant was dimly lit, with soft jazz music playing in the background. Seungcheol sat across from Joshua at the private dining table, his posture relaxed but still exuding authority. Mingyu, seated beside him, diligently took notes and managed the documents for the formal part of the meeting.
The discussion went smoothly, with both parties agreeing on the next steps for their partnership. As the waiter cleared their plates and brought out coffee and dessert, the atmosphere gradually shifted to a more casual tone. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself to relax.
Joshua stirred his coffee, a friendly smile on his face as he looked at Mingyu. "I have to say, Mingyu, you’ve really grown into your role. The professionalism you’ve shown tonight is impressive. So different from how you were!"
Mingyu let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I had to step up, didn’t I? Working for Seungcheol hyung isn’t exactly a walk in the park."
Seungcheol chuckled, glancing at Mingyu with a raised eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"
"Not at all!" Mingyu quickly replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I’m just saying, I had to adapt."
Joshua laughed, clearly amused by their dynamic. "It’s good to see, though. I remember the Mingyu who couldn’t sit still in meetings or keep track of his tasks. Now look at you—organized, professional, and confident."
Mingyu puffed out his chest jokingly, but there was a hint of genuine pride in his smile. "Well, I had a great mentor," he said, nodding toward Seungcheol.
Seungcheol scoffed, though a small smile played on his lips. "Don’t get too cocky, Mingyu. You still have a long way to go."
Joshua tilted his head, a curious expression crossing his face. "By the way, how did Mingyu end up working for you, Seungcheol?"
"Trust me," Seungcheol said, a playful glint in his eye, "I didn’t want to hire him at first. But he insisted, and I figured if he was going to work anywhere, it might as well be under someone who wouldn’t go easy on him."
"And he doesn’t go easy on me," Mingyu added, holding up his hands. "This man is tough."
Joshua laughed, clearly entertained. "Well, I have to say, it’s working. You’ve come a long way, Mingyu. But I bet it’s also a little intimidating, working for your family."
"It is," Mingyu admitted, "but it’s also motivating. I can’t slack off when my boss knows everything about me, including my bad habits."
Seungcheol shook his head, though his expression softened. "To be fair, he’s proven himself. He’s still Mingyu, though, so he keeps things interesting."
Seungcheol chuckled to himself as he sipped his coffee, the memory of that day playing vividly in his mind. It was his aunt's anniversary, and the gathering at his house was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to his family. At least, that was his plan.
You had looked stunning that day, wearing a soft pastel dress that complimented you beautifully. Yet, your nervousness was unmistakable—the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag, the quick glances you stole at Seungcheol for reassurance, and the tiny, hesitant smile that melted his heart every time he caught you looking at him.
He remembered how your confidence faltered the moment you stepped into the living room, where the cheerful buzz of conversation filled the space. His family greeted you warmly, but then your eyes landed on Mingyu standing casually by the snack table.
Your reaction was priceless. Your eyes widened as if you'd seen a ghost, and before you could stop yourself, you mouthed to Seungcheol, What is he doing here?
Mingyu’s face lit up instantly when he noticed you. "Noona!" he called out excitedly, leaving his spot to approach you.
Seungcheol stifled a laugh as you turned to him, utterly baffled, while Mingyu pulled you into a friendly hug. "What... what is happening?" you whispered urgently to Seungcheol as Mingyu grinned beside you.
Seungcheol smirked, enjoying your confusion. "Mingyu is my cousin," he explained casually. "He’s my aunt’s son."
You blinked in shock, staring at both men as if the pieces of a puzzle were suddenly falling into place. "That explains a lot," you muttered, earning a laugh from Seungcheol and a curious look from Mingyu.
From that day on, your dynamic with Mingyu took a playful turn. What started as harmless teasing quickly became your favorite way to keep him on his toes, especially after he became Seungcheol’s secretary.
"You should work harder, Mingyu," you had told him one day when he stopped by your place to drop off some files for Seungcheol. Leaning against the doorframe, you smirked knowingly at him. "You only got that job because the boss is your cousin. Nepo baby."
Mingyu groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Noona, you can’t keep calling me that! I’m actually working really hard, you know."
"You better," you shot back, grinning mischievously. "I worked hard supervising you."
Seungcheol, who had been silently observing the exchange from the couch, couldn’t hide his amusement. "Don’t go too hard on him, love," he teased, though his tone was far from serious.
Mingyu pouted, looking between the two of you. "Great. Now I have two bosses to impress."
"You should be honored," you quipped, sending him a wink before heading back to the kitchen.
As Seungcheol watched Mingyu’s exasperated expression, he couldn’t help but smile. Despite all the teasing, the camaraderie between you and Mingyu warmed his heart. It was proof of how naturally you had integrated into his life—his family—and how, even in moments of chaos, you brought lightness and joy to everything you touched.
Summary: His love for you is unconditional. He gives you everything, he takes you everywhere, and he'll do anything for you.
Wonwoo noticed something was different about you tonight, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was. From the moment he picked you up to the quiet drive to the upscale restaurant his secretary had booked, you had been unusually silent. He knew you weren’t one to talk endlessly, but tonight, the silence felt heavier—weighted with something unspoken.
"Hey, are you alright, love?" His voice was gentle, laced with concern.
You turned your head to him, your gaze flickering down to where his hand rested on your lap, fingers laced with yours. His grip tightened slightly when you didn’t answer immediately, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, silently urging you to speak. You let out a soft sigh.
"I'm fine… Just a bit more tired than usual," you finally said, offering him a small, weary smile.
Wonwoo didn’t look convinced, but he smiled anyway, a quiet reassurance in his expression. "We’ll be there soon," he said softly, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
Tonight, you looked absolutely breathtaking. The black dress he had bought you last week hugged your figure elegantly, its half-long sleeves giving you an air of effortless sophistication. The delicate jewelry adorning your neck and wrists—pieces he had insisted on getting you last month as a reward for finishing your semester as a teacher—only enhanced your beauty. You always looked stunning to him, but tonight, something about you felt untouchable, distant, like a painting behind glass.
Once seated across from you at the candlelit table, Wonwoo barely touched his food. Instead, he watched you. Observed the way you pushed the vegetables around your plate, the way your fingers toyed with the stem of your wine glass, how you sighed so softly you probably didn’t even realize it.
"You don’t like the food?" Wonwoo asked, his voice warm but firm.
You blinked at him, then hastily picked up your fork, shaking your head. "No, I love it."
"Then why haven’t you touched it, love?" His eyes softened as he leaned in slightly, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.
He was done waiting. Whatever was troubling you tonight, he wanted to know.
"Talk to me. What’s wrong?"
The way he looked at you—with so much patience, so much affection—made it impossible to keep up the facade any longer. You sighed, setting your fork down before finally voicing the thought that had been weighing on you all evening.
"You donated a lot of money to the school…" Your voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the comfortable ambiance of the restaurant.
Wonwoo raised his brows, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected topic. He nodded, confirming your statement.
"The headmaster was ecstatic," you continued, but there was something about the way you said it that made his stomach twist. It wasn’t excitement or gratitude he heard—it was something else.
"Why?" He tilted his head slightly, studying you closely. "You don’t like it?"
You shook your head, your fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "It’s not that. I appreciate it, really. But… you should’ve discussed something like this with me first."
Wonwoo’s lips parted slightly as he took in your words. He bit his lower lip, exhaling through his nose. You were right. He had promised—promised that anything involving you, anything that mattered to you, would be something you both discussed together. He hadn’t intended to overstep, but he understood now where your disappointment was coming from.
His hand reached across the table, fingers wrapping around yours with a gentle squeeze. "You’re right," he admitted, his voice softer now. "I should’ve talked to you about it first. I’m sorry, love."
You glanced at him, your features softening slightly at his sincerity.
"How about we talk about this properly after dinner? At your place," Wonwoo suggested, his thumb brushing the back of your hand.
You hesitated before mumbling, "My place is messy…" a small pout formed on your lips.
Wonwoo let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head fondly. "Alright, then let’s talk at my place, okay?"
This time, when he looked at you, the weight in your eyes seemed a little lighter. And though you didn’t say it, the way your fingers curled slightly tighter around his hand told him that you appreciated him listening.
Wonwoo met you through a friend. He had been desperate, though he’d never admit it out loud, to find a woman who could steal his heart effortlessly. Someone who could make him fall so hard that he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at the thought of simping for her. Because Wonwoo had always believed he was a lover at heart. When he loved, he loved deeply—down bad, hopelessly devoted.
But every date his mother arranged had been a disappointment. They were all perfectly respectable women, but none of them had that spark, that something that could make his heart race. Frustrated, he turned to Mingyu—the one person he knew who seemed to have connections with almost everyone in the world.
"I think I know someone," Mingyu had said one day, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Without hesitation, he reached out to his sister, asking her to introduce Wonwoo to her best friend—you.
"I hear about her all the time," Mingyu continued, scrolling through his phone. "She’s nice, kind, smart—which is totally your type. I think she’s cool."
Wonwoo narrowed his eyes at him, skeptical. "Why don’t you date her, then?"
Mingyu barely looked up as he chuckled, tilting his phone toward Wonwoo. "Oh… she doesn’t like me."
That caught Wonwoo’s attention. He raised a brow, leaning in slightly. "She doesn’t like you?" he repeated, intrigued.
A girl who wasn’t charmed by Mingyu?
Now that was interesting.
However, when he finally met you for the first time, picking you up from school, his heart raced in a way he hadn't expected. You walked through the gates dressed in a modest, simple outfit, yet there was something about the way you smiled and waved at him that sent a jolt of nervous excitement through him. Even now, after all this time, you still managed to make him nervous sometimes.
From the very start, you led conversations with confidence, your eyes brimming with passion whenever you spoke about something you loved. It was effortless—how time slipped away when he was with you. And it wasn’t just him who enjoyed it; he could tell you did too.
One date turned into two, then three, and by the fourth, he knew he didn’t want to waste any more time. He asked you to be his girlfriend on a Saturday night, aboard his family’s yacht, the city lights flickering in the distance as the ocean breeze carried his words to you.
Since then, he had been completely, hopelessly, utterly whipped for you.
Every day after school, he was there to pick you up. And on the rare occasions when work held him back, he made sure his secretary, Chan, took care of it, ensuring you got home safely.
He learned to cook—not because he had to, but because you once mentioned that fine dining all the time made you a little uncomfortable. So, he tried. He practiced. He wanted to make dinner dates at his place special for you, even if it meant burning a few attempts along the way.
One time, when you had a week-long workshop in Jeju, he booked a last-minute flight just because he hadn’t seen you in days and couldn’t stand another minute apart.
Expensive gifts? Of course. If you so much as mentioned something in passing, he would have it ready for you in no time. But it wasn’t about the price—it was about the way your eyes lit up, the way you smiled, the way you kissed him and whispered thank you like he had just given you the world.
Because to him, you were his world.
He loved you unconditionally, without hesitation, without limits.
And he would do anything for you.
*
You sat curled up on Wonwoo’s couch, completely absorbed in a book from your favorite author—one that he had been collecting ever since you started dating a year ago. It was a quiet, cozy night, just the way you liked it. You had already changed into a pair of pajama pants that Wonwoo had bought for you a while ago, paired with one of his old, oversized T-shirts—the one he could never bring himself to throw away because you loved it too much.
The sound of water running in the bathroom had stopped, but you were too engrossed in your book to notice. Your fingers flipped through the pages eagerly, your heart racing as the tension in the story built.
And then—
A pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around your waist from behind.
You gasped, nearly dropping the book as you jumped in surprise. "You scared me!" You turned your head to glare at him, breathless. "I was literally at the most intense part!"
Wonwoo chuckled, his deep voice rumbling against your ear. "Sorry, love. You just looked too cute sitting there, all focused." He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, his damp hair tickling your skin.
You sighed dramatically, putting the book down on the coffee table before turning fully toward him. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him close as you rested your head against his chest. His skin was warm from the shower, smelling faintly of his fresh, clean scent—the one that always made you feel at home.
His arms tightened around you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "Better?" he murmured.
You hummed in contentment, closing your eyes.
"Why did you donate so much money to our school?" you mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear. You felt embarrassed bringing up the topic again, but it had been weighing on your mind too much to ignore.
Wonwoo turned to look at you, his gaze gentle but questioning. "Before I answer that… may I know what’s wrong?"
You sighed, your thoughts swirling with everything the teachers had been saying. It wasn’t exactly a secret anymore—there were already rumors going around the school about you having a crazy rich boyfriend. The moment people started seeing Wonwoo pick you up in his sleek car, the whispers began. And while you had never directly addressed it, the weight of it all had started to burden you.
The worst part? Some of the teachers had been unprofessional enough to bring it up in front of the students, which only made things worse. Now, even your students had started asking questions—questions you weren’t sure how to answer.
You licked your lips, hesitating before finally admitting, "I’ve kind of become a hot topic among the teachers and students."
Wonwoo’s brows furrowed instantly. "Are they saying something bad?"
You shook your head, trying to be honest. "Not entirely bad… but it’s just burdensome. They talk about you, about how I must’ve done something to get you—like I had to scheme my way into this relationship or something." You exhaled sharply, waving your hand as if that could brush off the weight of their words. "It’s not exactly important, but it’s tiring to hear."
Wonwoo didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel the shift in his energy. His sharp mind was already putting pieces together, and before you could stop him, he asked, "Has this been going on for a while?"
You hesitated, then finally gave in to the truth, nodding slowly.
Wonwoo’s jaw tensed ever so slightly. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.
"I’m starting to dislike everyone in that school. Can’t you just quit, love?" Wonwoo suggested, his voice firm as he met your gaze. His hands, warm and steady, tightened ever so slightly around your waist.
You sighed, shaking your head. "No, I still have a contract until next semester. I can’t just leave."
Wonwoo exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing. He remembered the things you had told him about your workplace—particularly about the headmaster. From the way you had described the man, Wonwoo already knew he was the type of person he couldn’t stand.
One moment stood out in his mind. You had mentioned how the headmaster once made an inappropriate comment about a photo you had posted on social media—a picture of you wearing a stunning red dress that he had bought for you. It had been slightly revealing, but when you had asked for his opinion before posting it, Wonwoo hadn’t minded at all. If anything, he had thought you looked breathtaking.
But then you told him what the headmaster had said.
"You should dress like that more often, Ms. Ji. Your work outfits are a little boring."
Wonwoo felt his grip on you tighten instinctively as the memory resurfaced. Just thinking about it again made his blood boil.
He let out a slow breath, grounding himself before speaking. "I donated to show him power," he admitted, his voice quieter this time. "I wanted everyone to respect you. Especially the headmaster." He paused, his fingers gently rubbing circles on your back. "But I was wrong."
Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips—a silent apology, full of warmth and sincerity.
"I’m sorry, love," he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
Wonwoo pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs tracing soft circles along your cheeks. His voice was quiet, steady, but filled with something deeper—something only you could decipher.
"Love," he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away just enough to speak again. "Have I been a burden to you?"
Your breath hitched slightly at the question, surprised by his directness. His eyes, dark and full of concern, searched yours for the truth.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he continued, his voice softer now. "If being with me has made things harder for you… I want to know."
You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of your thoughts pressing against your chest. You hadn’t wanted to make him feel guilty, hadn’t wanted to let the whispers and judgments of others taint the love you shared. But this was Wonwoo—he had always been patient with you, always listened without judgment. And now, he was asking for honesty.
You sighed, leaning into his touch, closing your eyes as he pressed another kiss to your forehead. "It’s not you that’s the burden," you admitted. "It’s… everything that comes with being with you."
His grip on you didn’t falter, if anything, it tightened as if grounding you. "Tell me," he urged, lips ghosting over yours before stealing another slow, tender kiss, coaxing the truth out of you with every touch.
You exhaled shakily. "It’s the way people talk. The way they look at me like I don’t deserve you. Like I had to do something manipulative just to be with you." Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as you continued. "It’s the pressure of being seen as your girlfriend before anything else. People assume things about me because of who you are, and sometimes… it’s exhausting."
Wonwoo let out a quiet hum, his lips pressing against yours again, deeper this time, as if trying to soothe the frustration and exhaustion you carried. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in the warmth of his presence.
Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze unwavering. His fingers traced slow, reassuring patterns on your waist, urging you to continue.
"Tell me more," he said softly, his voice gentle yet firm. "What else has been weighing on you, love?"
You hesitated, biting your lip. The words were right there, but voicing them felt daunting. You didn’t want to come across as ungrateful or make him feel misunderstood. But the way he looked at you—with so much patience and love—made it easier to open up. "It’s… the way you spoil me," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling as it escaped.
