AUTHOR
Dr. Yoon Min-ji had perfected the art of entrance over six years of working alongside Jae-won Choi.
She didn't rush. Didn't announce herself with unnecessary noise or dramatic flair. She simply appeared in the doorway of Lab 4 at precisely the moment she knew Celeste would be alone, her presence announced only by the soft click of expensive heels against polished floor.
Her smile was serene, practiced-the kind that suggested warmth without actually offering any.
"Dr. Moreau," she said, her English flawless and unaccented. "Welcome to Choi Pharmaceuticals."
Celeste looked up from the workstation where she'd been staring at encrypted data for the past three hours. Her eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot. She looked like a woman hanging on by a thread.
Perfect, Min-ji thought.
"Dr. Yoon." Celeste straightened, clearly trying to compose herself. "Thank you."
"Please, call me Min-ji." She glided into the lab, her white coat pristine and perfectly tailored, her hair swept into an elegant chignon. Everything about her suggested competence and control. "I wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm the Chief Research Officer here, and I'll be overseeing the clinical aspects of your daughter's treatment."
Something flickered across Celeste's face at the mention of her daughter. Fear. Desperation. Love.
Min-ji catalogued it all.
"That's very kind of you," Celeste said carefully.
"Jae-won can be..." Min-ji paused, choosing her words with deliberate precision. "Intense. Especially in matters of business. I wanted you to know that not everyone here views you as simply an asset. Let me be your guide. Help you navigate this place." She smiled again, warmer this time. "I imagine it must be overwhelming, returning after so long."
Celeste's shoulders relaxed slightly. Exactly as Min-ji had intended.
"It is," Celeste admitted quietly. "Everything feels... different."
"Of course it does." Min-ji moved closer, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Three years is a long time. Things change. People change." She let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "But some things remain constant. The research, for instance. And Jae-won's dedication to it. He hasn't stopped working since you left."
The implication was clear: I've been here. I've been constant. I've been loyal.
Celeste's eyes flickered with something that might have been guilt.
"I brought something for your daughter," Min-ji said, producing a small gift bag from behind her back. "I hope you don't mind. I thought it might help her feel more comfortable here."
She pulled out a colorful pediatric activity kit-crayons, coloring books, small toys designed for toddlers. Everything carefully chosen to appear thoughtful and generous.
Celeste's face softened immediately. "That's... that's very thoughtful. Thank you."
"It's nothing." Min-ji waved it away. "I can't imagine how frightening this must be for a child so young. Luna, isn't it?"
"Yes. Luna."
"Beautiful name." Min-ji sat on the edge of the workstation, her posture casual but her attention laser-focused. "How old is she?"
"Two and a half."
"Such a precious age. They're learning so much, discovering the world." Min-ji smiled gently. "It must have been difficult, raising her alone in Paris. Such a big city for a single mother."
There it was. The first probe. Gentle. Almost sympathetic.
Celeste's expression closed off slightly. "We managed."
"I'm sure you did. You've always been remarkably capable." Min-ji tilted her head, studying Celeste with the careful attention of a scientist examining a specimen. "Did you have family there? Friends to help?"
"A few friends."
"But no family?"
"No."
"And Luna's father?" The question was asked with perfect innocence, as if it were simply natural curiosity. "Does he know you're here?"
Celeste's hands tightened on the edge of the workstation. "That's... complicated."
"Of course. I didn't mean to pry." Min-ji's smile remained perfectly calibrated. "It's just that Jae-won mentioned you ran away without any notice, and I wondered if perhaps you'd built a new life. New relationships."
"I did what I had to do to survive," Celeste said quietly.
"Naturally." Min-ji stood, smoothing her coat. "Well, if you need anything-anything at all-please don't hesitate to ask. I know the pediatric team very well. I'll make sure Luna receives the best possible care."
"Thank you," Celeste said again, but there was wariness in her voice now.
Min-ji had planted enough seeds for one day.
She left the lab with the same graceful composure she'd entered with, her heels clicking softly down the corridor. But her mind was racing, cataloguing every word, every reaction, every careful evasion Celeste had offered.
Two and a half years old.
The math was simple. Damning.
– – –
Min-ji found Jae-won in his office two hours later, surrounded by reports and projections, his tie loosened and his jaw tight with the tension he carried like armor.
He didn't look up when she entered. "Is the trial prep complete?"
"Yes. Dr. Reeves has reviewed the protocols." Min-ji closed the door behind her and approached his desk. "I met with Dr. Moreau earlier. Wanted to introduce myself properly."
"And?"
"She's... fragile. Exhausted. Clearly under enormous stress." Min-ji paused, choosing her next words carefully. "I brought a small gift for the child. Luna."
Jae-won's pen stopped moving. He still didn't look up, but she saw the muscle in his jaw tighten.
"That was unnecessary."
"Perhaps. But the child is innocent in all of this. And she's quite lovely, from what I understand." Min-ji sat in the chair across from his desk, crossing her legs elegantly. "It's remarkable, really. What Dr. Moreau has done. Raising a daughter alone in a foreign city. Such courage."
"Is there a point to this conversation, Min-ji?"
"Just an observation." She kept her voice light, conversational. "One wonders about the father. Whether he knows. Whether he's involved at all."
The pen in Jae-won's hand snapped.
The sound was sharp in the quiet office. He looked down at the broken pieces, then slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.
"That," he said coldly, "is none of your concern."
"Of course not." Min-ji stood, smoothing her skirt. "I only meant that it must be difficult. For everyone involved. The child especially."
She moved toward the door, then paused, her hand on the handle.
"The trial begins tomorrow. I'll make sure everything is perfect."
She left before he could respond, closing the door softly behind her.
In the empty corridor, Min-ji's serene smile finally faltered.
She'd worked beside Jae-won Choi for six years. Six years of excellence, dedication, and unspoken longing. Six years of waiting for him to see her as something more than a colleague.
And in one day, Celeste Moreau had walked back into his life and reclaimed a space Min-ji had never been able to touch.
The question she'd planted wasn't for information.
It was a seed of doubt.
And Min-ji was very, very good at making things grow.
JAE-WON
I stared at the door that had just closed behind her, Min-ji's words echoing in my head like a poison I couldn't purge.
One wonders about the father.
I looked down at the broken pen in my hand, the two pieces sharp and useless.
Two and a half years old.
I did the math before I could stop myself.
The numbers aligned with a precision that made my chest tighten.
But they also aligned with her disappearance. With the three years she'd been gone. With the possibility that she'd run to someone else. Built a life with someone else. Had a child with someone else.
The thought burned like acid.
I swept the broken pen into the trash and pulled up Luna's medical file on my computer. The intake form stared back at me-birthdate, blood type, family history.
All the answers were there.
I could know with certainty.
My finger hovered over the file, then I closed the window abruptly and stood, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul.
I didn't want to know.
Or perhaps I was afraid to.
Because if the child was mine, then Celeste had stolen something far more valuable than research data.
And if she wasn't...
The alternative was somehow worse.