#juji

CUTIEPIE HELLOOO

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Warning: Explicit content (18+). Mature themes. Consent-focused. Age Gap.

The fifth floor of Hansang Corporate was unusually loud today. Laughter echoed from the CEO’s side of the office, a clear contrast to his usual quiet, quiet mornings. You tried not to pay it any mind as you balanced a small stack of freshly printed scripts in one hand and your iced americano in the other.

“Just drop the files and leave,” you muttered under your breath. You had made it through the entire day without a single charged encounter. A clean streak. No pinky grazes. No mic check disasters. No accidental sniffing of his cologne like a lunatic.

You turned the corner toward his corner desk—and paused.

There he was.

Not Ji-hoon. The man sitting casually across from him, lounging in Ji-hoon’s chair like he owned the place, was devastatingly handsome. Tousled dark hair, bright amused eyes, and an obnoxiously charming grin that looked like it had ruined many people before you. He was wearing an expensive leather jacket and some sort of watch that screamed "not a nine-to-five guy."

Ji-hoon sat beside him, expression unreadable. One arm draped over the chair’s backrest, thumb lazily tapping against the leather, eyes trained—on you.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir.” You didn’t dare to look up. “Mr. Daehyun asked me to drop these files for you to look over and consider future projects,” you said blandly, placing the file on Ji-hoon’s table.

The stranger sat up straight, brightening. “And who might you be?” he asked smoothly. “His secretary? PR team? Or just someone criminally pretty roaming around?”

You blinked. Oh. Oh no.

Ji-hoon didn’t say a word.

“None of the above, sir.” You replied, eyebrows raised. “Just a random someone who tries to manage and organize things in order for our company's convenience.”

“Oooh,” the stranger leaned forward, extending a hand. “Then I’m speaking to a very important woman. I’m Joon-seok, by the way. Long-suffering friend of Mr. Doberman over here.” How fitting.

“Y/N,” you replied hesitantly, shaking his hand. He held it just a second too long.

Ji-hoon still said nothing. Just sipped from his coffee, gaze never leaving the two of you.

“You know,” Joon-seok continued, “it’s shocking no one’s ever mentioned you before. Ji-hoon always talks about work, but leaves out the part where someone like you is in the building.”

You gave a polite laugh, unsure how to navigate this. “Well. I’m usually hiding behind mood boards and production schedules.”

Joon-seok leaned even closer. “Well, maybe I’ll start attending collaboration meetings more often.”

Your smile was strained now. Before you could retreat with dignity intact, Ji-hoon finally spoke.

“She doesn’t have time for distractions,” he said, voice cool. “She’s got a double conference coordination tomorrow and three briefs to finish.”

Something about the way Joon-seok’s eyes tracked your every expression was both flattering and exhausting. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, clutching the edge of the file folder like it might deflect the intensity of his gaze.

“Do you have lunch plans tomorrow?” he asked, his voice casual but unmistakably suggestive. Completely ignoring his friend's comment.

You blinked. “I am sorry?” You looked at Ji-hoon for help. Unfortunately he was looking at his coffee cup with strange fascination.

He grinned. “Yeah. I know a place near Cheongdam-dong. Great bulgogi. Even better company.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Ji-hoon’s fingers still on his coffee cup. Not moving. Not sipping. Just... gripped.

You gave a tight smile. “I usually eat at my desk.”

“Tragic. Beautiful women shouldn’t have to dine beside keyboards.” Joon-seok’s voice lowered just a bit. “You deserve better.”

You let out a breathy laugh, more out of nerves than anything else. “I should get back. These briefing notes won’t revise themselves.”

“Pity,” Joon-seok said, leaning back. “Don’t disappear too fast.”

You gave Ji-hoon another brief glance—still unreadable. No help there.

With a polite nod, you turned and walked away, heels echoing against the tile floor. “Enjoy your coffee,” you muttered, briskly walking back to your desk, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

The moment your figure disappeared around the corner, Joon-seok let out a low chuckle and turned to Ji-hoon. “Seriously, hyung. Where the hell have your agency been hiding her?”

Ji-hoon didn’t respond. His jaw was tight.

Joon-seok nudged him with an elbow. “She’s got this... understated kind of hot. Like, she doesn’t even realize how pretty she is.”

Ji-hoon said nothing. Just stared at the untouched file on his desk.

Another nudge. “Come on. I’m serious. Set me up. She single?”

A flicker of something dangerous moved through Ji-hoon’s eyes, but his voice remained even.

“I don’t know.”

“Pfft. Liar.” Joon-seok grinned. “You always know everything. Give me her number.”

Still nothing.

Ji-hoon slowly turned his head to look at his friend, the kind of slow, measured turn that in drama scripts usually meant something would get broken soon.

Joon-seok laughed nervously, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Damn. Calm down.”

But Ji-hoon wasn’t calm. Not inside.

She laughed at his stupid lines.

He touched her hand—did she even notice?

Why didn’t you say anything, idiot? Why didn’t you tell him to back off?

He stared at the place you’d just been standing, feeling the dull throb of a headache behind his temples. Not because of Joon-seok’s flirting. That was expected. The guy flirted with plants if they looked at him funny.

It was your reaction.

The shy smile. The way your fingers curled slightly when you laughed. The way you didn’t pull away.

He closed his eyes briefly. Let out a slow breath.

You were allowed to talk to people. Of course you were. You weren’t his. Not technically. Not publicly.

But still—

The idea of you sitting across from Joon-seok in some dimly lit restaurant made his stomach twist. You’d laugh like that again. Lean forward on your elbows. Maybe tell him things you hadn't even told Ji-hoon.

That thought? Unacceptable.

But he didn’t show it. He never did. Instead, he turned back to his monitor and clicked the mouse once. Twice. Didn’t even see what he was opening.

He didn’t even blink.

He’d already made up his mind.

Everyone had clocked out. Even Daehyun had finished his fourth round of goodbyes. The office lights dimmed one by one, and you were the last to head toward the elevator, bag slung over your shoulder, phone buzzing in your hand.

A new message.

CEO Mr. Ju Ji Hoon Get in the car. Now.

You froze.

Another message popped in right after:

Basement. Black SUV. Don’t make me text again.

Your stomach flipped.

You walked into the garage cautiously. It was dimly lit, the concrete walls echoing every footstep and every engine hum heading toward the exit. Your heels clicked steadily toward the stairwell, phone still in hand from the text that stopped you cold just a moment ago.

There it was. A sleek black SUV sat idling just a few steps ahead, dark and waiting like a predator in plain sight. Through the tinted glass, you could see him—Ju Ji-hoon. Driver’s seat. One hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other tapping against his thigh. Sunglasses off. Jaw tight. That unreadable expression of his in full view.

He didn’t wave. Just unlocked the door with a click.

You paused. Just for a second. Long enough for your heart to trip over itself.

Then, without a word, you opened the passenger door and got in.

The door shut with a muted thud. Inside the car, silence. No music. No words. Just the thick, heady mix of leather and his cologne—sharp, clean, infuriatingly familiar.

He didn’t start the car. He just sat there, staring out the windshield, jaw tense.

“You texted, sir, ” you finally said.

“I did.”

“Is this about the files?”

“No.”

You looked at him. He wasn’t meeting your eyes. His knuckles were tight around the steering wheel. His profile was sharp, unreadable, just like earlier.

“Joon-seok’s cute,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Charming. Funny. Knows how to hold a conversation. You looked like you were enjoying it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Pardon me. But, are you… jealous?”

That made him look at you. A sharp turn of his head, eyes flashing dark and unreadable.

“I don’t get jealous,” he said flatly. “I get… territorial.”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t look at you. Just spoke, low and clear.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

You blinked. “No, I—”

“Don’t lie.” Calm, almost casual—but each word cut like a blade. “You’ve been dodging me since that night.”

You exhaled shakily. “I just… I didn’t think it was appropriate. I thought it was a one-time thing. I didn’t want to be a bother.”

Ji-hoon let out a sharp laugh. Bitter. “A bother? That’s what you think this is?”

You shifted awkwardly, eyes down, fingers nervously playing with the strap of your bag. “You didn’t say anything afterward. I didn’t know what you wanted. I figured it’d be easier if we just—”

“You literally act like a ghost in the office when you see me,” he interrupted. “You don’t just disappear. You run. Don’t even look back.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. A silent beat passed between you.

“I thought keeping my distance would help us keep things… professional,” you said finally.

Before you could reply, he leaned closer, one hand resting on the headrest behind you, voice low and steady.

“Don’t flirt with people in front of me,” he said. “Even if it’s by accident. Even if you think I don’t care.”

Your heartbeat was a full-blown drumline in your chest. You tried to form words, but your brain short-circuited somewhere between territorial and the way his voice dipped on the word me.

“I didn’t flirt,” you finally said, your voice embarrassingly small.

He tilted his head. “Didn’t look like it.”

Silence hung in the car like a held breath.

“You done?” you asked, lips dry.

He stared at you for a beat longer.

“No,” he said. "Far from it."

He leaned across the console so fast you barely registered it. A firm hand cradled the back of your neck. His lips crashed onto yours, hot and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs. There was no hesitation. No question. Just weeks’ worth of pent-up tension exploding in one sudden, searing kiss.

You gasped, hands grabbing at his shirt, your body reacting before your brain could.

His mouth was relentless, bruising, possessive, tasting like frustration and something far deeper than either of you could name. His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer across the console as if to erase the space between you entirely.

When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse, wrecked. “You think I forgot that night? You think I could touch you like that and walk away like nothing happened?”

Your only response was to kiss him again—this time slower, but just as desperate. Like it hurt to breathe otherwise.

He groaned low against your lips, then pressed kisses along your jawline and down the soft curve of your neck. Your head tipped back, mouth parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“Say it,” he murmured against your skin.

“Say what?” you whispered, barely coherent.

“That you haven’t stopped thinking about me. About how I touched you.”

You closed your eyes, his breath making you tremble.

“I haven’t,” you confessed.

His hand slid under your blouse, fingers tracing the skin at your waist, grazing just enough to make your pulse spike. “Good,” he said darkly. “Because neither have I.”

