The boardroom meeting dragged on, numbers and projections blurring into background noise. Hye-rin sat beside Joon-hyuk, jotting notes while pretending not to notice the way his arm brushed hers each time he turned a page.
She'd been quiet all morning — too quiet. Even her usual sharp replies had vanished, replaced by a calm that felt practiced. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.
When the meeting finally ended, the others filed out with polite bows. Joon-hyuk didn't move. "Stay," he said simply.
She froze halfway out of her chair. "Sir?"
He loosened his tie, eyes fixed on the empty seats across the table. "You've been distracted lately. Is something wrong?"
Her throat tightened. She'd promised herself she wouldn't let him see through her, not when the contract still hung between them like an invisible chain. "No. Just tired."
"Liar," he said softly.
Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He looked up then, and she caught the rare flicker of frustration — not the cold, CEO mask, but the man beneath it. "You think I can't tell when you're forcing a smile?"
Hye-rin exhaled slowly. "If you're worried I'll break the contract, don't be. I keep my promises."
"It's not about the damn contract," he snapped, then rubbed his temples, voice lowering. "Forget it. Go home early."
She blinked, startled by the edge in his tone — not anger, but worry poorly disguised as irritation. "Are you ordering me… or asking?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Both."
For the first time, she smiled — a small, teasing curve that made his composure falter. "Then I'll take it as an order, Mr. Lee."
As she turned to leave, Joon-hyuk leaned back, watching her go with a tightness in his chest he couldn't name.
Work was supposed to be simple. Contracts, schedules, control.
So why did one woman's silence feel heavier than an entire company's weight?