The elevator doors slid shut.
Celeste let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and leaned back against the wall.
Her fingertips still burned.
The heat of Daniel's skin lingered—like an imprint.
That moment she'd been pulled into his lap.
The kiss, fleeting yet overwhelming. And the last thing he'd said to her.
"You have no idea how close you were"
It had sounded playful, but it wasn't.
There was no mistaking the weight in his voice—a man's voice, steeped in want and restraint.
She could feel it: how long he'd been holding back.
Her heart thudded, not from embarrassment, but from something deeper.
It wasn't her body that felt unsettled—it was her thoughts.
He had been… family. At least, that's what she'd always told herself. But now?
Now she didn't even know where that line was anymore.
The moment she stepped into her room, Celeste dropped onto the bed without bothering to change.
And then—just like a wave crashing in—the memory came back.
Thirteen years ago. A dark summer night behind the Grand Hotel.
Their first kiss.
It felt so close, she could almost smell the air that night.
Her phone buzzed. Jinwoo.
"Script reading ends early today. Wanna grab ramen by the Han River?"
The message was warm, familiar—like a soft coat on a cold day.
But her fingers hovered over the screen. She couldn't type back.
Her mind was tangled. And before she could say yes to anything, she needed answers.
Quietly, she got up and made her way to the study.
On the desk sat the black folder Howard had handed her earlier.
She opened it.
First page: a photocopy of a passport.
Noah Choi.
She flipped through slowly.
A certificate from a BOC internship. Scholarship records. Rental contracts in London.
And investigative reports—most of them focused on drug abuse among the elite.
One thread tied it all together.
And then—a line in the report stopped her.
Noah's parents had traveled to Korea years ago, chasing an exclusive interview with a major whistleblower.
They vanished afterward.
No leads.
No trace.
Since then, Noah had been everywhere—his travel history a crisscrossed mess of continents.
It didn't take much to guess: he'd been continuing their work.
Celeste closed the file.
This wasn't just blackmail.
It was so much more tangled.
The talk of money, the media company—likely just a cover for something far more personal.
"If my ability had worked on him…none of this would've been necessary."
She exhaled, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Then, she picked up her phone and sent a message.
It's me. Where do you want to meet?
The reply came almost instantly.
Wow. That was fast. Already made up your mind?
Yeah. I'm bringing a yes.
In that case…How about the lounge bar at Gangnam Hotel? Fourth floor.
That's a little… public, don't you think?
Sorry, but unlike you, I'm not a billionaire. No secret bunkers in my pocket.
…Fine. I'll send you the time and address shortly. See you there.