"The heart speaks in silences louder than the mouth in words."
The glass walls of Han Corporations' top floor gleamed in the morning light, reflecting the city skyline like a crown of steel and fire. Mira sat at the head of the boardroom table, her back straight, her presence sharper than the diamond cufflinks she wore. The directors around her shifted nervously with every flick of her gaze.
"Numbers don't lie," Mira said, sliding a neatly stacked report across the table toward one of the older executives. "But excuses do. And I don't pay for excuses."
Silence. Someone cleared their throat. Another tried to mutter something about external markets, but Mira cut him down with nothing more than a glance. Her voice didn't rise — it didn't need to.
"Tell me, Mr. Kwon," she continued, fingers tapping against the table in a slow rhythm, "how does one expect me to trust a division that promises expansion into Singapore yet can't even stabilize its domestic branches? Should I invest more in you, or should I cut my losses?"
Her words echoed in the air, and the man swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact. Around the table, the directors stiffened, but Mira's eyes had already moved on, flipping to the next page of the report with an elegance that didn't soften her dominance.
She was everything a CEO should be: commanding, brilliant, ruthless when she needed to be. And yet—her thoughts betrayed her.
Because even as she dismantled their excuses with poise, her mind, for a fleeting second, drifted. A face appeared in the back of her mind — dark eyes, quiet strength, stubborn lines drawn across a jaw that had no business lingering in her imagination. Mira blinked once, quickly grounding herself, hiding the slip with the turn of a page.
But Jisoo noticed. Sitting just behind Mira with her tablet, the assistant tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. She had seen it—the brief pause, the faint softening in Mira's expression, the ghost of distraction that didn't belong in this ice palace of a boardroom.
When the meeting finally ended, the directors left in stiff silence, some whispering nervously to each other, others leaving with pale faces. Mira didn't even glance their way. She stood, straightened her blazer, and strode out like the empress of glass and steel she was.
Only when the door shut behind them did Jisoo step forward, handing her boss a fresh cup of black coffee.
"You're distracted," Jisoo said plainly.
Mira arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
"You usually eat them alive in under fifteen minutes," Jisoo replied, tapping the edge of her tablet. "Today you let them squirm for forty. That's unlike you."
Mira narrowed her eyes, taking the coffee with deliberate calm. "Maybe I wanted to watch them sweat."
"Mm." Jisoo leaned against the glass wall, her eyes glinting. "Or maybe you're too busy thinking about a certain stubborn man who owns a café and refuses to bend even when you're handing him a silver platter."
Mira nearly choked on her coffee but masked it with a sharp sip. "You're out of line."
"Am I?" Jisoo's lips curved into a sly smile. "You can terrify a room of billion-won directors but can't get him out of your head. Interesting."
Mira sighed, setting the cup down harder than necessary. "He's nothing."
"Right." Jisoo tilted her head, pretending to jot something on her tablet. "So 'nothing' is why you stared at your window at midnight last night, whispering his name like a prayer."
Mira froze. Her eyes snapped to Jisoo, who only grinned wider.
"You forget, Mira," Jisoo added softly, almost affectionately. "I've worked for you long enough to know when your armor cracks."
Mira said nothing. She simply gathered her files, heels clicking against the floor as she walked toward her office. But her silence wasn't denial—it was admission.
Meanwhile, across town, Leo wiped down a table in the café. The morning rush had been heavier than usual, the air still scented with roasted beans and fresh pastries. Jiwon sat in the corner, her laptop open as she sketched designs between sips of iced coffee.
"Leo," she called, her voice bright. "Do you ever think about… what if we weren't here? Like if life had gone differently?"
Leo paused, rag in hand. "Differently how?"
"I don't know. Mom and Dad still alive. Me in school instead of working. You… not stuck here all the time."
Leo's jaw tightened. "This café isn't being 'stuck.' It's survival. It's ours."
"I know." Jiwon's voice softened. "I just… I see how you look sometimes. Like you're carrying more than you can hold. And I wish you'd let yourself think about something more than just protecting me."
Leo didn't answer immediately. His hand lingered on the table, knuckles white. He had thought about it—more times than he'd admit. But every time, the shadow of responsibility dragged him back.
And sometimes, when he let his mind wander, he saw her. Mira. The girl he once tried to confess to, the woman who now haunted him in ways he didn't want to accept.
He shook his head, muttering, "Dreams don't pay the bills."
