Friday arrived with a sky the color of steel, the kind of morning that felt like it was holding its breath. Claire had barely slept, her mind chasing itself in circles until dawn broke pale over the city. She'd gone through three cups of coffee before noon, but the weight in her chest didn't lift. Every tick of the clock felt like a push toward something she wasn't ready for.
By the time Kangwoo arrived, she was already standing by the window, watching the city through a veil of clouds. The knock at the door was firm but not rushed. When she opened it, Kangwoo was there, posture straight, tie in place, the same controlled expression that made it impossible to tell whether he approved of her or not.
"Miss Yoo," he said, his voice smooth as ever. "The car is waiting."
She hesitated. Part of her wanted to make Evan wait for once, to prove that she could bend his schedule just as easily as he bent hers. But Kangwoo's steady gaze told her that defiance wouldn't end in her favor today. With a small exhale, she took her coat and followed him.
The ride to Evan's headquarters was silent, the streets slipping past in a blur of motion and neon reflections. Claire sat back against the leather seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had promised herself she wouldn't let Evan dictate her next move, yet here she was, being driven straight into his territory.
The building rose ahead of them…glass, steel, and shadow, cutting into the dull sky. Inside, the lobby was all marble and echo, a place that swallowed sound and replaced it with the quiet hum of money. She hated how quickly her steps matched the rhythm of the space, as if it was designed to train you to move at someone else's pace.
Kangwoo led her to the private elevator. Its mirrored walls fractured her reflection into fragments she didn't recognize. She counted the seconds, trying not to imagine Evan waiting above, ready with some carefully scripted move.
When the doors opened, the office stretched before her. sleek lines, cool lighting, a wall of windows that turned the skyline into a living backdrop. Evan was standing near the glass, his hands in his pockets, the city behind him like a silent army.
"You're on time," he said without turning.
"I wasn't planning to be," she replied, stepping inside, her tone sharper than she intended.
He faced her then, his expression unreadable. "Sit."
She didn't move. "You said today was important. So tell me, what is this about?"
He crossed to his desk, where a folder lay waiting, closed but positioned deliberately in the center. He slid it toward her.
Claire eyed it warily. "What's in there?"
"Answers," he said simply.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the folder before she pulled it closer. Inside were documents, contracts, transaction records, photographs. Her eyes stopped on one in particular: her father, shaking hands with the man from the rooftop.
The air in her lungs turned heavy. "You know him."
"I know a lot of people," Evan replied, but there was no denial in his tone.
She lifted her gaze to him. "Don't downplay this. He told me my father owes more than money."
"That's true," Evan said, without hesitation. "Your father is tied to agreements that could destroy him and by extension, you. That man intends to use you as leverage. The only way to keep him from doing it is to make sure you're not an easy target."
"And marrying you makes me less of one?" she asked, her voice tight with disbelief.
"In this case, yes," Evan said. "Because then he's not dealing with just Yoo Areum. He's dealing with me."
Her laugh was short, without humor. "So this is about control. You get to shield me while holding every card."
His eyes didn't waver. "If I hold the cards, it's because someone has to. And I don't lose games like this."
The certainty in his voice should have infuriated her. Instead, it sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine, because some part of her believed him.
She closed the folder and pushed it back across the desk. "And if I refuse?"
Evan's voice remained calm, but a steel thread ran through it. "Then you'll find out exactly how quickly he moves to take everything from you."
The silence that followed was taut, the kind that made every sound in the room sharper, the hum of the air system, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere beyond sight.
"Why me?" she asked finally. "Why not deal with him yourself?"
His gaze was steady, calculating. "Because you're the one he wants. That makes you the center of this, whether you like it or not."
The weight of his words settled over her like a stone.
"You have until tonight to decide," he added.
She searched his face for any sign that this was just another power play, but there was nothing, only that same unshakable certainty.
"I'm not agreeing to anything today," she said, her voice low.
"I'm not asking you to agree today," he replied. "I'm asking you to see the truth before it's too late."
She turned toward the door, each step deliberate. But his voice followed her, softer now.
"Areum," he said, and the way her name left his mouth made her pause without meaning to.
She looked back.
"When the storm breaks," he said, "you'll wish you were standing where I told you to."
The elevator ride down felt longer than the one up, even in silence. By the time she stepped back into the crisp air outside, she realized she was holding the folder tighter than she should have been, her knuckles pale.
That night, in her apartment, she poured herself a glass of wine she didn't drink. The city glittered outside, blind to the choices pressing in on her.
Her phone lay face-up on the table. No calls. No messages. Yet she could feel the weight of two men waiting, one for her decision, the other for her mistake.
And she knew, with a cold certainty, that she was running out of ways to keep from giving one of them exactly what he wanted.