The office smelled like cold coffee and printer toner. Fluorescent lights hummed above, turning even the brightest morning into something clinical. Ga-young stood at attention by Min-jae's desk, the printed report trembling slightly in her hands as if it felt the tension in the room.
Min-jae skimmed it with the same expression he always wore when judging, unreadable, precise. After what felt like several heartbeats, he set the last page down without a flicker of emotion.
"Is this all they could gather?" His voice was polite, professional, a surgical incision.
"Yes, sir." Ga-young's reply was steady. "The timeline was short. Stretching it would have introduced filler and weakened the findings."
He raised an eyebrow. "Does that make sense to you?"
"It does." She kept her posture straight. "A compact report keeps it actionable."
He tapped the desk once, then moved on. "Maison Éclat, any progress?"
"I emailed a shortlist of influencers and sent Madam Han's design draft to your inbox. Adore Enterprise is awaiting confirmation; they're optimistic," she recited, efficiently, like a well-trained relay.
Min-jae's gaze finally landed on her. "Next time, hand deliver the information. Email can be missed."
She bowed. "Understood. It will be physically delivered."
He nodded and pushed his chair back the faintest degree. "Send the design draft to production. Begin immediate coordination."
"Yes, sir." The words were automatic, and she meant them.
He stabbed a pen into the report. "Tell Kang Ji-sung to submit his resignation by end of day."
The pen clattered against the desk. For a moment the office stopped, a small pocket of stunned silence where light seemed to thicken.
Ga-young's mouth opened, then closed. There were a dozen questions pinging behind her ribs, but the bridge between them had been burned. She bowed, voice clipped. "Yes, sir."
Min-jae turned back to his screen. "You may leave."
She took one step, then stopped. The floor felt slippery beneath the things she wanted to say.
"Mr. Min-jae." Her voice was soft. "Thank you. About… yesterday. For everything."
He didn't look up at first. When he finally did, his expression was an expertly contained regret. "There's no need to thank me. I was responsible for putting you in that situation. I am responsible for getting you out."
The words landed like a cold stone. She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It helped. I appreciate it." She bowed, turned, and left.
Outside the meeting rooms, the staff lounge smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old sandwiches. Ga-young poured herself an iced tea and leaned against the counter, replaying his curt tone until it became a small, angry drum in her chest.
"Responsibility?" she muttered, stirring. "What a convenient shield."
A shadow fell over the counter. "What's wrong? You look like a thundercloud." Ye-seul's voice was bright, dangerous in the way a child hides a slingshot behind a smile.
"Ye-seul!" Ga-young jumped. Relief and irritation came out in a single breath. "You scared me."
"It's been ages. You left early yesterday. You okay?" Ye-seul slid onto the stool beside her, eyes scanning for bruises she could beat for fun.
Ga-young let out a slow exhale. "A lot's happened."
"Seo-ra?" Ye-seul's jaw tightened. "I heard she tried to make you disappear."
"Not that dramatic," Ga-young lied, letting the tea cool between her fingers. "But she made waves."
"If I had been there—" Ye-seul ground her teeth. "I would've pulled that woman's hair out, no questions asked."
Ga-young snorted. "You and Ji-hye would make a great demolition team."
"Speaking of Ji-hye," Ye-seul said, leaning in, conspiratorial. "Where is she? I didn't see her this morning."
"She's at home, family event. Mom's side." Ga-young took a calming sip. "It's a short day. Want to stop by? It'll be chaotic but fun."
Ye-seul squealed. "Really?."
Ga-young smiled despite everything. The small warmth was like sunlight through blinds. "You'll be my honorary troublemaker."
Ye-seul's grin faded into a more serious expression. "Min-jae's been cold lately. Like winter-in-August cold. Be perfect at your tasks, or he'll roast you."
"Noted," Ga-young said, flattening her shoulders. "And if he yells, you'll yank his ear?"
"Instantly," Ye-seul promised. "I'll personally teach him manners."
Ga-young laughed, a quiet, grateful sound. The laugh felt like a promise: she would survive this. She would finish the final debt and handle Seo-ra on her own terms.
As Ye-seul left with a thumbs up, Ga-young watched her go and felt the familiar prickle of being observed. At her table, Min-jae's chair was empty for now, but the report on his desk gleamed under the office light like a verdict.
She folded her hands around the iced tea and thought of Ji-sung's forced resignation, of the invisible hand that had cleared her debt, of Min-jae's cold answer about responsibility. Every small thing felt like a thread pulled through a larger tapestry she couldn't yet see.
