The next morning, Ga-young stretched with a satisfied sigh, sunlight spilling softly across her face. For once, her chest didn't feel like it was caving in.
"Ah… so this is what it feels like to be debt-free," she murmured, smiling at the ceiling.
Then it hit her like cold water to the face.
Her smile vanished. "Shit."
Her mind raced. I have to meet Min-jae today.
Maybe she could fake a fever? No, that would be too obvious. It would scream I'm avoiding you!
She groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. "What do I even do?"
---
By some miracle or caffeine she managed to pull herself together. Makeup flawless. Hair swept into a perfectly careless messy bun. Tailored outfit sharp enough to make her look like she hadn't just fought an existential war with her mirror.
But no amount of concealer could silence the pounding in her chest.
She'd sent the project list to Min-jae's email the night before, formal, restrained, painfully professional. She'd reread it five times before hitting send, hoping he'd treat that night like a mutual hallucination neither of them would ever speak of.
Now, standing in front of the office elevator, phone clenched in her hand, she mentally practiced her "I'm totally fine" expression.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.
And her heart dropped straight to her knees.
Min-jae.
He stood there, crisp in a charcoal suit, one hand in his pocket, eyes lifting just long enough to meet hers. Expression unreadable. Calm. Too calm.
For one wild second, she considered walking away and pretending she forgot something. But pride was a dangerous thing. She bowed instead.
He returned the bow, silent, and pressed the button.
The elevator hummed to life.
Seventh floor. Sixth. Fifth. Fourth. Third. Second—
"Ms. Choi," he said suddenly.
Her stomach flipped. He's going to talk about that night. God, please don't—
"How far has the production team gone?"
Oh. Work.
She exhaled slowly, trying not to sound disappointed or relieved.
"It's almost ready, sir."
"Fix up your schedule. I'll review the productions myself."
The doors slid open. He walked out. Just like that.
Ga-young blinked after him. "Is he still mad at me? Or did I do something even worse that night?"
She rubbed her face, groaning. "Why can't I remember anything?"
---
Hours later, the silence of the office shattered with a loud slam on her desk.
Ji-hye.
Neither Ga-young nor Min-jae even flinched. They were used to her dramatic entrances.
"I'm in big soup," Ji-hye blurted, eyes wide with panic.
Ye-seul walked in right after, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "What happened? Did you run someone over?"
Ji-hye's jaw dropped. "What? No! Why would you even think that?" Then she groaned. "Yun-ho is coming to K&H."
Ga-young blinked, unimpressed. "You seriously scared me for that?"
"Yun-ho? Like your brother?" Ye-seul asked.
Ji-hye grabbed her shoulders dramatically. "Yes! My annoying, loud, chaotic brother! He got a contract with K&H Restaurant!"
"Wow, is it for the tasting event?" Ga-young asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes. He's the main chef."
Ye-seul gasped. "That's huge! Congrats!"
"Don't congratulate me, he only took the job to torment me," Ji-hye sighed, then turned toward Min-jae. "By the way, do you know any good single apartments? I can't let him stay with me or I'll commit a crime."
Min-jae looked up from his screen. "I can ask a friend."
Ye-seul snorted. "You have friends?"
Min-jae's gaze flicked to her, sharp enough to cut glass.
"I was just asking," she muttered. "Actually… I can help. My dad gave me an apartment at his penthouse recently, but I'm not moving in yet."
Ji-hye's eyes widened. "Really?"
Ye-seul nodded.
"Will your dad be okay with that?"
"He won't even notice," Ye-seul said with a small shrug.
Ji-hye grinned and stretched out her hand. "Deal, landlord Hwan."
Ye-seul laughed and shook it. "Pleasure doing business."
"Perfect. I'll tell Yun-ho. He's supposed to meet CEO Ji-uk soon anyway—you can finalize everything with him."
Ye-seul felt a sudden warmth crawl up her neck. She coughed. "I—I have work to finish. Bye!" And she was gone.
Ji-hye turned back. "good bye...." And just like that, she was gone too.
Silence settled again. Heavy. Familiar.
