Chapter 10: A call from home
Min-Jun – That Night
His penthouse was silent.
Too silent.
Min-Jun stood at the window, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar open, glass untouched in his hand. The city sparkled far below, but all he could see was her face.
Seo-Ah.
The way she'd looked up at him—confused, grateful, vulnerable.
He had no right.
He knew better.
Getting involved, even emotionally, was a line he'd drawn long ago. Compassion made you weak. Attachment made you reckless. And yet—
He'd sent the message anyway.
Just one line. Stupid. Simple.
Don't forget to eat next time.
It wasn't professional. It wasn't necessary.
It wasn't him.
He finished the scotch in one sharp swallow and set the glass down with a quiet click.
This had to stop.
But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was the soft curve of her mouth when she smiled—tired and brave. And the worst part?
He didn't want to forget it.
---
The morning air in the office was crisp, sterile.
Seo-Ah walked quickly through the glass halls of Lee Financial, her heels echoing against the marble. She'd barely slept, barely eaten. She couldn't even remember her reflection from the mirror that morning—just the reminder to act like nothing happened.
Inside the executive wing, everything was perfectly arranged.
She reached his office, heart hammering. She was early—ten minutes before schedule.
The doors opened before she could knock.
He was already at his desk, in an immaculate suit, looking like a sculpted commandment of control.
No emotion.
No sign of their messages last night.
"Sit," he said without glancing up.
Seo-Ah obeyed, keeping her spine straight and eyes on the notepad.
"Today we'll begin prepping for the second round of negotiations. I want summaries from the HJ Group's legal rebuttals, full breakdowns of their overseas investments, and everything they've tried to conceal."
"Yes, sir."
She didn't flinch at the coldness. But her chest ached.
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then—
"I assume you slept," he said, barely above a whisper.
Seo-Ah's eyes lifted slightly.
He wasn't looking at her. Just his screen.
But it was a crack. A small one.
"I tried," she replied softly.
A flicker in his expression. A muscle tightening near his jaw.
Then nothing.
The moment passed.
"Get to it, then," he said, returning to his laptop.
"Yes, sir."
As she rose and turned to leave, his voice stopped her again.
"Seo-Ah."
She faced him.
But he didn't meet her eyes. Just said quietly, "Don't mistake kindness for something more. It's dangerous."
Her throat tightened, but she nodded. "Understood."
Outside, the door closed gently behind her.
And inside, Min-Jun closed his laptop slowly, staring at his reflection in the black screen.
If only he could follow his own warning.
________
The next morning began with a soft buzz of Min-Jun phone which pulled him from his early morning thoughts, the first rays of light creeping through the high-rise windows of his apartment. He glanced at the screen — an unfamiliar number. He almost ignored it, but then he saw the name.
Mom.
Sighing, he answered, expecting the usual barrage of family-related guilt trips.
"Min-Jun," his mother's voice was warm, familiar, and unrelenting. "My sweet son how are you? Your grandmother's been asking for you. It's been too long since you came by."
Min-Jun closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold onto his patience. He couldn't remember the last time he had visited the family estate. His mother knew better than anyone how strained things were with his father, and yet, she always found a way to tug at his heartstrings when it came to his grandmother.
"She misses you," his mom continued, the guilt in her tone unmistakable. "I'm making dinner tonight. Please come."
Min-Jun leaned back in his chair, staring out at the city that stretched below him. He could already hear the tension in his father's voice, could already anticipate the banter — the insults, the veiled criticisms. But his grandmother? She was the one person in the family who didn't demand anything from him. She only asked for his presence.
"Alright, I'll come," he finally replied, his voice tight with resignation.
"Good," his mom said, her tone brightening. "I'll let her know. And Min-Jun…" She paused, as if considering her next words carefully. "Your father will be there, of course. But I promise, no work talk. Just family."
Min-Jun felt a bitter smile tug at the corner of his lips. Work talk? That was all his father ever talked about, especially when it came to him.
"I'll be there," he said again, his voice clipped. He hung up before she could say anything more.
For a moment, he sat in silence, contemplating the evening ahead. The dinner would be tense, but it would also be a rare chance to see his grandmother. He would go for her, and for her alone. Nothing more.