But Jiwon only smiled faintly, eyes flicking back to her laptop. "Sometimes they do."
That night, the city quieted under silver moonlight. Mira sat alone in her office, the building around her empty. Papers lay scattered across her desk, but she hadn't touched them in an hour. Her gaze was fixed on the skyline, where the lights shimmered like a thousand unanswered questions.
She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. The whisper slipped out before she realized it, barely audible.
"…Leo."
The sound of his name in her own voice startled her, and she pressed a hand against her lips, as though she could force the word back inside. But it lingered in the room, echoing in the silence, undeniable.
The office hummed with its usual energy — the shuffle of papers, the muted clicks of keyboards, and the occasional laughter spilling from the design department. Mira sat in her glass-walled office, her oversized mug of coffee steaming beside her as she skimmed through a pile of proposals. The sun stretched through the blinds, casting golden bars across her desk.
Yet even with the brightness, her mind wandered elsewhere. Every line she read blurred slightly, replaced by the memory of a certain man she hadn't seen in days.
She pushed the thought away quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. "Focus, Mira," she whispered under her breath, flipping the page.
A knock came at the door. Hannah peeked in, holding a tablet.
"Ms. Han," Hannah said carefully, stepping inside. "The marketing team is waiting for your feedback on the new campaign. Should I bring them in now?"
Mira glanced at her watch, then leaned back in her chair. "Yes. But give me a moment. And, Hannah…" she paused, her gaze softening just slightly, "bring me a fresh report on the graphic designs Jiwon submitted yesterday. I want to review them personally."
Hannah raised a brow, hiding a small smile. "Of course. Right away."
⚖️
Meanwhile, across the city, Leo was busy repairing an old coffee machine at the café. The café had become quieter since the university students were gone for break, but it gave him more time to brood — something he didn't realize he was doing until Jiwon caught him standing at the counter, staring at nothing.
"You've been wiping that same cup for five minutes," Jiwon remarked, sliding onto a stool. Her laptop bag swung against the chair.
Leo blinked, lowering the cup. "I'm just… cleaning."
"You're thinking about her again, aren't you?" Jiwon teased, her grin wicked.
His jaw tightened. "No. I'm not."
"Yes, you are. I can tell." She leaned in closer, whispering, "And it's hilarious watching you act like you're not."
Leo shot her a sharp look, but it only made Jiwon laugh harder. He didn't argue though — his silence was an answer in itself.
⚖️
Back in the office, the meeting dragged on longer than Mira anticipated. Ideas bounced back and forth, but nothing seemed to satisfy her. Her patience grew thin until her eyes landed on the display board where Jiwon's concepts were pinned.
They were fresh. Unpolished. But there was something about them — raw and bold, like the artist poured her emotions into every line.
Mira leaned forward, tapping the corner of one sketch. "This," she said, her tone cutting through the chatter, "this is the direction we need. Who worked on this?"
"Choi Jiwon," one of the team leaders said. "She's new, but—"
"She's talented," Mira cut in, her eyes narrowing with thought. "Have her develop this further. I want her in the next presentation."
The room went silent for a moment before nods of agreement followed. Mira didn't notice the curious looks exchanged among her staff — she was too busy staring at the design, as if it stirred something in her chest she couldn't quite name.
⚖️
That evening, Jiwon came home, excitedly dropping her bag onto the couch. "Leo! Guess what?"
Leo looked up from the sink, frowning at the way she bounced on her toes. "What now?"
"She chose my design!" Jiwon squealed. "CEO Han Mira herself said she wants me to present in the next meeting. Can you believe it?"
Leo's grip on the dish towel faltered. He turned sharply. "…She what?"
"Isn't that amazing?" Jiwon beamed.
Leo's chest tightened in a confusing mixture of pride and unease. He wanted to share his sister's happiness, but the name Mira lingered too heavily on his mind.
The office was unusually silent that evening. Mira sat behind her wide desk, stacks of contracts and design proposals spread before her, but her eyes weren't moving across the lines of text. Her fingers tapped impatiently against the polished wood, her mind somewhere else entirely. The faint hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic clicking of Jisoo's keyboard outside were the only sounds that kept the silence from consuming her.
Just as she reached for her pen to sign another document, her phone buzzed sharply against the desk. She glanced at the screen absentmindedly—until she saw the hospital's name flash across the display.
Her heart stilled.
"Hello?" her voice wavered slightly, barely audible.