Wonwoo furrowed his brows, leaning in slightly as if trying to read your emotions. "What do you mean?"
You let out a soft breath, trying to find the right way to explain. "I don’t want our relationship to feel like some kind of… transaction," you continued, your words quieter now. You looked down briefly, collecting your thoughts before meeting his eyes again. "The expensive gifts, the luxury things… I know you do it out of love, but sometimes, it feels like you’re paying me to be with you."
Your voice wavered slightly, but you pressed on, knowing this was something you had to say. "And that—it hurts my ego, Wonwoo."
His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, but his expression softened as he processed your words. He didn’t say anything immediately, just let you continue.
"I love that you care for me, and I know you don’t see it that way," you quickly added, almost as if you were trying to reassure him. "But every time you buy me something extravagant, it feels like I’m being… taken care of in a way that makes me feel small. Like I can’t stand beside you as an equal. And I hate that feeling." You bit your lip, trying to steady your nerves. It felt like your pride was slowly unraveling, but you needed him to understand.
Wonwoo let out a deep sigh, his hands moving to cradle your face, his touch tender yet firm. "Love," he whispered, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, his voice full of sincerity. "I don’t spoil you because I think you need taking care of. I do it because I want to. Because I love you. You deserve everything, Y/n."
You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Your eyes flickered between his, the vulnerability in your chest raw and exposed. "I know. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful," you said, your voice cracking a little. "But sometimes, I feel like… I can’t give you the same in return. Like I’ll never be able to match what you do for me."
The words hung in the air for a moment, and a quiet tension settled between you, the vulnerability and honesty of the moment tangible.
Wonwoo’s eyes softened as he gently tilted your chin upward, guiding your face closer to his. "You don’t have to match me, love," he whispered, his voice firm but soothing. "This isn’t about keeping score. I’m not trying to buy your love. I’m giving you what I can, because I want you to have everything you deserve. But you don’t owe me anything. Not a thing. Just… be with me. That’s all I need."
You didn’t realize it at first, but as the conversation continued, the weight of everything you'd been holding in began to pour out. The tears fell quietly, tracing down your cheeks as your emotions finally found an outlet. You hadn’t meant to cry, but the vulnerability had cracked something open inside you, something that needed release.
Wonwoo immediately noticed, his expression shifting from concern to tenderness as he gently cupped your face in his hands. "Hey, love," he whispered, his voice low and soothing, "don’t cry, please."
His thumb brushed over your cheeks, wiping away the tears before they could fall, but they kept coming. You could feel the tightness in your throat as you tried to hold it together, but it was impossible. You didn’t know why this moment, this conversation, was making you so emotional, but it felt like everything had finally come to the surface.
"I’m so sorry," you whispered between soft sobs, your voice shaky. "I didn’t mean to fall apart like this."
Wonwoo’s heart ached as he watched you struggle, and without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tender embrace. He didn’t say anything right away—just held you, letting you cry into his chest as he stroked your back in gentle, rhythmic motions. His scent, his warmth, enveloped you, calming the storm inside you little by little.
After a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes filled with nothing but care and understanding. He gently kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead, his lips soft against your skin. "You don’t have to apologize, Y/n," he murmured. "I’m here. I’ll always be here for you."
His words were like a balm to your aching heart, and you leaned into him again, feeling his chest rise and fall with each steady breath he took. He was your anchor, always there to help you calm the chaos within yourself.
His words settled in your chest like a warm, comforting weight, and for the first time in a while, the heaviness in your heart began to lift. Wonwoo's steady presence was all you needed in that moment. He had a way of making everything feel manageable, even when it seemed like the world was too much to bear.
His hands gently cupped your face again, his thumb softly tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch was tender, but there was an undeniable heat in the way his eyes lingered on yours, the depth of his gaze speaking volumes.
"Y/n," he murmured, his voice low and husky now, sending a shiver down your spine. "You have no idea how much I need you."
Your breath caught in your throat at the intensity of his words. It felt like the air between you both had shifted, the space between you now charged with an electric tension that had been building since the moment he walked into your life.
"You’re everything to me," he continued, his voice growing softer, but more sincere. "And I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry any of this on your own. Let me take care of you, let me be the one to ease your burdens."
The way he spoke, with so much raw emotion and sincerity, made your heart race. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as he leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming and comforting all at once. You didn’t even realize your body was inching toward his until his lips brushed against yours again, this time with more urgency, more desire.
Wonwoo’s hands gently cupped your face, his touch tender, yet firm as though he wanted to ensure you felt his presence, his affection in every moment. He paused for a brief moment, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin.
"You’re beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, making your heart flutter. He kissed your temple softly, as if you were the most precious thing in his world, and in that moment, you felt it—how real, how deeply he cared.
"Can i, love?" he whispered, his voice low and filled with sincerity, as if asking for your permission, as if giving you the space to decide without any pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting for your response.
You nodded, your fingers lightly brushing against his shirt, pulling him closer once more. “i always trust you,” you whispered back, your voice filled with both certainty and vulnerability.
The moment lingered, soft and intimate, as if time had slowed around you. The way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours—it all felt so right,
As Wonwoo’s hands began to roam, they found the hem of your shirt and slowly lifted it, exposing your smooth skin beneath. He trailed kisses from your jawline down your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Your breathing grew heavier, and you could feel your pulse quicken in anticipation.
Wonwoo's mouth worked its way lower, pausing just above your lace-clad breast. You let out a soft moan as he teased the material with his teeth, pulling the fabric aside to reveal your nipple. His tongue flicked over it, making you gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further into his touch.
Your hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt, and when he was bare-chested before you, you reached up to caress his pecs, feeling his muscles tense under your fingers. Desire coursed through both of you, and you could no longer deny the urgency of your passion.
As Wonwoo's passion continued to build, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you towards the bedroom. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him close the door behind you, ensuring that the two of you were alone in this intimate moment.
He carefully placed you on the soft sheets of the bed before kneeling down next to you. With a tender smile, he began to undress you, removing the final barrier between the two of you. He looked at your body, admiring every curve, before following suit and removing his own clothing.
You lay there, both vulnerable and confident, your gaze fixed on each other's bodies. The desire between you both grew, and he leaned in once more to kiss you, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, and finally your breasts, which he took into his mouth one by one, sucking and biting gently.
Your hands roamed over his chest, his abs, feeling every hardened muscle before wrapping around his strong back. You could feel his erection against your thigh, pulsating with need, as he moved further down your body.
As Wonwoo's tongue delved deeper, you let out a soft moan, arching your back to offer more access. "Oh, Wonwoo..." you whispered, your breath hitching as pleasure courses through you.
Feeling your arousal building, he withdrawn, leaving you panting and craving more. "Not yet," he murmured against your ear before moving up your body once more. You squirmed beneath him, your body trembling with need.
Positioning himself at your entrance, he gazed into your eyes, his own filled with a burning desire. "I want to feel you," you plead, your voice husky with want.
He slowly entered you, stretching you with his length, his gaze never leaving yours as he began to move, filling you completely. The sensation of being so intimately connected with him was overwhelming. As he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts became more urgent, more powerful, and both of you were swept away by the tide of passion.
"Wonwoo!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as he sets a rhythm. "Don't stop..." you mumbled, lost in the euphoric connection between the two of you.
The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the two of you locked in this intimate dance. Wonwoo's breath caught, his movements growing more urgent. "I can't... I can't hold back," he grits out.
In the heat of the moment, you thrown your head back, your body tightening. "Me neither... I'm coming!" you gasped, and with that, pleasure overtook you, sending shivers through your entire being. Feeling you clenched around him, Wonwoo followed moments later, his hot release filling you completely.
Collapsing on top of you, he held you close, his heartbeat pounding against your chest. The room was still, the only sound the two of you catching your breath, your bodies tangled and spent.
*
You could feel the warmth of his bare skin against yours as you shifted in your sleep, the soft rustle of the sheets under your movements. The bedroom was still dimly lit, the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains, hinting that it was probably around 5 or 6 a.m. There was still plenty of time before you needed to get ready for school, but the comfort of his arms around you made the thought of getting up feel so distant.
His arms tightened around you, pulling your body closer to his. You smiled softly, relishing in the safety and warmth of his embrace.
“You tired?” His voice, soft and hushed in the early morning, broke the silence. You shook your head slowly, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours.
"Wanna do it again?" His teasing tone was unmistakable, and you could feel the playful glint in his voice. Before you could respond, you slapped his bare chest lightly, a small laugh escaping you, but he was quick to catch your hand, bringing it to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on your palm.
“You look so pretty waking up in my arms,” Wonwoo murmured, his words a soft caress against your skin. "Can't wait to wake up like this every morning."
You chuckled softly at his words, his hints about marriage becoming more frequent these past few weeks. You had a feeling that soon—maybe sooner than you expected—he’d be down on one knee, asking you for forever. But last night, the conversation had shifted something inside of you. You knew, without a doubt, that you would say yes, even before he could ask.
He had proved it to you, over and over again, that he loved you unconditionally, that you deserved everything he had to give—and more.
Wonwoo’s voice broke the peaceful quiet as he let out a soft chuckle, pulling you from the warmth of the moment. "Chan will be here with breakfast," he said, as if he were casually mentioning the weather.
Before you could respond, Wonwoo pressed a button on his bedside table, and the automatic curtains of his bedroom slid open. The sudden burst of sunlight caught you off guard, and your eyes widened as the room was flooded with golden light. You quickly glanced at the clock beside you, your heart dropping when you saw the time.
It was already 08:54.
"Oh no, I’m late!" you exclaimed, panic rising in your chest. You cursed under your breath, shooting a glare at Wonwoo's automatic blinds. You shot up from the bed, scrambling to get your bearings. "Why didn’t you wake me up?!"
Wonwoo chuckled softly, clearly amused by your sudden rush. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on you with a playful smile. "Relax, love," he said, his voice smooth and calm. "I already called your school. You’re off today. You’re sick."
Your eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You did what?"
"Yep," he replied nonchalantly, his tone unbothered. "You’ve been working too hard lately. I figured you could use a little break."
Your mouth fell open in shock, and you let out a breathless laugh, though it was mixed with a touch of annoyance. "You can’t just call my school and pretend I’m sick! You know I’ll get in trouble for this. We talked about this last night, Jeon Wonwoo!" you protested, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up inside you.
Wonwoo grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he casually stretched and reached for your hand. "I couldn’t discuss it with you. You were asleep, remember?"
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at his audacity. "You’re unbelievable!" you said, your voice dripping with mock exasperation. You slid out of the bed and grabbed your robe, walking briskly—almost stomping—towards the bathroom. Wonwoo watched you with an amused glint in his eyes, clearly entertained by your reactions.
He leaned back against the pillows with a satisfied grin, knowing full well he had won this round. “Take your time, love,” he called after you. “I’ll be here when you get out.”
You didn’t look back, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. The playful banter and the way he cared for you—whether you liked it or not—was part of what made him so irresistible.
*
The grand hall was bathed in a soft, golden light, with chandeliers that seemed to glitter like stars above. Every inch of the room exuded opulence, from the intricate tapestries lining the walls to the marble floors polished to perfection. Floral arrangements in hues of white and gold filled the air with their delicate scent, while the soft murmur of the guests whispered in the background, all waiting for the moment that had been years in the making.
"And now," the officiant said, with a smile, "you may kiss the bride."
Wonwoo could already sense the impending storm. He knew you were going to kill him once the wedding ceremony was over and the two of you had to leave for your honeymoon. The honeymoon you had dreamed of—Ireland, watching the aurora borealis together, indulging in romantic moments while exploring nature. The thought of it made his heart swell with happiness. He loved the idea as much as you did.
But then, Chan, his ever-loyal secretary, had come to him with bad news a week before. Apologetic and flustered, he explained that there were no available tickets for the wedding day. Wonwoo's heart sank. There was no way he could cancel all the bookings he’d meticulously planned for months.
"How could this happen?" Wonwoo asked, frustration seeping into his voice.
Chan looked guilty as he spoke, "I... I forgot to book the tickets, sir."
"Are you kidding me?" Wonwoo muttered under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to make it work.
Your face was set in a perfect expression of disbelief and annoyance. "You’ve got to be kidding me," you mumbled, turning on your heel to walk away when you saw the jet. Your reaction was the complete opposite of the excitement you had shown during the wedding ceremony.
Wonwoo's heart raced, panicking. He couldn't let you walk away, not when you were this upset. He hurried after you, grabbing your arm to stop you. "Love, I can explain," he said, his voice full of panic. "It was Chan’s fault. He forgot to book the ticket. So this is the only solution. I promise it won’t happen again."
You pulled your arm away, looking at him with disbelief. "How could you blame your secretary for this? He’s worked so hard for you! He’s been running around non-stop because you decided to have the wedding on such short notice."
Wonwoo looked down at his shoes, guilt flashing across his face. "I know... But please, love, they're waiting for us."
You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "You're unbelievable!"
Suddenly, with a determined grin, Wonwoo scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly. You gasped in surprise, your breath catching in your throat, but Wonwoo was clearly amused by your reaction.
"Wonwoo, put me down!" you squealed, but he just laughed, his arms holding you tightly as he walked toward the private jet.
"No way, love," he teased, his voice soft but playful. "You're not getting away from me that easily."
You let out a sigh of exasperation, but there was no denying the flutter in your chest at the sight of Wonwoo's playful grin. He was carrying you like it was nothing, as though the private jet was just a small obstacle on the way to your honeymoon. As he approached the steps leading up to the jet, you finally stopped resisting, your body melting into his embrace, realizing that no matter how much you wanted to be annoyed, you couldn't stay mad at him for long.
"You're lucky you're cute," you muttered, resting your head on his shoulder as he gently placed you down on the stairs of the jet.
Wonwoo chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I know. And I plan to keep it that way, especially when you’re around."
With one last playful look, he took your hand, leading you inside. The sleek interior of the jet was luxurious, the setting perfect for the adventure that awaited you both. The two of you settled in, the soft hum of the engines beginning to fill the cabin as the jet prepared for takeoff. It wasn’t the trip you had imagined—far from it—but as you sat next to Wonwoo, feeling the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the day’s earlier frustrations seemed to melt away.
You both settled back into your seats, the tension lifting as you exchanged soft smiles, your heart finally feeling at ease. The world outside the windows blurred as the jet soared higher into the sky, heading for a destination that was just the beginning of something beautiful.
After a while, Wonwoo leaned over, his lips brushing softly against your ear as he whispered, "We’re going to make unforgettable memories together, love. I promise you, this is just the start."
You smiled, your heart swelling with the truth in his words. No matter the bumps in the road or the surprises along the way, this was the man you loved. And with him, you were ready to face whatever came next.
"With you, Wonwoo," you whispered back, "I’m ready for anything."
As the private jet glided through the sky, the two of you sat side by side, hand in hand, knowing that this was just the beginning of your forever together.
Summary: A childhood promise between a crown prince and a noble girl was never meant to be serious—except Mingyu took it to heart. Years later, as suitors surround Y/N, he quietly sabotages every proposal, unwilling to let her go. When she calls their promise childish, he’s forced to finally confess under a thousand lanterns.
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Oral, Penetration, Dirty Talk, Power Dynamics, Public sex (kind of),Possessive Behavior, Angst, dom!mingyu x sub!reader,
Wc: 5.9k
A/n: This was so so fun to write. (IGNORE THE SMUT PART. THAT'S SO EMBARRASSING) First issue for our magazine and I am so excited to share my piece.
And thank you @selenophy-studio for making this cute banner🩷🩷
Featured in the SVT Issue 01 Spring 2026, which was hosted by @svt-magazines .
Read it in the E-Magazine
Y/N knew she never really belonged from the moment she was of the appropriate age to grasp her position relative to the others in the palace hierarchy. The palace was more than a series of rooms with polished floors and golden doors. It was a force to be reckoned with—the home of kings and the place of power and prestige she could never fully share. Nor did Y/N feel like she belonged as a child, not with the way people talked softly as members of the royal family walked by, not with the way people smiled too nicely to be real. Yet she was close enough to touch—but separated from the throne by her very birth and background.
That had been precisely why meeting Prince Mingyu was so terrifying.
At seven years old, she had been standing in the eastern courtyard, her nervous hands twisting at the fabric of her sleeve as she waited to be presented. She had bowed so low when the crown prince came, escorted by attendants and advisors, that she nearly stumbled.
“I am Y/N of House—” she started, her voice quivering.
“You're going to hurt your neck if you keep doing that.”
The voice, however, was calm, curious rather than commanding.
She looked up in surprise.
Mingyu was not what she had expected.