His mouth was back on yours—hotter, hungrier.

You were vaguely aware of the windows fogging up, the cool garage air nowhere near enough to cut through the heat blooming inside the car. His touch was demanding, purposeful, fingers pressing into the softness of your thigh as you straddled the blurred line between reason and raw want.

And just before your brain could scream we shouldn't, his voice rasped into your ear—

“This wasn’t a one-time thing. It never was. It won’t be.”

You believed him.

And you kissed him again.

Back at Ji-hoon’s apartment, the city sprawled behind floor-to-ceiling windows, aglow in amber and steel blue. Rain streaked faintly across the glass, a quiet rhythm behind the storm you both brought in with you.

The car ride was torturous. None of you spoke. Heavy tension keeping you both company throughout the journey.

Ji-hoon wasted no time. He closed the door with a soft click—no words, no polite pretense. The polished stoic facade vanished. What remained was the man who had kissed you breathless, who had just stared at you in the garage like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.

His eyes found yours in the dim light. You were still catching your breath, your lips a little swollen from everything that had just happened.

“All this time, you've avoided me. It's fine.” he said quietly, approaching. “Don’t do that again.”

You nodded before you could speak. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

“Come here.”

He reached for your hand and brought you into his bedroom with that same quiet certainty that had made you melt in his car. His movements were unhurried, but charged. Like he’d waited weeks for this and wasn’t going to waste a second.

The bed behind you was neatly made—dark gray sheets, immaculate, like everything else in his home. But that restraint didn’t reach his eyes.

“You looked incredible today,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “That blouse drove me insane.”

You blinked, breath catching as he reached for the silk ties folded neatly on the dresser. They weren’t there by accident. He had wanted this.

“Tonight, I want you to surrender. No pretending. Nothing. Just trust me.”

You inhaled shakily. Then nodded.

With reverent precision, Ji-hoon guided you to sit on the bed and wrapped your wrists with the silk—soft, firm, the knots tied like he’d done this before. But his touch was careful, always checking your eyes.

“Too tight?”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s perfect.”

“Look at me,” he said.

You lifted your chin. Your dark doe eyes found his—and stayed there.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

Your lips parted. “I’m yours.”

A low growl caught in his throat as he kissed you—slow, deep, claiming. His hand traced your jawline, then lower, fingers moving down the elegant tie of your blouse. He toyed with the bow, fingers brushing the curve of your breast through the fabric, eyes drinking you in.

“You know I felt like a goddamn animal when you walked into my office earlier,” he muttered. “This little knot keeping you covered like a tease—”

And with one swift tug, the bow unraveled. The blouse fell open. You were bare to him.

His hands slid up your sides, thumbs grazing the curves of your breasts before his mouth followed. His tongue circled your nipple, slow, sensual. You arched into him, restrained wrists tightening slightly as your breath caught.

“You like when I suck your breasts,” he murmured against your skin. "Don't you?"

You nodded, barely able to speak. Your whines were more than enough for confirmation.

He flicked his tongue again, teasing, then sucked harder, making you whimper.

“Beg for more.”

You squirmed. You were too dazed to listen to anything.

And he stopped. You opened your eyes to meet icy stern glare staring right back at you.

"Beg." He was firm and clear.

“Please… Ji-hoon, don’t stop.” Your eyes were barely open, it seemed crazy to you how much you wanted this.

“Good girl.”

You’d never heard those words sound like that—like a reward and a warning.

He kissed his way down your torso, then back up again, never letting your gaze stray from his. Every touch was deliberate. Every command was soft, but undeniable. The silk restraints gave you no room to hide—and you didn’t want to.

It was overwhelming: his hands, his mouth, the low groans he made when you moaned for him.

Your body felt like silk drawn taut—every nerve tuned to him, every breath thick with anticipation.

Ji-hoon didn’t rush. His hands moved with a reverence that undid you more than anything else—fingertips ghosting over your waist, the dip of your hips, the curve beneath your ribs. You gasped when he lowered his mouth again, teasing a trail of heat and hunger, pressing kisses like confessions down your skin.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice gravel low. His thumb brushed just above your navel as if testing your restraint. “Still so shy, even now?”

You shook your head, but he caught your chin gently between his fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Don't look away."

There was no teasing this time. Only command. Worship. Possession.

His mouth was warm and relentless as he worshipped every inch of your skin. You arched instinctively, wrists still soft-bound above your head, unable to control how much you wanted him—how badly you ached. And he knew. Every moan, every shift of your hips, only deepened the tension between your bodies.

Ji-hoon hovered over you, his body powerful and steady. His breath mingled with yours. You felt his restraint unraveling as much as your own.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “I want to hear it from you.”

“I want you,” you breathed, chest heaving, back arched. “All of you.”

His eyes darkened, and then—finally—he moved against you. You were no longer sure where his body ended and yours began. Every thrust of pressure, every friction and pull, ignited fireworks under your skin. You cried out, helpless, and he silenced it with his mouth—hungry, claiming, unrelenting.

He guided the rhythm between you with his hands and voice, never letting you drift too far, always pulling you back to him with words like:

“Good girl.”

“Right there.”

“Mine.”

And you were. Entirely.

The tension built and built, a tide you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. Your body tightened, arched, reached for something just beyond—and when you found it, it felt like surrender, like freedom, like everything you'd held back pouring out in one trembling wave.

Ji-hoon was close behind, voice rasping your name like a prayer. He gripped you through it, holding your wrists, your waist, his forehead pressed to yours as he came undone—quietly, fiercely, beautifully.

Afterward, there was only breath. The hum of skin on skin. His lips on your temple. Your wrists finally unbound, held in his hands like they were fragile things.

Before you could process the surge of emotions and pleasure you just experienced, you felt a warm cloth between your legs; his hand steady as he cleaned you gently, then pulled the blankets up, curling around you protectively. You didn’t know where your body ended and his began, and you didn’t want to.

Ji-hoon didn’t leave you alone for a second. He eased you back into the pillows, kissed your forehead, and brushed the damp strands of hair from your face. His body pressed beside yours, warm and real.

His hand never stopped tracing circles against your spine.

From the nightstand, he picked up a plate of chilled mango slices—sweet, perfectly ripe. He fed you a piece gently, letting you chew slowly as he rubbed your back with lazy affection.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “You’re mine. You always were.” he murmured. You could feel the sincerity in his voice. It was different this time.

You nodded, dazed.

“I’m yours,” you said again, quieter this time. More real.

His gaze held yours. “Forever.”

And for once, you didn’t flinch at the word.

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You told yourself it was a one-time thing. At least that what you wanted to believe when you did not see the man you spent the night with a few days back. It honestly baffled you how much let this one-time rendezvous affect you, because of course, it was definitely not the same for him.

For him, curiosity. A sugar-coated desire. A fleeting period of excitement that he could twirl around with his eyes alone.

For you, a moment of weakness. A lapse in judgment wrapped in silk sheets and the scent of his cologne.

That was what you thought, and what you preferred to believe. And being the self-critic person, you were, you kept judging and chiding yourself with internal insults of stupidity and unprofessionalism.

Unfortunately, judgment had no place in the open-plan fifth floor of Hansang Corporate and Ltd.

Especially not when Assistant Manager Daehyun was obsessed with "workplace synergy" and kept insisting you be present at every meeting with Ju Ji-hoon.

“Your energy balances him,” Daehyun whispered one afternoon, as if Ji-hoon were a delicate cactus that bloomed only in your presence. You look dumbfounded at the man. It made no sense a man, wise as he his—the small strand of grey hair gave away that at least—actually bought that. A grown-ass man from another grown-ass man.

What in the yin and yang is he even saying?

“Right,” you muttered, eyes trained on your screen.

Please please please no. Please just no. Please.

From the opposite desk, Miyeon popped her head up like a meerkat. “Did you just say ‘balance’? As in... soulmates. WORK PLACE SOULMATES?”

“No one said soulmates!” you hissed. Miyeon shot you a playful glare to which you quickly replied with a sorry.

Seung-ho swiveled in his chair, the peppero sticks long replaced by now a gummy bear packet. “But if you were soulmates, he’d totally be the stern, brooding male lead in a weekday drama. You’d be the sarcastic but soft-hearted intern. But it’ll be so controversial because he’s so old, and not to mention the CEO.”

“I’m not an intern anymore,” you said dryly. You didn’t like the way he called Ji-hoon old. He was far from being what his age put him out to be.

“Okay, intern Y/N,” Seung-ho sprinted as soon as he said, because knew his head would be under a headlock if he didn’t do so. You racked your brain for different excuses, anything that would allow to to stay out of his proximity.

And yet—Intern Kangjae chose that moment to skip over with a portfolio and a sticky note stuck to his forehead. “Hey Y/N, Mr.Ju said he needs to at the conference room downstairs. He said it was urgent.” He pointed to the pink note barely stuck to his forehead that read ‘Urgent, Now.’

You blinked. Curt. Short. Demanding. How typical of him. “Did he say what it’s about?”

Kangjae grinned. “He said, and I quote, ‘She’ll know.’”

Seung-ho and Miyeon burst into synchronized screams.

“I AM WORKING!” you announced, grabbing your tablet and storming out.

The office elevator was unusually crowded. Some interns, some team leaders and some new faces you did not recognize. You squeezed in last—and somehow ended up beside him.

How ironic.

Ji-hoon didn’t speak. Just stared straight ahead, arms crossed. His cologne curled into your nose like a challenge. It was a cruel reminder of the night that you both spent together a few days back.

Then his pinky grazed yours.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look at you, but his finger stayed. Pressed gently, knowingly, against yours. Barely noticeable to anyone else.

Your ears flushed.

A soft ding, and the doors opened.

He walked out without a word, leaving you dazed in a bubble of heat and tension.

And it wasn’t the only time that this happened. You were adjusting the office's weekly mood board when Daehyun called you over.

“Can you check Ji-hoon’s desktop mic? He can't attend the international meeting session unless it's fixed.”

“Sir, I am afraid I wouldn’t know. I’m not a sound tech.”

