Chapter 7: Dangerous Territory
The meeting finally ended, hours later, in a storm of strained handshakes and forced smiles.
Seo-Ah rose with the rest of the executives, gathering her files hastily.
She could feel Min-Jun's gaze on her — cold, assessing, lingering longer than necessary.
"Ms. Han," he said smoothly, as the others filed out. "Stay."
Seo-Ah's breath caught.
She clutched her notepad tighter and nodded, heart pounding against her ribs.
The doors closed with a soft click, sealing them inside the vast, echoing room.
Min-Jun remained seated, back relaxed against the leather chair, fingers steepled thoughtfully under his chin.
For a long moment, he simply watched her.
Seo-Ah shifted uneasily under the weight of his gaze.
"You handled yourself well," he said finally, voice low.
It wasn't quite praise — too detached, too clinical — but from him, it might as well have been a standing ovation.
"Thank you, sir," she murmured, bowing slightly.
Min-Jun's lips twitched — the ghost of a smile, gone before she could be sure she had seen it.
He rose fluidly from his seat, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline.
The afternoon light caught the hard lines of his jaw, the quiet tension in his shoulders.
Seo-Ah remained rooted to the spot, unsure if she was dismissed or expected to follow.
"You have ambition," he said without turning around. "But ambition without caution is dangerous."
The words struck her harder than they should have.
"I—I understand," she said softly.
Min-Jun finally turned, his dark eyes pinning her in place.
"Do you?" he asked, voice almost gentle.
Seo-Ah opened her mouth — but no words came out.
Because deep down, she didn't understand.
She didn't understand why he sometimes shielded her without acknowledgment.
Why he noticed her at all when he had an empire to run.
Why — despite every warning her brain screamed — her heart kept reaching for him like a moth to a lethal flame.
Min-Jun studied her for a long moment more, then exhaled sharply through his nose — as if disgusted by something in himself.
"That'll be all," he said curtly, walking past her without another glance.
Seo-Ah bowed again, whispering a rushed, "Yes, sir," before practically fleeing from the conference room.
She didn't see the way Min-Jun paused at the door after she left — hand resting lightly on the handle — eyes closed for just a second longer than necessary, as if steadying himself against something he couldn't afford to feel.
---
Later That Night
Seo-Ah sat in her tiny apartment, flipping through the notes she had taken at the conference.
But the words blurred together.
Her mind kept replaying every second she had spent beside him: The low murmur of his voice. The protective shift of his body. The rare, almost tender glance that he quickly buried.
She hated herself for the way her heart reacted — wild, desperate, stupid.
She was a fool.
Lee Min-Jun didn't care about her.
He couldn't.
Men like him didn't risk themselves for girls like her — ordinary, clumsy, forgettable.
Still, when she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the brush of his hand near her chair.
The way his body had shielded hers instinctively, like a barrier against the cold world.
It was nothing.
It had to be.
Seo-Ah hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face against them, willing herself to forget.
But deep down, some fragile, dangerous part of her already knew:
She was falling.
And there was no one — least of all him — who would catch her.
Monday morning came with a biting chill in the air.
Seo-Ah stood stiffly at her workstation, organizing files for the next executive briefing.
Her mind, traitorous and uncooperative, kept drifting back to Saturday — to the shadow of Min-Jun's quiet protection in that conference room.
She shook her head sharply, willing herself to focus.
Forget it. Forget him. He doesn't see you.
It was just business. Just proximity.
Nothing more.
"Ms. Han."
The deep voice snapped her from her spiraling thoughts.
Seo-Ah whirled around, nearly knocking over the stack of folders on her desk.
Lee Min-Jun stood there, towering, unreadable in a flawless charcoal suit.
Today, he looked even more untouchable — the very embodiment of cold perfection.
"Sir," she stammered, bowing hastily.
His eyes flickered to the teetering folders before returning to her face, a faint, almost imperceptible amusement glinting there — gone in a blink.
"I need you in the executive wing," he said simply.
No explanation. No room for argument.
Seo-Ah nodded mutely and scrambled to gather her materials, cursing herself for looking so disorganized.
She trailed after him down the long corridor, trying to match his brisk pace without tripping over her own feet.
Min-Jun didn't speak as they walked.
He didn't look at her, either.
And yet, when they crossed a slippery patch of polished marble, Seo-Ah faltered — the files slipping from her arms.
In an instant, a hand shot out — strong, firm — gripping her elbow, steadying her before she could fall.
Seo-Ah froze.
So did he.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
She could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of her sleeve, the quiet strength in his touch.
Min-Jun's gaze locked with hers — dark, stormy, dangerous.
Then, with a slight tightening of his jaw, he released her as if burned.
"Be careful," he said curtly.
Not unkindly.
But not gently, either.
Seo-Ah bent quickly to retrieve her files, cheeks flaming with embarrassment, refusing to look up again.
He didn't offer to help.
Of course he didn't.
Min-Jun waited in silence until she was ready, then continued walking without another word, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Seo-Ah followed him, heart hammering painfully against her ribs.
Dangerous. This is dangerous.
Every small, fleeting kindness from him — every accidental touch, every lingering glance — was a thread binding her tighter.
Threads that would snap the moment she forgot herself.
Threads that would cut deep when he inevitably turned away.
Because that's what men like Lee Min-Jun did.
They saved you from falling only to leave you standing alone, colder and more lost than before.
---
In Min-Jun's Office
His private office was all sharp lines and muted luxury.
Seo-Ah stood quietly as he rifled through documents at his desk, giving her time to breathe, to think, to suppress the whirlwind of emotions storming inside her.
"You'll be attending tomorrow's site inspection with me," Min-Jun said without looking up.
Seo-Ah blinked, stunned.
Normally, only senior assistants were allowed to accompany him on external evaluations.
"But sir—" she started.
He cut her off with a glance.
"No arguments," he said. "You're competent. I don't tolerate incompetence in my presence."
It was the closest thing to a compliment she would ever get.
Seo-Ah bowed again. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
Min-Jun watched her for a moment longer, then went back to his work — dismissing her with a subtle flick of his hand.
Seo-Ah left the office with her heart pounding, her hands shaking — not from fear, but from the painful, beautiful hope she dared not name.