He was a tall child for his age, dark hair hanging loosely over his eyes, which sparkled with intelligence, wearing robes far too ornate for a boy who looked so… ordinary. Not cruel, exactly, and certainly not distant. Just a boy who was more interested in studying her expression than in proclaiming his own importance.
“I’m the prince,” he went on, angling his head, “but you don’t have to look as though you’re about to faint.”
Her cheeks were burning. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,”
"Don't call me that," he replied immediately. "Call me Mingyu."
She hesitated. “I… can't”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the crown prince.”
He frowned as if she had said something unreasonable to him.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Friends.
Never had anyone proposed anything like that before.
Over the following years, Mingyu proved himself to be serious.
He pursued her relentlessly.
Whenever his tutors in court would dismiss their classes, he would show up at her side. Whenever his dinners at formal banquets were a bore, he'd slip out and look for her elsewhere. And whenever nobles whispered to him about suitable future alliances, he ignored them and spent afternoons racing her through palace gardens instead.
She was only a noble daughter to the rest.
For him, she was just Y/N.
The person who laughed at his jokes.
Who had listened when he'd vented about those etiquette lessons
The one who, upon noticing, kept silently by his side when he felt overwhelmed.
Sometimes, she wondered if he even remembered that he was a prince.
The promise happened on one afternoon in late summer.
They were ten in number.
The magnolia tree beside the west wing was in full bloom, its petals drifting lazily in the air. They sat beneath it, backs against the trunk, parchment and ink scattered between them. Mingyu was tasked to practice his calligraphy. Y/N had volunteered to help.
Actually, he was procrastinating.
"This is impossible," he muttered, staring at his crooked characters. "Why does everything have to be perfect?"
She smiled softly. “Because someday you’re going to be king.”
He fell silent at that.
“I don’t want to,” he replied after a moment.
She faced him. “What?”
"I don't want to marry a person that I don't know. I don't want people deciding my life for me.” He hesitated, then added in a small voice, “I don't want to lose you.”
Her heart hiccupped.
“Mingyu…?”
He picked up a piece of parchment and, with fumbling fingers, attempted to fold it.
“If we promise to marry each other, they can’t force us, right?”
She stared.
“Marry…?”
“Yes.” He set the lopsided paper crown on her head. “Then you’ll be my queen.
She felt the heat rise to her face.
“That’s silly.”
"Is it?"
She looked at him.
Really looked.
In seriousness gone in his eyes, in the vulnerability he did not even try to veil, in a waiting-like-it-depended-on-more-than-anything-else attitude that was all his.
So, she held out her pinky.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I promise.”
He interlaced his finger with hers as a wave of relief washed over his features.
“I won’t forget,” he whispered.
She believed him.
She just didn’t know how right that would be.
Time did not change the palace.
It only changed them.
When she had finally turned nineteen, she had learned how to walk through marble halls without appearing to be lost, how to smile correctly at people who assessed her as if she were a prize to be won, and how to sit through innumerable banquets without appearing tired. The years had molded her into the perfect picture of refinement and poise, as if she were the very epitome of her family's name.
However, Mingyu had undergone a transformation
He was no longer the boy who climbed trees and folded paper crowns.
He was the crown prince.
Tall, broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, and impossibly handsome in his formal robes. When he entered a room, conversations softened automatically. Ministers stood up. Nobles bowed. Even seasoned diplomats measured their words.
And yet…
But with her, he was still Mingyu.
At least, he tried to be.
They sat together in the palace library, where sun filtered in through the high windows, spilling down onto the long tables of wood. They had books opened on the table between them, but neither was reading recently.
Y/N appeared to be reading a historical text.
Mingyu was pretending not to stare at her.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said, turning a page.
“So have you,” he replied.
“That’s because I'm studying.”
He huffed softly. “You’ve read the same paragraph three times.”
She stopped, “You noticed?”
“I always notice,” he said, before thinking.
He quickly looked away.
Her lips were slightly curved. “You’re being strange again.”
“I’m not”
“You are.”
He shifted in his seat. “Am I not allowed to be strange now?”
"You’re allowed," she said softly. "I just want to know why."
He never replied.
For how could he tell her that every time he looked at her, something in his chest tightened?
The way she laughed, the way she fixed her hair behind her ear, her confident conversation with diplomats and politicians—all of this reminded him of the fact that she was becoming a young woman the whole court would want.
Someone he might not be allowed to keep.
The first proposal was received two weeks later.
It came in the form of a letter, well-written and bearing the crest of House Kim.
She found out during afternoon tea.
Her mother’s eyes sparkled with barely suppressed excitement. "They are very respectable." She added, "And their eldest son is well-educated.”
Y/N almost dropped her cup.
"Proposal?" she echoed faintly.
“Yes, dear. It’s time.”
Time.
The word resounded within her brain.
She walked in a daze that evening through the gardens, hardly aware of the chill in the breeze or the lanterns as they flickered into life.
She called, "Mingyu," as she caught his figure near the pavilion.
He turned around at once.
One look into her face and he knew.
“What happened?”
She hedged. “I got… a marriage proposal to my family.”
Silence.
Pure, stifling silence.
"From who?" he asked more cautiously.
“House Kim.”
His jaw tightened.
“Ambitious,” he grumbled. “Their son is arrogant.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“I know his type.”
She frowned. “You’re being unfair.”
“Am I?” he snapped, then caught himself.
“I mean… you deserve better.”
Better than what
Better than him?
The thought constricted his chest.
And more came forward during the weeks.
At banquets.
In ceremonies.
Informal functions and parties.
They bowed to her.
Complimented her.
Tried to impress her.
And Mingyu watched.
Every
Single.
Time.
He stood beside her, posture perfect, expression unreadable, eyes dark with something dangerously close to jealousy.
When Lord Park praised her about her intelligence, he told him about the recent political scandal that involved him.
When Count Seo asked her to have tea, Mingyu schooled him on royal etiquette.
When the other aristocrat sought to monopolize her attention, Mingyu casually positioned herself between them.
Casualty
Politely
Territorially
“Do you have to do that?” she whispered one evening.
“Do what?”
“Scare everyone away.”
“I’m not”
“You glared at Lord Min for five minutes.”
“He was standing too close.”
She looked at him in astonishment.
Possibly.
But he couldn’t stop.
Mingyu was alone, seated in his chambers, looking at the moon through the windows, which were quite tall.
He still remembered her pinky promise.
Her small hand in his.
Her soft voice said, “I promise.”
What if it meant nothing to her?
Had it just been of importance to him?
He placed his hand on his chest.
“Don’t forget,” he whispered to the empty room.
“Becuase I didn’t”
By the time summer was in full swing, Y/N was exhausted.
Not physically, of course—but emotionally, certainly. Every week, another invitation, another letter, another optimistic family exploring the possibilities. She smiled and said no, whenever possible, politely, but also listened patiently to her parents' explanations that this was the way the world worked.
What she hadn’t expected, however, was Mingyu.
More specifically, she hadn’t anticipated that he would be such a problem.
He was everywhere.
When she was invited to a luncheon, he was at her side.
If she were to walk through the garden, he somehow found her.
If she talked to a nobleman longer than one minute, Mingyu immediately became part of the conversation.
Always polite.
Always calm.
Always impossible to ignore.
At first, she thought that she was imagining it.
However, after the fourth “coincidental” interruption that week, she couldn’t deny it anymore.
She finally confronted him on a quiet afternoon in the inner garden.
The location was almost deserted, and it was shaded by very tall trees and a small stream. This was the location they used to hide as kids whenever they wanted to avoid their tutors.
Now, it felt heavier.
“Mingyu,” she called.
He stopped walking.
“Yes”
“Why are you avoiding me?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I'm not.”
“You are,” she said insistently. “Every time I try to speak to you properly, you disappear. And every time I want to speak to anyone else, you appear.”
He looked away.
“That’s not true.”
“Then explain.”
Silence.
The sound of the water trickling softly filled the space between them.
“I don't like them,” he finally muttered.
“Who?”
“The men who keep circling you.”
She crossed her arms. "That's not your decision."
"I know," he snapped. And then, quieter, "That’s the problem."
Her chest tightened.
“Mingyu… what is going on with you?”
He clenched his fists at his sides.
How would he tell her that every smile she gave another felt like a knife?
How could he confess that, each night, he lay awake and imagined a future where she belonged to someone who wasn’t him?
She breathed slowly. “Look. I know things are changing. We’re not kids anymore.”
His heart sank.
“But you’ve been acting like…” She tried to think of the right word. “Like you’re angry at me.”
“I'm not angry at you.”
“Then why does it feel like you are?”
“Because I’m terrified,” he thought.
Instead, he said nothing.
Frustration had been brewing inside her
“You know, maybe you’re holding onto things too tightly,” she said, more sharply than she meant to. “Like that promise we made.”
He stopped.
Her stomach fell slightly at the sudden pause, but she continued.
“That was years ago. We were children. It was just a childish promise.”
The words echoed.
Childish
Promise.
Just.
He felt as if the ground had disappeared beneath him.
“…Just?” he repeated quietly.
She hesitated. “I didn’t mean—”
“Did it mean anything to you?” he asked.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “We were ten, Mingyu. We didn’t understand anything back then.”
He laughed softly.
It was a broken sound.
“I did,” he said.
She looked up at him.
His eyes were dark, unreadable, full of something dangerous, close to hurt.
"I recognized that … I didn’t want to lose you," he added. "And I still don’t."
Her breath caught.
“Mingyu..”
“I know it’s stupid,” he went on quickly. “I know I’m not supposed to feel this way. I know you deserve choices and freedoms and everything I can’t promise you. But don’t tell me it meant nothing”
“I never said that,” she whispered.
“But you implied it.”
Silence resumed between them, this time more oppressive.
That night, Y/N couldn’t sleep.
She would lie there staring at the ceiling and thinking of what he said.
“I still don’t want to lose you.”
Was he really carrying that promise on his back the whole time?
Meanwhile, Mingyu was on his balcony, gazing at the same moon.
For the first time in years, he wondered whether he had been loving her alone.
The Festival of Royal Lanterns was meant to be a celebration.
Once a year, the palace became an ocean of light. Thousands of lanterns were threaded through courtyards and onto balconies, glowing softly against the night sky. Musicians filled the air with soft music, and nobles dressed in their finest silks came to socialize under shimmering banners.
It was a night of happiness for most people.
For Y/N, this was torture.
She stood beside her parents near the main pavilion, hands folded neatly in front of her, smile carefully practiced. On the surface, she looked composed and elegant, just as a noblewoman should.
Inside, she was coming undone.
Across the courtyard, Mingyu sat on the elevated royal platform beside his parents, posture perfect, expression composed. He laughed at the right moments, nodded when ministers spoke to him, and accepted greetings with nothing but effortless grace.
He did not look up at her.
Not once.
And that hurt more than all his jealousy ever had.
Since they'd argued in the garden, something had shifted between them. He'd grown distant-polite and respectful, and unbearably formal. No more catching her eye and holding it. No more quiet conversations. No more walking beside her without thinking.
It was as if I was losing him slowly.
“Y/n”
She turned to find Lord Jang standing beside her, with a bright smile on his face.
“I was hoping to speak with you tonight,” he said. “May I?”
She tried to nod her head. "Of course."
They walked towards a quieter area of the courtyard, far from the central crowd. Lanterns were floating above them, and they illuminated the pathway with a certain kind of glow.
“You look lovely this evening,” he said.
"Thank you," she answered reflexively.
He paused, then said, “My family is very interested in strengthening our ties with your family. I was wondering if you might consider—”
Such words she barely heard.
As she felt it.
A presence.
She glanced up.
Mingyu stood at the edge of the platform, looking directly at them.
His hands were clenched at his sides.
His jaw was tight.
And his eyes—
They were full of something dangerously close to desperation.
Mingyu hadn’t planned to do this.
He had vowed to himself that he would behave. That he would be mature. That he would respect her choices, even if those choices destroyed him.
But watching another man lean close to her, hearing her soft laughter, seeing her look at someone else the way she used to look at him—
It broke something.
He suddenly got up to his feet.
The sudden movement called for attention.
Ministers stopped talking in mid-conversation.
Nobles turned.
The music softened.
Down the platform and across the courtyard Mingyu came before anyone had time to raise a hand.
Straight at her.
"Y/N."
She started.
“Mingyu?”
"May I speak with you?" he asked.
He sounded courteous.
His eyes were not.
Lord Jang faltered. “Your Highness, I was—”
“I'll be back in a minute,” Y/N said in a hurry, noticing how much tension was in the room. “Excuse us.”
She followed Mingyu down as he led her beneath a cluster of lanterns near the central fountain.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I tried not to, I really did.”
“Tried not to do what?”
“I love you.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He fully turned to face her.
People around them had begun to take cognizance.
Whispers spread.
But he didn’t care anymore.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” he continued. “I never stopped. Not for a day. I thought I could hide it. I thought I could let you go if that’s what you wanted. But I can’t.”
Her eyes stood out.
“Mingyu, everybody is watching—”
“Let them.”
His voice fluttered.
“I know I am selfish. I know I am risking everything, but every part of watching you choose someone else hurts more than any form of punishment I could face.
He took a shaky breath.
“That promise wasn’t childish to me. It was my future. You were my future.”
There was silence in the courtyard.
Lanterns flickered.
All music had ceased.
All the eyes were on them.
The workpage.
Y/N felt the world shrink to just them.
“You… you’ve been suffering alone?” she whispered.
He nodded slightly. “I didn’t want to burden you.”
Hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
“You idiot,” she whispered.
He blinked. “What?”
“You should have told me”
She drew closer.
"I was confused. I didn't know what I felt. But hearing you say this… knowing you've loved me all this time…"
She reached for his sleeve.
Her fingers shook.Mingyu… I think I’ve been in love with you too. I was just too scared to realize it.”
His breath caught.
“Y/N…”
The crowd erupted into murmurs.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Hope.
But neither of them noticed.
They only saw each other.
The palace had never felt so loud.
Even after the music began again, and servants made an effort to recreate the festive atmosphere, the air remained heavy with whispers. The nobility talked in clusters, their whispers hidden by their fans made of silk. The clergy looked at each other nervously, while court servants did their best not to stare.
A public confession by the Crown Prince had not been on the schedule that evening.
And certainly not one involving a noble woman with no royal blood.
Y/N hardly noticed any of this.
She remained standing around the lanterns, her heart pounding, fingers tentatively holding onto Mingyu’s sleeve, as if releasing it would cause everything around her to shatter.
He hadn’t moved.
Neither had she.
They stood there for a few seconds staring at each other in a mixture of relief and disbelief.
“You… you meant that,” she finally whispered.
Mingyu took a nervous breath. “Every word.”
His voice was softer now, absent the earlier intensity. Without the boost of confession and the adrenaline that came with it, the man suddenly appeared weak; almost fragile.
“I’m sorry for doing this in front of everyone,” he said, as if in apology. “I.. I was afraid that if I were to wait longer, I’d lose my courage.”
She relented.
“You’ve always been brave,” she said.
“Just. not when it comes to feelings.”
He laughed weakly. "That obvious?"
“Yes”
They were interrupted by footsteps.
Mingyu’s father, the king, was walking towards him slowly, accompanied by two advisors on either side. Though his expression couldn’t be gauged, this actually made things even worse
Mingyu stood up at once and instinctively placed himself in front of her.
“Father,” he said.
The king studied both of them for a long moment.
“You caused quite a disturbance,” he remarked casually.
“I know,” Mingyu said. “And I accept whatever consequences—”
“Later,” the king interrupted.
Both of them blinked.
“This evening is a celebration,” said the king, “and will not be turned into a spectacle of discipline. A private discussion can be arranged for tomorrow.”
He looked at Y/N.
“Return to your family. Safely.”
Then he walked away.
Just like that.
Her knees were about to collapse.
Mingyu took a breath of relief. “We survived… for now.”
She laughed nervously. “Is it strange that I’m more scared of tomorrow than I was of tonight?”
“Not strange,” he admitted. “I’m terrified”
Later the same evening, after the majority of the guests had left and the palace became quiet, Mingyu quietly asked her to join him on the eastern terrace.
One of the few locations from which one could see both the city and the gardens. It was a place of night-time solitude, isolated from politics and court expectations.
She arrived first.
Lantern light flickered across the stone railings, and the distant stars shone through faintly in the palace pond below.
When Mingyu joined her, he looked different.
No crown.
No formal robes.
Just simple clothing, tired eyes.
“You came,” he said softly.
“Of course,” she replied.
They stood side by side and gazed out at the distant lights.
For once, there was no audience.
No titles.
No pressure.
Just them.
"I kept thinking you’d forget," confessed Mingyu.
“Forget what?”
“Us. The promise. Me.”
