JIAH POV
My eyes flick to the last person.
Leaning back slightly. One ankle crossed over the other. School uniform jacket gone, replaced with something sharp and tailored like he stepped out of a brochure for rich kids with personality defects.
Hair styled just enough to look intentional, not try-hard. Annoyingly good at that balance.
His eyes are already on me.
Of course they are.
A smirk curves his lips.
Not big. Not smug. Just knowing.
Like he expected this.
Like I'm late to a joke everyone else got the memo for.
Kim Jeonhwa.
I freeze.
Not metaphorically. Literally. My feet stop working. My spine locks. My brain does that Windows shutdown noise.
Why is he here.
Why is he dressed like that?
Why does he look like he belongs here when I'm wearing a dress my mom emotionally blackmailed me into?
He doesn't move. Doesn't greet. Just sits there like this is exactly how the night was supposed to go.
The suited man stands and smiles warmly. "Dr. Seo, welcome. Please, sit."
My dad bows politely, my mom follows, and I do it half a second late because my soul is still buffering. We move toward the long table. Chairs are pulled out. Everything is smooth. Practiced. Money-efficient.
I sit across from Jeonhwa.
Of course I do.
Why wouldn't the universe seat me directly in front of my personal inconvenience?
Up close, it's worse. His expression is polite now. Neutral. The smirk gone like it never existed. He looks like someone's well-raised son instead of the menace who hogs the hallway lockers and flirts like it's a sport.
I stare at him anyway.
Why is he here?
Wait.
No.
Is he—
My gaze flicks to the older couple. The old man's posture is relaxed but commanding, hands folded like nothing in this room could surprise him.
The old woman sits beside him, elegant in a way that doesn't scream for attention. Expensive without needing to prove it.
Oh no.
No no no.
Is Jeonhwa their son?
No, that doesn't add up. Age difference. Vibe. Power level.
Grandson?
Ah shit.
Why the fuck does he have to be their grandson?
The suited man clears his throat, smiling wider. "It's truly an honor to have you both here tonight. My father is recovering very well. We're deeply grateful."
My dad inclines his head. "We're glad he's doing better. It was our responsibility."
The old man chuckles softly.
"Responsibility or not, you saved my life. That deserves respect."
The old woman nods. "We wanted to thank you properly."
My mom smiles politely. "You didn't have to go to such lengths."
The suited man waves it off. "Please. This is nothing."
Nothing.
I glance at the table.
If this is nothing, I don't want to know what something looks like.
The food alone could end world hunger. Plates arranged like art. Steam rising gently. Everything smells illegal. I'm suddenly aware I skipped lunch and ran on caffeine and spite all day.
The old man looks at my dad again. "I'm Kim Seongjin."
My dad straightens. Just a fraction. "I know you,Chairman Kim."
Wait.
Chairman?
The old man smiles.
Then dad looks at me and mouths,
"Chairman of Seoryeong Group."
My brain trips over itself.
Seoryeong Group?
The Seoryeong Group?
The one that owns half the buildings I pass on the way to school?
The one my economics teacher talks about like it's a final boss?
I blink.
Then blink again.
Jeonhwa could buy our school.
Like. Casually.
Probably before dessert.
The old woman adds warmly, "I'm his wife, Park Sunhee."
My mom bows again. "It's an honor."
The suited man gestures to the woman beside him. "This is my wife."
She smiles, graceful. "We've heard so much about you."
Then—
"And this," the woman says, turning slightly, her hand resting on Jeonhwa's arm, "is my son. Kim Jeonhwa."
My head snaps back to him.
He stands smoothly. Bows politely.
"Hello, Dr. Seo."
His voice is calm. Controlled. Respectful.
Who is this man and what did he do to the Jeonhwa I know?
My dad nods. "Nice to meet you."
Jeonhwa sits back down like nothing monumental just happened.
The suited man continues casually, "Jeonhwa is studying at Gyeongwon High."
My dad's eyebrows lift. "Oh? Jiah studies there as well."
Every eye turns to me.
Every single one.
Jeonhwa looks at me then. Not teasing. Not smirking. Just… aware.
"We're classmates," he says.
I want to say unfortunately.
I say, "Yes."
My mom smiles. "Is that so? How is she in school? We don't get to visit often."
My stomach drops.
Oh god.
This is it.
This is where he tells them I'm loud. Or chaotic. Or that I confessed to the same guy six times and got rejected six times like a loyal idiot. That I argue with teachers. That I get kicked out of class for talking. That I once stalked my crush and got caught .
I stare at my plate.
Don't look up.
Don't breathe.
Jeonhwa pauses.
Just long enough for my soul to leave my body and come back with a resignation letter.
Then he says, evenly, "She's good in school."
I look up.
What.
He continues, polite smile intact. "She works hard."
The table relaxes. Nods. Approving murmurs.
