The drive back to Yoon E&C was suffocatingly silent at first. The city's morning bustle rolled past the tinted windows, but Ha-eun barely noticed, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her knee.
"Find out everything about this Lee Jun-ho," she finally said, her voice calm but clipped.
Se-mi, who was gripping the wheel a little too tightly, flicked a glance at her. "On it. I'll call a few people as soon as we get back."
Ha-eun leaned her head against the seat, exhaling slowly. "We can't afford any mistakes, Se-mi. Not with this."
By the time they arrived at the glass-fronted headquarters of Yoon E&C, word had already spread. The lobby buzzed with hushed whispers. Employees stood straighter, their eyes darting toward her, curiosity and judgment laced in every look.
But Ha-eun didn't falter. Her heels clicked with steady precision across the marble floor. Shoulders square, chin high—she was every inch the CEO her grandfather had molded her to be. If she noticed the stares, she gave no sign.
Once inside her office, she sank into her chair, staring briefly out the wide window that overlooked the skyline. Control the narrative before it controls you.
Minutes later, Se-mi returned, clutching a thick folder and her tablet.
"Here," she said, setting both down on the desk.
Ha-eun opened the folder. Jun-ho's face stared back at her from printed photos. Screenshots of his social media accounts. Records. Notes.
"No known family," Se-mi summarized softly. "Raised in an orphanage. His records are clean. No scandals, no arrests, nothing."
Ha-eun flipped through another page. A photo of him behind the counter of a small convenience store, the blue vest hanging loosely on his frame.
"He's been working part-time at several places to cover his tuition. Right now… he should be at school."
The words had barely left her mouth when Ha-eun closed the folder with a snap.
She stood, grabbing her bag. "Then that's where I'm going."
Se-mi jumped. "Wait—what? Now? I'll come with you—"
"No." Ha-eun's tone was sharp. She adjusted her jacket, her eyes cold with resolve. "You'll stay here. Call a lawyer—someone outside the family circle. Someone discreet. Tell them to prepare a contract."
Se-mi blinked, baffled. "A… contract? What kind of—"
"I'll text you the details," Ha-eun cut in. She was already striding toward the door. She paused only once, glancing over her shoulder, her gaze heavy with meaning. "Have it ready by the time I'm done with him. And Se-mi—"
"Yes?"
"Don't let anyone else know. Not yet."
With that, she was gone, the sound of her heels fading down the corridor, leaving Se-mi standing frozen with the folder still open on the desk.
---
Jun-ho sat stiffly in another lecture hall, pen tapping against his notebook. The whispers around him were relentless, threading through the room like smoke. Every glance burned into the back of his head, but it was Yoon Jae-hun's glare from across the hall that made the air feel heavier.
Even the professor stumbled over his words, distracted by the atmosphere. He cleared his throat, looking over the sea of restless students before his gaze landed on Jun-ho. His eyes softened with sympathy.
"Alright," the professor said finally, setting his chalk down. "Let's end here for today. Clearly no one's paying attention."
Chairs scraped against the floor as students scrambled to pack up. Jun-ho shoved his things into his bag, jaw tight, before making his way toward the exit. As expected, Se-jeong and Min-ah were quick to follow.
"Jun-ho," Se-jeong hissed, nearly tripping over a desk. "Are you going to explain? Because right now the entire university thinks—"
"There's nothing to explain," Jun-ho cut in, his voice low but sharp.
Min-ah's lips curled into a disgusted frown. "So it's true then? You're actually seeing that woman."
He didn't even glance at her, his long strides carrying him out of the classroom and down the corridor. The chatter only grew louder, footsteps trailing behind him.
"Why her?" Min-ah pressed, her voice rising. "She's too old for you—"
Jun-ho stopped listening. They spilled out onto the wide staircase, and the sound of dozens of murmurs hit him like a wave. Students were gathered in clusters, their phones raised, all focused on a single point.
At the foot of the stairs stood Yoon Ha-eun.
She was poised in a cream blazer, her hair catching the sunlight, and despite the chaos of the crowd, her presence demanded silence. She looked up, eyes locking with his.
A small smile curved her lips. Then, she lifted her hand and waved.
Cameras clicked. Gasps echoed. The crowd erupted like a shaken soda bottle.
Jun-ho froze on the steps, heat prickling at the back of his neck. What the hell is she doing here?
He descended slowly, each step heavy with the weight of eyes recording his every move. When he reached her, he kept his voice low, biting.
"What are you doing here?"
Ha-eun avoided his eyes, her smile never faltering for the crowd. "Can we talk somewhere private?"
He let out a humorless laugh, glancing around at the sea of phones pointed at them. "Private?"
She gestured subtly to the curb, where a sleek black car gleamed in the sunlight. "I drove."
Jun-ho scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Every second he hesitated, more photos snapped, more whispers spread. Ha-eun, however, had already walked to the car and slipped gracefully into the driver's seat, as if daring him to refuse.
The murmurs grew louder, pressing in on him.
With a curse under his breath, Jun-ho strode toward the car. The crowd roared with excitement the second he pulled the passenger door open and slid inside. Phones flashed in a frenzy as the car pulled away, the tinted windows swallowing them whole.
Back on the steps, Se-jeong slapped his own cheek in disbelief. "Did I just see that? Did I just see my best friend get into CEO Yoon Ha-eun's car?"
Min-ah's eyes narrowed, her jaw tight. "And you're okay with this?"
Se-jeong turned to her, blinking. "She's brilliant, rich, and did you miss the part where she's drop-dead gorgeous? Of course I approve!"
Min-ah scoffed. "Beautiful? You need your eyes checked."
"Pretty sure you need your attitude checked," Se-jeong muttered, striding away still muttering to himself about the absurdity of it all, leaving Min-ah fuming at the bottom of the stairs.
