Jung So-hee's gaze remained fixed on the glowing screen of his phone, the name [Yoon-ah đź’–]Â lit up like a target. Her expression was unreadable, but the intensity of her stare was a physical pressure.
Minhyuk's reaction was a clumsy fumble.
He jerked his wrist from her grip, simultaneously shoving the phone into his pocket with his other hand as if hiding contraband.
A laugh burst from him, too loud and hollow against the wind.
"Ms. Jung! What are you doing here?" he said, forcing his voice into a smooth, professional register that rang utterly false.
She finally lifted her eyes from his pocket to his face. She didn't answer immediately.
They held him there for a beat too long—a predator letting its prey feel the weight of the hunt.
Then her smile thawed, but it was a different kind of cold.
"Oppa," she purred, the title a deliberate, intimate bullet. "Didn't I say you shouldn't call me like that at work?"
She stepped closer, her hand coming up to loop through his arm.
He stiffened, his eyes darting around the empty rooftop. "Hey, we're at work. What if someone sees? And I told you, at work, it's Team Leader Ri and Ms. Jung."
He tried to gently pry her arm loose, but her grip was deceptively strong.
Jung So-hee let her lower lip push out in a practiced, playful pout. "Come on, Oppa… don't you care about how I feel?"
She released him suddenly, turning her back with a melodramatic sigh. "Fine. I won't call you anymore."
Panic flashed across his features—not fear of her, but fear of losing his grip on this convenient, exciting part of his life.
"Come on now, So-hee-ssi," he said, his voice dropping into the coaxing, velvet tone he used when he needed to soothe her. "You know how I care for you."
He reached for her, turning her back toward him. She let herself be maneuvered, a study in calculated reluctance.
As he drew her into his arms, his voice was a low rush against her ear. "It's not that I don't want to—you know that. I just… I can't risk things. Not here. Not now. I'm just a little… stressed. Work, and… other things."
Other things.
The unspoken words—Yoon-ah, the text, the guilt, the lie—hung between them.
She felt the shift in him. The distraction. The way his eyes had flickered toward his pocket where his phone lay.
A slow, dangerous smile touched her lips.
In one fluid motion, her hands came up, fisting in the crisp cotton of his dress shirt collar. She didn't push—she pulled. Dragging him down to her level until their breaths mingled.
The playful mask was gone, replaced by something hungry and possessive. "Let me help Oppa relieve some of that… tension," she purred, her breath ghosting over his lips.
His resistance crumbled. The warning in his eyes melted into something darker, hungrier. He leaned in—
Buzz. Buzz-buzz.
His phone vibrated insistently against his thigh.
Minhyuk jerked back as if burned, irritation flashing hot across his face. "What is it now?"
"Who is it?" she asked, her voice a study in faux innocence.
He yanked the phone out, his brow furrowed as he scanned the message. "Team notice," he grumbled. "Everyone needs to get back and prep. There's a briefing in twenty. For the new Hanyang Line project held by the new Director and CEO Kang."
Jung So-hee's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? Is the new Director taking over?" She tilted her head, a cat watching a mouse. "I thought Director Park Mari was handling that."
"She was," Minhyuk muttered, straightening his collar with sharp, annoyed tugs. "I heard they changed it this morning. The Vice President's direct order."
"I heard that too," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "From someone who works closely with Director Law's secretary. It seems the little heiress is being given a… very important test."
Minhyuk stared at her, the gears turning. Then, slowly, the hungry look returned—sharper now, edged with a new kind of anticipation.
He closed the distance she'd created, his hand coming to rest on the wall beside her head, caging her in.
"Maybe," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips, "So-hee-ssi can help me… relieve the tension later. After the boring briefing."
She met his eyes, her smile deepening. "Maybe."
With that unspoken promise hanging in the air, they straightened their clothes—a synchronized performance of composed professionalism.
Without another word, they turned and walked side-by-side back toward the elevator bank, two sharks swimming in formation through the corporate sea, their secrets tucked neatly behind polished smiles.
* * *
42 Floor, Han Departments, Conference Room...
The conference room felt different this time. Less like an interrogation chamber, more like a battlefield where I was supposed to be the general. I was the last to enter, a deliberate choice.