“But you’re the only one he doesn’t glare at,” Daehyun said, already walking away. "Please his mood swings are driving me crazy. It is essential we cater to his needs so he can focus on get into his drill.”

Inside the cabin Ji-hoon sat lazily against his chair as if he were eagerly waiting for your presence. His tie was already loosened with sone buttons undone around his neck. His gaze lifted as you entered—slow, amused.

“My mic’s misbehaving,” he said, deadpan. It was if he were talking something or someone completely unrelated to the closed wall of the studio that held you both. As if he was accusing you of misbehaving.

Your gaze instantly drifted down to your feet at his voice, almost instinctively. And you cursed yourself for feeling all fuzzy at his voice alone. The work had to be done nonetheless, so you crouched beside him on eye level, fingers fumbling at the tiny device clipped near his collarbone. Face only inches apart.

His skin was warm. Too warm.

He leaned down, whispering, “I like when you touch me like this.”

You froze.

Daehyun walked in. “All good?” You thanked all the seven heavens, it was as if the skies had finally heard your silent pleas.

You sprang back like you’d been electrocuted. “Yes! Mic’s perfect. Fantastic audio. Loud and clear!” So loud that your heart might just leap out of your ribs.

You were working late when Ji-hoon appeared beside your desk, a half-empty Americano in hand.

Oh god, not this again.

Previously, you had successfully dodged the older man four times already. Okay maybe thrice.

Fine. Twice. Ugh, one. One. And that one barely counts because you hid in the women’s restroom for fifteen minutes while pretending to be on a call with “Accounts.”

First attempt was when you fake-coughed and told Daehyun you were feeling “a bit warm” and didn’t want to risk a viral outbreak in the creative department. Daehyun, ever the hypochondriac who started imagining how you might just spread the germs to his prized team members, let you slip away faster than a rat from a flood.

Second attempt, you offered to “deliver documents” to the PR team on the third floor right when Ji-hoon walked into the lobby. You even took the stairs. Two flights. In heels. Your knees still hadn’t forgiven you.

Third one, you claimed you were fasting. He offered you a protein bar and water with a straight face. You almost choked trying to explain that it was a mental detox fast, the kind where you only drink things that are green and smell like regret. Yeah you completely made that up. He just tilted his head and said, “Even during meetings?” You wanted to throw your stapler at him. And maybe the protein bar too.

And the fourth attempt? You ruined it yourself. Because you wanted to see if he’d notice your absence. Spoiler alert: He did. He noticed immediately.

“Where’s the newbie?” he had asked, during a full-room campaign briefing.

“Probably with PR, sir,” Daehyun had replied.

“She’s not,” Ji-hoon said simply, without even checking his phone. “Her schedule’s clear. She should be here.”

The room went dead silent. Seung-ho dropped his pen. Miyeon mouthed “WTF” so dramatically you saw the consonants form in real time.

You were called back into the meeting within five minutes. He didn’t look at you when you entered, but the faint twitch of his jaw muscle said enough. And then, to top it off, the web development team also specifically requested his presence for a presentation in regards to discuss about setting up the next product launch. And the meeting was scheduled exactly 15 minutes after the prior.

Which is why he was now here. And you were cornered. Again. Nonetheless, you would still like to credit yourself for three almost successful attempts.

“No one’s here,” you said without looking up. The conference room was already deserted within five minutes of the meeting ending.

“Except you,” he replied.

You pointedly kept your eyes on your laptop. “You need something?” A pause. "Sir?"

He leaned down, voice low. “I think you know what I need.”

Your typing stuttered.

He slid his tablet beside yours. “They’ve added another reviewal on Thursday. Can you update the timeline?”

You nodded stiffly.

Oh, he needed this. To update his schedule.

He moved closer.

Too close.

You could feel the heat from his chest behind you, his breath ghosting across your neck as he pointed to a date on your screen.

“Your hands are shaking,” he murmured, his tone all-knowing and mocking. “I wonder why.”

You pushed back your chair. “It’s cold.” The Air conditioner taunted your lie with 27°C gleaming in neon yellow. You made the mistake of trying to clear your throat mid-sentence, which only made it sound like you were choking on your own dignity.

“It’s cold.” You stumbled over the words a second time, punctuating them with a weak, almost comedic cough. “I mean—I’m cold. Me. Myself. The person here is cold.”

God. Why did your mouth betray you like this?

He smiled, clearly not buying it. “Right.”

Ji-hoon didn’t say anything after that, but his lips twitched — the faintest hint of amusement lurking at the edge of his otherwise unreadable face. He leaned just a little closer. “Should I get you a blanket?”

You swore your soul briefly left your body.

Certainly! Here's a rewritten version of that scene with smoother flow and vivid tone:

At lunch the next day, Miyeon slapped a glossy magazine down onto the break room table like it owed her money. On the cover, front and center, was him — Ji-hoon, sharp-jawed and devastating in a tailored charcoal suit, eyes locked with the camera like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Seriously,” Miyeon groaned dramatically, fanning herself with the magazine. “If he ever looked at me like this in real life, I’d explode on the spot.”

She wiped imaginary lint off the cover as if the man himself might feel it through the page.

The headline in bold serif font read: “Top 10 Faces of Korea’s Business Elite” And honestly, no one — not a single soul in South Korea — could’ve been a better choice than him.

“He looks at everyone like that,” you said quickly. "He's known for being nice and friendly to everyone."

“Not at you,” Jiwon said, munching on tteokbokki. “He’s weirdly... polite with you. Like, intense polite. Like Jane Austen polite.” She paused thinking. “You know what I am trying to say?”

“Why are you all obsessed with this?” you groaned. It seemed like everyone was hell bent against your mission of keeping Ji-hoon off your mind.

“Dude, it’s him? Ju Ji-Hoon, the CEO, our boss's BOSS, hello?” Seung-ho said in a sing-song voice which pissed you off even more because darn he was right. Anyone would be obsessed on trying to get on his good side. Anyone would die to be around this man.

Minseo leaned in, wide-eyed. “Is it true he requested you personally for the next briefing?”

You blinked. “What?” Absolutely clueless. This was news to you.

“He said your name in a meeting,” Minseo whispered. “Your full name. Slowly. It was kind of hot.”

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Warning: Explicit content (18+). Mature themes. BDSM x vanilla undertone. Consent-focused. Age Gap. Sweet aftercare included.

When you made your way out of the venue, bidding your colleagues and superiors goodbye, you saw him; poised as ever, waiting inside his car by himself. He knew.

Oh, he knew so well that you’d give in.

You waited a little bit more for the crowd to disintegrate, before slowly and carefully nearing his car. A soft knock at the tinted windows which seemed to drop at cue before you could place a second one.

“Hey,” He said softly, as if he were trying to lure you into his world. But the funny part is, he didn’t even need to try.

“Hey,” Your voice cracked, the embarrassment and uncertainty clearly visible in your tone. That earned a soft chuckle from the older man who sat in the driver seat, crouching over to open the door for you to be his passenger princess for the night.

This was dangerous. This was wrong in so many ways. But it’s too late, too far to back out now that you were here. You wanted to know, see, everything. Everything.

His apartment was dimly lit. It was spacious but not too much. Minimal but enough. Perfectly balanced, just like him.

Not cold or clinical like you expected. No sterile leather or strange hooks. Just warm wood floors, heavy curtains, and the scent of something that felt warm, and something darker—something like him.

You stood near the doorway, your breath trembling.

“You can still leave,” Ji-hoon said quietly.

You looked at him. Broad-shouldered. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the smooth plane of his chest, veins slightly visible at his forearms. Forty-five. Quiet. Certain.

But his eyes held stillness. Waiting. Confident but respectful.

“I don’t want to,” you said softly.

He nodded once, then stepped closer—slowly, carefully, like you were made of crystal.

“You’ll tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured, fingers brushing your jaw. “You’ll use the word ‘Lily.’ Okay?”

You nodded. You wondered why the specific word but decided to just ignore asking him. You were too distracted in anticipating what might happen next.

“No,” he said gently. “I want to hear it.”

“Okay,” you whispered, assuring both him and yourseld.

His eyes softened.

“Good girl.”

That alone nearly made your knees give out.

He tucked the loose strand the brushed over face, neatly placing it behind your ear before propping your face up. His gaze was intense, demanding, but also caring.

He didn’t rush.

He kissed you once—just once—long and patient. Then again, deeper, his palm cupping your cheek.

His hands ran down your arms like you were something he was memorizing.

“You're softer than I imagined,” he said against your mouth. “But I knew you’d melt.”

You whimpered when his hand slid down your back, finding the curve of your waist, then down further—over the swell of your hips.

"And I knew that you'd melt me too."

His fingers squeezed, slow and possessive.

“Curvy little thing,” he muttered. “Perfect for me.”

You shivered.

Then—he lifted you.

Just like that.

You gasped as he carried you to the bed, laying you down as if he’d done it a hundred times in his dreams.

He hovered above you, brushing the hair away, once again, from your flushed face. He love seeing your face all flustered.

“Tell me your limits,” he said.

You blinked. “I—don’t have many. I don't know. I just…”

His eyes darkened.

“I like being touched,” you whispered. “I like being told what to do. But I… like sweetness too.”

His expression didn’t change. But his voice dropped an octave.

“You’ll get more than sweet, love,” he said. “You’ll get worshipped.”

He unzipped your dress slowly, peeling it away to reveal the curves he’d only imagined. It was agonizingly slow, because he was in disbelief as well. He thought it was a mere fantasy that he build inside his head when he first saw you at the meeting. He felt like a creep when his gazed hovered over your figure during the meeting, pale yellow blouse with a modest neckline, but the way it hugged your body drove him crazy.

His eyes paused at your breasts—full, firm, rising with your shallow breath.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “These are…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He kissed down your neck, slowly trailing lower, reverent. His tongue traced the slope of one breast, then the other, before his mouth closed around a nipple, sucking deep and slow.

You moaned. He moaned back, the vibration making you arch.

He bit gently. Then licked.

“You were made to be touched like this,” he said, voice hoarse. “Made to be adored.”