She turned to him. “Why would I forget you?”
"Because you’re strong," he said. "You adapt. You move forward. And I… I stayed stuck."
Her chest tightened.
“You weren't stuck,” she said. “You were waiting.”
He looked at her.
Really looked.
As if she were trying to memorize her face.
"I waited because loving you was the only thing that felt certain," he confessed.
"Everything else in my life changes. Politics. Alliances. Expectations.
"But you… you were always you."
Her eyes stung.
“Mingyu… you’re unfair,” she
“How?”
“You make it impossible not to love you back.”
He smiled softly.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Silence reigned once more between them.
Not awkward.
Comfortable
Charged
She saw he was standing very close.
Close enough that their sleeves brushed.
Close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body.
Her heartbeat quickened.
“Mingyu,” she
“Yes?”
“What happens now?”
He hesitated.
"Tomorrow, I'll speak to my parents. I'll fight if I must." He looked at her intently. "I'll not let them dictate our future without us."
Her breath caught.
“You’d really do that?”
“For you?” he replied immediately. “Always.”
She reached for his hand.
This time, he didn’t freeze.
He fit their fingers together naturally, as if he had been waiting for years to do this correctly.
His thumb caressed hers gently over her knuckles.
The small action caused shivers down her spine.
Notably
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he stepped closer.
“May I…?” he asked.
She nodded.
He raised his free hand and gently pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear with tender consideration. His caress stayed a fraction longer than it needed to.
They were now inches apart.
She could feel his breath.
He saw the way her lips were slightly parted.
Time seemed to stretch.
“I've wanted this so long,” he whispered.
"So have I," she replied.
He moved closer.
Slowly
Gently
Their foreheads met.
Their noses touched.
One more breath.
One more inch—
And the world faded away.
Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first, like the brush of silk against skin. Mingyu's mouth pressed against hers with a reverence that made her heart swell, his lips warm and yielding. She sighed into him, her free hand rising to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the simple fabric of his tunic.
He deepened the kiss slowly, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she parted them, inviting him in. Their tongues met tentatively, exploring with gentle strokes that sent sparks of warmth pooling in her belly. His hand, the one not entwined with hers, slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned, her curves fitting against the solid lines of his frame.
The night air cooled their heated skin, but the warmth between them built steadily. Mingyu broke the kiss only to trail his lips along her jawline, nipping softly at the sensitive spot below her ear. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him, and he accepted the offering with feather-light kisses that made her knees weaken.
"You're everything," he murmured against her skin, his voice husky with emotion. His fingers splayed across her back, holding her steady as she leaned into him. She could feel the evidence of his desire pressing against her hip, firm and insistent, but he made no rush to act on it. Instead, he returned to her mouth, kissing her with a hunger tempered by tenderness, his tongue delving deeper now, tasting her fully.
Her hands roamed up his arms, gripping the muscles there, then to his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. The terrace's stone railing dug into her side, but she barely noticed, lost in the sensation of his body molding to hers. Mingyu's thumb continued its lazy circles on her hand, grounding them even as passion ignited.
He pulled back slightly, his tired eyes now dark with longing as they searched hers. "Tell me if it's too much," he whispered, though his breath came ragged.
She shook her head, her fingers threading into his hair. "Never too much. Not with you."
Emboldened, he kissed her again, this time letting his hand drift from her back to her waist, his palm slipping beneath the edge of her outer robe to caress the soft fabric of her inner layer. The touch was electric, intimate in its simplicity. She arched into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, nipples hardening at the friction.
Slowly, he guided her hand from his hair to his neck, then lower, encouraging her to feel the heat of his skin where his collar gaped open. Her fingertips brushed the pulse at his throat, then dipped inside, tracing the line of his collarbone. Mingyu groaned softly into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her.
They shifted together, his body backing hers gently against the railing. The city lights twinkled far below, indifferent to their private world. His free hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her flushed skin as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her eyelid.
"I need to touch you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes pleaded for permission, even as his body trembled with restraint.
She nodded, her own desire mirroring his. "Please."
With deliberate care, he untied the sash of her robe, letting the fabric part just enough to reveal the curve of her shoulder and the swell of her breast beneath her undergarment. His fingers trembled as he traced the exposed skin, goosebumps rising in their wake. Leaning down, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her skin.
She gasped, her hand tightening in his. The sensation traveled straight to her core, a slow ache building between her thighs. Mingyu's lips continued their descent, kissing along the edge of her undergarment until he nuzzled the soft mound of her breast. He didn't pull the fabric away yet, content to tease with breaths and light sucks through the thin material, making her nipple peak even harder.
Her body responded instinctively, hips shifting forward to seek more contact. He felt it, pressing his thigh between her legs, offering gentle pressure against her growing wetness. She rocked against him subtly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her.
Mingyu lifted his head, capturing her lips once more in a kiss that was deeper, more urgent, but still laced with that profound gentleness. His hand finally slipped inside her robe, cupping her breast fully, thumb circling her nipple with exquisite slowness. She moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by their kiss.
Time blurred as they explored each other like this—hands wandering, lips meeting, bodies pressing closer. He whispered endearments against her skin, promises of forever mingling with the soft sounds of their shared breaths. The stars above seemed brighter, the pond below a mirror to their unfolding intimacy.
When he finally eased her robe further open, exposing her to the night air, he paused to admire her, his gaze filled with awe. "Beautiful," he breathed, before lowering his head to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.
Pleasure arched through her like a bolt, her back bowing off the stone railing as Mingyu's mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking hard now, teeth grazing the stiff peak. He pulled back just enough to let it pop free with a wet smack, then dove back in, tongue lashing the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded her other breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers until she whimpered.
Her pussy throbbed, slick heat soaking through her undergarments, and she ground harder against his thigh, chasing the friction. Mingyu growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as he switched sides, sucking her other nipple into his mouth with the same relentless hunger. His free hand roamed lower, shoving her robe fully open and yanking at the ties of her inner layers until fabric pooled at her waist, exposing her completely to the cool night air.
“Fuck, you're so wet already,” he muttered, his voice rough as he slid his hand between her thighs, fingers brushing over the damp silk covering her pussy. She gasped, hips bucking forward, and he didn't hesitate—pushing the fabric aside to plunge two fingers straight into her dripping cunt. She clenched around him immediately, hot and tight, her walls sucking him in as he pumped them deep, curling to hit that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
Mingyu's cock strained against his simple pants, hard and leaking pre-cum, but he focused on her, thumb circling her swollen clit with firm strokes while his fingers fucked her steadily. “You like that? My fingers stretching your pussy?” he whispered hotly against her neck, biting down on the flesh there, marking her as his. She nodded frantically, one hand fisting his hair, the other clawing at his shoulder.
“Yes—harder, Mingyu, please,” she begged, her voice breaking as he added a third finger, scissoring them to open her up, his palm slapping wetly against her clit with each thrust. Juices coated his hand, dripping down her thighs, the obscene sounds echoing softly in the quiet night. He kissed her then, messy and desperate, tongues tangling as he finger-fucked her toward the edge, her body trembling in his arms.
But he stopped just short, pulling his fingers free with a slick pop, leaving her clenching around nothing, aching and empty. “Not yet,” he rasped, eyes dark with lust as he dropped to his knees on the terrace stones, ignoring the roughness against his skin. He hiked her robe higher, bunching it at her hips, and buried his face between her legs without warning.
His tongue licked a broad stripe up her pussy, from her entrance to her clit, lapping at her folds like a man starved. She cried out, legs shaking as he sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while his hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks. One finger teased her back entrance, circling the tight ring before pushing in just the tip, making her jolt with the unexpected intrusion.
Mingyu ate her out like it was his last meal, tongue thrusting into her hole, fucking her with it while his nose ground against her clit. He moaned into her pussy, the vibrations sending shocks through her core, and she came hard, thighs clamping around his head as her orgasm ripped through her, cum gushing onto his tongue. He drank it all, swallowing greedily, not stopping until she sagged against the railing, oversensitive and panting.
Rising up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips glistening with her arousal. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice low and commanding, all traces of hesitation gone. She obeyed, spinning to face the railing, gripping the stone as he pressed against her from behind. His hands yanked her undergarments down fully, leaving her ass bare to the night breeze, and he ground his clothed cock against her crack, the fabric barrier teasing them both.
'I've dreamed of fucking you like this, he admitted, shoving his pants down just enough to free his thick cock. It slapped against her ass, hot and heavy, the head already slick. He rubbed it along her soaked slit, coating himself in her juices, then notched at her entrance. “Gonna fill this pussy up—make you mine.”
With one hard thrust, he buried himself balls-deep, stretching her wide, her walls fluttering around his girth. She moaned loudly, pushing back to take him deeper, and he set a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping forward, cock pounding into her with wet slaps. His hands bruised her hips, holding her steady as he railed her, the railing creaking under their weight.
“Fucking tight—your cunt's gripping me so good,” he grunted, one hand sliding up to wrap around her throat from behind, tilting her head back for a sloppy kiss over her shoulder. She reached down, rubbing her clit frantically as he fucked her harder, his balls slapping against her with each plunge. Sweat slicked their skin, the air thick with the scent of sex.
He pulled out suddenly, spinning her around again to face him, lifting her effortlessly onto the railing despite the drop below—trusting, reckless. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he slammed back in, fucking up into her with powerful thrusts that made her breasts bounce. "Look at me while I breed this pussy," he demanded, eyes locked on hers, and she did, watching the raw need on his face as he chased his release.
She came again first, screaming his name as her pussy spasmed around him, milking his cock. That set him off—he thrust deep one last time, cock pulsing as he flooded her with hot cum, ropes of it painting her insides white. They clung together, breathing ragged, his spend leaking out around where they were joined.
But he wasn't done. Easing out, he dropped to his knees once more, spreading her thighs to watch his cum drip from her fucked-out pussy. “Messy girl,” he murmured, then licked her clean, tongue scooping up the mix of their fluids, sucking it from her folds until she squirmed. His cock twitched back to life, hardening as he stood, pressing it against her lips.
“Suck it. Taste us,” he said, and she did, opening wide to take him in, tongue swirling around the head to clean every drop. He fucked her mouth shallowly, hands in her hair, until he was fully hard again. Pulling out, he flipped her over the railing this time, ass up, and spread her cheeks.
“Now your ass,” he growled, spitting on her hole before pushing a finger in, then two, working her open while she moaned. When she was ready, he lined up his cock, slick with her saliva, and pushed in slowly at first, then deeper, inch by inch until he was seated fully in her tight ass.
The burn gave way to pleasure as he started thrusting, one hand reaching around to finger her pussy, the dual penetration making her see white. He fucked her ass relentlessly, pace building until he was pounding her, grunting with each slap of skin. “Gonna cum in here too—fill every hole.”
She shattered around his fingers, ass clenching on his cock, and he followed, pumping her full of another load, hot and deep. They collapsed together on the terrace floor, bodies entwined, spent but sated, the night wrapping around them like a secret.
Preview: You should’ve known the moment he walked into the boardroom with a grin too expensive for someone so inexperienced, This was temptation—tailored in Armani and absolutely lethal.
How did the two of you end up here—his office, lights off, half-breathing on his desk at nine o’clock at night?
You should’ve known the moment this would spiral. The signs were all there.
Soonyoung Kwon was the grandson of your boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. Which, by hierarchy, technically made him your boss too—though the title felt more ornamental than functional. You still remember the day he stepped out of the elevator a month ago, flashing a dazzling smile, shaking hands with the interns like he was on a political campaign.
He had announced himself as the new Director of KF Label, like he was gifting you all with his presence. And then your former director, who clearly saw the chaos ahead and ran, called you in for a “quick chat” and gracefully asked you—read: begged—to guide Soonyoung during his adaptation period.
A polite corporate term, you’ve since realized, for “He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, so make sure he doesn’t crash and burn the company before Q4.”
And yes—he truly has no idea what he’s doing. He is rich in confidence, poor in skill. A golden retriever with a black card and a C-suite title. Infuriatingly cheerful, tragically unqualified.
Which is how you, the marketing manager who actually built her way up from zero, spent the past month babysitting someone who thought "brand synergy" was a soft drink.
Thirty days of training him, fixing his mistakes, dragging him out of meetings he wasn’t prepared for, and still—still—somehow he manages to get under your skin.
“Now, tell me…”
“What should I say… during the meeting… with the supermarket owners tomorrow?”
Your fingers dug into the edge of his desk as he slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a pace you didn’t know he was capable of. God. Why were you into this? And why were you suddenly sounding like a desperate young woman getting her brain fucked stupid?
Kwon Soonyoung was an idiot. A cocky, clueless pain in your ass.
Yet tonight—he was making you worse than everything he is. Your moan broke the silence of the office in a high, breathless pitch no one in this building had ever heard from you. You—who kept your heels sharp, your lipstick in place, and your tone professional no matter the pressure. But now? Now you could barely get out a single word. Barely answer his simplest questions.
Yet he kept asking them. “We have a slogan?” — his first dumb question, asked a month ago when you handed him a company profile and procedural system you had rewritten in the simplest terms possible. You’d practically turned it into a corporate comic book, hoping to minimize the damage.
And now?
“Should I wear a Rolex or a Cartier for tomorrow’s meeting?”
He whispered it against your ear like it was dirty talk, the smirk in his voice cutting sharper than his thrusts. He probably thought he won something. Okay—fine. He won a little. Ever since he had you bent over his desk, squirming, gasping, ruined.
But still—stupid. Always with the stupid questions. “You’re… stupid!” you managed, voice strangled between a moan and a cry, half an insult and half a plea. You barely made sense, and you hated that he knew it.
He laughed, low and wicked, before slowing his hips, dragging out the motion just enough to make you whimper at the loss. His hand ran along your front, slipping under your blouse and palming your breast like he knew you needed that grounding, that release.
“Please… Kwon Soonyoung…” you gasped, back arching when his fingers grazed your nipple.
But instead of mercy, he pulled you upright, chest to chest, keeping you firmly locked against him. His hand gripped your waist as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“Answer me first, Ms. Ji. And remember…” His voice dropped a note deeper, quieter, deadlier.
“I’m your boss. So it’s Director Kwon.”
The next morning felt criminal.
Not just because you only managed two hours of sleep, or because your thighs still ached from being bent over a mahogany desk like some overworked intern in a very inappropriate drama. No. It was criminal because you still showed up on time, coffee in hand, hair done, heels on, and speech script perfectly printed.
Even after Kwon Soonyoung had given you three orgasms in one hour. In the office. On his desk. Under the goddamn company logo.
You were trying your best to pretend it never happened. Really, you tried. The speech script was crisp, stapled, and revised at 3 a.m. in between waves of humiliation, aftershocks of pleasure, and the memory of him whispering “Answer me, Ms. Ji…” like he wasn’t buried so deep inside you— you forgot your own name.
You had cross-checked every paragraph, every bullet point, just to make sure you hadn’t unconsciously written “Your cock has a better function than your brain.”
Honestly? If that line made it in, it wouldn’t be inaccurate. Was there a company that specialized in evaluating performance like that? Maybe it was time to write to the Kwon family directly. You could pitch it as a side venture—something like Kwon Enterprise: More Brains Below the Belt.
Hell, they might even give you equity for surviving their grandson.
“Thank you, Ms. Ji,” Soonyoung said quietly, his voice low, velvet-wrapped. He took the papers from your hand, but didn’t let go. His fingers lingered. So did his eyes.
And you swore—you swore—you saw the same madness in them that you saw last night. The hunger. The chaos. The wicked tilt of his mouth that said he remembered everything.
You cleared your throat, yanking your hand away as if his touch burned. It did, in a way. You forced your face back into your best professional mask.
“Try not to freestyle this time, Director,” you said coolly, taking the seat beside him. “And no dumb questions about ‘what synergy means.’ It’s in bold on page two.”
He smirked without turning, flipping the paper open. But you caught the way his leg brushed yours under the table. Intentional. Definitely intentional.
Last night was incredible. You couldn't lie. But if this man thought he could rattle you in daylight the same way he did in the dark. Well. He really was stupid.
*
A gentle touch on your shoulder startled you out of your screen-staring trance—you didn’t even know how long you’d been zoning out. Your eyes blinked back into focus, and you looked up to see Kim Mingyu, your colleague and the ever-reliable Finance and Accounting Manager of the label.
His brows were furrowed, concern written across his face. “You okay, Y/n? Director Kwon’s called for you three times,” he said softly.
You sighed, pushing yourself up from the chair with a tired stretch. “I’m fine. Just... running on fumes,” you said, flashing him a half-smile that tried to pass for reassurance.
