The rhythmic, relentless tap-tap-tap of keystrokes was the only sound in the small, pristine secretarial chamber.
It was a buffer zone of quiet efficiency, sandwiched between the silent, imposing door to the CEO's office and the low hum of activity from the general HQ workspace beyond the glass partition.
Lee Yoon-ah's fingers moved across the keyboard with automated precision, transcribing meeting minutes, scheduling appointments, existing as a flawless extension of the corporate machine.
But her eyes, fixed on the glowing screen, held no light. They were windows to a mind that had floated far away from spreadsheets and calendar invites.
The sterile scent of lemon polish and recycled air faded, replaced in her memory by the cloying, synthetic vanilla of scented candles.
The clean lines of her desk blurred, overtaken by the garish, bobbing shapes of red and silver balloons.
The professional grey of the carpet morphed into the worn fabric of her own living room rug, marred by a glittery, misspelled CONGRATULATIONS! banner.
The image crystallized, sharp and painful.
The room, too bright. The smell, too sweet. Him, standing in the center of the pathetic spectacle he'd created, his smile not reaching his anxious, calculating eyes.
Then, the slow descent. The creak of his knee hitting the floor. The velvet box, snapping open with a cheap, final click.
The ring inside was a cold, hard accusation.
His voice, straining for sincerity but landing on desperate performance, cut through the memory's silence:
"Lee Yoon-ah," he said, his voice thick with manufactured emotion. "Would you… make me the happiest man alive?"
Her fingers froze above the keyboard. The cursor on her screen blinked, a steady, mocking pulse.
Tap.
Tap.
The events of Last Night came flooding...
"Ri Minhyuk, what are you doing?" she had asked in the memory, her voice thin with disbelief.
He had stood up then, his face not showing worry at her lack of immediate 'yes'—a reaction he would have easily gotten just a week ago.
He stepped closer, closing the distance she instinctively wanted to widen.
"Yoon-ah-ssi, I know I haven't been available a lot these days, and we've been drifting apart for a while. But I guess I just needed… a nudge. A push.
"And when I saw you at the restaurant, when I saw the look on your face when you talked about… about marriage…" He paused, letting the false epiphany hang in the air.
"I just felt like I had to prove it to you. That I'm still here. That the Minhyuk-oppa you fell for in college is still here. Even if he's a little troubled, a little busy with the corporate world, he still wants to give every bit of himself to you. I wanted to remind that Yoon-ah-ssi—the one I fell for—of that."
He gestured vaguely at the cheap decorations around them. "Even if our life isn't the big one I dreamt of for us, as long as I'm with you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, whenever, wherever."
He stared at her, his expression polished to an almost super-genuine sheen, waiting. "So, Yoon Ah-ssi would you do me the honor...?"
Lee Yoon-ah had just stared back, the silence swelling.
She didn't know what to say.
Yes? Of course, she would have, a few weeks—no, a few days—ago.
But now… she didn't know.
Should she say no? Break up with him? On what basis? A saved Wi-Fi network? A gut feeling? You couldn't end six years on a feeling.
The real world was complicated, but sometimes it demanded simple, brutal calculus.
Her mouth, moving on its own, had opened. "Sure…" she'd said. Not a 'yes.' A 'sure,' as if agreeing to try a new café, not to a lifetime.
Minhyuk had jumped forward, crushing her in a hug, babbling words of love and future she couldn't hear, words that washed over her like static.
And maybe, a buried, desperate part of her had wanted it—wanted the person she'd loved for six long years to try, to reach for her, even if the reach was made of lies and panic.
But the moment the word left her lips, it felt…
THUD.
The sound was real. Sharp. Present.
It yanked her violently from the memory.
Lee Yoon-ah blinked, the garish balloons dissolving into the clean lines of her desk.
A ceramic coffee cup, simple and white, had just been placed firmly on her desk blotter.
She looked up.
Han Eun-woo was standing in front of her desk, his expression unreadable.
"Are you… okay?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.
She stared at him, the ghost of the proposal still clinging to her.
For a second, she was utterly lost. Then her professional reflexes engaged like a circuit snapping closed. She shot to her feet.
"Yes, Sir! I apologize. I was just…" she trailed off, unable to finish the lie. She circled her desk to stand before him properly. "Do you need anything done, Sir?"
He studied her face for a beat longer, his gaze missing nothing—the faint tremor in her hands, the distant look she was desperately trying to erase. "No. It's just… you looked out of it. Here." He gestured to the cup he'd brought.
"Oh. Thank you, Sir," she said, reaching out to accept it.
His eyes, however, didn't follow the cup. They dropped to her hand as it extended. They focused, narrowed infinitesimally, on her right finger.
The small, silver ring glinted under the office lights.
His face changed. It wasn't a dramatic shift. It was a sudden, total freeze, as if all the warmth had been siphoned from the room into a single, cold point behind his eyes.
"Is that…" he started, then cut himself off.
