The invitation had been unavoidable. Not because it was polite, not because it was formal, but because it was staged in such a way that saying no would have been louder than showing up. By the time Claire realized that, Kangwoo was already outside her building, the black sedan idling at the curb like a shadow waiting to swallow her whole.
She slid into the backseat without speaking. The city's evening lights blurred past in streaks of gold and red, the quiet inside the car pressing against her ears. Kangwoo didn't look back, but she could feel his awareness, like he was cataloging every breath she took, measuring it against some unseen list.
The restaurant was nothing like she expected. Instead of the sweeping lobbies and crowded fine dining spaces she'd imagined, this was private, a glass-walled rooftop space with only a handful of tables, each set like its own island under pools of warm light. The skyline spilled in all directions, glittering, detached from the streets below.
Evan was already there. He stood at the far table, one hand resting on the back of a chair, speaking to a man whose presence radiated quiet authority. The kind of authority that didn't need to be announced, it was simply known.
Claire slowed her steps. She didn't need an introduction to understand the man was important. She also didn't need to like that she was part of whatever scene Evan had crafted here.
"Miss Yoo." Evan's voice cut through her thoughts as he turned toward her. His eyes flicked down once, taking in the absence of the necklace he'd sent, before returning to her face. "You're late."
"Traffic," she replied, though they both knew she had lingered on purpose.
He pulled out a chair. "Sit."
She did, the movement deliberate, her posture straight. The man across from her had silver hair, a well-cut suit, and eyes that missed nothing.
"This is Chairman Han," Evan said. "He's… an acquaintance."
Han's gaze moved over her with a subtle weight, like he was assessing not just who she was, but what she might be worth in a conversation like this. "Your father speaks highly of you," he said at last.
Claire's fingers tightened around the edge of her napkin. "My father has a selective memory."
Han's smile was thin, almost polite. "Selective memory can be useful in business."
The waiter arrived then, breaking the tension with the quiet clink of glasses and the faint aroma of seared meat. Claire let the sound fill the gap, using it to breathe, to think.
But as the first course was set down, she realized the conversation wasn't casual. Han asked about Yoo Industries, not in vague pleasantries, but with precise questions, the kind that required knowing the company's internal health. Evan answered smoothly, sliding in details that made it sound like their futures were already aligned.
Every word was a thread, weaving her into a picture she hadn't agreed to be part of.
Halfway through the meal, she caught Evan watching her, not in the casual way a man might watch a dinner companion, but in a way that felt like he was waiting for her to understand something.
She didn't give him the satisfaction.
Instead, she turned to Han. "If you've done business with my father, then you know I'm not a figurehead. If you want to speak about Yoo Industries, speak to me directly."
A flicker passed through Han's expression…surprise, then amusement. "I like a direct negotiator," he said. "Perhaps I've been speaking to the wrong person all along."
Evan's glass paused halfway to his lips, but his voice was even. "She's here tonight for exactly that reason."
Claire almost laughed. "No, I'm here because you decided I should be."
Han's brows lifted slightly, but his tone stayed pleasant. "Sometimes the right decisions are made for us."
Dinner moved on, but the balance at the table had shifted. She found herself holding ground she hadn't expected to be given, her words measured but firm. Evan let her speak more than she thought he would, though every so often she caught that watchful glint in his eyes.
By the time dessert was cleared, the air between them all was taut, the unspoken agreements heavier than the spoken ones. Han rose first, offering a brief nod. "I'll be in touch," he said to Evan, then to her, "Miss Yoo."
When he was gone, the rooftop felt larger, the hum of the city louder. Claire turned to Evan. "Was that the whole point of tonight? To parade me in front of him?"
Evan stood, buttoning his jacket. "It was to show him that you're not an easy mark. That you're worth aligning with."
"I could have done that without being dragged into one of your orchestrations."
His gaze caught hers, steady. "But you wouldn't have had the audience."
She hated that he was right. She hated even more the small, electric pulse of adrenaline that came from realizing she had matched them both tonight, on her terms.
Kangwoo appeared at the edge of the rooftop, ready to escort her back. Evan stepped closer, his voice low. "You handled yourself well. Don't waste it."
She met his eyes. "I don't waste anything."
For a moment, neither moved. The city wind shifted between them, carrying the scent of rain. Then she turned and walked toward the elevator, leaving him standing there under the rooftop lights.
In the car, she sat in silence, her reflection fractured in the window. Tonight had been a battle she hadn't prepared for, and somehow, she had still walked away without conceding ground.
But as the city slipped past, she knew one thing with sharp certainty. This wasn't the last dinner like that. And next time, the stakes would be higher.