They stood frozen on the sidewalk, the cheerful city sounds fading into a dull hum.
The air between them crackled with a new, unspoken tension.
Yoon-ah stared at Minhyuk, searching his face for the reason behind his violent stumble. His expression was a mask of forced nonchalance, but his eyes were evasive, darting away from her probing gaze.
"So," he said, the word too loud, too cheerful. "You met her. What a coincidence."
Yoon-ah blinked slowly. "Yes. It was." Her voice was quiet, measured. "Why are you reacting that way, though?"
He let out a sharp, unconvincing chuckle and suddenly pulled her into a rough, one-armed hug, his grip too tight.
"That little troublemaker," he said, his voice a low growl against her ear that held more panic than anger. "I just told her to finish a mountain of work before leaving. She must be slacking off again, wandering the main building on company time. I'll have a serious talk with her on tomorrow."
The words were meant to sound like an annoyed boss. They landed like a guilty deflection. The hug felt less like an embrace and more like an attempt to physically steer her away from the subject.
Yoon-ah gently extracted herself from his hold, taking a small, instinctive step back. The cold feeling in her chest spread.
"No, Oppa, you shouldn't," she said, her tone flat, devoid of its earlier warmth. "She'd think badly of me for causing trouble. Just... let it go for today."
Her lack of interest in his performative anger seemed to throw him.
He watched her for a second before another chuckle escaped him, this one softer, more pleading. "Ah, if it wasn't for my lovely Yoon-ah, I wouldn't forgive her so easily."
He reached for her hand, his touch feeling clammy. "Come on. No more work talk. I made a reservation at your favorite restaurant. You know, the Italian place with the truffle pasta you talked about last month?"
For a moment, she just looked at him—at the charming smile that didn't reach his anxious eyes, at the man who'd just tripped over a name.
"Oh," she said, the word hollow. "That one. Really?"
His smile widened, relief flooding his features. "Really! Come on, before they give away our table."
He didn't wait for her answer. He took her hand again, his grip firm, and began leading her down the street with a hurried pace that felt less like excitement and more like an escape.
Yoon-ah let herself be led, her feet moving automatically.
The anticipation from the elevator was gone, replaced by a heavy, sinking clarity.
She stared at their linked hands, feeling the warmth of his skin, but all she could think of was the look of Jung So-hee, and the way her boyfriend had just fallen apart at the sound of her name.
The reservation, the pasta, the practiced charm… it all felt like a script.
And for the first time, she felt like she was reading the wrong lines.
* * *
The polished host at the warm, low-lit Italian restaurant gave a practiced, respectful bow the moment he recognized them.
"CEOs, Han, Kang. Your usual spot at the bar is available. Please, right this way."
He led them past the murmur of the dining room to the quieter, polished mahogany bar.
They took two high-backed stools, and the bartender—a man who knew better than to smile too broadly—gave a single, acknowledging nod.
"The usual, gentlemen?"
Minjae answered for them both. "You know it."
As the bartender turned to prepare their drinks, Minjae shrugged off his coat, draping it over the empty stool beside him.
He settled in, his posture relaxed, a stark contrast to the rigid line of Eun-Woo's shoulders.
"So," Minjae began, his voice a low, easy rumble. "What happened this time?"
Eun-Woo didn't look at him, his gaze fixed on the array of bottles behind the bar. "What do you mean, 'this time'?"
Minjae's smile was a small, knowing thing.
He was likely the only person in Seoul who could look at the frowning CEO of Han Group with such unchallenged amusement. "You know what I mean. It's about that secretary of yours, right?"
A flicker—a barely audible hitch in breath—was Eun-Woo's only tell before he cleared his throat, the sound harsh. "It's nothing. She just... asked for a day off today."
"A day off?" Minjae repeated, his eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise. "That's a first for someone like her."
"Yeah." The word was a sigh, heavy with something unspoken. "It is probably because you haven't kept that man busy like I asked you to," Eun-woo added, a thread of irritation tightening his voice.