"Oh, this?" she laughed, the sound awkward and hollow. She pulled her hand back slightly. "It's, uh… my boyfri—"
He didn't let her finish. He took a half-step back before giving her the cup of coffee then simply walked past her and strode into his office.
The heavy door closed behind him with a quiet, definitive click.
Yoon-ah stood frozen, hand still slightly outstretched holding the cup, staring at the closed door. Confusion swamped her.
'What happened? Is he that angry I wasn't focusing on work?'
Shaken, she returned to her desk, trying to straighten the papers she'd nudged in her haste to stand. Her mind was a whirlwind of the unwanted memory and the CEO's abrupt, cold exit.
Not even three minutes later, the door to his office opened again.
Han Eun-woo emerged, his coat already on. His face was a mask of impassive control, but there was a new, sharp purpose in his movements.
Yoon-ah stood up immediately. "Sir?"
"Do you have time now?" he asked, his voice clipped.
"Well, there are the quarterly reports to finalize, but…" she began, confusion deepening.
"Then don't worry about them. Follow me."
He turned and started walking down the secretarial hallway toward the main office floor without another word of explanation.
Yoon-ah stood for a second, utterly bewildered. "…What?" She grabbed her tablet and hurried after him. "Wait, Sir!"
They passed through the glass partition into the bustling HQ workspace.
Dozens of employees looked up, instantly standing to bow as the CEO passed.
Yoon-ah followed a step behind, feeling every curious glance like a pinprick.
They reached the private executive elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a tense, silent box as it began its descent.
Yoon-ah could bear it no longer. "Sir," she asked, her voice carefully neutral, "where are we going?"
Han Eun-woo stared straight ahead at the polished doors, his reflection a stern, unyielding image. He didn't answer for a long moment. Then, just as the elevator slowed, he spoke, his tone offering no room for questions.
"Just some business reconnaissance."
* * *
A few floors below, in the sleek, retail-polished hallways of Han Departments, I walked with what I hoped looked like purpose.
In my hands: the contract with Hong Soo-jin, the actress, the brand ambassador, the face of the Hanyang Line.
Beside me, Secretary Roh matched my pace, a silent shadow of efficiency.
I skimmed the dense legalese, my brain aching.
'I can't believe I'm negotiating endorsement terms. A few weeks ago, I was a temp legal advisor proofreading lease agreements in a cubicle that smelled of old coffee. Now I'm deciding how many social media posts a national treasure owes me.'
My phone buzzed in my blazer pocket — a sharp, invasive vibration.
I pulled it out, still walking. The screen showed a message from a contact saved as Info_guy.
[ Info_guy: CEO Han and Secretary Lee just left the building in his private car. Proceed? ]
My feet stopped moving. Secretary Roh almost bumped into me.
'What? They're leaving? Together? In the middle of the workday?'
My mind scrambled through the mental episode guide. 'Did I miss a scene? Is this a secret date? A crisis meeting? Did the story get fast-tracked?
I typed back, thumbs clumsy:
Follow discreetly. Update me.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket, my heart thumping unevenly. 'Ah, if only I could see the CEO-Secretary private moments right now. If only—'
"Director Law?"
Secretary Roh's calm voice sliced through my internal spiral. "Ms. Hong Soo-jin is waiting for us in Conference Room Blue."
Right. The actress. The meeting. The trap-that-might-not-be-a-trap.
"Of course. Lead the way."
We reached a door of frosted glass and dark wood. Secretary Roh opened it, and I stepped inside.
And there she was.
Hong Soo-Jin.
She was… breathtaking. Not in a flashy, idol way.
In a depth-of-the-ocean, quiet-storm, timeless way.
Mid-forties, but with an elegance that made age irrelevant. Her brunette hair fell straight and rich over her shoulders, and she wore a simple white dress that looked like she stepped out from filming a spring breeze advertisement.
'She's stunning', I thought, my fangirl brain short-circuiting. 'I can officially say she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen… Of course, right after Yoon-ah.'
The actress rose, a gentle smile touching her lips. She extended her hand, not with actressy flourish, but with a poised grace.
I quickly took it. Her hand was cool, her grip firm but not demanding.
'Is this really the woman who's going to be the face of my project? The one Director Park supposedly set up to fail? She doesn't look like a trap—she looks like the reward.'
"Director Law," she said, her voice smooth and measured, like a cello note held in a quiet room. "Thank you for making the time."
"The honor is mine, Ms. Hong," I replied, hoping I sounded like someone who regularly had tea with legends.
We took our seats across the polished table. Secretary Roh positioned himself near the door, tablet at the ready.
Hong Soo-Jin folded her hands on the table, her gaze steady and intelligent. She wasn't just looking at me; she was reading the room, reading me.
I took a slow breath, pushing aside the image of Eun-Woo's car pulling away with Yoon-ah inside, and met her eyes.
"Should we begin discussing the contract?"
Her smile deepened, just slightly.
"Yes," she said. "Let's begin."