The restaurant glimmered with soft chandeliers and crystal glassware, the kind of place where every whisper carried the weight of power. LJ Group was hosting a private dinner for Sungjin Group's heir, Choi Min-jae, and every executive in attendance looked like they were sitting in the presence of royalty. Laughter rose and fell like music as waiters glided between tables, pouring expensive wine into even more expensive glasses.
Kang Hye-rin sat at the far end, hands folded neatly in her lap. She tried to look invisible. These were men and women who made decisions that shaped industries; she was just a junior staffer who'd been dragged along because someone higher up needed an extra seat filled. She wasn't supposed to speak. She wasn't supposed to be noticed.
But then Choi Min-jae's gaze found her.
"And who might this be?" His tone was smooth, genuinely curious, not condescending. His attention drew every other pair of eyes down the table toward her.
Before she could answer, Lee Joon-hyuk spoke from his seat beside Min-jae, voice cool and clipped. "Kang Hye-rin. Junior staff."
Just two words, delivered like a full stop.
Her chest tightened. Junior staff. That was all she was to him — a title, a line item on payroll.
Min-jae's smile didn't waver. "A junior staff member invited to a table like this?" he mused, raising an eyebrow. "That's impressive. Most people work years to earn a seat here."
The room chuckled softly, though it felt more like polite static than humor. Hye-rin forced a small smile. "I'm just here to assist with the project," she said quickly.
"Still," Min-jae said, lifting his glass slightly in her direction, "you shouldn't underestimate yourself. People who sit quietly usually see the most."
It wasn't flattery — it was something gentler, warmer. It startled her enough that she forgot to look away. And when she finally did, she caught Joon-hyuk's eyes watching her from across the table. His expression was neutral, but the faint tension in his jaw told another story.
Later, when the dinner ended and the executives drifted toward the lobby, she stayed behind to gather her things. The air was quieter now, and that was when she heard them — voices low, only a few feet away.
Min-jae's tone had changed. Calm, but sharper. "You can't keep dodging it forever, Joon-hyuk. The board's starting to whisper. Marriage. Stability. Without it, you'll always look like a risk."
There was a pause. Then Joon-hyuk's reply, cool as ever. "I don't need a wife to run a company."
"No," Min-jae said softly, "but you might need one to keep it."
The words hit her harder than she expected. Marriage. The word echoed as she turned away, pretending she hadn't heard a thing.
By the time she stepped out into the cool night, the sound of laughter and glasses clinking behind her felt like a world she'd never belong to. But the conversation she'd overheard refused to fade — lingering, unsettling, like the first hint of a storm she couldn't yet see.