The next morning in her apartment, Kang Mirae sat curled on her sofa, her laptop perched on her knees. The city buzzed outside her window, but her focus was completely on the blinking cursor on the screen.
She had written and erased the first sentence of her article at least six times.
How do you describe a man like Lee Doekyom without sounding like you've fallen under a spell? she thought bitterly.
She wasn't supposed to care. This was business. And yet, every time she remembered the way he watched her — not with flirtation, but with interest — it unsettled her. The chocolates, the tension, the challenge... it was like he'd drawn her into a private game and closed the door behind her.
Stop being dramatic, she told herself. You're a professional.
Just as she was about to try again, her phone buzzed.
[Unknown Number]
> "Be careful with Lee Doekyom. Not everything in Chocolat Paradise is sweet."
Mirae stared at the message, frowning.
She tapped back.
> "Who is this?"
No reply.
Her skin prickled. Was this a prank? Or worse — a warning?
The editor at Gourmet Seoul Weekly, Ms. Choi, called just minutes later.
"I hear you visited Chocolat Paradise?" she said without preamble. "Don't publish anything yet."
Mirae blinked. "Why?"
"There's chatter that Seowon Group is trying to clean up Doekyom's image — using the boutique. We don't want to get tangled in PR games."
"It wasn't PR," Mirae said sharply. "He didn't even know I was a critic."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Then be careful, Mirae. Lee Doekyom plays by different rules. His family has power, and enemies."
Mirae ended the call with a sigh, her fingers tightening on her laptop.
She wasn't afraid. But she hated interference. Warnings, politics — they clouded the truth.
And the truth was: Lee Doekyom intrigued her.
Not just as a chocolatier. But as a man. A man with shadows behind his smile.
If others were too afraid to write the real story, fine.
Then I will, she thought.
Mirae opened a new document, her fingers poised.
Title: "The Bittersweet Truth of Chocolat Paradise"
She began to type.
Outside her window, rain began to fall — soft, quiet, and unmistakably familiar.
The rain had stopped by the time Mirae arrived at the Seoul Central Library that afternoon. It wasn't her usual workspace, but something about the quiet, historical atmosphere helped her think. She'd been writing all morning — and yet, she still couldn't stop thinking about him.
Not the chocolate.
Not the shop.
Just Lee Doekyom.
Frustrated, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and opened a browser tab. If her editor wanted her to be cautious, fine. She'd do her own research.
She searched his name: Lee Doekyom, Seowon Group, Chocolat Paradise.
Results filled the screen — glossy business articles, fashion editorials, interviews. A headline caught her eye:
> "From Boardroom to Bonbons: Seowon Heir Turns to Chocolate."
She clicked it.
> "Once poised to inherit a major division of the Seowon Group, Lee Doekyom shocked the business world by walking away from his corporate destiny. Sources close to the family suggest a falling-out with his father, Lee Gunwoo, over 'creative pursuits.' … Doekyom's Chocolat Paradise is currently one of the most elite dessert establishments in Seoul, though some question the motives behind his sudden career change."
Mirae frowned. There was something between the lines — something left unsaid.
She scrolled further, finding an older article, nearly buried.
> "Heiress of Ma Belle Chocolaterie Ends Engagement with Seowon Heir"
Her breath caught.
Engaged?
She clicked.
A blurry photo showed Doekyom at a formal party beside a tall woman with porcelain skin and wine-colored lips. The caption read: Yoon Haeryung, sole heir to Ma Belle, Korea's oldest artisan chocolate brand. The article spoke of a "mutual separation," but hinted at business tension, with both families vying for control over chocolate markets in Seoul.
Mirae sat back in her chair, processing it all.
A broken engagement.
A family empire.
A rival chocolatier.
So that's the real bitterness behind his creations, she thought. Not heartbreak. Betrayal.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed again. This time, a new message — from a number saved in her contacts.
Doekyom.
> "Are you free this evening? There's something I want to show you."
Her heart stuttered.
Show me what?
She hesitated for only a second before typing back:
> "Time and place?"
A few moments passed.
> "Paradise Rooftop. 8 PM. Dress warm."
---
At exactly 7:58 PM, Mirae stood outside the private elevator in Chocolat Paradise. One of the staff members nodded and let her in without a word. The doors closed, and the hum of the ascent began.
When they opened again, she was greeted by candlelight and the scent of cinnamon.
The rooftop had been transformed — fairy lights hung between wooden beams, soft instrumental music played from hidden speakers, and a small table was set for two beside a portable heater. Blankets rested on the chairs. But what caught her attention wasn't the ambiance.
It was him.
Doekyom stood at the edge of the rooftop, hands in the pockets of a charcoal coat, gazing out over the glowing Seoul skyline.