Minjae spread his hands in a gesture of helpless honesty. "What can I do, man? I gave him all the busywork I could find. Do you want me to kill the dude with overtime?"
Eun-Woo didn't answer, his silence more telling than any complaint.
Minjae watched him for a long moment before a sigh of his own escaped, this one tinged with a sad kind of understanding.
"What even did you see," he asked quietly, "for you to act this way about him?"
At that exact moment, the bartender returned, setting two crystal glasses of amber liquor before them with a soft clink.
Perfect timing.
Eun-woo snatched his glass and took a sharp, deep shot, the burn doing nothing to ease the tension in his jaw. He immediately reached for the bottle to pour another.
"Easy, cowboy," Minjae murmured, just as a raised voice sliced through the ambient noise of the restaurant.
They both turned toward the entrance, where a small commotion was unfolding.
A man and a woman stood at the host's podium.
Eun-woo glanced back, initially unbothered, ready to return to his drink.
But Minjae, whose gaze lingered a second longer, stiffened. "Oh," he said, his casual tone evaporating. "Isn't that your secretary? And... the team leader?"
Eun-Woo's head snapped back around so fast it was a wonder his neck didn't crack.
Sure enough, there was Lee Yoon-ah, her face a mask of acute embarrassment.
She was standing close to Ri Minhyuk, one hand subtly trying to pull back on his arm as he leaned aggressively toward the flustered host, his voice low but clearly angry.
"What is she..." Eun-woo breathed out, the words barely audible.
Minjae leaned closer, his own drink forgotten, his eyes sharp on the scene. "What are they doing here?"
* * *
Five Minutes Earlier
The warm, fragrant air of Il Gabbiano wrapped around Lee Yoon-ah the moment they stepped inside, a stark contrast to the cold tension that had lingered between her and Minhyuk since the street.
The restaurant was all soft lighting, dark wood, and the low hum of intimate conversations. It was fancier than she'd expected.
A polished host in a tailored suit greeted them with a slight bow. "Good evening. Do you have a reservation?"
Minhyuk, who had been stewing in silent irritation since the walk, puffed out his chest. "Yes. Under Ri. Ri Minhyuk."
The host's smile remained perfectly fixed as he consulted his tablet.
His finger scrolled, paused, and a faint, professional frown touched his brow.
He looked up, his expression one of sincere apology.
"Mr. Ri, Ms… my apologies, but it appears we cannot honor your reservation this evening. The table is currently occupied by another party."
The words landed like a physical blow. Minhyuk's face, already tight, flushed a deep red. "What do you mean, you can't? I confirmed it two days ago! How can you just give our table away?!"
Yoon-ah's heart sank, a mix of embarrassment and a weary, growing dread. "Oppa, it's okay, we can just—"
"It is not okay!" he snapped, not at her, but his voice was too loud for the hushed atmosphere. He leaned over the podium. "This is unacceptable service. I want to speak to your manager. Now."
The host remained impeccably calm. "Sir, we did send a text notification regarding the issue and our deepest apologies. Perhaps it did not deliver? We would be happy to comp a future reservation or—"
"A future reservation? Do I look like I have time for this?" Minhyuk's voice was rising, drawing subtle glances from nearby diners.
Yoon-ah placed a gentle, restraining hand on his forearm, trying to calm him. "Please, let's just go."
The argument was reaching a fever pitch when a new presence materialized beside them. The air seemed to cool and still.
Both Yoon-ah and the host looked up. Minhyuk, following their gaze, froze mid-sentence.
Standing there were Han Eun-woo and Kang Minjae.
The host and Yoon-ah bowed immediately, deeply. Minhyuk, after a stunned second, followed suit, his anger evaporating into pure, cold shock.
"Is there a problem?" Kang Minjae asked, his voice deceptively mild, his eyes taking in the scene.