---------------------------------
The city slid by in smeared lights as the car threaded through traffic. Inside the small, leather-wrapped cabin, the air felt thick, as if words had weight and both of them were hesitant to drop theirs.
For a long minute nothing was said. Ha-eun's fingers found the steering wheel and tapped a steady, nervous rhythm against the leather. Jun-ho stared out at the dark window, jaw set, hands folded in his lap. The silence hummed with cameras and headlines and every imagined version of how the morning would unspool.
Finally Jun-ho broke it, flat and sharp. "What the hell was that?" His voice surprised him by how small it sounded once it left him.
She turned, startled, as if the question had cut through her more than she'd expected. "Keep your eyes on the road," he added quickly, pointing ahead.
Ha-eun blinked, then squared her shoulders and faced forward again. "I'm sorry I came unannounced," she said after a moment, voice careful. "But you probably saw the articles by now."
He snorted, half a laugh, half a groan. "Yeah. I saw. I'm apparently a gold-digger and you're a cougar who prefers younger men."
His mouth tightened. "I'm twenty-two, you're twenty-eight. Six years. Big deal. There's nothing wrong with that."
The words tumbled out faster than he meant, and he found himself growing hotter with a heat that had nothing to do with the cramped car.
"Hell, I could date someone older if I wanted."
For a moment she was quiet; then she said, softly, "Is that… what you want? To be with someone older?" The question came out faint, surprised—she hadn't expected his rant to head there.
He shrugged, an awkward, embarrassed movement. "Not relevant." He turned to the dash and stabbed the GPS with a thumb. "My work. It's almost time for my next shift." The screen filled with the convenience store's address and he flicked the route on without a second thought.
She didn't meet his eyes as she followed the directions. The city's neon signs bled past; lights glinted in shop windows. When they pulled to the store, he was the first to open his door, the metal frame slamming with a small, angry sound. He strode to the back, took over a handoff from the other clerk with terse, professional motions, changed into his blue vest with mechanical efficiency—then paused, took a breath, and walked back out to the car before signalling for her to come in.
Ha-eun who just ended her call watched him move—then got out of the car and followed him into the tiny fluorescent-lit shop, the click of her heels a clear, foreign counterpoint to the hum of refrigerators. Inside, the convenience store felt oddly intimate: paper cups stacked like a small city, gum in neat rows, a stray newspaper headline across the counter. She smelled instant coffee and lemon cleaner, and for a second, the world outside the scandal receded.
Jun-ho looked up from behind the counter, expression guarded. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, voice blunt as ever.
She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how small and human a convenience store made both of them feel. "I don't understand you," she said haltingly. "You don't seem angry about what they're calling you… but that people assume we shouldn't be together. Why aren't you angry about that?"
He gave her a long, hard look. "Why would I be? Because some people with too much time and not enough shame write whatever feeds their thirst? No. That doesn't make me angry. It pisses me off." He met her gaze. "It's not about you. It's about the fact they think they can decide who I can be. That they think my life can be reduced to a headline."
She watched him, the edges of his jaw tense with something like principled stubbornness. Then she blinked, and her expression shifted into something softer, strangely amused. She wandered the cramped aisles, picking up a bag of chips and turning it over in her hands as if its salted weight anchored her.
"You know," she said suddenly, voice small enough to cut through the hum, "it's been years since I've set foot in a place like this."
He glanced up, curiosity piquing despite himself. "Really? Wouldn't have guessed." he answered sarcastically.
The store was quiet except for the low hum of refrigerators and the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights above. Ha-eun stood a few feet from the counter, her arms folded loosely, eyes lowered like she was keeping her own thoughts in check.
Jun-ho leaned against the register, arms crossed, watching her like she'd just dropped into his world uninvited. The silence stretched until he finally smirked, breaking it first.
"So," he drawled, tilting his head. "When are you going to start speaking? You storm into my school, drag me out here, and now what? Small talk over instant noodles?"
She pressed her lips together, fingers brushing the counter lightly as if she needed grounding. Then, in a voice steadier than she felt, she said, "I want you to be my boyfriend."
He blinked once. Then twice. A laugh slipped out—sharp and disbelieving. "Are you kidding me?" His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "Is there something wrong with you?"
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't flinch.
"You've already painted a giant target on my back," he went on, his tone flat but edged with sarcasm. "Now you want me to play along? If you're just here to make things worse, do me a favor and leave. I've had enough of a circus for one day."
The words stung, but she held her chin high, saying nothing.
Just then, the door chimed. Both of them turned.
Se-mi stepped inside, crisp in her posture, a folder tucked neatly under her arm. She gave Jun-ho a small, polite nod—recognition flickering in her eyes from the night before—before walking straight to Ha-eun. Without a word, she placed the folder in her hands, then turned and exited just as quietly, waiting by the car outside.
Jun-ho frowned, his gaze following her retreat, then back to the folder now resting in Ha-eun's grip. Suspicion flashed in his eyes.
Ha-eun took a careful breath and stepped closer, sliding the folder across the counter until it rested between them.
Jun-ho looked down. The cover was plain, but when she opened it, the words inside were anything but casual.
A contract.
His eyes skimmed the lines quickly—formal, cold, deliberate. The agreement was clear:
He would act as her fiancé for six months, until the scandal cooled and public attention drifted elsewhere. After that, they would announce a breakup, clean and final. He was not to tell anyone about the arrangement. In exchange, he would be compensated—his "price" to be named by him.
The final line was a blank space waiting for his number.
Jun-ho looked back up at her, stunned into silence for the first time that day.
She met his gaze without wavering, her face unreadable, her voice calm when she finally spoke. "This isn't a request, Lee Jun-ho. It's an offer."