The office was too quiet when she entered.
Even the air felt heavy, like the walls themselves were listening.
Joon-hyuk sat behind his desk, flipping through a file with the kind of focus that looked practiced. "The photoshoot is tomorrow," he said without looking up. "Be ready by nine."
She stayed by the door. "You could at least ask if I'm okay."
He glanced up then, brows tightening. "You don't like this arrangement. I understand. But you agreed."
Her chest tightened. "I agreed to help you, not to lose myself in the process."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Anger means you still care."
The words stung more than they should have. "You think everything is a negotiation, don't you?" she said quietly. "Even emotions."
He didn't answer. His silence was worse than any denial.
"You've spent your whole life trying to control everything," she continued. "But people aren't contracts, Joon-hyuk. I'm not a name you can sign and file away."
Something flickered in his eyes — regret, maybe, or the faintest trace of guilt. "I never wanted to hurt you," he said at last, voice barely above a whisper.
"Then stop pretending this doesn't," she murmured.
The distance between them felt too wide to cross — and yet, too small to breathe in.
When she finally turned for the door, she half-expected him to call her name.
He didn't.
Only the sound of her heels echoed down the hall, each step a quiet reminder of everything they'd already lost — and everything they were pretending not to feel.