Han Serin's phone had been vibrating non-stop since morning.Comments, articles, and speculations flooded the screen — some praising her "strategic move," others mocking her as an opportunist who sold herself for power.The internet was always thirsty for blood; and this time, that blood was Han Serin's.
She stared at the glowing screen for a while, then slowly set the phone down.Outside, the sound of Seoul's traffic came like distant waves.Amid the chaos of the world, this room was unnervingly quiet — the kind of silence that feels alive.
The door opened without a sound.Kang Jaehyun stood there, sleeves rolled up, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar.He looked at her back for a moment — assessing whether her stillness was strength, or the beginning of a fracture.
"The news is loud today," he said finally. His voice was calm, but there was a softness at the edge — like someone unaccustomed to concern.
Serin didn't turn.
"I'm used to it. The world only loves stories about fallen women."
Jaehyun walked closer, glanced at the phone, then at her.
"You don't need to prove anything to them. Time will speak."
Serin smiled faintly, bitterly.
"Time doesn't speak, Jaehyun. It only waits to see who gives up first."
For the first time, something shifted in his gaze.Behind that marble-cold composure, something trembled — faintly, but real.He looked out the window, the city glittering in the amber light of Seoul's night.
"I know what it feels like," he murmured. "When people think you live for money, not because of your will. They called me a monster when I fired my father from the board. They never knew I did it to save the company he built."
Serin turned slowly toward him.Those words — quiet, almost fragile — were not something she expected from Kang Jaehyun.There was a wound there, hidden beneath layers of reason, but still bleeding.
"So… we're the same," she said softly."Not the same," he corrected. "But maybe… we stand on the same line — between hate and the need to prove ourselves."
Silence returned between them.Not awkward this time, but something closer to understanding.Two people who never sought sympathy, finding the reflection of their wounds in each other's eyes.
Serin looked at him longer than she should have.For a moment, the world outside blurred — headlines and whispers faded away.In that quiet room, there were only two shadows — bound by contract, yet slowly tied by something harder to name: the quiet recognition of two souls equally lost.