He turned as she stepped out.
"You came," he said softly.
"I had questions," she replied. "But I didn't come for answers."
He smiled faintly. "That's good. Because tonight isn't about answers."
She tilted her head. "Then what is it about?"
He walked toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. "I wanted to give you a taste of something different. Not for critics. Not for customers."
He reached behind him and brought out a small glass box. Inside was a single chocolate — unlike any she had seen before. It shimmered slightly under the rooftop lights, swirled with dark and gold.
"I call this one Silence," he said. "It's made with wild Korean cacao — rare, untamed. Infused with pine smoke and fermented honey."
"Why silence?" she asked, intrigued.
"Because not all feelings are loud. Some stay, quietly, under your skin. Long after they've melted."
He stepped closer, holding it out.
She didn't speak. She took the chocolate, placed it on her tongue.
And understood.
It was haunting. Smoky, sweet, aching. The taste made her want to close her eyes — and forget the world for just a moment.
When she opened them, Doekyom was watching her carefully.
"You always speak with your face before your words," he said. "That's why I trust your taste."
Mirae looked away. The intimacy of the moment was too much — too sudden.
"You shouldn't," she whispered. "I write for a living. And I've already begun."
"I know," he said. "And I'm not asking you to stop."
She met his gaze again. For once, there was no flirtation. No pride. Just honesty.
"I just wanted you to see who I am — before the world tells you who I was."
And somehow, those words — quiet and raw — moved her more than any flavor ever could.
The rooftop lingered in Mirae's memory long after she returned home that night. The chocolate still haunted her tongue, a whisper of smoke and sweetness that refused to fade. But it wasn't just the flavor that stayed.
It was the look in Lee Doekyom's eyes — not the carefully measured confidence of a businessman, but the raw honesty of someone who had long stopped expecting to be understood.
She couldn't sleep. Not with her heart pacing like a clock wound too tight.
By morning, she was at her desk again, typing furiously.
> "There are places in Seoul that claim to serve magic — and then there is Chocolat Paradise. But what makes this boutique extraordinary isn't the gold-trimmed truffles or the rare cacao. It's the man behind it."
She hesitated, fingers hovering.
> "Lee Doekyom doesn't create sweets. He creates stories. Some are romantic. Some are painful. And one or two might just be confessions, disguised as confections."
Mirae saved the draft but didn't send it in. Not yet.
Something inside her said this story wasn't ready — because she wasn't ready.
Later that afternoon, she decided to pay a visit to someone who might offer clarity: Chef Im Jisoo, her former mentor from culinary school, now a respected chocolatier in her own right.
Jisoo raised an eyebrow as Mirae walked into her minimalist café, Cacao Atelier.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite runaway pastry student," she teased, pulling off her gloves. "I thought you left this world for journalism."
"I did," Mirae said with a tired smile. "But chocolate keeps pulling me back."
Jisoo poured two cups of dark tea and slid one toward her. "Let me guess. This is about Lee Doekyom."
Mirae blinked. "How did you—?"
"Everyone's talking. He's been stirring the pot since Chocolat Paradise opened. The old families are uncomfortable. The industry's watching."
Mirae leaned forward. "Is he really that good?"
Jisoo considered. "His technique? Impeccable. His flavors? Bold. But what sets him apart... is restraint. He doesn't try to please everyone. He crafts for emotion."
Mirae nodded slowly, remembering Silence on her tongue.
"But there's talk," Jisoo added, lowering her voice. "His old engagement. The Ma Belle family never forgave him. They say he walked away with more than just a broken heart. Recipes. Connections. Secrets."
Mirae frowned. "You think he stole from them?"
"I don't know," Jisoo said. "But Mirae, be careful. You're not just writing about chocolate anymore. You're stepping into legacy. Power. Families who've run this world quietly for decades."
Mirae took a sip of tea, her thoughts swirling.
Was she chasing a story?
Or stepping into one?
---
That night, her phone buzzed again.
Doekyom:
> "You should meet her."
Mirae stared.
> "Her?"
A reply came quickly.
> "Yoon Haeryung. The one the world says I broke. She deserves her voice too."
Mirae's breath caught.
She hadn't expected that. Not so soon. Not offered so freely.
> "Why are you giving me this?" she typed.
A pause.
> "Because this story isn't just mine. And if you're going to tell it... tell all of it."
---
Later that night, Mirae couldn't sleep again.
But it wasn't from confusion.
It was clarity.
This was no longer just an article.
This was the beginning of something deeper — a tangled thread of truth, loss, and taste.
And at the center of it all… a man who had wrapped his pain in sugar, daring the world to bite.