Then—
"Ms. Choi."
Her head snapped up. "Yes, sir?"
Min-jae didn't look away from his screen. "Are you free this evening?"
Her pulse jumped. Evening? Was he finally ready to talk about that night?
"Y–yes, sir. I mean… do you need anything?"
He paused, then said smoothly, "Let's have dinner after visiting the production unit."
Her mind blanked. Dinner? With him?
A tiny smile tugged at her lips before she caught herself. Then a frown. Then both.
"Oh, screw it," she muttered under her breath. "Let the worst happen."
She straightened. "I'll grab a coffee break, sir. Would you like one?"
He shook his head.
"Right," she said, forcing a smile before walking out—her heart still pounding like a drum she couldn't silence.
---
A few hours later, Ye-seul sat tucked into her favorite corner of the café a cozy nook bathed in gold and coffee-brown hues, where the light seemed to melt like chocolate across every surface. The air smelled of espresso and soft jazz. Her fingers curled around a glass of iced Americano, condensation trailing lazily down to her hand as she waited for her soon-to-be tenant.
The doorbell chimed, a soft jingle that pulled her attention toward the entrance.
He walked in with an ease that made the air shift, calm, charismatic, like he carried his own rhythm.
He wore a cream knit shirt that clung just right, the sleeves pushed up carelessly to his forearms. Loose black trousers hung low on his hips, pooling around his worn white sneakers. A black beanie hugged his dark hair, a few strands falling out as he tilted his head back to take in the space — unhurried, quietly confident. Silver chains caught the café's golden light every time he moved. One hand slipped casually into his pocket, the other held a cup of iced coffee, droplets running down to his fingers.
Ye-seul's gaze traced him from head to toe before she even realized it. Not a single thing was out of place, effortless, like he'd just stepped out of a daydream.
When his eyes finally met hers, he smiled warm and easy, the kind that made a woman's heart stumble before catching itself again.
He approached with a small bow.
"May I?" His voice was deep, smooth, it lingered in the air even after he spoke.
"Please, sit," Ye-seul replied, returning the smile as she gestured to the seat opposite her.
"I'm sorry for dragging you out during work hours," Yun-ho said, settling into the chair with quiet grace.
She shook her head lightly. "It's fine. Besides, it's lunch time already."
"Ye-seul, right?"
"I'm glad you remembered," she said, her tone softer than she intended.
Yun-ho smiled again — that easy, disarming smile.
"So," she began, straightening a little, "about the house, I thought we could go over the paperwork first, then see the place when you're free. Or the other way around, depending on your schedule."
He waved a hand dismissively. "No need. If everything Ji-hye said about you is true, I'm sure the house will be perfect."
Ye-seul nearly laughed. "I appreciate your trust, but I'd still recommend you see it first."
She paused, then asked, "When would you be free?"
"Whenever you are," he replied easily, lifting his cup. "You seem busier than I am. May I?"
She nodded. "Of course, make yourself comfortable."
He took a sip, the motion deliberate and slow. "You're the landlord, after all. I'll follow your lead."
Ye-seul tapped her finger against the table thoughtfully. "Tomorrow at four?"
Yun-ho smiled. "I'll be there."
Just then, the waiter approached with a small plate of tiramisu.
"Oh, sorry," Ye-seul said quickly, "I think there's been a mistake, we didn't order anything."
"I did," Yun-ho replied before she could say more. "Ji-hye mentioned you love tiramisu." He smiled again. "Please, accept it."
Her cheeks betrayed her, blooming with warmth she couldn't quite hide.
He glanced at his watch and sighed softly. "I hate to cut this short, but I've got a meeting in ten minutes."
"Then go," she said, waving him off with a smile. "Wouldn't want you getting scolded."
He stood, bowing politely before heading toward the door. Ye-seul's gaze followed him until the last flicker of his shadow disappeared beyond the glass.
She let out a small sigh, a smile tugging at her lips.
"He's exactly my type," she murmured, picking up her fork to taste the tiramisu. The sweetness lingered, but it wasn't nearly as intoxicating as the memory of his smile.