KINA
I hated how many times I checked my reflection before leaving work.
Just a swipe of mascara and lipstick. That was it. That was all I had.
But I still redid it four times. Maybe five. I lost count somewhere between "this looks okay" and "I look like a toddler who stole her mom's purse."
When I finally stepped outside, Aaron's car was already waiting. His driver stepped out, polished and silent, opening the door without a word. I gave a tiny nod because what else was I supposed to do, and slid into leather seats that probably cost more than three months of my rent.
The drive was smooth. Too smooth. Every bump was cushioned, every honk a distant memory, like the rest of the city didn't exist for people like Aaron. Just wide streets and endless hush.
I stared out the tinted window, my fingers fiddling with the edge of my cheap office bag.
When we finally pulled into the upscale part of the city, my stomach curled up like paper left in rain.
Everything gleamed. The buildings stretched like they'd been sculpted by gods with marble and most definitely money. The valet boys were dressed better than I was. Women in coats worth entire salaries laughed behind champagne glasses. Even the air smelled like subtle citrus and pretentiousness.
I stepped out slowly, heels clicking too loudly. The driver motioned toward the entrance of an impossibly sleek glass building.
The restaurant he talked about.
People inside barely glanced at me, except, it felt like they were all staring. My knees wanted to buckle. I straightened my skirt and followed the hostess inside, keeping my head low like a rat that had wandered into a ball.
There was a waiting lounge with plush chairs. A hallway of hanging crystal lights. Open dining rooms filled with people who looked like they belonged on TV screens instead of reality.
My shoes squeaked. My breath caught. My pulse skipped too many beats.
The hostess didn't seem fazed at all.
"This way, please," she said, leading me past elegant glass doors into a quieter, more secluded section of the restaurant. A private inner area with fewer tables and even fewer guests. She stopped at a lone, fancy table set against a wall of frosted glass.
"Mr. Hwan will join you shortly."
I nodded and sank into the seat.
And immediately regretted it.
The leather felt too soft. The plate in front of me probably cost more than every ceramic mug in my kitchen combined. My hands fidgeted on my lap, twisting my fingers over and over like I could unravel the unease.
Every clink of cutlery. Every soft murmur. Every eye that might have flicked in my direction. I felt it like a knife dragging over skin.
I shouldn't be here.
Not with him.
Not dressed like this. Not with the ghost of mascara under my eyes and lipstick I borrowed from my cousin's drawer. Not with my thrifted blouse and shoes I had to glue last week.
He lived in this world.
I was just visiting, uninvited.
My palms were starting to sweat. My chest felt tight. I stared at the door and wondered, if I ran now, how far could I get before anyone noticed?
And then the door opened.
Aaron walked in.
Straight-backed. Crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves. Dark slacks. Silver watch glinting under the warm light. His hair slicked back in that effortless way only he could do, like he hadn't just spent a day in the office but had been styled for a magazine shoot.
The hostess greeted him with a soft smile. He gave her the smallest nod and turned to me.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes locked.
I sat there frozen, halfway between shrinking and dissolving completely.
He strutted across from me like he owned the restaurant. Like this was his fifth dinner of the day and the first four had been business meetings with oil tycoons and low-tier gods.
"Pardon my lateness," he said smoothly, settling into the chair like a king on a throne. "One of my business partners just opened this place. He's been pestering me to try it for weeks. Thought I'd come check it out… with you."
With me?
Not his secretary, his business partner, his mysterious weekend errand buddy Katherine?
Me. Of course it was me. I was his girlfriend after all. His number one. He really did love me.
My brain short-circuited and my cheeks lit up like a power outage had been restored all at once. I nearly knocked over my water glass, but recovered at the speed of shame.
"You didn't have to…" I said, voice soft and stupid.
He just blinked, like he'd forgotten I was capable of humility. "I wanted to."
Cue internal screaming and spontaneous heart combustion.
Then the silence dropped in like an unpaid bill.
I stared at the folded napkin on my lap like it had answers. Did we usually talk? I couldn't remember a single thing we ever said to each other when we weren't kissing or recovering from kissing. Was I supposed to start conversation? Make a joke? Comment on the weather like a grandmother?
So... lovely air pressure tonight, Mr. Hwan?
Thankfully, Aaron gestured a nearby waiter with the flick of two fingers, because of course he did and said, "Menus."
The waiter glided over and handed us the cursed laminated slabs. I took mine with trembling hands, bracing for disaster.
And I found it.
All of it.
Truffle-infused miso sea bass with saffron foam – 500$
Rose-glazed duck hearts with beet reduction – 1000$
Air-fried tiger tears served with sadness and a garnish of generational wealth – market price
My soul tried to leave my body.
Aaron casually scanned the menu like he was reading a grocery list. He could probably order the whole menu and still have enough money to buy the building.
I, on the other hand, was doing calculus.
"What's the cheapest thing here that won't make me look like I eat dust sandwiches for lunch?"
Eventually, I landed on something almost familiar, grilled chicken something. I didn't look at the price. Looking would hurt.
Aaron closed his menu. "She'll have the grilled chicken. I'll take the wagyu set. And the '98 Blanc de Blancs."
I blinked. What in the Hogwarts wine collection…?
The waiter nodded and disappeared before I could ask if "Blanc de Blancs" came with free rent.
I forced my hands to relax on the table and tried to smile. "So… how are you? Work been okay?"
Immediately after saying that, I wanted to hit myself in the face with the napkin.
Work?
This man just casually ended someone's entire career with a single sentence this morning and I was asking about his work?
He gave me a quiet look. The kind that made it hard to tell if he was amused or tired of me entirely.
Then he nodded once. "Fine. Busy. As always."
I tried to focus on the glass in front of me. It was smooth and clean like everything about this place, but the second Aaron turned the question back on me,
"...And how are you doing, Kina?"
My mind blanked.
I blinked at him. "Uh… fine. I mean, busy. Work's been hectic."
God. Could I sound any more fake?
He didn't even blink. "Hectic?"
The silence grew sticky again. I licked my lips and considered telling him the truth. That I was two seconds away from combusting under Katherine's heels, that I couldn't breathe in this damn place because I kept wondering if the forks cost more than my wardrobe...
RING RING. RING RING.
I nearly choked as my phone lit up violently beside my cutlery.
Kieran.