"The taste of wine lingers, but the memory of who you drank it with stays longer."
🌙 The Restaurant, A Perfect Lie
The clinking of glasses, the low hum of jazz in the background, and the scent of roasted duck and buttered truffle risotto made the entire restaurant feel like a staged illusion of perfection. A place where business moguls sealed their fates and lovers wore masks made of silk and tension.
Claire Han Mira sat by the window, wearing a midnight-blue dress that draped off her shoulders like liquid night. The city lights danced in the reflection of her wine glass, and her fingers—painted the color of burnt roses—toyed with the stem. Her eyes, however, were on the man in front of her.
Leo Choi Youngjae looked criminally good in black. Simple blazer, no tie, a white shirt unbuttoned just enough to make her pause a second too long. He hadn't said much since he sat down. Not even when the maître d' addressed her by name with the usual over-eager flourish. Not when she ordered wine for the both of them. Not when she lightly teased, "You didn't protest. That's progress."
Leo finally looked up, expression unreadable. "You dragged me here, Claire."
"I invited you." Her smile was a delicate lie. "Dragged implies resistance."
"There was resistance."
"You still showed up," she pointed out, lifting her glass. "Cheers to that."
He clinked it—barely. The faintest tap, the kind that wouldn't make it into a memory unless one was looking for meaning in small things.
🍷 Awkward Silences and Ice That Doesn't Melt
The waiter arrived with their starters, and for a few moments, the only sounds were knives scraping against porcelain and the sigh of red wine being poured. Claire was the first to break the silence, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin before saying, "This used to be my father's favorite place. Before he decided I was a business transaction gone wrong."
Leo didn't respond right away. Instead, he swirled his glass, eyes tracing the wine's lazy descent along the inner rim. "Does everything you do have to tie back to proving something to him?"
Claire blinked. That was sharper than expected.
"No," she replied after a beat. "Not everything. Just most things."
Leo leaned back, folding his arms. "Including Jiwon?"
Claire's smile thinned. "You don't like small talk, do you?"
He tilted his head. "Small talk is easy. This—" he gestured between them—"is not."
Her lashes dropped momentarily. "Why did you come then?"
"To make sure you weren't using Jiwon again."
"And are you sure now?" Her voice was lower. More serious.
He didn't answer.
🔥 Boiling Beneath the Surface
The second course arrived, but appetite was clearly not the main course. Claire leaned forward, fingers threading around her glass again, her tone shifting from playful to inquisitive.
"She told me about your parents," Claire said, watching him. "About how you raised her after the accident. You gave up college… everything."
Leo's jaw tightened. "I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity," Claire said. "It's admiration. Though I admit, it's easier to admire from a distance. Up close, you're… prickly."
"Good," he muttered. "Keep your distance."
Claire's lips quirked. "Too late."
There was a charged silence between them then. The kind that hums louder than any music could mask.
🌧️ A Crack in the Wall
When dessert arrived—an unnecessarily artistic chocolate soufflé—Claire surprised him by not reaching for her fork.
Instead, she said, "You know, the first time I saw you at the café, I thought, 'He looks familiar.' Took me a week to remember why."
Leo met her eyes. "And?"
"And I remembered a boy standing outside our gate once, years ago. Nervous. Holding a crumpled letter. He was turned away by my father's driver."
He stilled.
"I didn't know it was you back then," Claire said quietly. "But when I put the pieces together… it explained a lot."
Leo stared at her, something flickering in his gaze. "You remember that?"
"I never forget faces. Especially ones that leave."
He was quiet for a long time. Then, almost inaudibly, "I came to tell you something."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter now."
Claire leaned forward. "It matters to me."
His voice was flat. "I liked you. Back then. As much as a boy could. Thought maybe I'd tell you before we moved away."
She blinked. That was more than she'd expected.
"And now?" she asked, softly.
Leo's eyes met hers. "Now, I have responsibilities. Jiwon comes first."