His hands never stopped moving—one caressing your hip, the other kneading your thigh. He took his time with your chest, switching sides, alternating between sucking, kissing, and murmuring filth against your skin.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Y-Yes—Ji-hoon—sir—”

He groaned.

“Say that again.”

“Sir…”

He bit your nipple and you gasped.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “So good for me.”

He undressed you completely, slowly dragging down your underwear like it was a gift he was unwrapping.

“Look at you,” he whispered, spreading your thighs. “So wet already. All for me?”

You nodded, dazed.

He touched you carefully at first—fingers gliding up your folds, circling your clit, watching your face.

Then deeper. Two fingers curling inside you.

Your back arched.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low. “Let me hear you.”

You moaned into his neck. “I can’t—please—”

“You can,” he said, kissing your temple. “You will.”

Then he lowered his mouth between your thighs.

You didn’t know how long it went on.

All you knew was the way his tongue felt like velvet and sin, the way his hands held your thighs wide, firm but never hurting, and the way he growled every time you whimpered his name.

You came with your thighs trembling around his face, and he didn’t stop—not until you were squirming, begging him to slow down.

He climbed up, kissed you again, and whispered, “Can I take you now?”

You nodded. “Please.”

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I want you. Please—sir.”

He didn’t tease.

He guided himself into you slowly, stretching you inch by inch, until he was buried inside you completely.

You gasped. He groaned.

“So tight,” he panted. “So warm. Fuck—you feel perfect.”

He didn’t pound.

He moved deep. Measured. Let you feel every inch.

One hand gripped yours, fingers interlaced, while the other pressed your knee higher, opening you wider.

He whispered praise into your ear with every thrust.

“You’re so beautiful.” “You take me so well.” “You were made to be mine.”

You cried out when he hit a spot that made your vision go white.

He kissed your lips.

“There. Right there?”

You nodded, breathless.

“Good girl.”

You came again.

This time around him. With his mouth on your throat and his fingers digging into your hips, holding you still so he could grind deep and slow.

He followed right after—groaning into your skin, staying inside you as your bodies trembled together.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Just held you.

One hand cradling your cheek, the other stroking your hair.

“You okay, baby?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Better than okay.”

He kissed your forehead. Then your nose.

“Let me clean you up.”

You blushed. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

And he did.

With the warmest towel. With a glass of water. With gentle kisses on your thighs, your shoulder, your temple.

Then he pulled you into his chest under the covers, wrapping your legs with his.

“You’re mine now,” he said softly, fingers tracing circles into your back.

You were already drifting.

But you smiled.

“Yours.”

You woke slowly.

Not in your bed. Not in your apartment. But under deep navy sheets that smelled faintly of sandalwood and... him.

Ju Ji-hoon.

Oh. Wait.

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was awake.

You could feel it—the way his palm was resting just beneath your left breast, not groping, just there. His breath was even, but his fingers occasionally flexed like he was reminding himself you were real.

And so, did you. Everything felt hazy, as if it were a vivid dream you just didn’t want to end yet. Your hands brushed over his, quietly reassuring yourself that he was, indeed, real. Beside you, engulfing you in his warmth. His hair tickled your neck, you were naturally ticklish, but you didn’t dare to move, yet. You wanted the moment to last longer, just a little bit longer.

He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, slow and soft hums of comfort left his lips. He pulled you closer, possibly trying to integrate your form into his. It was as if all the cells in your body had memorized his touch; your skin prickled in remembrance from the night before. Your thighs still trembled a little when you shifted, now facing him. You felt raw, full, worshipped.

“Awake?” His voice was raspy, eye half shut, sleep-heavy. Dangerous in the softest way.

“Mhm,” you murmured, slightly rubbing your eyes.

He kissed your shoulder.

You turned to face him again, tilting your head up.

He looked unfairly beautiful in the morning—dark tousled hair, bare chest, golden skin and a smile that hinted at sin but also... affection?

You studied him. He studied you back.

Comfortable silence.

“What?” you whispered, suddenly shy.

“You’re trouble,” he said half-amused.

You blinked in confusion. “What?”

He leaned in. Pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You make me want things I told myself I was too old for.”

You laughed—soft, breathy. “You think I’m not thinking the same thing?”

His brow lifted in amusement, maybe little cockiness too. “So you are thinking about me?”

You nudged him with your knee. “I literally fell asleep with your—” you cleared your throat softly, letting him know that you were too shy to say it out loud.

“Say it.” He deadpanned.

“What?” Once again, you felt your cheeks burn. Every time you were around this man, it was given.

He had his infamous half-smile playing across on his face, which looked more of a smirk honestly, quietly ushering you to finish the rest of the sentence.

“Say it.” This time, it held a little more authority to it.

“—with your...you inside me,” you said, flushed.

He smirked. “There’s my girl.”

You stared at him. “I’m not your girl.”

He paused.

“Yet.”

Pause.

Did I just ruin the whole vibe for god’s sake.

You tried to backpedal. “I mean—”

He leaned in again. Kissed your lips once. Then again. Slower.

When he pulled back, he whispered:

“You said ‘yours’ last night. Did you mean it?”

Your heart thudded. Yours. His.

“…I did.”

His expression softened. His hand stroked your waist. “Then I’ll keep you, if you’ll let me.”

You swallowed hard. “You don’t think it’s weird? Me being this much younger, immature?”

He gave a low laugh. “No. I think what’s weird is how little I’ve cared about anything else since you walked into that damn elevator. Light yellow shirt, beige pants. Your presence accompanied by a mix of vanilla and Lilies.”

Oh my god, my first day at work. He saw me then?

You blinked. “The elevator? You noticed me then?”

“Baby,” he said, shifting closer. “I noticed your lips before I noticed your badge.”

You hid your face in his chest. “Stop.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you.

This is a bad idea. Really, really bad one at that.

Thirty minutes later, he was still shirtless in the kitchen, boiling water for tea and scrambled eggs, while you sat on a stool in his long button-down shirt that barely covered your thighs.

“Your team leader will kill me if you’re late,” he said without looking. It was funny to you because how on earth would he know that his team member had just spent the night with his boss, the CEO.

“More like he’ll kill me.” You groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“I will make him disappear into thin air before he does that.” A chaste kiss on you check as he set a cup of tea in front of you. “You can call in sick.”

You shook your head. As much as you wanted to use the higher-up privileges, you decided to let go of your temptation. “Can’t. Not unless I want the gossip mill to explode about a newcomer already lazing off at work.”

He leaned on the counter across from you. “So, let them talk.”

You stared down at the tea. “It’s not that simple. I still need to prove myself.”

He studied you for a moment. “You’re scared this is too much.”

You hesitated, he wasn’t talking about office. He was talking about you, about him. Both of you together.

You felt something creep inside your chest, like a mix of fear and anxiety. “Not scared. Just… unsure how this works. You’re you. I’m just a—”

He crossed the space between you and kissed your forehead.

“You’re not just anything. You’re the first person in years I’ve wanted to wake up next to.”

You blinked. “You’ve had...others?”

Of course he did stupid. What an absurd thing to ask.

“Of course." You liked his honesty, he doesn't sugarcoat things.

"But no one who made me feel like this. Seen, reciprocated.” He took a sip of tea from his cup, a slow sigh of the burn traveling down his throat. “You know, I literally announced on public television that I don’t plan on dating, not now, not any time soon.”

You swallowed. Unsure, scared of what he was about to say next. You hoped he wouldn't let things just end yet.

“But you…you changed that. I can’t help myself when I am around you.” His response was straightforward, but genuine. You internally sighed in relief.

The tea ran cold while you both exchanged quiet, longing glances at one another. The moment oddly felt so intimate, so authentic.

He smirked. “Terrified yet?”

You smiled. “A little.” You were an honest person, always upfront to voice out your thoughts.

His voice lowered, almost in relief.

“Good. Me too.”

Later that morning, after hurried dressing and a hasty goodbye that was anything but innocent, he whispered:

“If anyone asks how was your night, tell them you spent the night thinking about me.”

You stared at him, cheeky sly smile adorning his face. “I did spend the night with you.”

He grinned harder.

“That’s the best kind of truth,” he said as he placed another kiss but at your lips now, “The one no one believes, but us.”

The office seemed busier; perhaps it was because of the recent surge of multiple new products being launched. Your desk was a mosaic of colourful papers, each belonged to different departments, each assigned to you to make summary notes. You huffed in annoyance, hands barely moving in defeat.

This is death sentence.

“Damn son,” Seung-ho peeped from his desk, a small wall of glass separating you both. He was already on his second packet of peppero for the day. “This is literally a death sentence.”

“My thoughts exactly,” You found yourself automatically listing and scribbling down anything that you remember the last meeting you just attended. You mentally made a checklist to steal a packet of peppero from the doofus beside you.

Did Miyeon talk about the HR or the web development team's budget list?

“So, how was your night? You didn’t even attend our afterparty.” Miyeon chimed in, pouty face while adjusting herself into her seat right in front of you. “Yah, just because you are the youngest doesn’t mean I will always let you off the hook.”

She was three years older than you in age, and a superior at work who joined the company two years ago. It was indeed a blessing to have her as your senior, or else the youngest, Seung-ho—who joined the company alongside you, would've cracked your skull with his clumsy troublemaker tactics. The man literally set the electric hot kettle on fire the other day because he went for a quick nature's call. Oh, he only poured the coffee beans in the kettle, no water, nothing.

“Second youngest,” you corrected, sly smile. “I’m sorry, I’ll be there next time.”

“But you didn’t answer me,” Miyeon was pointing her stylus at you accusingly, eyes fixated on you with determination. She wanted to know what kept her junior busy to miss out an impromptu karaoke session in fancy wear. The pictures you saw of them singing and dancing like maniacs while being all formally dress was hilarious to say the least.

“Nothing much.” You typed harder, in attempts of trying to mask your lies. “I just spent the night thinking.”

Masterlist | Prev | Next

You woke up to a string of messages. It was odd for your colleagues to bombard the chatroom with messages popping every millisecond, unless it was a national emergency news or fake news about Ronaldo and Messi retiring. You quickly did a crosscheck via Naver, whether indeed there was a national crisis that you were unaware of. Thankfully, the world still seemed to be normal.