But Mingyu didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, gaze narrowing just a little. “Is he still bothering you?”
You blinked. “Who?”
“That bastard,” he replied, voice lower now—him, meaning Jeon Wonwoo, your ex. The IT guy who cheated on you two months ago with an intern. The same incident that created a domino effect of side-eyes and rumors throughout the building. It wasn’t a secret that Wonwoo’s spiral post-breakup had revealed just how deeply insecure he truly was. And not just about you—about everything.
You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling a sudden weight in the room. “No,” you said, clearing your throat. “He’s not worth mentioning anymore.”
Mingyu nodded slowly, reading between the lines but not pushing. “Okay. But you know I’ll throw hands if I have to.”
You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Appreciated. But no violence in the office—unless it’s against that printer in the copy room.”
That earned a soft chuckle from him. “Did Director Kwon actually say anything, or does he just need me to be present and breathing?” you asked, your eyes scanning your desk for the folder Soonyoung needed to sign. You knew how he was—selectively urgent.
Mingyu reached over and pulled a document map from the far corner of your workspace. “This. He needs this.”
You took it with a grateful sigh. “I’m seriously glad I have you, Mingyu. Otherwise I’d probably die in here for the stupidest reason—death by incompetent boss.”
Mingyu laughed, that boyish grin spreading across his face, fangs peeking out. “You’re dramatic.”
“You know I’m not.”
“True,” he replied, still grinning. “But at least the chaos keeps things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes with a quiet chuckle, fingers tightening on the file as you braced yourself to face Soonyoung again. That man could burn your patience to the ground in five minutes—and somehow still leave you… you didn't want to think about it!
You entered his office with quiet steps, the thick folder in your hand still warm from Mingyu’s grasp. Director Kwon Soonyoung sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair pushed back in a way that looked almost too polished for someone who once asked if a “slogan” was a new type of dip.
Without looking up, he extended his hand. “The file?” You placed it gently in his palm, expecting some sort of snide comment or dumb question about where to sign. But instead, he opened it, flipped straight to the right page, and signed with swift, confident strokes. No questions. No confusion. Just… efficiency.
Your brows lifted slightly. Who was this? Then, without looking up, “what’s the projected ROI on the third campaign under the Miju rebranding?”
You froze. Not from fear—but from pure shock.
He finally glanced up, and your eyes locked. There was no usual smirk, no cocky glint in his gaze. Just focus. Calculation.
You cleared your throat. “Projected ROI is 127%, assuming we maintain target engagement through the influencer channels and retail activations we discussed last week.”
A beat passed. He nodded once. “Good. Shift the TikTok rollout to next Monday. Make the data look prettier before we send it to the board. I want them convinced before they even read it.”
Another pause. You blinked. You were still blinking. He signed the final page, closed the folder, and handed it back with a smooth slide across the desk.
Then, with the slightest tug of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth, he said—
“You may go on the clock for today, Ms. Ji.”
You narrowed your eyes just slightly. “Excuse me?”
He leaned back in his chair, lazy again. Back to his usual smug, languid rhythm. “I said you may go. Early dismissal. I hear sleep deprivation reduces productivity—and I’d hate to see the company suffer just because you forgot how to say no to your boss.”
Your jaw tensed. He was back. The devil in Dior. But you refused to let him have the last word. So you smiled sweetly, flipping your hair off your shoulder. “Then I’ll use the time wisely and remind myself what good leadership looks like.”
His laughter followed you out the door. But so did his eyes.
*
You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing, the sharp buzz pulling you out of a sleep so deep, you almost forgot where you were. The living room was dim, the drama still playing quietly on TV—the last thing you remembered before dozing off. You hadn’t napped like that in years. Not since you started working your ass off at the label.
You squinted at your phone screen. 9:02 PM. The name flashing across it: “Boo Dam.”
“Mmm… Seungkwan…” you mumbled as you slid to answer.
“Honey!” his voice practically sang through the speaker. “You just woke up? Heol! That’s a record. Anyway—I’m going to this new bar with Vernon and Chan. Come join us!”
Seungkwan and Chan were your friends from college—your soulmates in chaos. Meanwhile Vernon… well, Vernon was the guy Seungkwan successfully seduced at a club a year ago with nothing but eye contact and a whiskey sour. They've been disgustingly cute ever since.
You stretched, letting your limbs slowly remember how to function. “Is it like a bar,” you asked, voice dry, “or a bar?” You didn’t need to explain the tone difference—Seungkwan knew.
Without missing a beat, he replied, “A bar. Capital B. Good lighting, better drinks, people who bathe.”
You smiled, already getting up. “Pick me up in thirty. Should I wear the red dress I sent you last week?”
The one you bought after seeing the intern Wonwoo cheated with had liked it on Instagram. It was an impulsive purchase—unlike you. But still… it looked fire on the model, and tonight, you wouldn’t mind setting something on fire.
Seungkwan gasped like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. “YES. Yes please! I want that intern to cry just by breathing the same air as you!”
You grinned. Tonight might not fix your mess of a professional life. But maybe, just maybe, it would remind you what it felt like to be you again.
*
Seungkwan rushed up to you like a windstorm in designer sneakers and pulled you into a quick hug that reeked of cologne and overpriced candles. “You look unreal. That intern is somewhere crying right now, I know it.” He held your arms and took a step back like he was inspecting artwork. “Ten out of ten. No—eleven. You’re welcome, world.”
Vernon chuckled beside him. “Glad you made it.”
“Thanks,” you laughed. “Though now I’m wondering if I overdressed.”
“You definitely didn’t,” Chan said without missing a beat, raising his hand to you. “You’re just raising the bar.”
The bar Seungkwan had chosen was all velvet mood and amber light—dim enough to hide your regrets but not dark enough to trip on your heels. Hushed conversations buzzed low under a jazzy remix of something that used to be a love song, and the scent of expensive gin and citrus filled the air.
You made your way toward the bar counter, scanning the place. But before the group could fully settle, Seungkwan clapped his hands once. “Okay, baby,” he turned to Vernon, “we need to find the bathroom. And by bathroom I mean selfie lighting. Emergency.”
Vernon just smiled, like this wasn’t the fifth time tonight. “Lead the way.” And just like that, the couple vanished into the crowd like glitter in a wind tunnel.
You slid onto the barstool, crossing your legs as you adjusted the hem of your red dress, feeling the fabric hug your skin in all the right ways. You stared after them, then turned back to Chan, brows raised. “Did they even sit down?”
Chan shrugged, raising his hand toward the bartender for an order, strong whiskey. “I give them ten minutes. Tops. Then they’ll either come back drunk or deeply emotional.”
You laughed again, warmer this time. “Or both.”
“Always both.”
“So,” Chan said, turning slightly to face you, “what do you want out of tonight?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Out of tonight?”
He nodded, serious now—his eyes clearer despite the liquor. “I mean… what would make this night feel like it was worth leaving your bed and dreams behind?”
You looked at him for a second. Your red dress clung to your skin in all the ways that made you feel powerful. But somehow, that question made you feel a little bare.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe just a moment where I don’t feel like I’m holding the weight of everything. A night where I’m not someone’s manager, not the woman who got cheated on by an IT guy with bad eyesight.”
Chan chuckled, amused. He knocked back a shot of whiskey, exhaling sharply as it hit. Then, as if it were the most natural shift in conversation, he muttered, “So. Still dealing with your incompetent boss?”
You tilted your head with a sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. “Worse. I think he’s trying to be competent now, which is terrifying in itself.”
“Hmm.” Chan nodded solemnly. “Mine forgot to approve the budget this week and then blamed it on Mercury retrograde.”
You blinked. “Isn’t he the one who doesn’t believe in astrology?”
“Exactly.”
A beat passed, then both of you laughed quietly into your drinks, bitter and understanding.
“People like us deserve a position,” Chan muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he downed his next shot like he was trying to silence something. Maybe his ambition. Maybe the reality.
Your eyes followed his line of sight, catching a man on the other side of the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, eyeing Chan like he was something worth unwrapping.
Chan caught it too. He turned to you with a mischievous smirk, the kind you knew too well. “Excuse me,” he said smoothly, setting down his glass. “Duty calls.”
You laughed as he sauntered off, watching the silent exchange between him and the stranger—how easily Chan slipped into chemistry, how effortlessly people gravitated toward him.
It made you smile. And ache, just a little. Your friends really were better at finding men than you. You swirled your drink in its glass, watching the liquid catch the light like molten gold. Fuck.
A subtle shift in air made you glance to your side. Someone had taken the stool Chan had vacated minutes ago—unannounced, but not unwelcome.
He looked crisp. A semi-formal suit in charcoal gray, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest ease without arrogance. His hair was freshly cut, styled like he walked out of a luxury magazine spread, but the smile he wore? Surprisingly… cute.
“Hey,” he said, voice smooth but warm. “Are you alone?”
You blinked once, thrown for the smallest second before recovering with a polite smile. “Nah, I’m with friends.”
He nodded, gaze never drifting, posture casual but confident. “I’m Choi Seungcheol.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Choi Seungcheol? You’d heard the name before. Everyone in the building had. Director of Grand Paradise Hotel, under the Choi Group. One of your company’s most important VVIP clients—usually talked about in numbers, not in the context of flashing a boyish smile at you in a bar.
“Ji Y/n,” you replied, offering your name with an ounce of surprise still clinging to your voice.
“I like your dress, by the way,” he said sincerely, his tone the kind of soft that didn’t ask for attention, but gave it fully. “You look amazing in it.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing clever came. His compliment didn’t feel like a line. It felt like the truth wrapped in manners. He flagged down the bartender, ordering something light—no shots, no bravado. Just a mild liquor with a twist of lime, like he was trying to prove he was here to talk, not to get drunk.
Cute. And unexpectedly polite—for someone carrying that much power behind his last name. Unlike someone you were really, really trying not to think about.
“So,” he said, turning slightly toward you, “my friends are at a table across the room. Do you mind joining us?” He paused, then added with a soft chuckle, “I promise they’re decent guys. No finance bros in sight.”
You considered it. Not too quickly, not too slowly—just enough to give the impression that you weren’t that easy, but you also weren’t cold.
You smiled, head tilting. “Sure.”
His eyes sparkled briefly at that, and in one smooth motion, he stood. Then, reaching for your hand, he helped you up from the high stool—like a man raised right. His grip was firm, confident, warm. And it was probably nothing. Probably just good manners.
Seungcheol’s hand remained gently on yours as he guided you across the bar, weaving through polished shoes, crystal glasses, and laughter that cost too much.
The place changed as you moved deeper—less noise, more privacy, the lighting softer, shadows richer. The kind of spot reserved for people who didn’t have to wait in line. And you were being led there. You.
When he stopped at the table, three men looked up mid-conversation, drinks in hand, posture relaxed in the way only old money could be.
“Everyone,” Seungcheol said casually, “this is Ji Y/n. She’s joining us tonight.”
You smiled, polite but composed, heart thumping a little harder than you liked. You recognized the faces before Seungcheol even opened his mouth. You’d seen them in magazine articles, shareholder meetings, boardroom slides—not up close, not like this.
Jeonghan sat at the far end, one arm draped lazily over the back of the velvet booth, legs crossed, a glass of scotch in hand. Hair tucked just right behind his ear, a soft silk shirt half-buttoned like he was born too elegant to care about dress codes. He was the kind of man who turned being looked at into an art form. You’d seen him before—once at a fashion gala you were nowhere near important enough to attend, and many times in the margins of headlines about high-end runway investments, creative directorships, and quiet takeovers. The heir of a fashion empire, and from the look in his eyes, fully aware of it.
Next to him was Joshua, spine straight, shirt pristine, smile the kind that had likely been melting boardroom resistance since he was a teenager. He exuded charm without arrogance—a quieter sort of influence that didn’t need to announce itself. You remembered him from a different kind of context: a company email signature at the bottom of a rejection letter when you’d applied to Hong Finance 8 years ago. Back then, you imagined men like him sitting behind high-rise windows, too far out of reach to even notice people like you.
“Nice to meet you,” you said calmly, shaking his hand with a professional grace. No bitterness. Just quiet history you kept to yourself.
And then—then your gaze moved to the last man at the table. Your breath stalled for half a second.
Kwon Soonyoung. He was mid-sip, glass frozen near his lips, eyes wide with what could only be described as… surprised indignation. He looked clean and collected in a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone like the night didn’t deserve his full formality. But his stare? It was searing.
You’d never seen him in this kind of setting. Not as your annoyingly attractive director. But as one of them. Powerful. Prestigious. Connected.
You tilted your chin slightly, letting a small smile rise to your lips as if to say, Fancy seeing you here.
He blinked, then lowered his glass slowly. “Ji Y/n.” Your name sounded strange coming from his mouth in front of this table. Too familiar. Too… intimate.
Joshua and Jeonghan looked between the two of you with mild interest, picking up on the tension like it was perfume. Seungcheol remained seated, watching the exchange without interference. Then he leaned over, voice smooth as his smile.
“Looks like you two know each other?”
You chuckled softly and sat down beside him. Soonyoung’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped against the side of his glass, lips parted like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.
*
Your eyes met across the polished length of the boardroom table. Again. This has become a weekly ritual now—joining board meetings not just as the Marketing Manager, but as Kwon Soonyoung’s unofficial shadow. Secretary. Handler. Babysitter. Pick a label, they all applied.
Still, a small part of you secretly flattered at the elevation. The prestige. You were seen, involved, and whether they liked it or not, your presence had weight in that room.
Every time a meeting wrapped, you’d nudge Mingyu and mutter, “I’m going to be the one talking in there someday. Note that.” To which he always replied with a half-laugh, half-sigh, “Sure you are.”
He never debated you. He knew better. You didn’t bluff when it came to ambition. But right now, ambition wasn’t the problem. It was Soonyoung.
He’d been staring since you walked in. Sat down. Dragged him out of his office five minutes before the meeting began, muttering something about punctuality and image and for once just pretend you’re not a walking HR hazard.
Staring wasn’t new with him. He often looked at things the way a curious toddler would—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like the world was one big mysterious object. But this time? This time his stare wasn’t childish curiosity. It was more like you grew a second head and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or wanted to poke it with a stick.
You shot him a sharp look, mouthing the word “Focus” and subtly motioning toward the executives who were mid-discussion about budget forecasting.
Soonyoung blinked, then smiled—too innocently—and turned his gaze toward the speaker, nodding along like he hadn’t just spent the last three minutes trying to telepathically undress your thoughts.
You furrowed your brow in suspicion before glancing down at your watch. Almost noon. And you were starving. Your fingers tapped the table quietly as the meeting stretched on, words starting to blur together. You tried to stay alert, but every time you felt yourself zoning out, Soonyoung shifted slightly in your peripheral vision. Not because he was fidgeting.
But because he was still watching you. And now you were convinced of one thing: He wasn’t staring like you grew a horn.
“You went home with Seungcheol-hyung last night.” His voice broke the silence as the two of you had just settled in after the board meeting—him tossing off his blazer like he ran the world, you gathering your files with the intention of escaping before your stomach officially started devouring itself.
Your steps halted mid-stride. “Yes, Mr. Kwon,” you replied, turning slightly over your shoulder. Tone neutral. Civil. Professional.
Soonyoung nodded slowly, a little too calmly. “I bet you went home… very safely.”
You blinked. Was that supposed to mean something? “I did, actually,” you said, brows lifting in subtle confusion. “Thank you for your concern.”
He slid into his chair, tilting it back with that look on his face. A smile curled at the corner of his lips—not his usual, goofy, harmless grin. This one was... sharp. Teasing. With just enough glint of mad to make you want to throw a stapler across the room.
“I’m expecting the summary from the meeting,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head, “after lunch.”
You blinked again. “I was planning to finish it after I eat.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Mmm, but you always say I should send the report right after the meeting ends, remember? ‘Strike while the numbers are hot,’ wasn’t that your words, Ms. Ji?”
Shit. That was your line. You cleared your throat. “With all due respect, I’m afraid I can’t hand it in that fast. I’ll need some time to—”
“Really?” he cut in, voice dipped with mock surprise. “Because I need it quickly. You made that very clear. Efficiency is everything, right?”
You stared at him, mouth parting in silent disbelief. This was personal. You knew it. That little smile on his face was soaked in petty vengeance. You bowed stiffly, jaw clenched. “Understood, Mr. Kwon.”
As you turned to leave, fuming and still hungry, you could practically feel his smugness trailing behind you like expensive cologne. And everyone who saw you stomping back into your department after that? Knew exactly who you were cursing under your breath.
Kwon Soonyoung, the golden heir of the Kwon Group. A menace in designer shoes. And currently, the reason you’d be skipping lunch and possibly losing your sanity.