"She likes it with me."
"I know," he said, almost bitterly. "And that's what makes this harder."
When they stepped outside, the night air hit like a second wine buzz. Claire hesitated by her car, while Leo stood beside her in silence.
"Thank you for dinner," she said. "Even if you didn't want to come."
"I didn't," he replied honestly. "But I'm not sorry I did."
That, from Leo, was practically a confession.
She smiled faintly. "You'll keep fighting me?"
"Every time," he said.
She stepped closer, voice lowering. "What if one day I stop fighting?"
"Then I'll be the one who can't walk away."
There it was. A spark. Brief. Dangerous. Real.
And then, he turned and walked away before she could answer.
🌙 Afterglow & Intrusion
Claire stood still in the elevator, clutching her coat as the doors closed. The city's lights were a soft shimmer through the glass panels. Her reflection stared back at her—eyes slightly wider than usual, lips faintly parted. She could still feel the echo of Leo's eyes on her.
Why did that one look shake her more than a hundred meetings and battles ever had?
The penthouse door clicked open with a soft beep. Claire stepped inside. The moment it shut behind her, silence blanketed the apartment. No bustling kitchen staff, no assistant checking in, no ringing phones. Just the hum of stillness.
She slipped off her heels and let her coat slide to the floor. Her fingers instinctively loosened the hair tied neatly behind her head, letting it fall across her shoulders like a velvet curtain.
The lights dimmed to a soft glow as she walked barefoot across the marble floor to the open living space. The skyline stretched endlessly beyond her glass walls, like a reminder of the world she ruled—and the loneliness it cost her.
She poured herself a glass of wine from the bar and settled on the cream couch. The glass felt cold between her fingers, but her chest was warm. Too warm. From the wine—or from the man she'd just had dinner with?
She leaned her head back and sighed.
"Leo," she whispered, and just the sound of his name seemed to ignite something fluttering behind her ribs.
How dare he look at her like that—like he wanted to forgive her, break her, save her, and run from her all at once? And worse, how dare he make her want to chase that gaze?
She closed her eyes and pictured it again: the clench of his jaw when she teased him, the soft twitch of his lip when Jiwon laughed, the fire behind his silence when she got too close.
God, she missed that tension. That danger. She missed him, even if he had never been truly hers in this life.
Maybe in the next one, she thought. Or maybe…Maybe in this one, if she could just get him to see her again.
Just as her thoughts began to spiral—Ding-dong.
Her head shot up.
She wasn't expecting anyone. Not at this hour.
Claire cautiously approached the door, gripping the edge of her silk robe tighter around her waist. She peeked through the small monitor screen.
A familiar face stared back at her. Wild red curls, oversized hoodie, and that same lopsided grin she hadn't seen in weeks.
Claire opened the door with a sigh. "Amelia."
Amelia raised a brow. "That's the welcome I get?"
"You came at the wrong time," Claire muttered, stepping aside.
Amelia strutted in like she owned the place. "At least I came," she shot back without missing a beat.
Claire rolled her eyes, closing the door. "What happened now?"
Amelia dropped dramatically onto the couch. "I may or may not have told my boss to shove his ego down the blender. So I'm jobless. Yay me."
Claire handed her a glass of wine, smirking. "What was it this time? Another fake 'creative visionary' who doesn't know what a pitch deck is?"
"Bingo. And God, Mira, you're glowing."You've either been busy in bed… or the baby gods have paid you a visit.""
Claire nearly choked on her sip. "Neither."
"Oh?"
"We had dinner."
"We?"
"Leo."
Amelia turned her whole body toward her. "Café Leo? Tall, dark, brooding Leo?"
Claire didn't answer. Just stared out the window again, wine glass tilted, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Oh, hell," Amelia whispered, sitting up straighter. "You like him."
"I hate him."
"You like him."
"I tolerate him."
"You want to kiss him."
Claire finally looked back and muttered, "I already did."
