Chapter 33
Eric pov
Later that night, Laurel stood near the entrance, already holding her keys.
"We have to go."
"It's late," Kang Dae said from the sitting room.
SEO Hee nodded immediately. "Exactly. Stay until morning."
"I have things to do," Laurel replied, calm as ever. "And I can't afford to be late."
That ended the discussion.
Mr. Min came down the last step slowly, one hand resting on the rail. Age had softened him, but not his presence.
"Alright," he said. "But when you are less busy, come stay for a while."
Laurel's expression gentled for only a second.
"I will."
Nicholas followed us outside.
The night air was cold, the kind that made every breath visible. The estate lights glowed softly across the long driveway, washing everything in gold and shadow.
He stood beside the car while Laurel unlocked it.
"Call me when you get home," he said, facing Laurel.
But his eyes were on me.
Not directly. Not boldly.
Just enough to make me notice.
Like he wanted to say something and had no idea how.
Laurel got into the driver's seat without replying. I slid into the passenger side. By the time I looked back, Nicholas was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching the car pull away.
The roads were nearly empty.
Seoul looked different at night quieter, taller, colder. Streetlights stretched across wet pavement, and the city lights reflected like broken stars on the windows.
Laurel drove in silence.
I fell asleep somewhere between highways and distant traffic.
When I opened my eyes again, the engine was off.
"Laurel?" I muttered.
She tapped my shoulder lightly.
"Eric. We're home."
I blinked awake, disoriented for a second. The gates were already open, the house standing still and dark ahead of us.
We went inside.
I barely remembered climbing the stairs before dropping into bed.
The next morning, sunlight slipped through the curtains and dragged me awake.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I remembered.
Korea.
My sister house.
A new life that still feels almost perfect.
I got up and checked her room on the way downstairs.
Empty.
Right.
She had said she had somewhere to be.
Even at Mr. Min's house, she had worked half the time calls, emails, documents spread across tables while everyone else laughed and ate.
I walked into the kitchen and stopped.
Breakfast was already arranged neatly on the counter.
A plate of spaghetti.
Still warm.
I smiled to myself.
She really would not let me go hungry.
There was no note. Laurel never left notes.
She preferred actions over words.
I ate in silence, then headed back upstairs to shower.
By afternoon, boredom returned like an unwanted guest.
I sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in hand, searching for nearby gyms.
There were more than I expected.
Modern ones.
Private ones.
Luxury ones.
Korea really did not joke with aesthetics.
I picked one close to the house, got dressed, and headed there.
The place smelled like clean metal and expensive soap.
Mirrors everywhere.
Machines lined up like soldiers.
Even the reception desk looked richer than some apartments.
The manager greeted me politely, handed me forms, and helped me register.
Everything went smoothly until payment.
"If you'd like to complete registration today, we'll need payment now," he said with a practiced smile.
I checked my pockets.
Nothing useful.
Right.
I had forgotten to bring cash.
I stepped aside and called Laurel.
The phone rang once.
Then someone else answered.
"Hello."
I frowned.
"Eun Woo?"
"Yes," he said smoothly. "Miss Laurel is in a meeting. You can tell me what you need."
I hesitated.
Then sighed.
"I need money."
There was no laugh. No judgment.
"Ok sir, please Check your phone."
The line disconnected.
A second later, my phone buzzed.
Transfer received.
I stared at the amount.
That was not gym money.
That was start-a-small-business money.
I called back immediately.
"Why did you send this much?"
"In case you need more than gym money," he said. "Enjoy your day sir."
Then he hung up again.
I stood there blinking.
Rich people were terrifying.
When Laurel got home that evening, I was in the living room pretending to watch television.
She walked in wearing heels and exhaustion, dropped her bag on the side table, then handed me a sleek black card.
"It'll be easier this way," she said.
I looked at it.
A bank card.
I looked back at her.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"That fast?"
"You're expensive already. Might as well make it efficient."
I laughed.
Then she placed two shopping bags beside me.
"Your uniforms."
I opened them.
School blazers.
Shirts.
Shoes.
Everything perfectly measured.
"When did you even do this?"
"I work faster than you think."
"You scare me sometimes."
"You'll survive."
She went upstairs.
I watched her disappear down the hall and shook my head.
Some people showed love with hugs.
Laurel weaponized logistics.
Later that night, after the house had gone quiet, she came back downstairs carrying two glasses.
She placed one in front of me.
I stared at it.
"What is this?"
"Wine."
"I know that. Why are there two glasses?"
She sat across from me.
"You are almost eighteen, Eric. It's less than three weeks away."
I looked down suspiciously.
"This is not alcoholic," she added.
"Then why call it wine?"
"Because juice in a fancy glass sounded embarrassing."
I laughed and picked it up.
We clinked glasses lightly.
The room was dim except for the lamp in the corner. Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.
For once, Laurel looked still.
No laptop.
No phone calls.
No files.
Just her.
She took a sip, then said casually, "Eun Woo has two younger siblings."
I frowned.
"Okay?"
"They're apparently in your class."
I slowly lowered the glass.
I knew that tone.
"You planned this."
"Yes."
"Laurel."
"What?"
"You're trying to buy me friends."
She looked offended.
"I am creating opportunities."
"Friends can't be bought."
"I know."
She leaned back.
"But they also don't appear magically."
I stared at her.
"You really arranged this."
"I made introductions possible," she corrected.
"They don't know me."
"You don't know them either."
"That's not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
She crossed one leg over the other, unbothered.
"You're moving countries. New school. New people. New language. I'm allowed to make sure my younger brother isn't alone."
Something in my chest softened.
I looked away first.
"You make it sound like I'm five."
"You act like you're twelve."
"I'm almost eighteen."
"Biologically."
I laughed despite myself.
She smiled faintly into her glass.
The rain outside deepened.
The room felt warm.
Safe.
"You worry too much," I said quietly.
"No," she replied. "I prepare too much."
There was a difference.
And somehow, with Laurel, there always was.
I studied her for a moment.
The sharpness people feared.
The silence people misunderstood.
The care she disguised as control.
"You know," I said, "most people would just ask if I'm nervous."
"And?"
"I am."
She nodded once, like she had known already.
"You'll be fine."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"No emotional speech?"
"No."
"No sisterly encouragement?"
"I bought your uniforms."
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled the drink.
She smirked and stood up, collecting her glass.
"Go to sleep. You start soon."
As she walked away, I called after her.
"Laurel?"
She paused but didn't turn.
"Thanks."
There was a beat of silence.
Then
"I know."
And she disappeared upstairs.