You stared at your phone screen for longer than you liked. Gala, charity, celebrity. What?

KJ: So are you going? MY: Yah, she'll be dumb to miss such a big event. SH: Honestly, I am going for the food, also Director Won might be there might as well get on his good side ^^ MY: Disgusting, you're disgustingly greedy for the promotion Seung-ho. SH: It is what it is.

It wasn't that you didn't like fancy balls, or getting all dolled up like a bridgerton character. It was the unfamiliarity and uncertainty of the place, the world you were slowly becoming a part of, creeping inside you that scared you. The corporate industry came with the pros and cons, but it was too soon for you. Too soon, too paced for you liking. You hated fast paced stuffs.

Y/N: I'm in. I hope I don't knock over any chaebol's suit with wine like the last time. SH: Oh we love a self aware king. Y/N: I'll kill you Seung-ho. MY: Count me in when you do so.

The gala was a blur of sequins and crystal glasses. The richness dripping with every step you took inside the venue. The place was none other than Royal Heights, housing South Korea's most exquisite banquet hall ever. The celling was probably 5 storied alone, with chandeliers and velvety curtains adorning the whole place.

It was both funny and unrealistic. You’d barely been in this job six months, and already you were being handed champagne in art museums and asked to mingle with Korea’s wealthiest, most famous. You wore the best thing you owned—a navy silk dress with modest lines and trembling nerves beneath. No amount of dressing up could hide the imposter syndrome that was slowly consuming you from within.

Amidst everything, you didn’t expect to see him. He is always so busy and recognized by everyone in the industry as an infamous workaholic. You were new to the job, but not to the industry.

But of course he was there.

Ju Ji-hoon.

In a tailored midnight suit, no tie. Hair swept back with a sharp contrast created by a low fade, wrist heavy with an elegant black-faced watch. He looked like the room bent around his silence.

Your eyes met across the crowd.

You looked away first.

Because what could you possibly say to a man like him, in a place like this, after what he whispered last time?

“You haven’t decided yet whether you want to be controlled.”

You weren’t even sure what he meant. But you’d thought about it every single night.

You were sipping mineral water and trying to stay near your team when your heel snapped.

Of course.

This is so embarrassing. I love being God's favourite.

You limped your way to a quiet hallway just beyond the exhibit entrance, taking refuge near a glass display of minimalist sculptures, praying no one would see you crouched with your shoe in hand.

That’s when you heard the voices.

Two men.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—swear to God—but their words drifted through the corridor like a slow trickle of smoke.

“…she got intimidated too soon, you know?” The voice seemed familiar, older but definitely someone you heard on screen before

A pause.

“You pushed her too far, hyung.”

Then a quieter reply. Too recognizable for your liking. Deep. Even. Laced with calmness.

“She needed to feel the edge. Her eyes asked for real submission. She just didn’t know what it meant.”

Your fingers clenched around your heel.

That voice.

Ji-hoon.

You waited until the voices faded, your heart pounding in your throat. You didn’t understand everything they’d said. But you understood enough.

Submission. Control.

It was exciting.

You stood shakily and made your way toward the balcony for air. The Seoul skyline was a shimmer of glass and gold behind the railing, but all you could feel was the way your skin burned beneath your dress.

You didn’t know he’d followed.

“You shouldn’t wander alone in heels that flimsy,” he said softly behind you.

You stiffened. You felt the heat rushing your cheeks, making your already bright blush appear ever darker.

Is he mocking me?

He stood just behind your right shoulder, his presence like a low flame.

“I’m fine, Sir.” You said, not turning. You fiddled with the broken heel, desperately trying to hide it behind the table beside you.

“No, you’re not.” His voice was calm. Almost amused. “You heard us.”

You turned then, slowly. At this point, you didn't care whether he is judging you for walking around with a broken heel in hand. Another wave of embarrassment took over you while you tried to defend your actions, which might have looked like you have been prying over someone's privacy.

“I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I—just needed air.”

He nodded once. “You were curious.”

Your face flushed. “No, I wasn’t—”

“You’re lying.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. But enough that your breath caught.

“You think you hide your reactions,” he said gently. “You don’t.”

You looked at him—really looked.

Calm, but watching you with razor precision. Eyes dark and patient. His fingers were resting on the edge of the railing, but he wasn’t relaxed. He was… waiting.

Testing.

Like a clock that was just about to strike midnight, to drop off all the facade.

“What were you talking about?” you asked.

“You already know.”

You licked your lips. “Not really.”

Ji-hoon tilted his head, his eyes briefly glancing at you, perhaps even lingering at the thing that you did. Or maybe, again, you were overthinking. “Do you know what a submissive is?”

You froze.

He let the question sit in the air like a coiled silk rope.

“I’ve read things,” you said softly. “A lot of things, actually. But I’ve never—”

“Tried?”

You nodded. You felt like a deer caught in headlights.

He watched you for a moment. Suddenly the air was hot, and maybe he also felt the same because he seemed to fidget with this buttoned up collar, undoing the top to slightly loosen its grip across his neck. You only then took a properly at how good, insanely good he looked. His tan complexion glistening under the warm lights of the corridor, eyes sparkling with curiosity, maybe slight hints of mischievousness. Then:

“May I ask you a question?”

“…Yes.”

“Have you ever fantasized about being told what to do?”

Your body went very still.

Your throat was dry, but you whispered, and you don't even know why you did that, “Yes.”

What. What did I just say. Holy Fuck.

He exhaled slowly, knowingly. Not like a man aroused—but like one who’d expected your answer.

Then he looked at you, and for the first time, his voice changed.

Softer. Slower. Like velvet dragged across bare skin.

“I don’t play games with people who are unsure. Or reckless. Or impulsive.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “You’re none of those things. That’s why you interest me.”

You didn’t speak.

He leaned in, just barely.

“No touching,” he murmured, “unless you ask for it.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“And if you ever ask me,” he said, eyes now inches from yours, “you’ll mean it.”

Your breath came shallow. “Mean what?”

He smiled, slow and devastating.

genre: romance, slow-burn, fluff, angst, sexual tension, mutual pining

Chapter 11: An Unwelcomed Familiar Face

Haein prepares to meet the Director of Hycerna but is caught off guard by the return of Yoon Eunsung—now a powerful figure with ties to the man she needs. Tensions rise as old wounds resurface, and Chaewoon’s quiet protectiveness deepens when he senses that Eunsung may be more dangerous than he appears.

It was finally the night of the 20th Investors Gala—the event where the Director of Hycerna would be attending. Haein was determined to speak with him about business, no matter what.

As she placed an earring on, her eyes lingered on her reflection in the mirror. That sinking feeling in her stomach refused to go away. A wave of dizziness passed over her, and she could feel cold sweat starting to form along her head.

And then a soft knock pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Miss Haein? Are you ready?” Chaewoon’s voice called gently from outside her door.

She turned toward the clock on the wall and froze. 8:32 pm…. Thirty minutes has passed already?

She could’ve sworn it had only been seconds since she began getting ready. The clock had read 8:00 when she picked up her earring. What had she even done in that time? Nothing came to mind—just a blur.

It was happening again, time slipping by so fast. As if her memory was skipping parts of her life. She sighed and grabbed her purse. She had no time to think about these things, she was about to be late at the Gala.

Grabbing her purse, she opened the door. Chaewoon was there, standing as always, his posture straight, eyes scanning her carefully. But she caught it—a flicker of concern in his gaze before he quickly masked it.

“Let’s go.” She said as she walked pass him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the gala, the dazzling lights and hum of conversation did nothing to ease the pounding in her head. She ignored the ringing in her ears, pressing forward with practiced poise.

“Just stay beside me.” She murmured to Chaewoon who was just about to fade from the sidelines. Normally at events like this, especially one where Haein had to socialize and meet with different people, he doesn’t accompany her and follow her around like usual. He simply stays around the corners, watching her from afar, being alert incase she needed him. So when Haein asked him to stay beside her, Chaewoon did not question it. He knew, she needed him now more than ever.

“I’ll be right here,” he said reassuringly, and she gave him a small nod.

As they entered the grand ballroom, Haein felt her headache growing more when someone approached her.

“Well, look who finally showed up.” A woman with sleek short hair, crimson lips, and a dress that screamed for attention stepped into view. She was smiling—but it was not at all friendly, Chaewoon could tell, and he became more alert.

“Good evening, Han Jiwoo,” Haein replied, not bothering with a smile.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you at one of these. First time getting invited again?”

“I always get invited, I just hate attending.” Haein replied as she crossed her arms, Chaewoon could already feel the impatience in her voice.

“Oh? And who’s this?” Han Jiwoo’s voice cut through the chatter, eyes landing on Chaewoon, who stood just a step behind Haein. “Oh my, did you finally get yourself a boyfriend?” she gasped dramatically, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Well, I must say, Haein, you’ve got good taste.” Her gaze swept over him slowly. “So what’s your name? You look a bit familiar. Which family did you come from?” She continued.

Haein’s composure was momentarily thrown off at the word boyfriend. But she brushed it off and scoffed, already irritated. “Can you stop bothering us Han Jiwoo, you’re clearly already drunk and the event only just started. Stop embarrassing yourself.” She said as she moved away Jiwoo’s hand when she was about to approach him.

“Oh so you’re still single then Haein? You really should start seeing someone. How old are you anyway?” Jiwoo said, clearly testing Haein’s patience. “Look at me, I’m happily married for years now to one of the most successful businessmen in the country that my parents had arranged for me. I’m living such a good life. I don’t even have to work myself like a dog. But look at yourself, still a slave to your family who doesn’t even appreciate you.” Jiwoo added sweetly, the fake concern laced with venom.

Chaewoon could feel himself also getting impatient. All he wanted to do now was take Haein away from this woman as soon as possible.

Just as he was about to step forward and gesture to Haein for them to walk away, Jiwoo had more to say.

“You know,” she said with a smug tilt of her head, “you should’ve never broken up with Yoon Eunsung.”