Amelia nearly dropped her glass. "You did what?! When?! Where?! Why didn't you record it?!"
Claire shrugged, trying not to smile. "It was in my dreams."
"Did he kiss you back?"
"…Yes."
Amelia let out a strangled gasp. "So now what? Is this a rekindled lovers thing? A revenge seduction arc? Are you planning to destroy him with love?"
"I don't know," Claire said honestly, curling her knees to her chest. "I just wanted to get close enough to see if he still hated me."
"And?"
Claire sipped her wine slowly. "He doesn't."
Silence fell between them for a moment.
Amelia studied her friend carefully. "You look happy."
"I'm not sure if I should be."
"But you are."
Claire nodded once. "For now."
Amelia leaned her head back against the couch. "Well, I'll take 'for now.' In your world, happiness is usually scheduled and outsourced."
Claire laughed softly, the kind that hurt just a little. "That's not wrong."
They sat in silence, the wine low in their glasses, the city buzzing below them like a distant dream.
Just then, Claire's phone buzzed on the table.
She picked it up and froze.
Incoming Call: Dr. Min Yoon JungSeoul General Hospital
Her throat tightened.
"Who is it?" Amelia asked, sensing the shift.
Claire stood up slowly. "The hospital."
She answered.
"Yes?" she said, voice calm but eyes narrowing.
The voice on the other end was gentle but firm. "Miss Han, it's time. She's asking for you. And… there's something we found during her last scan. You need to come tonight."
Claire's spine straightened.
Claire's hand tightened around the phone. Her smile vanished. The past pulled at her throat like an invisible noose.
"I'm on my way," she replied coolly. "Keep her calm. And don't… let her forget who I am. Not again."
Amelia stood too. "What is it?"
Claire grabbed her coat and keys. "Something's changed."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
Claire looked at her, the composure returning to her voice like armor. "No. But tell Leo… not everything is as it seems."
"Claire—"
She opened the door, a cool gust of air brushing her hair back like a cinematic curtain call.
"If anything happens tonight," she added, not looking back, "warn him. He needs to be ready."
And just like that, she was gone.
"Even love can't protect you from a secret buried long enough to rot."
🏥 Hospital Scene – A Bitter Reunion
The hospital corridors smelled like bleach and forgotten memories. Claire walked slowly, heels echoing down the sterile hall. Nurses glanced up, recognizing her. The daughter who never came, yet was always expected.
Room 314.
She stepped in. Her mother, Han Sora, sat up in bed, eyes vacant, but there was recognition—something feral and slow in the way her gaze sharpened.
"You came," the older woman said flatly.
Claire stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. "You called."
"I didn't."
Claire smirked. "Same old monster. Just weaker."
The tension in the room was thick as fog. Her mother's bony fingers twitched on the sheet. Claire stepped closer.
"I built everything despite you. I made it out alive."
"You are nothing without me," her mother hissed, eyes flaring.
"You tried to kill me when I was sixteen. I remember. With that damn kitchen knife. But I came back stronger. And you—you're stuck in this rotting bed."
Han Sora lunged. Her hand reached up with surprising force, fingers curling around Claire's neck like a viper's strike.
Claire's back hit the edge of the bed as she choked, her vision blurring. "Stupid… selfish… girl!" the woman growled.
A nurse burst in.
"Ma'am! Let her go!"
It took two nurses to pry her hand off Claire's throat. Claire collapsed onto the floor, gasping, eyes wet. But as the nurses restrained her mother and injected a sedative, Claire just lay there—laughing. Quietly. Bitterly. Her laugh grew louder, unhinged, tears slipping down her cheeks like rain over glass.
"You still got it, Mother," she whispered, lips curled like a villain's.
And in the background, her mother's voice cracked through sedation: "I should've killed you when I had the chance."
The nurse gently laid a blanket over Claire's shoulders.
But she didn't move. Her fingers trembled, her mascara streaked, her laughter slowly fading.
To Be Continued...