Moving into his penthouse felt less like moving in and more like trespassing into a luxury magazine.
Everything was too white, too polished, too expensive to breathe near.
Hye-rin stood by the door, clutching her suitcase. "So… where exactly should I put my stuff? You know, the suitcase that doesn't match the furniture?"
Joon-hyuk didn't look up from his phone. "The guest room. Second door on the left."
She rolled her eyes. "Ah. How generous, considering I'm your fiancée."
He gave her a look — that classic, emotionless CEO glare — but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Don't get used to the title."
"Oh, trust me," she said, dragging her suitcase across the marble floor, "I couldn't even if I wanted to."
A few hours later, she was trying to make ramyeon in the ultra-modern kitchen that looked more like a science lab.
"Why does your stove have five buttons just to boil water?" she muttered.
Joon-hyuk appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up. "Because it's an induction range. Not a museum piece."
"Then why does it look like it should launch a satellite?" she shot back.
He sighed, stepping closer. "Move."
She froze as his arm brushed past hers, his hand steady on the control panel. His cologne — clean, sharp, him — filled her lungs. For a second, neither of them moved.
The stove beeped. She blinked. "See? You can't even cook without being dramatic."
He smirked faintly. "And you can't exist without chaos."
By the time she finally slurped her ramyeon at the counter, Joon-hyuk sat across from her — with his own bowl.
"Seriously?" she asked. "You, instant noodles?"
He shrugged. "It's edible."
She laughed. "You're unbelievable."
His gaze lingered on her longer than it should have. "You have no idea."
And suddenly, the apartment didn't feel quite so cold anymore.