The name hit like a slap. Haein visibly annoyed. “Why would you bring him up?” she said sharply. Chaewoon caught the shift in her tone. He watched her carefully.

Jiwoo smiled, savoring the reaction. “You don’t know anything do you? He’s Mr. Hermann’s right-hand man. He’s the key to reaching Mr. Hermann.”

“What?”

“Hey, he became really successful. He’s not the same guy from university. He’s in charge of managing Sheikh’s finances now.” Jiwoo added, gesturing subtly to their right. Haein followed her gaze. Across the room, a sharply dressed man stood among foreign delegates, laughing with practiced ease. Her eyes narrowed, her body going still and Chaewoon noticed how she shifted uncomfortably.

Never should’ve broken up? Did she have a relationship with him in the past? Chaewoon wondered. He glanced at the way Haein’s face hardened, as she let out a sigh. Whatever happened between them—it didn’t end well.

Chaewoon’s jaw ticked. He didn’t like the way Jiwoo was needling her.

And more than that, he didn’t like the way Haein looked like she’d rather be anywhere else than here the moment her eyes landed on him.

Yoon Eunsung’s gaze swept across the crowd—until it landed on Haein. Without hesitation, he began walking towards her.

Haein tensed the moment she saw him. She didn’t flinch or look startled, but there was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes, like someone bracing for a conversation they never wanted to have.

Chaewoon instinctively stepped closer, his presence solid at her side—a quiet but firm show of support.

“It’s been a while,” Eunsung said, flashing her a knowing smile.

Haein’s expression smoothed over in an instant, shifting into the polished, diplomatic smile she wore in business meetings. “You should’ve let me know if you were back in Korea.” She replied casually.

Eunsung tilted his head slightly, then said, “Don’t you remember the last thing you said to me? To not contact you.” 

Chaewoon’s eyes flicked toward Haein, his brows lifting ever so slightly.

Her smile wavered—just a little—before she let out a quiet scoff. “You’re right. I told you not to reach out to me ever again, because you kept crossing the line.”

That landed heavier than anything else.

Chaewoon’s jaw tightened. His gaze sharpened as he looked at Eunsung now, no longer neutral, no longer curious—just guarded. Protective.

“Right, but now, it seems that you have something to say.” Eunsung said with a smug smile. Woo Chaewoon was not a violent man, but for some reason, he felt a strong urge to wipe that smirk off his face right now with his fist.

Haein dropped the pleasantries. “I’m sure you’ve already figured it out, so I’ll get to the point. You’re close with Mr. Hermann, and I want Hercyna in our mall. Will you help me or not?”

Eunsung chuckled, leaning back. “Still the same cold-hearted Hong Haein. You’ve always been like this—keeping people around only when they’re useful. Tossing them aside when they’re not.”

Haein scoffed. “If you’re not interested, spare me the lecture. I have other ways.”

Eunsung smiled, “But I do want to help you. And I also want to apologize for my behaviour the last time we saw each other. It’s been years and I’m a different man now. I hope you can give me a chance.” He said as he offered his hand to her.

Haein eyed it with suspicion before meeting his gaze. “Let’s be clear. You’re right—I use people. Right now, you’re just a means to secure a deal with Mr. Hermann. So I hope you don’t expect anything more from me.” Haein said coldly. Not batting an eye.

Eunsung smiled, “Of course, I know that. And I don’t mind. Use me however you want.” He then stepped closer to Haein, to which she instinctively stepped back, prompting Chaewoon to swiftly move in front of her. 

Chaewoon towered over Yoon Eunsung, his stance firm and protective, eyes locked with unwavering intensity. He stood like a shield, a silent wall between Haein and whatever threat Eunsung posed.

“And who are you exactly?” Eunsung asked, his lips curved in a polite smile, but the irritation in his voice was unmistakable. “You have a bodyguard now?”

“He’s my most trusted aide,” Haein replied coolly, arms crossing over her chest. “So you better respect him.” Her tone was sharp, final—like a blade sheathed in ice.

Chaewoon blinked, caught off guard. Most trusted aide—he hadn’t expected that. The words hit him in a place he didn’t realize was vulnerable. A flicker of warmth fluttered in his chest, but it was quickly replaced by a pang of guilt. She trusted him—deeply, clearly—and yet, he was hiding the truth from her. He wasn’t just her bodyguard. He was a spy sent to monitor her family.

Eunsung’s smile faltered ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing. He hadn’t pegged Hong Haein as the type to keep anyone that close. Cold, calculated, unreachable—that was the Haein he knew. So who was this man standing so protectively in front of her?

“I see,” Eunsung said, extending a hand. “Yoon Eunsung. I’ve known Haein since we were kids. Nice to meet you… Mr.?”

Chaewoon met his eyes briefly before taking the hand. His grip was firm but short. “Woo Chaewoon.” A beat passed. Then Eunsung tilted his head. “So… are you going to step aside, or?”

Chaewoon did not budge, instead, he looked behind him and waited for Haein.

When Haein gave him a subtle nod, only then did Chaewoon step back, wordless and composed. But the tension in the air crackled—thick, heavy, unspoken.

Eunsung’s jaw clenched as he walked past, eyes still on Chaewoon.

He had questions. And he was going to find the answers. Sooner or later.

“I can set up a meeting with Mr. Hermann as soon as possible, Haein,” Eunsung offered. “I can even help make the deal happen.”

“For what reason exactly are you going this far to help me? I only intended to ask if you could introduce me to Mr. Hermann, I can handle the rest myself.” Haein replied.

Eunsung gave a faint, almost wistful smile. “Call it… old times’ sake? Maybe you hated me back then—maybe you still do. But I never did. I’ve always been here, Haein. Ready to help, nothing in return. I mean that.”

He extended his hand again, open and steady. After a beat, Haein took it, her grip firm. “Good to know.

Behind her, Chaewoon said nothing—but his gaze stayed locked on Eunsung. Calculating. Cold.

Because in that moment, he knew: this man wasn’t just from Haein’s past. He could be someone harmful. Someone dangerous. And he will make sure no harm will come in Haein’s way.

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The night stretched on, and the event slowly unfolded.

After a while, Eunsung took Haein to go and meet Mr. Hermann. Chaewoon was asked to stay behind—Mr. Hermann preferred privacy when discussing business, especially around unfamiliar faces.

Chaewoon understood, of course. But that didn’t mean he was comfortable leaving Haein alone with Yoon Eunsung.

Before she followed, Haein turned to him and gently held onto his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said softly, a teasing glint in her eyes. “I’ll be back shortly. So stay put—because I’ll be looking for you the moment I’m done.” Haein said, almost jokingly, as if to ease Chaewoon, because like him, she can also somehow read him now. And she was aware that he did not like the idea of leaving her side tonight.

“Mr. Woo?” she called out, noticing his silence.

Chaewoon sighed and then reached out, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. He slowly leaned down, close to her ear—close enough for her breath to hitch in surprise.

Then, quietly, without anyone noticing, she felt him slip something into her right hand—the one still holding his arm. She looked down and unfolded her fingers. A small object rested in her palm. A button.

“If anything happens, just call me.” Chaewoon whispered in her ear. “Press the button if you need me, I will come inside immediately.” His voice was low, quiet—yet it sent a shiver down her spine. Her fingers tightened around the object as she lifted her head.

Chaewoon then met her gaze, “Alright?”

Haein nodded slowly, a quiet promise in her eyes.

And then, without another word, she turned and walked away with Eunsung. But even as the distance between them grew, she could still feel the weight of Chaewoon’s hand on her shoulder—and the quiet vow that came with it.

When Haein was no longer in his line of sight, Chaewoon felt restless. Uneasy. Something about that Yoon Eunsung guy didn’t sit right with him.

He couldn’t shake it—the instinct that told him he wouldn’t like what he might uncover.

Based on Haein’s reaction earlier, Eunsung was clearly someone who didn’t respect boundaries. Chaewoon had seen it in her eyes: the way she tensed when Eunsung got too close, how her smile faltered. She was uncomfortable, and yet the man kept inching closer, like he either didn’t notice—or didn’t care.

Chaewoon’s jaw clenched.

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It’s almost an hour now. 45 minutes, he noted. And still no sign of Hong Haein. His concern deepened, the silence pressing against his chest.

He finally sent a message: How are you?

A reply came moments later: It’s almost over.

Only four words, but enough to let him breathe again—just a little.

“Woo Chaewoon?” A familiar voice then called out from behind. Chaewoon turned, and he immediately recognized the man.

“Mr. Jo Hangyu,” he greeted politely with a respectful bow. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

“You rascal, who are you calling so formally like that? You used to call me Uncle just a few years ago,” the old man said with a hearty chuckle, giving Chaewoon a friendly pat on the back. “You’ve grown into a fine young man. I still remember you running around the yard while your parents chased after you.”

Chaewoon smiled warmly at the memory. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”

Hangyu tilted his head. “What brings you here? You’re not usually the type to show up at events like this.”

“I’m just accompanying someone,” Chaewoon replied, his tone easy. “It’s work-related.”

“Ah, right. I heard you left the military. Haven’t heard from you since. What have you been up to? And who are you accompanying, huh? A girlfriend, maybe?” Hangyu teased, nudging his arm.

Chaewoon chuckled, but before he could answer, Hangyu added, “And how’s your mother doing?”

The question made Chaewoon pause. His voice softened. “She’s recovering well, Uncle. Would you like to see her again sometime?”

“Of course. Just let me know when. I’d be happy to visit.”

“I’ll let her know. She’d like that,” Chaewoon said with a small, grateful nod.

Hangyu studied him for a moment, a nostalgic look settling in his eyes. “You really do look like your old man. I’m sure he would’ve been proud of the man you’ve become.”

Chaewoon offered a faint smile. “And I’m sure I’d still be getting a good scolding from him now and then.”

They both laughed softly.

“Well,” Hangyu said, patting his shoulder, “it’s good to see you again, kid. Don’t be a stranger. You know you’re like a son to me. If you ever need anything—advice, help, or just a drinking buddy—you know where to find me. I may be getting old, but I have high alcohol tolerance.”

Chaewoon grinned. “And I will make sure to be the judge of that, Uncle.”

