The journal sat on Mira's kitchen counter for three days before she dared to open it.
She told herself it was because she was busy—because the Park account had suddenly expanded into three new contracts, all inexplicably requiring her direct involvement. Because her coworkers had started whispering every time she walked past, their voices dropping into hushed speculation. Because Mr. Han had pulled her aside yesterday, his expression caught between suspicion and awe, to ask, "Yoon, what exactly is your relationship with Park Jae?"
She hadn't answered.
Now, with the rain pattering against her apartment windows, Mira finally flipped open the journal's brittle pages. Her childhood handwriting stared back at her—wobbly, earnest, smudged in places where she'd pressed too hard with the pencil.
Today I said "thank you" to the lunch lady without stuttering. Mom cried.
Jae left another strawberry milk. I don't like strawberry milk. But I drank it anyway.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the page.
Jae didn't come to school today. The boys threw my notebook in the puddle. I wish he'd been there.
A knock at her door startled her so badly she nearly dropped the journal.
Mira checked the peephole—and froze.
Jae stood in the hallway, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his tie loosened. Rain glistened in his hair.
She yanked the door open. "How did you get my address?"
"Your employee file." He said it so casually, as if this were a normal thing to admit.
Mira gaped at him. "You—"
"Hungry?" He held up a takeout bag from the upscale Japanese place two blocks from her office. The scent of miso and seared wagyu drifted out. "They gave me extra ginger. You like ginger."
She didn't ask how he knew that.
"I can't." Mira tightened her grip on the doorframe. "I have work."
Jae glanced past her at the kitchen counter, where her laptop sat dark and closed. "Liar."
Then he stepped past her into the apartment, leaving her no choice but to follow.
---
The rumors got worse.
Every time Jae showed up at the office—which was now at least twice a week—the entire floor seemed to hold its breath. He never announced his visits. He'd just appear, leaning against Mira's desk with some flimsy excuse about "contract amendments" or "budget adjustments," his presence sending a ripple through the bullpen.
Today's reason was particularly thin.
"Clarification on the flooring materials," he said, dropping a marble sample onto her keyboard.
Mira glared up at him. "You could email."
"I could." He didn't move.
Across the room, Kim from Accounting mouthed oh my god to her friend.
Mira gritted her teeth. "Mr. Park—"
"Jae."
"Mr. Park," she stressed, "unless there's something actually wrong with the contract—"
"There is." He pulled a folded sheet from his inner pocket and smoothed it onto her desk. "I need you to handle the Jeju Island project too."
Mira scanned the document—a brand-new contract, worth triple the original. Her stomach dropped. "This isn't my division."
"It is now."
She stood abruptly, grabbing his elbow to steer him toward the empty conference room. The second the door shut, she whirled on him. "What are you doing?"
Jae studied her, his expression unreadable. "Giving you a promotion."
"This isn't a promotion! It's—it's targeting! People are talking!"
"Let them."
Mira threw her hands up. "Why are you really here?"
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—frustration? Hurt? It was gone before she could decipher it.
"Because you won't answer my texts," he said simply.
Then he walked out, leaving her speechless.
---
Mira found the reservation slip tucked into her bag the next day.
8 PM. Table for two. Saito.
The most exclusive omakase place in the city. A month-long waitlist.
She nearly crumpled it—until she noticed the handwriting on the back.
No contract talk. Just dinner.
Her traitorous heart skipped.
Mira told herself she wouldn't go.
She went.
Jae was already seated when she arrived, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the scars on his forearms. He didn't stand when she approached—just nodded to the empty chair across from him, as if he'd known she'd come.
"You're late."
"I didn't agree to this."
"You're here."
Mira sat.
The chef began serving course after course—fatty tuna, sea urchin so fresh it tasted like the ocean, truffle-infused wagyu. Jae barely spoke, letting the food fill the silence between them. But every time Mira's glass dipped below half-full, he'd gesture for a refill. Every time she hesitated between chopsticks, he'd nudge the soy sauce closer without looking up from his plate.
It was maddening.
"You're doing it again," she muttered during the sixth course.
Jae glanced up. "What?"
"This." Mira gestured between them. "The—the things. The contracts. The food. Showing up at my apartment."
He set down his chopsticks. "You could tell me to stop."
She should. She would.
The words died in her throat.
Jae leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Tell me to stop, Mira."
The restaurant blurred around her.
She reached for her water glass—only to find his fingers already there, nudging it toward her.
Mira exhaled.
"Just... email next time."
Jae's mouth curved. "No."
---
The final straw came on a Tuesday.
Mira was in the middle of a client call when Jae strolled into the office—not to her desk, but to Mr. Han's glass-walled fishbowl. Through the transparent walls, she watched as he slid a folder across the desk. Mr. Han's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
Ten minutes later, Mira was summoned.
"The entire Blue Bay development?" Mr. Han sputtered. "Yoon, what the hell did you do to impress him?"
Mira's face burned. "Nothing!"
"Bullshit! He just handed us a nine-figure project and insisted you lead it!" Mr. Han leaned in. "Listen, I don't care if you're sleeping with him—"
"We're not—!"
"—just keep him happy."
Mira stormed out—straight into Jae, who'd been waiting by the elevators.
"Happy?" he asked mildly.
She jabbed the button. "You're ruining my career."
"Promotions ruin careers now?"
The elevator dinged open. Mira stepped inside, but Jae followed, crowding her against the mirrored wall.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, his breath warm against her temple.
The doors slid shut.
Mira closed her eyes.
"You're impossible."
Jae's laugh was quiet, satisfied. "I know."