*
No one stayed in the office during lunch. It was the only sacred hour when even the most cutthroat employees stepped out to breathe something that didn’t reek of toner, stress, or twenty kinds of corporate ambition. Even Mingyu had left—after tipping you off about a new KF Label instant spaghetti that only needed five minutes in the microwave. “Garlic cream or tomato,” he’d whispered like he was offering black market gold.
But not you. You sat at your desk, typing the meeting summary like your job—or pride—depended on it. Which, let’s be honest, it did. You weren’t about to give Kwon Soonyoung the satisfaction of thinking he’d thrown you off just because he got a little petty over last night’s company. Your stomach growled in rebellion, but your ego growled louder.
When the last word clicked into place and the printer began humming behind you, you pushed away from your chair with a smug stretch and headed to the pantry. You’d earned that microwaved meal, sad as it was.
Except when you stepped inside, the scent of cheap instant coffee hit you first—followed by the last person you expected to see.
Kwon Soonyoung. Blazer gone, sleeves rolled up, stirring his coffee like this wasn’t the same man who’d made your blood pressure spike all morning. His tie hung slightly loose, hair messier than it had been during the meeting. He looked... calm. Almost casual. Like he belonged here. He didn’t.
“Ms. Ji,” he greeted smoothly, his voice low, almost too composed.
You bowed without thinking, still halfway in surprise. “I didn’t know you were staying in.”
He shrugged, not quite smiling. “Neither did I.”
Your gaze narrowed slightly. “Didn’t grab lunch, Mr. Kwon?”
He swirled the plastic stirrer in his cup, then leaned against the counter with the kind of confidence that didn’t belong in a pantry. “Didn’t have time,” he said, eyes cutting toward you. “You said I needed that report fast, remember?”
You ignored him and turned to the microwave, peeling back the film cover. “I came here for spaghetti.”
The microwave beeped. You retrieved the steaming bowl, grabbed a fork, and gave it a quick stir. The scent of tomato and roasted garlic filled the small space—a reminder that, yes, your company did do something right.
“So that’s it,” he said behind you. “The new KF Label product.”
You nodded without turning. “Premium instant line. Heat-and-Meet.”
There was a pause. Then, Soonyoung stood.
He moved to stand beside you, too close for the pantry’s size, or for what little sanity you had left. “You’re eating company product,” he said, voice lower now. “That’s very… loyal of you.”
“I’m starving. Loyalty’s a coincidence.”
He glanced at your fork, then back at your face. “Still looks good on you.”
You blinked. That line shouldn’t have worked. But it stirred something anyway. You cleared your throat. “Do you want a bite?”
He raised a brow. “You’re offering to share?”
“Don’t make it weird. It’s R&D. You’re the director. You should know what it tastes like before you embarrass yourself at investor tastings.”
Without hesitation, he leaned forward and took the bite directly from your fork. It was too smooth. Too deliberate. The slide of his lips against the plastic, the way he held your gaze as he chewed.
You stared at him, half wondering when the room got warmer. He swallowed, thoughtfully. “Tangy. Surprisingly rich.” He looked at you, a beat too long. “Kind of like the woman who made me eat it.”
You stared at him. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it—like it wasn’t a line, like it was a fact. His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. And then it did—just slightly—drifting down. You felt it like a touch: the way his eyes paused at your lips. Not in a rush. Not in hunger. Just there.
Studying. Contemplating. Wanting. Your breath hitched, just enough that you swore he noticed it. He tilted his head slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do. And suddenly, the air between you didn’t feel casual anymore. It felt hot. It felt loud.
You didn’t move. He didn’t either.
But the tension between you was already leaning forward, even if your bodies hadn’t yet.
And then, slowly—so slowly—it happened.
Your eyes fluttered down. His breath brushed your cheek. Neither of you said a word as you both leaned in at the same time, like it wasn’t a choice but a conclusion. Like something you’d been avoiding had finally cornered the two of you in the smallest room in the building.
Your lips met—soft, hesitant at first.
A question. An answer. And then it deepened.
Not rushed, not frantic, but sure. Deliberate. Like every back-and-forth bicker, every power play, every petty jab in the boardroom had been leading to this.
His hand touched the edge of the counter beside you, grounding himself. Yours hovered somewhere near his chest before settling on the curve of his arm—tense beneath your fingers.
It wasn’t a kiss that screamed recklessness. It was a kiss that whispered, we knew this was coming. And maybe… maybe that was worse.
Because when you finally pulled away, just barely, lips still brushing, you didn’t dare look at him. Not yet. You just whispered, voice low and cracked at the edge, “That was very… unprofessional, Mr. Kwon.”
Soonyoung’s lips curved near yours. “Good,” he murmured, “because I’m not done being unprofessional.”
You barely had time to process his words—“I’m not done being unprofessional”—before his lips captured yours again, firmer this time. Less tentative. Less testing.
Your back bumped against the edge of the counter as he stepped closer, his hand skimming your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the thin fabric of your blouse. The scent of his coffee still lingered on his breath, mixing with something uniquely his—clean, warm, infuriatingly intoxicating.
You let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, as your fingers slipped into his hair—soft and slightly messy from the day. You gripped it lightly, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth. God. That sound.
His hand settled firmly on your hip, pulling you into him like gravity had a personal agenda. The kiss turned deeper, messier, your bodies syncing in a rhythm that felt far too natural for two people who spent most of their time trading sarcasm and sideways glances in glass-walled meetings.
It was heat. Friction. Unspoken things finally spoken with mouths instead of words. Soonyoung broke the kiss only to trail his lips to the corner of your jaw, his voice warm and ragged against your skin. “You always talk so much in meetings,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the exposed skin beneath your tucked blouse. “But now you’re so quiet.”
You swallowed, breath shaky, heart hammering against your ribs. “Maybe I’m waiting for a good question for once.”
He chuckled against your neck, low and sinful, before lifting his head—eyes dark, lips kissed pink, voice like velvet. “Okay then…”
His thumb grazed the hem of your skirt. “…Ms. Ji, what do I have to do to make you say my name again?”
You should’ve walked away. You should’ve reminded him this was a pantry, in a corporate building, at lunchtime. But instead?
You pulled him back into you like your body had already made the decision your brain refused to acknowledge. Fingers tight in his hair. Mouth crashing into his like you were both starving. And maybe you were.
You didn’t remember taking another breath—only the weight of his body caging you against the counter, the soft clang of your forgotten fork hitting the floor, and the rush of his hands finally going where your thoughts had wandered for too long.
Soonyoung hovered close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice almost reverent.
“Am not,” you breathed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there like you weren’t entirely sure you could stay upright without him.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, slow, assured, until his knuckles grazed the band of your underwear. He paused, as if testing the waters. As if daring you to stop him.
But you didn’t. You let your head fall back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he tugged at the fabric—just enough to slip his fingers under, to brush against heat and softness and the part of you that ached with how long you'd resisted this exact moment.
A quiet gasp escaped you, and that seemed to break whatever restraint he still had. “God…” he exhaled like a confession, “you really drive me insane, you know that?”
He kissed you again, slower this time—almost sweet if not for the way his hand moved with purpose, with intention, like he wanted to memorize every reaction you gave him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck, grounding yourself in him, in this, in the ridiculous insanity of making out in the pantry like it was your last chance on earth.
“You’re always so in control,” he murmured, teasing the edge of your jaw as his other hand anchored your hip, “but I think you like it when I push.”
You opened your eyes just enough to meet his, and there it was again—that flicker of madness, mischief, and something dangerously close to need.
“Careful, Mr. Kwon,” you whispered, mouth brushing his, “push too far, and I might pull you under.” He smirked like he hoped you would. And then he kissed you again—deeper, slower, pulling you closer like the world outside that pantry didn’t matter.
*
You were flabbergasted. A month ago, you were heating instant spaghetti in the pantry, trying to pretend that fucking your boss didn’t feel like the worst idea you’d ever fallen into.
Now? You were sitting stiffly in a room with three people from HR, a folder in front of you, your hands cold despite how warm the room felt.
Yes, you had slept with Kwon Soonyoung. A few times. Consensually. Not impulsively, not irresponsibly—not from your perspective. And as ridiculous as it was to admit even to yourself, he hadn’t been bad at all in those areas. Too good, in fact. Dangerously good, both with his hands and the way he listened—actually listened—to your ideas during board meetings. He even stopped wearing Cartier and started taking actual notes.
So the fact that you were here, now, caught off guard and very much alone, felt like a slap out of nowhere.
The woman in the middle of the HR panel cleared her throat, hands folded neatly. “Ms. Ji. We wanted to discuss something concerning that’s come to our attention.”
You blinked, still unsure where this was going. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I did anything against the—”
“Your last relationship,” the woman interrupted gently, “was already a topic of concern when it involved someone significant to the company.”
Wonwoo.
You stiffened, jaw tightening. You hadn’t heard his name in weeks, and you preferred it that way. But yes, the intern he cheated with turned out to be someone's niece from the Kwon family. Of course that hadn’t died quietly.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the man sitting beside her cut in first. “We didn’t expect this one.”
You blinked again. “Excuse me?” They didn’t repeat it. They didn’t need to.
The third HR rep leaned forward, sliding a paper your way—an incident report, stamped and dated. “We’re going to have to take action regarding your affair with Director Kwon.”
Everything in you froze. For a moment, all you could hear was the soft buzz of the overhead light. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, as the words circled your head like a siren you couldn’t shut off. Your affair. Director Kwon. It felt like your lungs deflated.
“I… don’t understand,” you finally said, slow and careful. “On what grounds?”
The woman in the center flipped open a file. “There was a complaint submitted anonymously, referencing inappropriate conduct in the office. Specifically in shared spaces. A pantry, for instance.”
Your stomach dropped. So fast, it made your fingers go numb. “And—if I may,” the younger HR rep added, “there’s also concern regarding power dynamics, given your reporting line.”
You wanted to laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Because you’d worked so damn hard. You trained Soonyoung. You cleaned up his messes and wrote half the proposals with his name on them, and still walked into every meeting like your career had been built on steel, not glass.
And now, after everything, it came down to this? A moment. And an anonymous report.
You clenched your jaw, sat straighter, and folded your hands in your lap. “So what kind of action are we talking about?”
The room went quiet. The silence that followed your question felt like it lasted forever. And then the answer came, quietly, like they already knew how you’d react—and were bracing for it.
“We’ve decided,” the woman said carefully, “that you will be reassigned to a different department effective immediately.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “Reassigned?”
“Demoted,” the man clarified with corporate softness, as if using the word wouldn’t hit like a fist. “You’ll be moved from Marketing Management to Administrative Strategy under Corporate Communications.”
You stared at them. Not because you didn’t understand. But because you did. They weren’t firing you. That would’ve made noise. No—they were burying you quietly, slipping you into a department where your work wouldn’t shine, where your name wouldn’t show up on campaign reports, board meeting minutes, or executive proposals. They were pushing you out of the light.
You let out a slow, controlled exhale, refusing to let the tremble in your chest reach your face. “Is Director Kwon receiving the same treatment?”
Another pause. “No,” the lead HR officer said. “After discussion with the executive board, it was determined that Director Kwon will be formally warned, and the matter will be noted in his file.”
A warning. You blinked. A warning for him. A demotion for you. You pressed your lips together, not trusting your voice to stay steady. “And that’s fair, in your opinion?”
“Ms. Ji,” the younger officer interjected gently, “you’ve had a prior history of internal relationship issues that—”
“He’s my superior.” You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If anything, he should’ve been held to a higher standard.”
They didn’t answer. No one ever did, when the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. He had power. You didn’t. And even if you were the one who helped him become competent, presentable, capable—even if you were the one cleaning up his early failures and doing your work and his—they didn’t care. Because it was easier to punish the one they knew would quietly take it.
Your jaw clenched as you stood, straightening your blazer. “I understand.”
The head officer gave a polite nod. “Your reassignment email will be sent by the end of day. Your new manager will expect you tomorrow morning.”
You turned to leave, your heels echoing sharper than usual against the tiled floor. Your desk had never felt this bare before. You moved like your body had detached from the rest of you—silent, efficient, folding your things with the kind of care you’d normally reserve for the start of something, not the end. Each click of a pen, each rustle of a folder being stacked, was sharp in the quiet.
You didn’t speak. You didn’t cry. You just packed. A shadow passed in your peripheral vision.
“Y/n?” You turned slightly to find Mingyu standing there, a confused frown drawing across his face. His eyes darted to the box on your desk, to your emptied shelves, then back to you.
“What’s going on?”
You kept your head down, pretending to double-check a folder as you tucked it into the box.
“I just got an email from HR,” he continued, voice tightening. “They’re asking me to step in as acting Marketing Manager… temporarily.”
He said the last word like it tasted wrong in his mouth.
You didn’t answer. Your fingers paused at the edge of a stapler, then moved past it.
“Y/n.” Mingyu stepped closer. “What the hell is happening?”
You closed the box slowly, pressing your palm flat against the top as if to anchor yourself. Your chest felt too full—tight with shame, anger, disbelief—and none of it had a name you were ready to say out loud.
You looked up, just enough to meet his eyes. His worry was sincere. Of course it was. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have accepted the offer if he did.
“I’m being moved,” you said quietly. “Another department.”
“Wait—what?” Mingyu blinked, stunned. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, voice low and flat. “Not right now.”
He fell silent. You could hear the protest building in his throat, the way he shifted his weight like his body didn’t know whether to stay or follow. But he didn’t press. He just nodded once—slow, reluctant.
You gave him a tight smile, the kind that didn't touch your eyes. Then you picked up your box and walked out of your office—your former office—without looking back.
*
Soonyoung walked into the office with his blazer half off and irritation simmering behind his eyes. The lunch meeting had been a disaster—numbers thrown around without context, board members talking in circles, and nobody knowing what the hell they actually wanted from him. He needed grounding. He needed clarity. He needed you.
So when he stepped out of the elevator and saw Mingyu standing by his office door instead of you, he frowned. “Mingyu?” he asked, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong floor. “Where’s Ms. Ji?”
Mingyu straightened a little, caught off guard. “I… see HR hasn’t told you.”
Soonyoung’s brows pinched. “Told me what?”
“Ms. Ji has been reassigned to another department,” Mingyu said, careful with his words. “I’ve been assigned to assist you until your new executive assistant is recruited.”
For a beat, the air felt thicker. Soonyoung tilted his head, confused. “She was moved? When?”
“I’m not sure about the details, sir,” Mingyu replied, trying not to fidget under Soonyoung’s narrowing gaze. “I only got the notice after lunch.”
Soonyoung stared past him for a second, processing. You were just… gone? No meeting. No sarcastic remarks. No quiet nod as you handed him a stack of deadlines and subtle reminders to behave like a functioning adult. No draft on his desk of the proposal you were supposed to polish before 3 p.m. Gone. Without a word.
“Right,” Soonyoung finally said, brushing past Mingyu and into his office. “Thanks.”
At exactly 2 p.m., two sharp, precise knocks echoed against the glass door of Soonyoung’s office. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Only one person knocked like they were keeping time on a metronome. The door opened anyway.
Kwon Soonyoung looked up to see Lee Jihoon—his cousin, his childhood sparring partner, and unfortunately, also the manager of the Human Resources department. Jihoon was sharp as ever, dressed in a pale button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled past his elbows like always, giving him the air of someone both overworked and unbothered by it.
He walked in with calm purpose, a single manila folder in his hand and a look on his face that said this wasn’t a social visit. Soonyoung sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What now?”
Jihoon said nothing. He reached the desk, dropped the folder down with a solid thump, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Your notice,” he said, tone clipped. Soonyoung dragged his fingers through his hair and opened it with two fingers like it might bite. Inside was a printed letter bearing the company’s watermark and the clinical, unmistakable phrasing of HR. The header hit first:
Formal Reprimand — Director Kwon Soonyoung.
Beneath it:
Violation of company policies regarding professional conduct and inappropriate relations within workplace hours...
A wave of heat spread across the back of Soonyoung’s neck. He exhaled through his nose. “A love letter,” he muttered bitterly.
“I warned you,” Jihoon replied, not even flinching.
Of course he had. Jihoon had been warning him since the second week Soonyoung started at KF Label. First subtly. Then with passive-aggressive memos. And then with real conversations—cousin to cousin, HR to Director.
Soonyoung kept reading. Then he stopped. Your name was listed. His. Dated timestamps. A note about internal protocol breaches and the review that followed. “She was moved because of this?” Soonyoung’s voice was low. Tight.
Jihoon gave a slow, neutral shrug. “She’s been reassigned to Corporate Communications under Admin Strategy. Effective immediately.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Jihoon didn’t move from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed again. “The complaint came in. Security reports matched the time. You want the details? You’ll get them in writing. Bottom line—HR took action.”