My mom looks pleased.
My dad smiles at me.
I stare at Jeonhwa.
He doesn't look back.
He's being nice, and that doesn't come without a cost.
Don't you dare blackmail me, you fucker.
The food hits the table like a threat.
I don't even know what half of it is. Something grilled. Something glazed. Something that looks like it lived a better life than me before ending up on this plate.
Steam curls up slow and rich, carrying smells that make my stomach flip traitorously.
I take a bite.
I almost cry.
Not even exaggerating. My eyes actually sting. This tastes illegal. Like someone should've checked my ID before letting me eat it.
Whatever sauce this is—sweet, salty, deep, unfair—I chew slowly, very aware that if I moan, I will never emotionally recover from the embarrassment.
Across from me, Jeonhwa eats like a normal human being.
Which is suspicious.
His posture is relaxed, movements smooth, like he's been sitting at tables like this since birth. No awkward pauses. No wide-eyed awe. Just calm. Polite. Effortlessly rich behavior.
I hate him a little for it.
Conversation flows around the table. Hospitals. Investments. Recovery timelines. My dad nods a lot. My mom asks the right questions.
I nod when it feels socially required and focus on not inhaling my food like a starved raccoon.
Then his mother turns to me with a gentle smile.
"Jiah," she says warmly, like she's known me longer than fifteen minutes. "How is Jeonhwa in school?"
I pause mid-chew.
Oh no.
She continues, oblivious to my internal collapse. "He transferred recently—there were some issues."! . Is he kind to everyone?"
Kind.
I swallow.
Lady, my brain screams, your son is a red flag wrapped in good looks who blackmails me into errands and makes me buy him drinks and snacks with my own fucking money.
Out loud, I smile.
"He's… kind," I say, because I value my life. "And good to everyone."
Jeonhwa doesn't look at me.
He smirks down at his plate.
I hope he chokes on a garnish.
I take another bite, still riding the high of food-that-could-fix-me, when something solid presses against my leg.
I freeze.
Not emotionally. Physically.
My fork stops halfway to my mouth. My spine stiffens. My brain slams the emergency brakes so hard everything screeches.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Slowly—slowly—I look down.
Under the table, Jeonhwa's leg is hooked around mine.
Not brushing. Not accidental. Fully locked. Ankle wrapped around my calf like he's securing a hostage.
I jerk in surprise, my knee knocking the table leg.
He doesn't flinch.
I look up at him, eyes blazing.
What the hell is he doing.
He finally glances at me.
Then he winks.
A full, unapologetic wink.
And goes back to eating like nothing is happening.
Oh my god.
Oh my actual god.
I try to yank my leg free. Subtle at first. A careful pull. Nothing. His grip doesn't budge. It's solid. Annoyingly solid. Rock hard like he lives at the gym and eats protein for fun.
I try again, more force this time.
Nothing.
This bastard.
My jaw tightens. I glare at him hard enough to set him on fire. He doesn't even look up. Just calmly cuts his food, chews, swallows.
I stop trying.
Because this is a losing battle and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
Dinner crawls on.
Plates are cleared. Dessert appears. People talk over each other now, business blending into medicine blending into polite laughter. I sit there with my leg trapped, my soul screaming, my face perfectly neutral.
Eventually, Jeonhwa speaks.
"Dad," he says casually, "can I step out for a second?"
His father nods. "Of course. Go ahead."
Jeonhwa stands.
And then—before I can process it—he walks around the table, reaches for my wrist, and grips it firmly.
"Let's go."
Excuse me?
My brain short-circuits.
Dude, why would I be going with you.
I look at my dad in panic. He meets my eyes, confused but trusting, and gives a small nod.
"Go," he says gently.
Traitor.
I stand, letting Jeonhwa drag me away from the table, away from the suffocating politeness and expensive air and too many expectations.
The moment we step outside, cold wind smacks me in the face.
I suck in a breath like I've been underwater too long.
And then I rip my hand out of his grip.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap.
He chuckles.
Actually chuckles.
"Relax," he says, hands sliding into his pockets. "You're so fun to mess with."
I glare at him. "You're so irritating to talk to."
He tilts his head, eyes bright. "God. This is why I'm fucking entertained by you. That smart, pretty mouth of yours."
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. "Don't tempt me. I bite."
He grins. "I would gladly—"
I make a disgusted face. "Ew."
He laughs, low and easy, like he enjoys this way too much.
Then he says, quieter, "Jiah."
I hum, noncommittal.
He steps closer.
Not invading. Just… there. Close enough that I can see the faint scar near his eyebrow. Close enough that his presence feels intentional.
"You don't like Jiho anymore?," he asks.
"No," I reply immediately.
He hums, thoughtful.
Then he moves again, stopping right in front of me, towering just enough to remind me he's taller and very aware of it.
"Can I go out with you, then?"