When Hangyu finally left, Chaewoon felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see Hong Haein standing there, eyes wide and expectant. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion—and was that a pout on her lips?

“Hey Mr. Woo, where have you been?” She said, a bit slower than how she normally talks. “I immediately looked for you as soon as I got out of there. But you were nowhere to be found. I told you to stay put didn’t I?” To anyone else, she might’ve seemed perfectly fine. But Chaewoon knew better. The way she swayed slightly on her feet, the warmth rising from her face, the unusually soft lilt in her voice—

Wait. Is she drunk?

But before he could ask, Haein stepped forward and stumbled, and he caught her just in time—hands gripping her shoulders to steady her.

“Take me home,” she mumbled, leaning into him. “I’m sick of everyone here.”

Then, quieter: “Take me with you.”

Chaewoon froze for a moment, the weight of her words settling somewhere deeper than he expected.

And as she rested her head against his chest, Chaewoon realized—this wasn’t something he could just walk away from anymore.

< Chapter 10 Chapter 11 >

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genre: romance, slow-burn, fluff, angst, sexual tension, mutual pining

Chapter 10: A Worry He Couldn’t Name

As Haein pushes through her busy days quiet symptoms begin to surface—headaches, dizziness, and fatigue she brushes off. But Chaewoon notices it all, his silent concern growing. But as the days pass, it becomes harder for either of them to pretend nothing’s wrong.

Haein leaned back in her chair, brows furrowed, as she stared at Chaewoon through the glass walls of her office. She had been noticing it lately—how he was being extra attentive toward her.

Chaewoon had always been different from other bodyguards. He wasn’t just the silent, stoic type standing at a distance. He went above and beyond, a quiet presence who handled everything before she even thought to ask.

And she didn’t mind it.

In fact, she had gotten used to it—the way he was always there, the silent acts of service, the gentleness laced into his actions and words. She had grown so accustomed to him that sometimes, she forgot to notice how much she relied on his presence.

But lately… something was different.

It started one afternoon.

She had been getting headaches for days—nothing serious, she thought. Just the usual stress. She would pop a pill, drink some water, and move on with her day.

But Chaewoon had begun hovering more than necessary.

When her throat went dry during a meeting and she coughed lightly, he was at her side almost instantly, a glass of water in hand.

“Are you alright? Should I call someone to check on you?” he whispered, concern etched into his face. Haein waved him off. “…My throat was just dry. Calm down.”

Another time, during rounds at Queen’s Department Store, she misstepped slightly on the escalator. Chaewoon immediately caught her arm, steadying her before she could fall.

“The whole point of an escalator is so you don’t have to walk,” he muttered with a tsk, examining her feet briefly. “Everyone walks on escalators,” Haein scoffed.

“But you’re wearing high heels,” he said, exasperated. “Please be more careful.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re getting annoying, you know that?”

And just yesterday, as she sat reviewing documents, her fingers absentmindedly pressing against her forehead, she hadn’t even noticed him approach until he was standing beside her table—with food in hand.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m not hungry,” she replied without looking up.

“Your head’s going to hurt again if you keep starving yourself,” he said softly, lowering the paper she was reading and placing the neatly packed food in front of her. “Please eat.”

But, there was a reason why Chaewoon had been acting this way lately.

Chaewoon had always been observant. He was quick to notice the smallest changes—the slight shifts in a person’s behavior, the quiet signals that something was wrong. And he didn’t fail to notice the changes happening to Hong Haein.

It started one afternoon.

Chaewoon stood just right outside the door, his eyes scanning the quiet office as Haein worked, her sharp focus on the documents before her. But as he watched her, a subtle unease began to creep into him. The usual quick movements of her hands were slower now. The focus in her eyes, once unshakeable, had become distant at times.

She reached for a pen to sign a document, but it slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a soft clatter. Haein frowned, blinking as if trying to shake off a sudden dizziness.

“Miss Haein?” Chaewoon’s voice was soft but laced with concern. She looked up, her expression briefly vacant before it cleared.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her tone clipped as usual, but there was a hint of something off in the way she said it. A sharpness that had once been there now seemed worn, frayed around the edges.

Chaewoon stood, walking over to her desk. “You’re not fine.” He picked up the pen she’d dropped and handed it to her, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. Haein didn’t seem to notice, her hand shaky as she grasped the pen.

“It’s just the headaches.” She replied, he wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself.

But it wasn’t just this one moment.

Chaewoon had seen it before—the slight hesitation in her steps, the way her confident stride would falter for half a second, as if her body momentarily forgot how to move. At first, he brushed it off, thinking she was merely lost in thought. But it kept happening. Again and again.

And so, he couldn’t help it—he found himself watching her more closely, worrying about her with every step she took.

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One night, as Chaewoon escorted her back to the mansion, he noticed it again. Her hand, clutching her bag, trembled ever so slightly. Her steps were slower than usual, and her forehead had been pressed lightly all day, as if she were trying to soothe a growing ache.

Without a word, Chaewoon swiftly took the bag from her hands and gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, grounding her.

“Are you alright?” His voice was laced with quiet concern.

Haein sighed, “Can you stop doing that?”

Chaewoon blinked in surprise. “Doing what?”

“Being dramatic,” she muttered, though there was no real anger in her tone, just a tired edge to it.

“I’m really fine, Mr. Woo. I’ve just been tired lately. You can stop worrying now.” She snatched the bag from him and walked off without looking back.

“I understand,” Chaewoon said softly, though the words didn’t quite settle in her chest.

When Haein reached her room, she immediately regretted her harsh response. She hadn’t meant to push him away like that, but she hated feeling vulnerable in front of him.

She sank down on the edge of her bed, her head heavy with more than just fatigue.

If she was honest with herself, something didn’t feel right. Her headaches had become constant, her memory slipping more often than not, and sometimes, her vision blurred as if she were seeing through a fog.

It only added to her growing frustration, and she didn’t want to take it out on Chaewoon—especially when she knew he was just trying to help. But the truth was, his concern was starting to wear on her.

Why is he so concerned anyway? What am I to him?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a busy morning for Hong Haein. News had arrived that the Director of Hycerna would be visiting Korea and attending the 20th Investors Gala the following week. Haein had long been working to secure a deal to bring Hycerna to Queen’s Department Store—and she wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

Determined, she spent the morning clearing her schedule and strategizing how best to convince Mr. Hermann to sign with Queen’s.

Meanwhile, Chaewoon stood outside her closet room, mildly concerned as he listened to the thuds of shoes and the rustling of clothes being thrown onto the floor.

A moment later, Haein emerged from the chaos, two dresses held up on hangers.

“Choose. Both are limited edition from Hycerna. Which one will make a better impression?” she asked, slightly breathless.

“You’re asking for my opinion?” Chaewoon blinked.

“I’m in a dilemma, obviously. I need a second opinion,” she said, thrusting the dresses forward.

Chaewoon narrowed his eyes. To him, the two dresses looked almost identical—but he wisely kept that thought to himself, he knew Haein would glare at him if he said that.

“I think both dresses would look beautiful on you,” he said, making Haein blink in surprise.

“But,” he continued thoughtfully, “if you want to make a strong first impression as a serious businesswoman, I’d go with the one on the left. The one on the right feels more like you’re hosting a party.”

Haein stared at him, momentarily caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to actually take the question seriously, much less give such a thoughtful answer.

And to her own surprise, she found herself appreciating it.

“Thanks. Are you usually this good with women’s clothes?” Haein asked, disappearing into the closet with the dress in hand.

Chaewoon chuckled, leaning back against the doorframe. “Let’s just say having an older sister gave me plenty of training. You wouldn’t believe how many outfit decisions I had to make for her growing up.” He smiled at the memory of him when he was young, held hostage by his older sister as she shoved different clothes in front him.

Haein smiled at the thought, sliding into the dress. “Sounds like you two are close.”

“Yeah, we are,” he said, a fond look passing over his face. “Our parents were always working, so she basically played the role of a second mom. She nagged the hell out of me, we bickered constantly—but she always had my back. I’ll always be grateful for her.”

Inside the closet, Haein paused, touched by how warmly he spoke about his sister. “Where is she now? Does she live overseas?” She asked, recalling the picture she saw on his account before. It looked like it was taken at another country.

Chaewoon nodded. “Yeah. They moved Germany for her daughter’s medical treatment.”

Chaewoon’s voice softened slightly, the usual playfulness giving way to something quieter. “My niece was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune condition. Treatment options here were limited, but there’s a specialist in Berlin. They’ve been there for almost two years now.”

Haein, still behind the door, stilled at the weight of his words. “That must’ve been hard… for all of you.”

“It was,” he admitted. “But they’re doing okay now. My niece is responding well to the treatment. She’s a tough little kid.”

There was a small pause, only the sound of fabric shifting as Haein adjusted the dress. Then, her voice came, gentler than before. “You really care about your family.”

Chaewoon huffed a short laugh. “Of course. I owe a lot to them.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, he added, “Though I’m still salty about being her fashion guinea pig for all those years.”

The door creaked slightly as Haein peeked out, one hand gripping the frame. “Well, all that trauma paid off. This dress fits perfectly.”

When Haein finally stepped out of her closet, Chaewoon looked up—and froze for just a moment.

Haein stood there, the soft lighting catching the subtle shimmer of the fabric. The color complimented her skin tone, the cut elegant but simple. She looked both graceful and strong.

“Well?” she asked, casually adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. “How do I look?”

Chaewoon stood there, his eyes glued to her. “You… look nice.”

Haein raised an eyebrow. “That all you got, Mr. Former Fashion Consultant?”

Chaewoon stepped forward without a word and smoothed the cuffs for her, his touch careful.

“You look beautiful, Miss Haein,” he said softly.

She stilled.

He had said that word before—beautiful. A compliment she’d heard countless times, from countless people. It never meant much. But somehow, when he said it, it landed differently. Quiet. Sincere. Almost reverent.

She cleared her throat, composing herself. “I always do.”

Chaewoon smiled faintly, as if he’d been waiting for that exact answer. He let her go, but not without one last glance.