CEO Kang Minjae was already at the head of the table, sipping from a glass of water. He gave me a small, neutral nod as I walked in. "Director Law."
"CEO Kang," I returned, taking the seat to his right.
The others were already assembled. Team Leader Ko and Ms. Bae offered polite, "Good afternoon, Director," their expressions professionally blank. Team Leader Park and Assistant Manager Lee gave quick, nervous bows.
Then, the performance.
Team Leader Ri Minhyuk practically sprang from his chair, a polished smile plastered on his face, with Jung So-hee gliding a half-step behind him like a perfectly tailored shadow.
"Director Law! Good afternoon. I'm Team Leader Ri Minhyuk, head of Marketing for this project," he said, bowing just a little too deeply. "We met briefly during your introduction. And this is my key strategist, Ms. Jung."
'Look at this performing bastard,' I thought, my smile fixed in place. 'And the green tea girl, standing there looking so innocent and efficient.' It was nauseating.
"No need for introductions," I said, my voice cutting through his rehearsed warmth. I placed my portfolio on the table with a soft thud. "We have limited time. I need you to brief me on the current status. Let's begin."
His smile faltered for a microsecond, thrown by the lack of pleasantries. His eyes flicked to CEO Kang, seeking guidance or support.
Kang simply gave a slow, unsurprised blink, a silent 'you heard her.'
"O-Of course. Right this way," Minhyuk said, recovering swiftly and moving to the presentation terminal. Jung So-hee moved to the lights, and with a few clicks, the room dimmed to a theater-like gloom, the large screen at the end glowing to life.
Minhyuk's face shifted in the bluish light, the smarmy charm replaced by a sharp, professional focus. He was good at this part, I'd give him that.
"Esteemed directors, team leaders," he began, clicking to a sleek title slide:Â HANYANG GLOW: LAUNCH STRATEGY.
"This isn't just another product. This is Han Department Stores' first fully indigenous, luxury skincare line, designed to compete on the international stage from day one. The marketing vision reflects that ambition."
He walked them through a blizzard of data: billboard placements in Gangnam and Cheongdam, digital ad buys targeting top-tier lifestyle magazines, a teaser campaign timeline. It was dense, expensive, and visually impeccable.
"The cornerstone of our campaign," he said, his voice dropping into a reverent pitch reserved for unveiling the main attraction, "is our brand ambassador. She embodies the essence of Hanyang Glow—timeless elegance, profound depth, and irreproachable prestige."
He clicked the remote.
The next slide filled the screen.
It was a photograph of a woman in her early forties. She wasn't just beautiful; she possessed a staggering, serene authority.
High cheekbones, intelligent eyes that seemed to hold a universe of quiet sorrow, hair swept into a classic, elegant knot. She wore a simple hanbok-inspired jacket, and the image was more like a portrait than a promotional shot.
A subtle, collective shift occurred in the room. Team Leader Ko straightened in her chair. Ms. Bae's pencil stopped mid-note. Even the usually stoic CEO Kang's gaze sharpened. It was the silent recognition of a true icon.
I was the only one who didn't know why the air had changed. I just saw a stunning, actress.
Minhyuk, visibly proud of the effect, continued. "The face of Hanyang Glow will be none other than the esteemed actress Hong Soo-jin."
He let the name hang. "Though she has been focusing on theatrical work and her professorship at Korea National University of Arts in recent years, her legacy is untouchable.
Securing her exclusive endorsement is a coup that speaks to the inherent quality and prestige of our product."
The other department heads chimed in with their pieces—logistics were green-lit, production was on schedule, retail placements were secured. It was a symphony of readiness.
Finally, CEO Kang turned his head slightly toward me. "Director Law. You've seen the scope. What is your assessment?"
All eyes were on me in the dim light. I looked at the slide, at the serene, unknowing face of Hong Soo-jin.
I looked at the meticulous plans, a billion-won machine ready to roll. I looked at Minhyuk's expectant, proud face and Jung So-hee's placid, observant one.
Everything was perfect. On the surface.