---
The Family Estate
By the time the evening rolled around, the grand estate on the outskirts of Seoul was already bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Min-Jun parked his sleek car by the front entrance, his eyes momentarily resting on the tall gates and the manicured gardens beyond.
The house was as imposing as ever — a reflection of the power and wealth his family had built over generations. It was the kind of place that reminded him of everything he'd wanted to escape.
He pushed the thought aside as he walked up the stone steps and into the grand foyer.
"Min-Jun!" His mother's voice echoed down the hallway, warm and welcoming. She came rushing out to greet him, her expression softening when she saw him standing there.
"Good to see you, son," she said, her hands brushing over his suit jacket as if to straighten it, though it was already perfect.
"How's Grandma?" Min-Jun asked, his tone softer than he intended, betraying his own care for her.
"She's waiting for you," his mother replied with a smile. "She'll be thrilled to see you."
Min-Jun nodded, following her into the dining room, where his grandmother was sitting at the head of the table, an array of dishes already laid out before her. The elderly woman, though frail, had a sharp mind and a presence that demanded respect.
"Grandma," Min-Jun said, his voice low and affectionate.
She looked up at him, her eyes lighting up as she smiled. "Min-Jun, my dear boy," she said, her voice raspy with age but filled with warmth. "It's been too long. Come, sit."
He moved to the seat next to her, taking a moment to let the warmth of the room settle around him. His grandmother had always been a calming presence in his life — the one person who never judged him for the choices he made.
---
The evening unfolded predictably, the conversation at the table light and easy, a sharp contrast to the tension Min-Jun had expected. His grandmother regaled him with stories from her youth, stories about his mother and her siblings, about the old days when life was simpler.
But then, his father walked in.
The door opened with a soft creak, and there he stood — the patriarch of the Lee family, tall, imposing, his presence filling the room immediately. His sharp eyes scanned the table, lingering for a moment on Min-Jun before moving to the spread of food.
"You're late," Min-Jun's father said in a voice that was more fact than accusation, though the thinly veiled criticism was clear.
"I was busy," Min-Jun replied curtly, though he immediately regretted the tone.
His father grunted, taking his seat at the far end of the table, across from Min-Jun. There was no greeting, no warmth. The two men exchanged only the most formal pleasantries, the tension palpable.
"So," his father began, his voice suddenly more businesslike. "I hear you've been keeping yourself busy with your little empire, ignoring family business again."
Min-Jun felt a knot form in his stomach but refused to engage. Instead, he turned his attention to his grandmother, letting the conversation drift to safer territory.
But then, his father threw a curveball.
"I've invited someone to dinner tonight," his father announced, his gaze shifting over to Min-Jun, sharp and calculating. "Someone I think you should meet."
Min-Jun raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his gaze flicking over to his mother for a hint. She seemed to stiffen slightly but said nothing in return.
A moment later, the door opened again, and in walked the woman his father had chosen: the mayor's daughter.
---
Her presence was like a breeze of fresh air, her designer dress flowing effortlessly as she walked into the room. The soft curls of her brown hair framed a perfectly made-up face, and her eyes gleamed with the kind of ambition Min-Jun was all too familiar with. She was strikingly beautiful, poised, and confident — everything his father would consider a perfect match for his son.
Min-Jun's lips tightened in annoyance, but he kept his face neutral. He wasn't here to entertain a potential suitor, especially not one that had been thrust upon him without consent.
"This is Ji-Hyun," his father said, his voice almost too pleased. "The daughter of Mayor Kim. You two should get to know each other."
Min-Jun barely contained the urge to roll his eyes. It was as if his father had given up on him entirely, choosing now to play matchmaker instead.
Ji-Hyun smiled brightly, her gaze landing on Min-Jun with an undeniable interest. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, her voice sweet and measured. "I've heard so much about you."
Min-Jun merely nodded, offering a tight smile. He could already tell that the evening had just taken a turn for the worse.
---
As the night continued, Min-Jun found himself seated at the table with a growing sense of unease. His father's subtle attempts at pushing him toward Ji-Hyun were too obvious to ignore, and despite his best efforts to remain detached, the frustration simmered beneath the surface.
And in the midst of all the tension, one thought kept repeating itself:
Why couldn't things just be simple?