When she stood to return to her workstation, her reflection in the glass looked steadier than she felt, a woman who knew how to smile while packing the knife she would one day use to cut her own ties.
Outside, the city kept moving, indifferent and patient. Inside, the office resumed its rhythm: keyboards, printer clicks, the soft, controlled breath of people pretending not to notice how much had changed.
And somewhere between the meeting rooms and the elevator lobby, Ga-young decided she wouldn't be grateful for explanations she hadn't asked for. She would accept the help given, but she would learn the names of the hands that reached for her, and she would remember them.
---
By the time they arrived at the Hyun family estate, the quiet chill of the office had melted into the hum of music and laughter spilling through the open garden doors. The evening shimmered with soft golden light, lanterns swaying from the trees, candles glowing on every table, their flames reflected in crystal glasses and silverware.
A string quartet played near the koi pond, their music threading through the gentle clinking of glasses and the murmur of polite conversation. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and champagne.
"This place looks like a magazine spread," Ye-seul whispered, clutching Ga-young's arm as they stepped into the garden.
"Typical Madam Jung," Ga-young said with a low chuckle. "She's a perfectionist — but in a good way."
"Oh, I can tell," Ye-seul murmured, her eyes sweeping over the scene, the seamless elegance of everything. "Everything's perfectly in place."
Then her gaze stopped.
Across the garden, leaning lazily against the low marble rail, stood a man. He wasn't dressed like the others, no tuxedo, no shiny shoes, no gleaming watch. Just a black button-down with sleeves half rolled, dark baggy jeans, and white sneakers that somehow didn't ruin the aesthetic but made it his.
And somehow, he looked better than everyone else. Effortlessly sharp, the kind of handsome that didn't need attention, yet quietly demanded it.
His hair fell carelessly over his forehead, a few strands catching the lantern light. His expression was calm, unreadable, but when his eyes lifted and met hers, the world momentarily stilled.
Ye-seul's breath caught in her throat.
The corners of his lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, more like a secret he wasn't sharing. Then he pushed off the railing and began walking toward them.
Oh God. He saw me staring. He definitely saw me staring.
Her thoughts tangled as he came closer. Act normal, Ye-seul. Normal. Don't look—
"Yun-ho!" Ga-young's voice cut through, bright with surprise.
"Nonna!" His face lit up with a boyish grin. "I saw you from over there and thought I was imagining things."
"What kind of sister would I be if I didn't show up?" she teased, giving his arm a playful nudge.
Ye-seul blinked. Wait. Ji-hye's brother? The same one she keeps calling ugly and annoying?
Her lips parted slightly. He's the finest man I've seen in my entire life.
"Good evening," he said, his gaze shifting to her.
Ye-seul straightened, her heart tripping over itself. "Hello."
"This is Ye-seul," Ga-young introduced. "Ye-seul, this is Chef Yun-ho."
Chef? Ye-seul thought, startled. Perfect. He's literally my type.
"Nice to meet you," Yun-ho said with a polite bow.
"Nice to meet you too," she replied, bowing in return, trying not to sound breathless.
"Ahh, you've grown so much, what were they feeding you guys there?" Ga-young teased him.
"I've been working out," Yun-ho grinned, flexing his arm, and instantly got a sharp slap from behind.
"Didn't I tell you to stay put?" Ji-hye's voice scolded, sharp as ever. "Everyone's been looking for you!"
"I'm here to have fun, not stand around like some statue of Liberty," Yun-ho said.
"Then stand as the Statue of Yun-ho, because Mom's looking for you," Ji-hye snapped.
"You could've just led with that," he muttered.
"Are you talking back to me right now?"
"Goodbye, Noona. And—Ye-seul, right?"
Ye-seul nodded before she could stop herself.
He smiled, that quiet, knowing smile again, and walked away, his figure swallowed by the warm flicker of the crowd.
Ji-hye huffed, crossing her arms. "I swear, I'll kill that boy. He thinks growing a few muscles makes him untouchable."
"You nag too much," Ga-young teased. "You're starting to sound like a fussy grandma."
Ji-hye groaned but her tone softened. "You have no idea how glad I am you guys came. Things are insane tonight."
"Of course we came," Ye-seul said, smiling. "Is there anything we can help with?"
"Anything? There's everything," Ji-hye sighed, exasperated. "So many guests from Mom's side, Dad's side, even Yun-ho's popular customers, I can barely breathe."
"What about the workers?" Ga-young asked.
"Oh, there's a full catering team, but you know how my mom is. Everything has to be perfect. So, I'm stuck supervising."
"Then let's get to work," Ye-seul said with a spark of determination.