My stomach was a knot of ice.
I nodded slowly, a picture of considered approval. "The presentation is comprehensive," I said, my voice even. "The foundation appears solid. For now, we proceed as planned. Continue the preparations."
A ripple of relief went through the team. Minhyuk's shoulders dropped a fraction. I had given no resistance.
"Meeting adjourned," I stated, gathering my things as the lights came up.
As people filed out, chatting in low tones, I lingered for a moment. My gaze drifted back to the now-blank screen where Hong Soo-jin's face had been.
'Well, everything seems okay...' I thought before moving and getting out of the room and walking to down the hallway, 'at least for now. I just have to get more information and manage it well. Since none of this were in the original drama, I have to take things slow and careful.'
* * *
CEO Han's Office
A sharp knock echoed through the quiet office.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Secretary Lee entered, a precise stack of documents balanced in her arms. Her steps were as measured as ever, but the faint shadows under her eyes were a little more pronounced today. She approached his desk.
"I have the preliminary files on the Hanyang Line project you requested, Sir."
Han Eun-woo looked up from the merger proposal he was dissecting. He gave a curt nod, setting his pen down and retrieving his reading glasses from their case. "Thank you."
He took the folder from her, his fingers brushing the edge of the report as she released it. Opening it, he began to scan the dense columns of figures and contractual summaries, his brow furrowing slightly behind the lenses.
She stood before his desk, waiting for dismissal, but a quiet curiosity held her in place. After a moment, she spoke, her voice softer than her usual professional tone.
"Sir, if I may ask... why the sudden interest in this project? You don't typically involve yourself in CEO Kang's subsidiary operations."
He didn't look up, his eyes still tracking the lines of a supplier agreement. "You know this project was my cousin Mari's before she was reassigned to make way for the Law heiress."
He turned a page, his tone analytical. "Knowing my uncle, I'm simply assessing if handing a project of this scale to my fiancée is a genuine gesture or something else entirely."
"I see," she murmured, the words almost lost in the vast room.
He finished scanning the page and set the paper down with a soft tap.
Finally, he looked up, his gaze traveling past the documents to her face.
He saw it then—the careful mask of professionalism, but beneath it, a quiet exhaustion, a faint strain around her eyes that hadn't been there a week ago.
It was the same look she got when she'd missed the last piece of her favorite limited-edition tiramisu at the cafe downstairs.
His analytical expression shifted, softened by a fraction of concern. "Are you okay?"
She blinked, momentarily thrown. "What do you mean, Sir?"
"That face," he said, his voice lower, losing some of its boardroom edge. "You've worked for me for four years already; I know a certain expression you make, like the one you make when you've missed the last sale on those strawberry chiffon cakes you like. Or when your favorite drama gets preempted by a baseball game. So... what's wrong now?"
A faint, surprised flush touched her cheeks at the specific, oddly personal observation. She looked down, clasping her hands in front of her. "It's nothing, Sir. Just... a little tired lately. That's all."
He studied her for a long moment, the silence stretching but not uncomfortably so. "You should take things slow," he said finally, the words deliberate. "Delegate what you can. Don't overexert yourself."
She met his gaze again, a small, genuine smile touching her lips this time. "Thank you, Sir. I will."
With a final, respectful bow, she turned and left the office, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
Han Eun-Woo's eyes followed her path until the door closed.
He remained still for a beat, the uncharacteristically personal exchange hanging in the air, before he slowly removed his glasses and returned his attention to the Hanyang Line file, his thoughts noticeably divided.
Outside, in the hushed sanctuary of the executive hallway, Lee Yoon-ah leaned back against the closed door.
She let out a slow, shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The weight of Minhyuk's silent phone, the memory of the love hotel's Wi-Fi, the strange kindness in the CEO's eyes—it all swirled into a dizzying ache in her chest.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a violent intrusion into the quiet.
She pulled it out, the screen's light harsh against her face.
The notification was from a contact saved asÂ ě•„ëą (Dad).
Message: [I'm near your workplace.]
The simple sentence landed like a stone in her stomach, all other worries momentarily eclipsed by a different, older kind of dread.