“She didn’t file anything,” Soonyoung said, more to himself than anyone.
“No,” Jihoon replied. “But someone else did. You’re in a glass building, Soonyoung. Don’t act like you’re invisible.”
“No, she didn’t,” Jihoon agreed, voice flat. “But she’s not the one with Kwon as their last name. You are. And between the two of you, the board wasn’t about to sacrifice their own director—so they cut the easier string.” The words hit harder than they should have.
Soonyoung sank into his chair, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the folder. “She made this department function,” he said. “She made me functional.”
Jihoon tilted his head, stepping away from the desk. “And now she’s somewhere no one will bother her again.”
He reached for the door handle, pausing with one foot out. Then, without turning back, “She covered for you every single time you slipped. Maybe instead of being angry at HR, you should be asking yourself why she ever had to.”
The door clicked closed behind him.bAnd for the first time since Soonyoung sat behind that director’s desk, it didn’t feel like power anymore. It felt like consequence.
Days later, Soonyoung stared at his screen, the cursor blinking beneath the words he had retyped at least four times. He wasn’t good at this part. The… formal part. The “trying to keep things clean after it’s already messy” part.
But he had to try something. He’d already felt the hollow space you'd left behind the second he walked into the office and saw someone else standing where you should have been. The wrong energy. The wrong rhythm. Everything off balance. The chair behind your old desk was too still, like no one dared to fill the space you carved.
So he wrote the email like a coward—because walking to your new department unannounced felt too aggressive. And calling felt too personal.
Ms. Ji, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet briefly regarding recent events and your transition. Please let me know if you’re available this week, at your convenience.
Regards,
Kwon Soonyoung
Director, KF Label
He wrote it like a professional. And hated every line of it. But he sent it anyway. Then he sat there, one elbow on the desk, teeth pressing against his knuckle as if it might keep the anticipation at bay. It didn’t.
When your reply came in twenty-three minutes later, he opened it instantly. The corner of his lips lifted—small, involuntary.
I didn’t realize you had mastered the art of professional communication—should we alert HR?
Of course you’d say that. He let out a breath of something that was almost a laugh. It tugged at his chest in a way that was both cruel and comforting. You hadn’t blocked him out. Not entirely. You still knew how to twist the knife with charm. He leaned back in his chair and reread the last line.
Please book a meeting room that doesn’t echo.
So you were coming. Soonyoung swiveled in his chair, glancing toward the hallway, toward the part of the building where he used to see you moving between departments, coffee in one hand, files in the other, bossing people with that crisp, no-nonsense tone that made him fall for you in the first place.
It had been a month. A month of kissing you like he couldn’t help it. A month of crossing lines in ways that felt reckless but right. And then one day—just gone. No fight. No confrontation. Just a folder on his desk from Jihoon and a quiet, echoing absence.
He turned back to his screen and opened the calendar. Booked Meeting Room 5A—the only one with decent soundproofing—and sent the invite. As he pressed send, he sat back and rubbed a palm against his jaw, heart slower than usual but heavier.
You were coming. But this time, you were coming from a different department, a different floor, a different version of what the two of you had built—one meeting, one mistake at a time.
And he didn’t know if you were coming as a former colleague, a woman he’d ruined something with, or someone who still wanted answers.
Soonyoung wasn't the type to fall for the cold ones. Not at first glance, anyway. His usual preference tilted toward softer edges—women who laughed too easily, said yes too quickly, and let him coast through the surface of things. People who didn’t poke at his insecurities or point out the gaping holes in his competence like it was part of their daily job description.
Which is exactly why you were not his type. At least, you weren’t supposed to be.
You were the definition of precision—smart, fast, efficient, and terrifyingly prepared. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t dangle compliments or flash polite smiles unless they were strategic. You were the woman who made everyone in the room sit up straighter when you walked in.
And yet, from day three, he was already in trouble.
You’d walked into his office with your file folder tucked against your chest, wearing a blood-red pencil skirt and a black blouse so sharp it could’ve sliced someone’s quarterly budget in half. Stockings, heels, hair pulled back in that tight, quiet way that made him forget what you’d said right after you said it.
He hadn’t even known what department you were from before then. But he knew from the second he looked at you that you were dangerous.
You weren’t just attractive. You were intimidatingly put-together. The kind of woman whose brain was hotter than her body—and her body was already a goddamn threat.
Call him a pervert—but he’d nearly choked on his own thoughts that day. And his type? Changed. Overnight. It wasn’t just the clothes. Or the legs. It was how you looked at him when you spoke. Like you knew ten things he didn’t. Like he was your slowest subject in class.
And that mouth. You didn’t curse. You didn’t yell. You told him he was stupid with elegant, HR-friendly, vocabulary—inefficient, unprepared, unfamiliar with protocol. Words that stung more than insults because they were true.
Soonyoung wasn't a saint. He loved women. But your breed? Rare. Too rare to ignore. Too rare to resist. Maybe that’s why when you’d stayed late with him that first time—papers everywhere, the city lights bleeding in through the blinds, and you standing too close with your hair falling from that bun—you became inevitable.
Maybe that’s why his hand reached for you like instinct. Why you didn’t push him away. Why your kiss tasted like the end of something professional. And maybe that’s why he’d bent you over that desk that night—not just because he wanted to (God, he did)—but because some part of him had already fallen.
*
"Fuck..."
Your breath hitched as you settled onto him, your knees braced on either side of his thighs, the edge of the table digging lightly into your back. The polished surface was cold. His hands were anything but.
Soonyoung’s fingers gripped your hips with a firmness that said he’d been dreaming of this—of you—for longer than he wanted to admit. His thumbs pressed into the curve just above your waistband, guiding you, grounding you.
Each movement between you was desperate but controlled, like something learned through tension rather than timing.
Earlier, You arrived at Meeting Room 5A at 4:01 p.m. He was already inside. Blinds drawn. Door locked. Suit jacket hung neatly over the chair beside him. His shirt sleeves rolled up, wrists bare. A bottle of water sat untouched in front of him, condensation sliding down its sides like even it was nervous to be in this room.
You didn’t sit right away. Soonyoung looked up, eyes scanning you with something unreadable. He stood as you approached, as if unsure whether to greet you like a colleague… or something else.
“Ms. Ji,” he said quietly, too formal for the way he was looking at you.
“Director Kwon,” you returned with equal sharpness, sliding into the chair across from him. You placed your phone on the table, screen-down. Just in case.
Silence hovered like a third presence. He was the first to break it. “I didn’t know they were going to move you.”
You tilted your head. “That’s the thing about consequences. Sometimes they arrive quietly.”
“I didn’t file anything,” he said. “You know that, right?”
You gave a small, humorless smile. “I know. But your silence wasn’t exactly protective either.”
That landed. He didn’t argue. The seconds stretched again, thick with things neither of you wanted to say out loud.bThen, Soonyoung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice dropped, no longer formal. “I miss working with you.”
You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers tapped against the wood, rhythm steady. “Is that what this meeting is about?” you asked eventually. “Missing your assistant?”
He smirked, but it was hollow. “You weren’t just my assistant, and you know that.”
You did. And that was the problem.
His hands slid up slowly, tracing the slope of your waist, steadying you as you moved against him. He tilted his head back just slightly, his jaw clenched, mouth parting with a quiet exhale that barely made it past his throat.
You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way he held you tighter with every shift. The way his fingers pressed into your skin like he couldn’t believe this was real again.
Your palm found his chest, steadying yourself. He was too warm, too solid beneath you.
Then he looked up at you. Eyes darker. Focused. Not on what you were doing, but on you—like watching you fall apart on him was more powerful than anything else he could feel.
His hand rose, brushing up the length of your spine, fingers threading into your hair before tugging just enough to steal your breath again.
You weren’t sure when your head tipped back, or when your hands gripped his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment. The edge between pleasure and collapse was thin now—barely holding.
His breath was ragged against your throat, each exhale growing more erratic, his hands no longer guiding but gripping—like he was trying to ground himself in you, like letting go too soon would ruin everything.
Soonyoung’s voice came low and strained against your skin, “Y/n—don’t stop.”
You didn’t plan to. Your rhythm faltered for half a second, hips stuttering from how tightly your body coiled around the sensation—but he was right there, his hand steady at the small of your back, keeping you close, keeping you moving.
Your foreheads touched. Sweat. Breath. Tension.
He looked at you—really looked. And for a beat, the air stopped. There was nothing but the heat of his palm at your waist, the tremble in your thighs, the way your name barely formed on his lips like a prayer or a warning.
And then it hit you—how close you were. How close he was. Every movement became desperate, sloppier. More like instinct than intent.
Your lips brushed his cheek, your body arching as your pulse surged, your voice catching in your throat. “Fuck—Soonyoung—”
That did it. His hands tightened, his body tensed, and in the space between control and surrender, you both tipped over the edge—together. Breathless. Silenced. Shaking.
For a few seconds, there was only the sound of your breathing. Tangled limbs. Quiet gasps. And the soft creak of the table beneath you. He didn’t speak. He just held you—one hand still at your back, the other cradling your waist like you might disappear if he let go too fast.
Your breath was still uneven, your limbs trembling slightly as the silence wrapped around you both like a warm, heavy fog. You rested against his chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, when his voice broke through.
Soft. Low. Like a secret he wasn’t ready to share but couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Resign.”
You blinked.
“Hand them your resignation.”
The words didn’t register at first—your mind too hazy, your body too loose. But when they did, your brows furrowed instinctively. You lifted your head just slightly, startled.
He was already watching you. Still inside this moment. Still bare and open and raw in a way he rarely allowed.
“I—what?” you whispered, breath catching again—but not from desire this time.
Soonyoung reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek. His touch was slow, almost reverent. And then he tilted your chin until your eyes met. His gaze wasn’t playful now. No teasing. No smug curl to his lips. Just quiet sincerity.
“I couldn’t watch you being humiliated like this,” he said. “Not after everything you’ve done. Not after everything you’ve fixed… for me.”
You felt it then. The way your throat tightened. The sharp sting behind your eyes. You didn’t even realize a tear had fallen until his thumb was already brushing it away, tender against your cheek like you’d break if he pressed too hard.
His fingers traced the curve of your face, slow, careful. You hated how gentle he was being—it unraveled you faster than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to be gentle. This wasn’t supposed to feel like he cared.
But he did. And that made it worse.
You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Tried to pull back the flood of emotion that had been simmering under your skin since the HR meeting—since the reassignment, the whispers, the humiliation you had to wear like perfume the minute you stepped into your new floor.
And now this. Soonyoung, who was never supposed to take anything seriously, was the one seeing you the clearest.
Your lip quivered. You bit down on it hard enough to taste metal, willing yourself to stay composed. But the second tear came. Then another. You looked away, ashamed of your silence, your vulnerability, your inability to respond.
“Y/n,” he said gently, pulling you closer, foreheads touching again. “If they don’t see your worth… leave. And I’ll help you find a better place.”
The weight of those words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
But your hand slid to his chest, curled softly in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.
And for once, he didn’t ask anything more from you. He just stayed with you in this quiet, undone moment.
*
You didn’t mean to call anyone. You had told yourself you'd just shower, maybe eat, maybe sleep—but instead you found yourself curled up on the edge of your bed, still in your clothes, your phone pressed to your ear as it rang.
It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel heavier. The dim light from the kitchen gave the room a soft glow, but your phone pressed to your ear felt heavier than usual.
“I’m just… tired,” was all you said when Seungkwan picked up, his voice chipper at first—then cautious. He didn’t push. He never did. He let the silence fall, filling it with his presence, not questions.
There was a pause, long enough that you almost said “never mind.” Then your voice slipped through again, barely above a whisper.
“What do you think if I’m resigning?”
A beat. Then Seungkwan answered, calm and sincere. “I don’t mind. I mean, yeah—it’ll be hard to find something with the same value, same reputation. But if that’s what you want, I’ll support it. Always.”
You sighed, pressing your thumb against your temple. Your head hurt in the kind of way that wasn’t about lack of sleep—but a lack of peace.
“I don’t know, Seungkwan... I really don’t know.”
“Of course you’re clueless. You’ve been shoved around and put in situations where you had to survive. I understand,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Do you have any career plan? Is someone offering you a job?”
No. No one. Well— Soonyoung had said he’d help. Said it with conviction in that private moment like it was gospel. Like he meant every word.
But he was Kwon Soonyoung. A man who once asked if “ROI” was the name of a new intern. Who didn’t know how to schedule his own meetings without color-coded prompts you made for him. Who showed up to investor brunches with lipstick on his collar—your lipstick—and still made a joke out of it.
You couldn’t even trust him to send an attachment properly in an email. And now he was asking you to trust him with your life after this?
Your silence must’ve stretched too long, because Seungkwan spoke again. “Is it him?” That stopped your breath. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t have to. He knew.
“I don’t know what he promised you,” Seungkwan continued gently, “but if you’re holding on to that as your only parachute, make sure it’s not just… words.”
You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe him.bWanted to believe that Soonyoung meant it—that he would fight for you, that he saw everything you sacrificed for that label, that he wouldn’t let this end with you packing your things and being erased.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t know if it was belief… Or wishful thinking. And you were tired of hoping. You didn’t answer. Just let the silence fall again.
*
When Soonyoung stepped into his apartment, the first thing that hit him wasn’t the silence—but the scent. Something warm. Garlicky. Familiar. He paused by the door, blinking like he had to recalibrate. There was someone in his kitchen. You.
Wearing one of his aprons—badly tied—and frowning softly at the pot in front of you. The sleeves of your blouse were rolled up, and your hair was clipped messily at the back. You didn’t hear him come in right away, too focused on adjusting the stove and tapping at the edge of the box labeled KF Meal Kit –Kimchi Jjigae.
He chuckled, loosening his tie. You and these damn company products. It was the fifth time he’d seen you cooking them in the last month. At work. At home. He shrugged off his blazer, folded it neatly, then quietly walked to the kitchen. You looked up as he reached the counter, eyebrows raised and a small smile tugging at your lips.
You leaned a little on the counter, watching the pot begin to simmer. He stepped closer without thinking, hands finding your waist like they belonged there. You didn’t move. You didn’t stop him. If anything, your body softened beneath his touch, like it remembered the rhythm of standing this close.
Soonyoung exhaled quietly, pressing his forehead near your ttemple I miss you,” he murmured.
There was no teasing in it. No smug grin. Just honesty, spoken low and barely audible over the bubbling of the meal.
You blinked, the words catching you off guard—but not in a bad way. They melted into the air, sinking into the skin between his palms and your ribs. You didn’t respond immediately. You just leaned the tiniest bit into him, a silent answer in itself.
His thumb brushed over your hip, and he pulled you just slightly closer—not possessive, not rushed. Just… here. Present.
You tilted your head toward him slightly. “Dinner’s not even done yet and you’re already getting sentimental?”
Soonyoung chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder, “You in my kitchen is enough. Feels like I’ve already won.”
And for a moment, it was quiet. Dinner was long gone—plates in the sink, lights dimmed, and the two of you curled on the couch like gravity pulled your bodies together on instinct. The TV played something neither of you paid attention to. Just background noise to the slow rhythm of Soonyoung’s fingers trailing along your cheek, brushing the edge of your jaw, memorizing your face like it was the first time again.
You blinked, lazy from the warmth of his hold, when he spoke.
“I talked to Joshua hyung today.”
Your brow lifted. “Yeah?”
“He said there’s a manager position opening in his company. He’d like to see your resume.”
You turned toward him a little, eyes wide in disbelief. “Really?”
He smiled, nodding, looking far too proud for someone just casually bringing life-altering news. “Yeah… I told him about you. About how competent and sharp you are. He said he can’t wait to meet you.”
You stared at him. “That’s… unexpected.”
Soonyoung immediately pouted, his brows knitting together in that ridiculous way that never quite matched how tall and put-together he could look in a suit. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I wouldn’t come through?”
You chuckled under your breath, “No, it’s not that. I just…” you exhaled, “I didn’t expect you’d actually do it. I know you can, with your last name and network. But I guess a part of me thought… I was just someone who helped you with work.”
Soonyoung stared at you like you’d just said something blasphemous. Then sighed heavily and pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.
“You should know by now that you’re more than that, Y/n. Everyone sees it. Even Seungcheol hyung said you were—what did he say—ah, charismatic.”
You groaned, pressing your face briefly into his shoulder. “Don’t bring that up…”
Soonyoung chuckled, a little too amused. “What? It’s true. Remember that night he drove you home from the bar? You told him what you did—accidentally, if I recall—and he just went, ‘So you’re the one supervising Soonyoung? Ah… the annoying marketing manager, huh?’”