The host straightened, his professional mask cracking with nervousness. "CEO Han, CEO Kang! My deepest apologies for the disturbance. It is a simple matter of a double-booked reservation, we are resolving it—"
"Give them the Vigneto Room," Han Eun-woo cut in, his voice quiet but absolute.
He hadn't looked at Minhyuk once. His gaze was fixed somewhere just past Yoon-ah's shoulder, his expression unreadable granite.
The host's eyes widened. The Vigneto Room was a private, enclosed space reserved for the most elite guests, far beyond the standard reservation list. "O-Of course, Sir. Immediately."
Minhyuk found his voice, stammering. "C-CEO Han, that's too much, we couldn't possibly—"
"Don't worry about it," Kang Minjae interjected smoothly, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips. "Consider it our treat. A gesture for the… dedicated employees of Han Group."
Minhyuk, seeing his chance to salvage both the evening and his image, sprang into action.
He took a step forward, bowing again. "CEO Han, CEO Kang! Thank you! This is too generous. Please, to thank you for your help, you must join us for dinner! It would be our honor!"
The invitation hung in the air, thick and awkward.
Kang Minjae was the one who answered, his smile polite but distant. "That's a kind offer, Team Leader Ri. But we were just finishing up. Another time."
Eun-woo didn't even turn back. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, a silent finality, and continued his measured walk toward the exit, Minjae falling into step beside him.
"Ah— I see! Of course! Thank you again!" Minhyuk called after their retreating backs, his voice too loud, bowing once more.
Yoon-ah bowed silently beside him, her eyes fixed on the floor, a mix of profound relief and searing humiliation washing over her.
As the two CEOs disappeared from view, the host gestured nervously toward the plush interior. "Right this way to the Vigneto Room, sir, madam..."
But the magic of the evening was gone, shattered and swept out the door with the two most powerful men in the building.
* * *
Basement, Parking Slot...
The polished steel elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in a silent descent to the parking level.
The tension from the restaurant lobby seemed to condense in the small space. Han Eun-woo stood perfectly still, his reflection a stern mask in the brushed metal.
The elevator chimed, opening into the cool, concrete expanse of the executive parking level. Their footsteps echoed sharply as they walked towards Eun-Woo's low-slung, obsidian coupe.
He unlocked it with a soft chirp, and they slid inside. The door thudded shut, enclosing them in a cocoon of absolute quiet and the faint scent of leather.
Eun-woo didn't start the engine. He simply sat, his hands resting on the steering wheel, and released a long, slow sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire evening.
From the passenger seat, Kang Minjae watched him, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"The Vigneto Room," he said, his voice a quiet rumble in the dark. "Very generous. I don't think you've ever even invited me to the Vigneto Room."
He let the statement hang for a beat. "That secretary of yours must be… special."
Eun-woo's jaw tightened.
He didn't answer, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the concrete pillar in front of them.
But a sudden, unbidden flash of memory fragmented his focus—not of the restaurant, but of the office.
The break room sign.
The sound of light, familiar laughter—a man's and a woman's—spilling out from behind the door before it was abruptly cut off.
A strange, cold feeling, quickly dismissed at the time. It was gone as quickly as it came, leaving only a vague residue of irritation.
Sensing the dangerous shift in his friend's silence, Minjae smoothly changed the subject. "So," he said, his tone shifting to something quieter, more grounded. "Any luck with your search for your... mother?"
Eun-woo finally moved, turning his head slightly to look out the side window into the darkness. He gave a single, short shake of his head.
"No," he said, the word flat and final. "No luck."
Minjae nodded, the playful teasing gone, replaced by solid, understanding silence. It was a shared burden, this search for the ghost of woman.
"Alright," Minjae said softly. "Another time."
Eun-woo finally turned the key. The engine awoke with a deep, restrained purr.
The headlights cut two bright swathes through the underground gloom.
Without another word, the car glided forward, leaving the scene of the failed dinner and the unresolved tensions behind, carrying its occupants and their separate, heavy thoughts out into the neon-washed Seoul night.