Ji-Ah went to the kitchen after freshening up, hair still slightly damp, sleeves rolled casually.
Silence.
Too much silence.
"No Nisa… no Do-Hyun?" she murmured, glancing around.
She was still standing there, confused, when Ha-Joon walked in—already composed, coat draped over one arm.
"They went to work early," he said quietly. "A problem came up."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Oh… I see."
He added, almost as an afterthought, "You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you."
Her eyes widened just a little. "Ah—thank you, sir."
That… was unexpectedly considerate.
She cleared her throat. "What would you like for breakfast?"
"Something light," he replied.
She nodded and got to work.
Breakfast was simple and quick. No chaos. No burned pans. A small win.
After eating, Ji-Ah picked up her bag, tied her brown hair neatly back, fixed her blazer and skirt, and slipped into her shoes.
She crouched briefly to pat Earth, then Yuki.
"Be good," she whispered. "Guard the house."
They meowed like they understood.
She followed Ha-Joon outside.
The garage doors slid open.
Ji-Ah stopped dead.
"…Wow."
Inside were rows of cars, all immaculate:
A silver Mercedes-Benz S-Class
A matte gray Audi R8
A deep navy BMW 7Series
A white Range Rover
And, parked like it owned the place—
A black Porsche Panamera.
Her eyes locked onto it.
"That one," she said softly. "That's… beautiful."
Ha-Joon didn't comment. He simply walked to the Porsche and opened the driver's door.
"Get in."
She hurried over, eyes shining. "Oooh, so stylish."
The engine purred to life, smooth and powerful.
As they drove, Ji-Ah stared out the window, then spoke without thinking.
"One day," she said, "I want to raise enough money to buy something like this for my brother."
Ha-Joon's eyes stayed on the road.
"And for my sister too," she continued. "Although she is older."
He nodded once.
Didn't speak.
But he listened.
A few minutes later, the car slowed.
It stopped.
"Get out," he said.
She frowned. "Sir… this isn't the company."
"I know," he replied. "Walk from here."
She sighed dramatically but stepped out, smoothing her skirt.
The car pulled away smoothly, disappearing down the road.
Ji-Ah watched it go, hands on her hips.
"…Tyrant," she muttered.
Then she turned and walked toward work, already late in her thoughts if not in time.
Ji-Ah stepped into the company and headed straight for her floor.
Something was wrong.
Everyone was standing.
No typing, no chatter, no casual greetings. Just stiff backs, lowered voices, and eyes that quickly looked away.
The air itself felt tight—like it might snap.
Her chest tightened.
Then she saw him.
Do-Hea.
He walked toward her with an easy, infuriating smile, hands in his pockets as if he owned the place.
"Well, well," he said lightly. "If it isn't Ha-Joon's little shadow."
Ji-Ah ignored him and tried to walk past.
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
Her breath hitched. "Let go."
"If you walk away," he said calmly, leaning closer, "your boss pays for it. So be a good girl—follow me."
Her jaw clenched.
For a second, she considered making a scene.
But the eyes around them… the silence…
She swallowed. "…Fine."
He released her wrist only to grip her arm instead, steering her away.
He dragged her down a quieter corridor, past empty meeting rooms, until they reached a glass-walled conference room at the far end.
He pushed the door open and gestured inside.
"After you."
The door shut behind them.
Do-Hea leaned against the table, crossing his arms, his expression shifting—less mocking, more sharp.
"You hate him yet?" he asked casually.
Ji-Ah frowned. "What are you talking about?"
He laughed softly. "You really don't know anything, do you?"
She stayed silent.
He stepped closer.
"Ha-Joon didn't just take my position," Do-Hea said. "He stole it."
Her eyes flickered.
"He and I were supposed to run the subsidiary together. Equal shares. Equal say." He scoffed. "But when the numbers started rising, he rewrote the internal agreement. Overnight."
"That's not—" she started.
"He froze my access," Do-Hea continued smoothly. "Locked me out of company accounts, blamed missing funds on my department. Said I was reckless. Said I was a liability."
Ji-Ah's heart thumped.
"He smiled while the board voted me out," he added. "Did you know that? Didn't even defend me. Not once."
She searched his face for cracks. For exaggeration.
But his voice was steady.
Too steady.
"He ruined my reputation," Do-Hea said quietly. "No company will touch me now. All because I trusted him."
Ji-Ah shook her head. "That doesn't sound like him."
Do-Hea tilted his head. "Of course it doesn't. He's careful. Polished. He lets other people get their hands dirty."
She wanted to dismiss it.
She wanted to laugh.
But something twisted in her chest.
"He keeps people close when they're useful," Do-Hea went on, eyes narrowing. "And when they're not… he discards them."
His gaze dropped briefly to her wrist.
"You should be careful, Ji-Ah."
She pulled her hand back. "I don't believe you."
He smiled. "I didn't say you had to."
Then, softly, deliberately. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."
Ji-Ah stood there long after Do-Hea walked away.
Her mind felt loud.
How could Ha-Joon do that? Do-Hea was bad—everyone knew that.
Manipulative. Reckless.
Cruel, even.
So why would Ha-Joon… go that far?
She was still trying to piece it together when she heard quick footsteps approaching.
"Ji-Ah."
She turned.
Ha-Joon stood a few steps away.
For a split second, his brows were drawn together, concern clear and unguarded. Then his face settled back into its usual calm, controlled mask.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied quickly—too quickly.
He studied her, then asked evenly, "What did Do-Hea tell you?"
She hesitated, then summarized everything.
The rewritten agreement.
The frozen access.
The board vote. The betrayal.
When she finished, the hallway felt quieter than before.
Ha-Joon didn't react right away.
Then he asked one simple question.
"Do you believe him?"
Ji-Ah swallowed.
"I…" She exhaled slowly. "I don't know. I don't want to. But I also don't know why he'd lie like that. And you didn't deny it yet, so… I'm confused."
Her voice didn't accuse. It admitted.
Ha-Joon nodded once. "Fair."
He stepped closer—not looming, not rushed.
When he took her wrist, his grip was gentle, grounding, nothing forceful about it.
"Come," he said quietly. "I'll explain. Not here."
She looked down at his hand, then up at him.
"…Okay."
He released her wrist as soon as she moved forward on her own, walking beside her instead of ahead.
And somehow, that small detail eased the tight knot in her chest just a little.