Haein turned toward the full-length mirror in her room, adjusting the hem of her blouse. But just as she took a step, her vision blurred, and her legs wavered slightly beneath her.

Chaewoon instinctively moved forward, his hand twitching at his side, ready to steady her. But he stopped himself—just in time. He remembered her words from the other day, Can you stop doing that? Being dramatic.

So, he stayed rooted where he was, jaw tightening, his eyes following her every movement. He didn’t want to upset her again. Didn’t want to make her feel like she was being treated like glass.

But to him, it wasn’t a small thing. Not anymore. Not when it had been happening more often lately—those brief moments when she’d falter, sway, or lose her breath just a beat too long.

Haein caught it—the way his body had tensed the moment she stumbled, the way his concern almost leapt forward again. He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to. She could feel it.

She didn’t actually mind Chaewoon’s quiet protectiveness. In truth, it warmed her more than she ever admitted. But today, she didn’t want to be the cause of that look on his face again. The one that hovered between worry and restraint.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe it was something softer, harder to name.

Because the truth was, she liked the way he made her feel—safe, seen. Around him, she could let her guard down. She could look tired, be tired, and not feel ashamed. He never asked her to be anything more than herself.

But the more time they spent together, the more she felt it—that ache in her chest every time she caught him quietly watching her like she might disappear.

And that…

That was the part that scared her.

< Chapter 9 Chapter 11 >

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genre: romance, slow-burn, fluff, angst, sexual tension, mutual pining

Chapter 9: Almost on the Line

A line was almost crossed, feelings starting to grow, but both Haein and Chaewoon choose to stay on their own sides, avoiding the tension that’s quietly building between them.

They stayed like that for a moment—neither of them moving, neither of them speaking. The only sound between them was the soft rhythm of the rain tapping against the windows, steady and unrelenting, like the silence that wrapped around them.

Chaewoon’s gaze was soft, gentle—just like it always was when it came to Haein. But tonight, there was something different in his eyes. Something unspoken. Something heavier. And she felt it too—the shift in the air, the quiet catch in his breath, the way his eyes lingered like he was searching for something… something he wasn’t sure he had the right to want.

Then his gaze dropped—to her lips.

Haein’s heart fluttered in response, unsteady and sudden. Her breath hitched, caught in her throat, and when his eyes flicked back up to meet hers, the moment stretched impossibly thin—on the edge of something neither of them dared to name.

And then—

RING.

The sudden sound of a phone call cut through the quiet like a splash of cold water. Haein startled, fumbling for her phone, yanking it free and accidentally dislodging her headset in the process.

“I—I need to take this call,” she stammered, avoiding his eyes. “You can take the rest of the day off. Goodbye.”

Before he could say anything, she was already halfway to her room, pressing the still-ringing phone to her ear, her footsteps quick and uneven.

Chaewoon sat there still in the moment, his mind still wandering on what had almost happened. One minute, he was waking up to find her beside him—closer than they’d ever been—and the next, she was running off like the walls had suddenly caved in.

His eyes dropped to his lap. Her headset.

It must’ve slipped when she grabbed her phone. He picked it up slowly, fingers curling around the tangled cord.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned back against the couch and ran a hand across his forehead.

“That was close,” he murmured to himself.

Too close.

The way he’d looked at her lips. The way he’d almost leaned in. It wasn’t just a moment— it was a line he'd never crossed, until now.

He knew he was losing his grip. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending.

Pretending that he didn’t want more. Pretending that the feelings blooming quietly inside him weren’t real. Pretending that looking at her didn’t already feel like falling.

And it was dangerous. Too dangerous.

Because the moment he let himself feel this way—let himself want more—he knew it could only end badly.

He kept reminding himself: he was betraying her even now. He was someone she should never trust.

And if the moment comes when Haein finds out the truth—that he was a spy planted inside her family—he didn’t know if she would ever be able to look at him the same way again.

And that thought terrified him more than anything else.

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Haein closed the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes shut, chest rising and falling as if she’d just run a marathon. The rain outside hadn’t let up—it kept drumming softly against the windows like a heartbeat she couldn’t ignore.

She finally opened her eyes and let out a shaky breath, walking over to her desk. The phone call had ended quickly—nothing urgent, just her secretary checking in. But it might as well have been fate yanking her away from a moment she wasn’t ready for.

She sank into her chair, elbows resting on the table, fingers threading through her hair. Her mind was still in the living room—with him. With Chaewoon.

The way he looked at her. The warmth in his eyes. The stillness in the space between them.

And the way his gaze dropped—just for a second—to her lips.

Her heart thundered at the memory, that tiny, unspoken flicker that almost turned into something more. She’d seen it. Felt it.

And she’d run.

Haein let out a soft, humorless laugh and tilted her head back against the chair.

“Idiot,” she whispered—to herself, to him, to the whole moment.

Why did he look at me that way? Was he about to lean in? Was he about to….

She halted her thoughts. It was starting to scare her. She was scared how easily she got lost in the moment. She was scared at how she wanted it. How easy it was to lean in. How natural it was starting to feel to be near him.

Her eyes drifted to the empty pouch sitting on her desk. It was where she kept her headset. The one Chaewoon was still holding onto in the living room.

She pressed her palms to her face.

“This is getting out of hand,” she muttered.

And yet…

Her hands dropped slowly to her lap as her lips curled, soft and bittersweet.

She wasn’t sure what scared her more—that he almost kissed her… or that she almost let him.

And if the phone hadn’t rung…

She wasn’t sure she would’ve stopped him.

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Chaewoon hadn’t slept well that night. His mind had been too busy, too occupied. And when morning came and he picked up Haein for work, he noticed—she hadn’t slept well either.

The air between them was awkward, heavier than usual.

The drive to the company was uncomfortably quiet. Chaewoon kept glancing at the rear-view mirror to check on her. Haein sat quietly, her eyes fixed on the window, but he noticed the little things—the way she blinked a little faster whenever she caught him looking, the way her fingers absentmindedly played with her pen.

And when their eyes met in the mirror, he quickly looked away.

He hated that.

Hated that he was the one making her feel this uncomfortable.

When they arrived, he moved to open the door for her, hesitating for a second before calling out, “Miss Haein.”

She paused on her tracks. Chaewoon took a breath, his voice steady and careful.

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was inappropriate, and I made you uncomfortable. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

Haein didn’t respond right away. She stayed still for a moment, letting his words sink in.

Then, with a small sigh, she spoke.

“What do you mean, Mr. Woo?” she said softly. “I think I should be the one apologizing. I fell asleep on your shoulder the entire afternoon. It must have been uncomfortable for you, and yet… you stayed. I don’t blame you for falling asleep too. You’re not a robot. And…”

She finally turned to face him fully, and for a moment, she almost smiled.

Chaewoon looked so much like a guilty puppy, apologizing even when he didn’t have to.

“I’m not mad or upset with you,” she said gently. “So please, don’t feel uncomfortable with me either.”

Chaewoon returned her smile.

Both of them knew it wasn’t just about her falling asleep on his shoulder, or him dozing off beside her. It was what happened after. The way their lips had almost…

But they chose not to mention it.

Two guarded souls, after all—two people who had built walls too high and too thick around themselves. So, they did what they always did: ignore the moment, pretend it didn’t happen, and let it quietly slip away.

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When they arrived at the office, Haein noticed it again—the lingering stares from the employees, especially the women. Or rather, the stares directed not at her, but at her bodyguard, Chaewoon.

Haein scoffed under her breath. Her pace quickened, the sharp sound of her heels echoing down the hallway.

Chaewoon blinked, momentarily thrown off, before quietly matching her hurried steps.

Is she upset again? he wondered, noting the slight stiffness in her stride.

When they reached her office, Haein spun around, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“I think you should wear a mask next time,” she said flatly. Chaewoon blinked. “…Excuse me?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“You’re too distracting,” she said, almost accusingly.

“Distracting to… whom exactly?” he asked, his brows furrowing.

“To the people working here. You’re too tall, and too han—” she stopped herself mid-sentence, clearing her throat awkwardly. “—frankly, too above average in looks. You draw too much attention. A mask would… solve that.”

She was rambling now, and Chaewoon, much like yesterday, found himself struggling not to smile. She was flustered—and he was thoroughly entertained.

Chaewoon tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“So… let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want me to cover my face because I’m too distracting?”

Haein stiffened. “Don’t make it sound so ridiculous.”

“But it is ridiculous,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Should I wear sunglasses too? Maybe a hat? Full disguise?”

“Maybe,” she muttered, turning away and busying herself with the papers on her desk, pretending to look disinterested. “It’s called being considerate to the workplace environment.”

Chaewoon stepped closer, just enough that she could feel his presence behind her.

Haein froze for half a second—barely noticeable, but enough for him to catch it.

“Or should I just wear a scary face like this?” Chaewoon said as he furrowed his brows together and pressed his lips together.

She cleared her throat again, shuffling a stack of papers that didn’t actually need organizing. “You’re here to do your job, not to be… aesthetically disruptive.”

Chaewoon laughed, low and amused.

“Understood, Ma’am,” his voice held that teasing lilt that made her ears burn. “I’ll try my best to be less… distracting.”

Haein slammed the stack of papers down a little harder than necessary.

“Good,” she said shortly, refusing to meet his gaze.

But as Chaewoon leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching her try so hard to maintain her cool, he couldn’t help but think:

I’m really in trouble now.

< Chapter 8 Chapter 10 >

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Hi everyone! It's been 2 weeks since the last update (aside from the 2 special chapters) I hope you guys are still here :')

Been busy (and lowkey stressed) with work and life lately. So my mind has been so distracted. And this chapter was supposed to be longer, but I figured I should just cut it and continue it for next chapter. I also kinda had a hard time finishing this chapter because my mind is already on the later parts of the story (yoon eunsung, chaewoon background, haein's illness, family hong drama) and yet I'm still not done with the current chapters. I want to pull my hair out.

Thank you again if you guys are still tuning in! I'm more active in Twitter/X esp with updates. If you want to be friends/moots, it's @dalilmountain. Ily and thank you for the patience and support ;-;