Chapter 19 đź«‘
The timing couldn't have been worse.
Milim's heart pounded uncontrollably the moment she spotted her father's figure in the distance. Panic surged through her veins like a wild current, and without thinking, she buried her face deep into Dylan's chest. In her haste, she forgot that her back was still exposed — a detail that could betray her even if her face remained hidden.
Her fists clenched around Dylan's shirt, knuckles white, as if she wanted to disappear entirely into his embrace. Her breathing quickened, and her trembling body pressed tightly against him. Dylan stiffened under the sudden contact, completely taken aback. Her soft breath fanned across his chest, the contours of her face rubbing against his thin undershirt. The sensation was too vivid, too real.
One part of him was stunned — the other, somewhat irritated. This kind of intimacy came out of nowhere. It wasn't like her. Coquettish. Willful. Unpredictable.
"What's the matter?" he asked, his voice low as he wrapped his arms gently around her, trying not to draw attention.
Milim didn't respond immediately. Her heart was racing madly, like a wild horse against its reins, and her sweaty palms made her grip slippery. Her eyes remained fixed on the corner of the corridor, watching as her father approached—one step… two steps…
"Good morning, Section Chief James."
The sudden greeting caught her off guard. But it wasn't directed at her father by Milim. Someone else had spoken to him. Milim held her breath.
James chuckled lightly. "Haha, you're early today."
She watched her father walk by without even a second glance. Relief washed over her like a wave, but strangely, it didn't bring peace. Instead, a dull ache settled in her chest.
He didn't recognize me… Not even my back.
What if I had been my brother? Would he still not notice?
Her mind spun with thoughts she couldn't quiet.
"Are you feeling unwell?" Dylan asked, this time with concern. He leaned down and looked at her flushed face.
"No…" Milim quickly released him, stepping back and adjusting her expression. She feigned innocence, pretending the panic never happened.
Dylan studied her quietly, the scent of her still lingering faintly on his clothes. He clenched his hands together, hiding the strange warmth that lingered.
"Let's proceed, then."
Milim hesitated. The weight of her father's presence in the building unsettled her. She didn't want to linger.
"How long will it take you? Can I wait for you downstairs instead?" she asked hopefully.
Dylan gave her a flat stare. "Milk tea shop?"
She nodded quickly, trying to appear casual. "Yes."
"Don't even think about it." His tone turned cold. With one arm already encircling her waist, he guided her forward. "Don't let me catch you sneaking junk food again. Or you'll be in big trouble."
Milim blinked in confusion. Why does he always misunderstand my intentions?
It wasn't just about snacks…
This man clearly didn't understand how a 19-year-old thought. Not even close.
Dylan, towering at 1.87 meters with long legs, usually walked briskly. But today, he slowed his pace significantly to match Milim's, three times slower than his norm.
As they entered the building, employees whispered among themselves. Most had never seen the company's mysterious president before, only heard his name. The realization that this stoic, powerful man was Dylan Maverick left many breathless.
"M-Mister Dylan, hello. May I show you to the office?" a nervous young receptionist offered, bowing politely.
"Lead the way."
With Milim still in his arms, Dylan walked without sparing a glance at anyone. His aura was unshakable, commanding respect and silence. It was the natural air of a man born to lead.
Milim, however, felt the vast distance between them. It wasn't just physical—it was existential. A chasm between their worlds. Between her, an ordinary stone, and him, a gleaming diamond.
"Would you like coffee or tea, sir?" the receptionist asked.
"No. Leave us."
He waited until she exited before examining the sofa, then gently helped Milim sit. "Stop moving around. I'll get water."
He twisted off the thermos lid and walked toward the water dispenser. Milim, weary from the early morning and emotional stress, couldn't resist the plush comfort of the sofa. She flopped down, letting herself sink.
When Dylan returned and saw her sprawled across the seat, he paused. Then, silently, he set the cup down and sat beside her.
"You can lie down if you're tired," he said gently.
Milim looked at him, hesitant. He sat in the exact spot where her head had rested moments ago. If she laid down again, her face would end up… on his lap. Her cheeks turned crimson at the thought.
So instead, she straightened up and pretended she wasn't tired at all.
Dylan noticed the hesitation. A subtle sneer tugged at the corner of his lips. She still doesn't want to be close to me. So be it.
Milim shifted. "Could you scoot over a little? I might crush your legs when I lie down."
Dylan said nothing, merely adjusted his position. Milim aimed to rest near the armrest, but in her calculations, her head accidentally landed… on his leg. The warmth of his pants grazed her cheek, and her entire body tensed.
"S-Sorry!" she jolted upright.
"Lie down. Don't move," he said calmly, pressing her down again.
Their bodies were close. Too close. Her breathing became shallow. Her heart fluttered.
And then—his eyes. He was watching her. Intently.
Her cheeks flamed. Pretend to sleep, she ordered herself and promptly shut her eyes.
But sleep didn't come. Not with her father possibly nearby, not in a stranger's office. She opened her eyes quietly.
"I'm no longer tired, Mister Dylan. I'll just sit and wait," she whispered, moving to lean against the sofa with deliberate distance.
For the second time in thirty minutes, Dylan felt a silent rejection.
"As you wish," he muttered and looked away.
The door opened.
Enzo entered, scheduled to meet with the company president. He was surprised to find Dylan already there — and even more so, not alone. A girl? Sitting beside Dylan?
Still, Dylan offered no introductions, so Enzo remained silent. But curiosity churned inside him.
"Cousin, how's the Old Master doing overseas?" Dylan asked, casually breaking the silence.
"He's well. He hasn't returned to Korea in over twenty years… but it looks like he'll be back soon."
Dylan nodded. The Old Master was the man who had raised him. To him, it wasn't just family—it was personal.
"I'll see him when he returns."
They spoke of business, the economy, market forecasts—things Milim neither understood nor cared for. She stared at the thermos on the table, fighting the boredom creeping in.
Dylan, meanwhile, noticed her gaze. He stopped mid-conversation and turned to her.
"Want water?" he asked.
Milim, used to his attentiveness by now, nodded and accepted the thermos. As she drank, she realized the room had gone quiet. Both Dylan and Enzo were watching her.
Flustered, she returned the cup and stood quickly. "I'm going to the bathroom."
"I'll take you," Dylan said, rising immediately.
"You're busy—"
"No, it's fine," Enzo cut in. "Take your time."
But his thoughts were a storm. Who is she? Dylan never brings anyone along…
Is she his daughter? No… too old. Illegitimate child? No—he'd have been a kid himself at the time…
His curiosity deepened.
Outside, Milim tugged the brim of her hat lower. She'd forgotten about her father again. Why had she come out?
Dylan asked a nearby staff member for directions, then drew her close again.
Milim, distracted, didn't even realize how near Dylan stayed. When she entered the bathroom, she didn't notice that he followed her in.
Standing over the toilet, she lowered her pants and relieved herself quickly, unaware of the burning gaze behind her.
Dylan watched silently, his throat bobbing. A strange warmth surged in his chest. He tugged at his tie, scolding himself internally.
I must be insane…
Even the cleanest man would go mad watching her like this.