You sighed dramatically. “Great. That’s my legacy.”
“Sexy annoying marketing manager,” he corrected with a grin, pulling you closer.
“Shut up.”
He laughed harder now, contentment laced into every curve of his smile.
Then, a pause. Softer.
“You’re not mad?” he asked.
You looked up at him. “Mad?”
“For… helping you like this. I mean, I know you’re strong. I didn’t want to bruise your pride or make it seem like I thought you couldn’t land something on your own.”
You stared at him, heart clenching in that way it sometimes did when people said something too kind. Something too thoughtful.
“You’re competent. Smart. Efficient,” he said, as if repeating it to himself. “And I was worried you’d turn it down because you thought I was underestimating you. But I wasn’t. Not even a little.”
You blinked, then smiled, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.
“You’re cute, Soonyoung,” you murmured, fingers reaching up to pinch his cheek gently.
“Hey! I’m being serious!” he protested, squirming under your touch—but his grin betrayed him.
You leaned into him again, nestling under his chin as his arms instinctively wrapped tighter.
“I know you are,” you whispered. “And that’s why I might actually consider it.”
He didn’t answer. But the way his breath slowed, and the way his thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, said everything.
The TV murmured in the background—some drama neither of you were really watching—as the quiet between you stretched long and comfortably still. The couch dipped just slightly beneath your bodies, your fingers lazily tracing the hem of his sleeve. You were dangerously close to dozing off again in his warmth. Until—
“Soonyoung-ah?”
The sudden voice made you jolt so hard you lost balance. He turned his head sharply—just as you tried to sit up. Your knees caught the edge of the coffee table, he tried to grab your waist, you both fumbled—and then fell.
Hard.
The thud was loud, a tangle of limbs and fabric hitting the floor, followed by a stunned silence and a hissed curse from Soonyoung.
“Oh my—are you okay?!” came the voice again. It was closer now.
You froze, eyes wide. Soonyoung groaned beneath you. “Why didn’t you lock the damn door?” you whispered sharply as you sat up from his chest, trying to fix your shirt, your dignity already lost in the living room rug.
“I didn’t think I needed to!” he hissed back, rubbing the back of his head.
Then a pair of heels stepped into view.
“Oh,” said a woman with a well-maintained bob cut and too-perfect makeup. Her tone was pleasantly surprised, but her gaze was anything but subtle. “I… didn’t know you had company.”
You scrambled upright. “Hello—I'm sorry—I didn’t hear anyone come in—”
“Clearly,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Soonyoung stood, brushing off his slacks and walking past you like nothing happened. “You visit,” he said flatly.
His mother blinked. “I brought food. And I wanted to check on you.”
He walked toward the kitchen without glancing back. “I’m not twelve.”
She gave you a knowing glance and followed. “Still, you always forget to eat when you're under pressure. And you’re hosting. I had to make sure she wasn’t starving.”
You stiffened slightly. Soonyoung looked back at you, unreadable. “She ate.”
“I can see,” she said, eyes flicking toward the leftover meal kit container on the counter. “Microwave dinners. Very romantic.”
His mouth twitched. “It’s from the label.”
His mom looked at him, then at you, and smiled again, this time softer. “You must be the reason he’s actually showing up to board meetings.”
You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.
“Mom,” Soonyoung interjected, tone clipped. “You’ve delivered the soup. You’ve confirmed I haven’t died. Are you staying?”
She tilted her head slightly. “I can go. Don’t let me interrupt.” Her gaze lingered on the couch—on the crumpled blanket, the two glasses, the clear closeness—before she turned to the door.
“I’ll call you later, Soonyoung,” she added as she slipped her heels back on. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”
“Ji,” you supplied quickly.
“Miss Ji,” she echoed with a small smile before she stepped out, closing the door with an audible click.
Silence.
You turned to him, breath still uneven from both the fall and the mortification. “So that was your mom.”
“Yep.”
“She didn’t seem… warm.”
“She’s not.”
A pause. “She said she brought food.”
He rolled his eyes. “She’ll Venmo the maid to drop it off later.”
“…You okay?”
Soonyoung scratched the back of his head, then looked at you with a crooked grin. “Honestly? I’d rather fall again.”
You laughed. Loudly this time. And maybe—just maybe—it made the awkwardness a little easier to carry.
*
Your first day at Hong Finance went better than expected. The morning had been a whirlwind of handshakes, onboarding documents, and a glossy welcome kit with your name printed in soft gold on the folder. The office was sleek, everything glass and grey and expensive-smelling, but the people? Surprisingly warm. Joshua, your new Director, had personally introduced you to each team member, casually mentioning that you came highly recommended—without saying by who.
Though you had a guess. A certain someone who used to forget what KF Label even stood for.
You worked through the day with quiet diligence, letting your brain adjust to the faster pace, the bigger picture, and the knowledge that you weren’t being micromanaged by HR this time around. You weren’t running damage control. You were actually doing your job—and being respected for it.
It was 6:10 when you stepped out of the building, your heels clicking gently on the pavement. The golden haze of sunset stretched across the city skyline.
And right there, leaning against a black car with sunglasses perched atop his head, was Kwon Soonyoung.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine—tailored slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand in his pocket and the other lazily scrolling his phone. But the second he spotted you, he straightened up and pulled the door open.
“For the newly hired marketing manager of Hong Finance,” he grinned.
You raised an eyebrow as you walked up. “Look who’s playing chauffeur.”
“I prefer ‘supportive boyfriend who can finally say that title out loud.’” He gave you a dramatic bow before you slid into the passenger seat. “You worked hard. I’m proud of you.”
You chuckled as he got in, started the engine, and the two of you merged into the soft blur of city traffic. “So how was your day?”
He shrugged with a grin. “Better now. I was thinking of you the whole time. Could barely sit through my meeting without wondering if you were dying in there or thriving.”
“I’m thriving,” you smirked. “Try not to look so surprised.”
He glanced sideways at you, eyes softening, then turned back to the road. “You know, I meant it when I said I wanted to take you out tonight. Properly.”
You leaned your head against the seat, lips curving. “I know.”
He glanced at you again.
“And I meant it too,” you added, mischievous. “‘Finally growing up,’ huh?”
Soonyoung groaned playfully. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”
“Nope.”
It happened six months later. You weren’t expecting it. Not after all the teasing. Not after the jokes he made every time marriage came up, always with a sly grin and a "we’ll see" or a "why rush, we’re young, aren’t we?"
And certainly not on a regular Saturday afternoon, in the middle of folding laundry in his apartment, your hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing one of his old oversized shirts that still smelled like his cologne no matter how many times you washed it.
But maybe that was why it happened. Because you weren’t dressed up. There was no audience. No violin strings, no rooftop dinner. Just sunlight spilling through the windows, the quiet hum of domestic life, and the two of you surrounded by all the little pieces of your routine. Your world.
He stood behind you, not saying anything at first. Just watching. You felt his stare and turned around, sock in hand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Soonyoung tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. “I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He laughed softly, but didn’t look away. “I mean it.”
You waited.
“I was thinking,” he said again, this time quieter, “about how I used to think love was chaos. Fireworks. Like a storm you couldn’t control.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice.
“But you’re not chaos,” he went on, stepping closer. “You’re… steady. You’re grounding. You told me when I was being stupid. You stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit. You even learned to like our new meal kit.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “So now you’re confessing your undying love through carbs?”
“No,” he chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “I’m proposing through this.”
Your breath caught as you saw the small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a ring so simple and beautiful it nearly took your breath away. No diamonds shouting for attention. Just a gold band with a small, elegant gem. The kind of thing someone would wear every day. Quiet. Constant.
Just like the love he’d built with you.
“I’m not good with a lot of things,” he admitted, voice trembling just slightly. “But I know I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want our dumb, quiet mornings. Our microwave dinners. You calling me an idiot when I deserve it. And maybe one day, you walking into my office again—but with my name.”
You stared at him, completely speechless. Then he laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to say yes now, by the way. I know your career’s still—”
“Yes.”
He paused. “Wait—what?”
You dropped the sock you were holding, stepping closer. “Yes, Kwon Soonyoung. You idiot.” His smile split wide as you tackled him in a hug, the ring box still clutched in his hand.
*
Meeting his parents was something you’d quietly prepared for, even if Soonyoung said you didn’t need to. “They’re not scary,” he promised with his usual shrug. “You met my mom. My dad’ll just talk about the stock market until someone stops him.”
Still, as you sat beside Soonyoung at the long dining table in their sleek Hannam-dong house—with its museum-level lighting and not a single speck of dust—you knew this wasn’t just any dinner.
His mother greeted you first, of course, in a flurry of perfume, pearls, and the kind of warmth that felt performative but not unkind.
“Oh, you’re getting prettier!!” she said, gripping your hands with both of hers. “Soonyoung was never this glowy, you know. He must be eating well.”
You smiled, bowed politely, and thanked her—twice. She seemed like someone who appreciated a bit of extra etiquette. She gave you a quick once-over—your outfit passed the silent inspection, thank God. then insisted you sit beside her son like you were already part of the family.
His father arrived late, after the wine was already poured and the soup already served.
He was tall, imposing, with the kind of sharp silence that made your posture straighten without thinking. His handshake was firm, his gaze sharper.
“You’re working in finance now, I heard?” he asked, cutting his steak slowly.
“Yes, sir. Hong Finance. I handle B2B marketing strategies under Director Hong Joshua.”
His father hummed, noncommittal. “I see. No family ties to the industry?”
You blinked, just once. “No, sir. I’m from Busan. My family runs a small printing business.”
Another hum.
Soonyoung glanced at you, eyes flicking in concern. You nudged his knee gently under the table—a silent it's fine. I got this.
The conversation moved, meandering through safe topics, until the elder Kwon brought up the label again.
“You know, the KF Label still has too many bleeding points. Sales growth is good, but not stable. I’m not convinced Soonyoung understands where it’s leaking,” he said bluntly. “You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”
Soonyoung opened his mouth, clearly trying to assemble something in his head. You could almost see him reaching for words, for numbers you knew he hadn’t looked at since last quarter.
But before the silence stretched too long, you calmly lifted your glass, smiled, and spoke.
“The margin inconsistencies in the semi-premium line have been narrowing, actually. Since February, we’ve scaled down redundant distribution channels and optimized the logistics route from our Cheonan facility. The recent push with ‘Heat-and-Meet’ expanded brand visibility with minimal promo spend.”
You placed your glass back down and added, with polite finality, “Soonyoung has been involved in all those strategy approvals. We’ve made it a point to streamline executive summaries so he can lead without getting buried in jargon.”
The table went quiet for a beat. His father looked at you properly now—eyes no longer cold, but assessing. Appraising. “Hm,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the Cheonan streamlining.”
“I prepared the original logistics adjustment proposal,” you said with a slight smile. “But the final call was Soonyoung’s.”
A pause. Then, almost grudgingly, the elder Kwon nodded. “Impressive.”
Soonyoung gave you a look under the table—half grateful, half floored.
His mother clapped lightly. “You speak better about business than some of his uncles do, dear.”
You blushed politely and simply replied, “I just care about what I do, ma’am.”
His father said little else after that, but the look he gave Soonyoung as he excused himself from the table later carried something unfamiliar. Respect. Maybe for the first time.
And as you and Soonyoung helped clear the dishes together in the kitchen, his mother called from behind you with a small, satisfied smile:
“You’re already helping him become a better man, Y/n.”
You just bumped your shoulder into his and whispered with a smirk, “Glad someone finally noticed.”
*
The revolving glass doors of KF Label glided open with a quiet sigh as you stepped inside, heels tapping steadily against the pristine marble floor. The lobby hadn’t changed—still sterile, still polished, still smelling faintly of lavender diffuser and corporate ambition.
But you had. Not Ji Y/n, the former marketing manager. You were now Kwon Y/n. The name settled differently on everyone’s tongue now. Especially here, where whispers spread faster than memos.
You nodded at familiar faces—staff from various departments, even the security guard who once complimented your meal-prep lunches. Some smiled with genuine warmth, others with thinly veiled curiosity. And a few didn’t bother to hide their surprise.
Your steps slowed only when you reached the seventh floor. There, near the meeting room, you saw him. Kim Mingyu. He looked up from a file he was reviewing, pausing mid-page when he saw you. His expression didn’t change much—no shock, no smile. Just a polite flicker of his brows. You offered a small, courteous smile and bowed slightly. He returned the gesture with the same practiced civility. That was all.
It was a month after your resignation when you’d found out through Dokyeom in a hesitant voice over a coffee meeting, that it was Mingyu who had filed the HR report. The report that cost you your role. Since then, there’d been no real confrontation. No apology. Just stiff smiles across event halls and neutral nods across meetings.
Jun, Soonyoung’s secretary, greeted you the moment he saw you approach. He looked much livelier than he did during your era of damage control.
“Y/n,” he beamed, standing quickly and smoothing his tie. “You look amazing, as always.”
You offered a gentle smile. “Is he available?”
Jun nodded, already walking to the heavy door. “Just finished a call. I’ll let him know.”
He knocked once and pushed the door open with a practiced hand.
“Sir,” he said with a knowing grin, “your wife is here.”
There was a pause, then a familiar voice from inside, low and warm with the tone he reserved only for you.
“Let her in.”
And just like that, you stepped through the door—leaving behind the past titles, the old pain, and the fractured stares.
You weren’t here to prove anything anymore.
You were here as Kwon Y/n—his partner, in more ways than one.
Soonyoung stood the moment you entered, his face lighting up with that boyish grin that never failed to soften you. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled, and the stress lines on his forehead were deeper than usual.
Still, he reached you first—fingers brushing yours before he gently guided you toward the couch like you were something precious.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked, sitting close, knees turned fully toward you.
You tilted your head, teasing, “What would you have done if I told you?”
“Prepared something,” he said dramatically, eyes twinkling. “Like a red carpet. You’re a star here, baby.”
You let out a soft laugh, brushing your hand against his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only for you.” He leaned his head against your shoulder then, a deep sigh escaping from him as his whole body relaxed. “Have you had lunch?” you asked quietly, resting your cheek on his head.
He shook his head. “No time. This anniversary event… the product launch, five proposals due by tomorrow—” he exhaled sharply, motioning vaguely to his chaotic desk. “I’m going crazy. If you hadn’t walked in, I might’ve actually curled under that table and disappeared.”
You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I took a half-day off.”
His head lifted slightly. “Why? Still feeling fatigue?”
You nodded, pressing your lips together. “Yeah. And I went to the doctor earlier.”
That made him sit up straighter, concern painting his face. “You should’ve come home. Why didn’t you say anything? Why are you visiting me if you’re not feeling well?”
Instead of answering right away, you pulled a neatly folded document from your bag and handed it to him.
His brows furrowed as he took it. “Wait—this… is this what I think it is?”
“Open it.”
Soonyoung unfolded the paper slowly, eyes scanning over the lines until they landed on one sentence that made everything around him blur.
His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. His hands trembled just enough for you to notice, the document still in his grip.
“I’m—” he blinked, voice rough with disbelief. “I’m going to be a dad?”
You nodded, your own breath catching. “Yeah. We’re… we’re going to be parents, Kwon Soonyoung.”
For a second, he just stared.
And then he laughed—a soft, breathless sound of pure joy—as he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest with a mix of awe and something almost like reverence.
“You’re everything,” he whispered. “I swear, you are.”
“I’m telling Jun I’m going home. Everything can wait until tomorrow.” Soonyoung stood up with a spark in his eyes after pulling you into one last firm hug.
You opened your mouth to protest—“Soonyoung, your schedule—”
But he already had his phone to his ear, spinning half toward his desk while still watching you like he couldn’t stand looking away for too long.
“Jun. Yeah. Cancel everything for the rest of the day. Postpone the internal review, shift the client call. Send a memo that the director is off-duty. No, not sick—in love.” He grinned at you while Jun, somewhere across the floor, probably died a little. “You can blame the most beautiful woman in my life.”
You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to burst out laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic,” he said, putting his phone down and coming back to you. “I’m in love. And apparently, I’m going to be a dad, which means I have very important priorities now.”
He helped you up gently, his hands warm on your arms. “Let’s go home, baby.”
You smiled, heart full. “Okay.”
As the two of you stepped out of the office hand in hand, the corridor lights overhead felt softer. Familiar faces turned, surprised, and smiled—some knowingly, some with wide eyes.
But you didn’t care.
Not as he walked beside you, fingers laced tightly in yours, saying things like “I’m buying dinner. No—wait, I’m cooking! No, I’m ordering and cooking!”
