Her sobs softened until only small, uneven breaths filled the air. Slowly, shakily, Ha-eun pushed herself upright, brushing damp hair from her face with trembling fingers. Her legs felt weak, but pride forced her spine to straighten.
"I… I'm sorry," she murmured, dabbing at her tears with the back of her hand, trying to erase the evidence of her breakdown.
Jun-ho rose to his feet too, turning slightly, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. His shoulders were tense, as though even glancing at her would be a crime.
Confusion flickered across her face—until she felt the draft. Cold air rushed against her bare skin, reminding her all at once of her state. Her bra, the torn remains of her dress bunched awkwardly at her waist—shame seared hot in her chest.
Before panic could take her again, Jun-ho moved. He dove back into the pool without a word, resurfacing with the shirt he'd abandoned earlier. Stepping onto the tiles, he draped it across her shoulders and turned away, giving her his silence.
Her fingers clutched the fabric as if it were another lifeline. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, buttoning it quickly, grateful for the cover before finally facing him again.
"You're hurt," he said after a pause, his eyes lingering briefly on the smear of blood at her lip.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, forcing strength into her tone. "Do you have a phone?"
He glanced around, spotting his device lying near the lockers where it had skidded during the fight. Fetching it, he handed it over. "Here. I can call the police—"
"No." Her refusal was sharp, almost panicked. She snatched the phone, dialing the one number her foggy mind could trust.
"Se-mi," she breathed the moment her secretary picked up. Her voice cracked despite her effort to control it. "Come. Now. Bring me clothes. Shoes. Don't ask questions."
There was a rush of agreement on the other end before she ended the call, lowering the phone with a trembling exhale.
Jun-ho frowned. "You're sure you don't want to report this?"
"I said no." She turned away, snatching a towel from the lockers and wrapping it tightly around herself on top of his shirt, trying to rebuild the armor she'd lost.
"Alright," he said, lifting his hands in surrender. "But I should get back. My boss will kill me if I'm gone too long."
Her eyes dropped to the shirt she was wearing. Realization struck—he wasn't just a guest. He was working.
"You'll be fine," she said softly, offering a ghost of a smile. "Wait until my secretary comes."
He shook his head with a dry laugh. "I wouldn't bet on that."
Her gaze narrowed, curiosity pricking through her daze. "You don't recognize me?"
His brows pulled together. Then it clicked.
His eyes widened, recognition washing over his expression like a tide. "You're—CEO Yoon Ha-eun."
She nodded once, almost wearily.
He swallowed, blinking as if trying to reconcile the broken, trembling woman before him with the pristine, untouchable figure he'd only ever seen in articles and broadcasts. She looks… human. Real. Beautiful, even like this.
"Please," she said quietly, "just stay a little longer. My secretary will be here soon."
He hesitated, then gave a small nod, perching at the edge of the pool, legs dangling into the water. His posture was casual, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room, as if still expecting danger to creep out of the shadows.
Ha-eun stood awkwardly nearby, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, the silence thick between them.
Finally, Jun-ho broke it. "Do you… know him?"
"Who?"
"The man who attacked you."
Her throat tightened. "No."
He studied her, then said evenly, "He wasn't trying to rape you. Not really."
Her head snapped toward him. "What?"
"He had a camera." His voice was flat, certain. "He was trying to record."
Her stomach dropped. Her mind reeled. Images of her father, her stepmother, her aunt—smirking, whispering, waiting for her downfall—flashed through her head. This wasn't just an attack. This was a weapon.
Her knees buckled slightly. She stumbled back, clutching the towel tighter.
"Hey, careful," Jun-ho said quickly, springing up. "Sit down. Whatever was on that cloth is still in your system."
She sank onto the bench, the world tilting around her, though her thoughts were louder than the dizziness.
Someone planned this. Someone wanted to ruin me.
Her lips pressed tight, but she couldn't stop the tremor in her hands.
------------------
Ha-eun sat stiffly, her arms locked around her waist, clutching Jun-ho's shirt tighter as though it could shield her from the truth settling like a stone in her chest. The dizziness was ebbing slowly, but her pulse still raced, uneven and raw.
Jun-ho hovered a few steps away, restless, like he wasn't sure if she'd shove him again or collapse without warning. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally asked, "Why wouldn't you let me call the police?"
Her eyes darted up, sharp despite her pallor. "Because this… can't leave this room."
He frowned. "He attacked you. That's not something you hide."
"You don't understand." Her voice cut, brittle, as if one more push would shatter her. "If word of this spreads, it won't just be a scandal—it'll be used against me. Against everything I've built."
Jun-ho's jaw flexed, but he said nothing. This was the kind of world she lived in, he thought. But the terror in her eyes kept him silent.
Minutes dragged, heavy with the drip of water echoing off the pool walls. Ha-eun forced her breathing to even out, her spine straightening as if she could will her composure back into place.
When the door finally creaked open, she flinched.
"CEO Yoon?" A cautious voice called.
"Se-mi," Ha-eun exhaled, relief loosening her shoulders. Her secretary rushed in, a garment bag draped over one arm and a pair of heels dangling from the other.
The sight of Ha-eun disheveled, half-wrapped in a strange man's shirt, made Se-mi's eyes widen—but she recovered quickly, lowering her head in respect.
"You're late," Ha-eun said softly, her tone steady again, almost detached, as if pretending she'd never been trembling moments before.
"I came as quickly as I could," Se-mi replied, setting the clothes down and discreetly turning her back to offer privacy.
Jun-ho stepped aside, running a hand through his damp hair. He was still shirtless, tattoos and scars catching the light. For the first time, Se-mi's gaze flickered toward him, wary but grateful.
"Who—?" she began.
"A worker," Ha-eun interrupted, already rising on unsteady legs. "He… helped."
Their eyes met briefly. Hers held a restrained gratitude; his, a quiet acknowledgment.
Jun-ho bent to grab his phone, slipping it into his pocket. "Glad you're safe," he muttered. Then, with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he added, "Guess I should go before I'm fired."
Ha-eun almost said something—almost—but the words lodged in her throat.
Instead, she turned to Se-mi. "Get me changed. No one hears about this."
Se-mi nodded firmly, ushering her toward the changing area.
Jun-ho took one last glance at her retreating figure, at the fragile strength in her posture despite the dampness of her hair and the bruise forming on her lip. Something twisted in his chest.
After a while Se-mi returned with his shirt offering her thanks again before rushing back to the changing area.
He threw on his shirt quickly and left, slipping silently back into the shadows of the glittering world that wasn't supposed to touch his.