"Why were you at Yeoun Café again?"
Lee Joon-hyuk's voice cut through the quiet like a scalpel. Too casual. Too controlled.
Hye-rin didn't even glance up from her screen. "Because they sell coffee. You know, that brown drink people use to survive Mondays."
His jaw twitched. "You were with Choi Min-jae."
She looked up, tired and unimpressed. "So now my caffeine habits are your business too?"
"You're my secretary," he said coolly. "You represent this company. Your actions reflect on me."
She crossed her arms. "Sure. Let's call it that. Not jealousy."
A flicker of color rose to his ears, the only betrayal of emotion he allowed. "Don't flatter yourself."
She gave him a mock smile. "You're the one keeping track of my coffee schedule, sir."
For a heartbeat, neither moved — the air between them charged, like an unspoken argument they'd been having for years.
Then his phone buzzed, breaking the tension. Hye-rin turned away quickly, hiding her own phone screen as a text flashed:
> Mom: They came again today. Said if we don't pay by the 15th, they'll take the house. I didn't tell your father yet.
Her chest clenched. The house. The one her father had used as collateral after Min-su's accident. She shoved the phone back in her bag before her expression could betray her.
"Are we done here?" she asked tightly.
Joon-hyuk studied her for a moment — the stiffness in her shoulders, the faint tremor in her hands — but said nothing. "Yes. For now."
She nodded, turning toward the door.
"Miss Kang," he said just as she reached it.
She paused.
His voice was quieter this time. "You look… tired."
Her heart stuttered, but she didn't turn around. "Goodnight, Mr. Lee."
When she left, he stared at the closed door for a long time, wondering why her silence felt heavier than all the noise in his life.