The words on the other end cut through her chest like knives. Her face drained of all color. For a moment, she froze—her body rejecting the reality trying to settle in.
Her mother was gone.
Mira's breath shattered. She pushed back her chair so abruptly it screeched against the floor. Her trembling hands snatched up her car keys and mobile. Without a word, she bolted toward the door.
"M-Miss Mira?" Jisoo shot up from her desk, startled. "What happened? Where are you going?"
But Mira didn't stop. Her heels echoed like gunshots in the corridor, her chest heaving with broken gasps.
"Mira!" Jisoo called again, rushing after her. But when she saw Mira's face—pale, frantic, eyes brimming with unshed tears—she stopped, her own throat tightening. Mira didn't answer, didn't even look back. She disappeared into the elevator like a shadow fleeing the light.
Jisoo's hands trembled as she pulled out her phone. Without thinking, she dialed Leo.
He answered quickly, his calm voice cutting in, "What's wrong?"
"Something… something happened at the hospital," Jisoo stammered.
His chair scraped against the café floor instantly. "What? What happened?"
"I… I don't know exactly," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But Mira—she ran, she didn't say anything. She looked… broken."
Silence. Then Leo's sharp inhale. "Stay there."
The line went dead.
Mira's car roared like a wounded beast down the empty night roads. She slammed the accelerator harder and harder, her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. The speedometer climbed—150, 160, 170. Streetlights blurred into streaks of white fire as her trembling hands clenched the wheel.
Her thoughts were chaos. No, no, no, not like this. She can't be gone. I didn't say goodbye. I didn't…
Her foot pressed harder. The engine screamed back at her, but she didn't care. She was racing the reality that had already beaten her.
On the other side of the city, Leo's motorcycle carved through the traffic. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed against the rushing wind. His speed never exceeded 110. He needed to get there fast, but reckless speed wouldn't help her if he never arrived. His mind burned with worry, but his chest was anchored by determination.
Mira, please… don't lose yourself before I get there.
The hospital loomed ahead, stark and cold under the floodlights. Mira's car screeched into the lot, tires burning against asphalt. She leapt out, almost forgetting to lock it, and sprinted inside. Her heels clattered against the sterile white tiles of the corridor as she followed the directions to her mother's room.
Leo's motorcycle pulled up moments later. He pulled off his helmet, heart hammering, and rushed through the doors just behind her trail.
The room was too quiet. Too still.
Mira stopped in the doorway. Her chest collapsed inward as her eyes fell on the sight before her. Her mother lay motionless on the bed, her skin pale, her chest unmoving. Machines that once beeped and blinked in constant rhythm were now silent, lifeless.
"No…" Mira whispered, her voice cracking. She took a step inside, her trembling hand reaching forward like a child. Slowly, she approached, her entire body quivering as if it might collapse under the weight of the air.
Her knees weakened, and she clutched the side of the bed for balance. She lifted her trembling fingers toward her mother's still hand. At first, she couldn't bring herself to touch it. Her entire body shook, fear and denial rooting her to the floor. Finally, with a strangled sob, she let her fingertips graze the cold skin.
Two hot tears broke free, sliding down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away with the back of her hand, as if refusing to acknowledge them.
Her voice cracked, low and raw. "How… how did this happen?"
The silence in the room mocked her.
Her chest heaved, anger boiling up in her grief. She turned sharply to the nurses standing in the corner, their heads bowed. Her rage snapped like a whip. Mira stormed toward one of them and grabbed her collar, her voice shaking with fury.
"How did this happen?!" she screamed. "Answer me! How could you let this happen?"
The nurse stammered, unable to speak, her eyes wide with fear.
Before Mira could shake her again, a strong hand gripped her wrist.
"Mira."
Leo's voice was firm but gentle, like steel wrapped in velvet. He had arrived just in time.
"Let me go!" she shouted, thrashing against him. "They should have—"
He pulled her back, holding her firmly, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame. She beat her fists against his chest, her cries muffled against the weight of her grief.
Finally, his embrace tightened. He held her close to his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. She trembled violently, her body trying to break free, but his warmth anchored her. Without a word, he slipped off his jacket and draped it around her, covering her shaking shoulders and shielding her face from the onlookers.
For a moment, time stopped. All that existed was her ragged breathing and the steady, grounding beat of his heart against her ear.
Later, as they stepped out of the suffocating hospital corridors, Mira broke free from his grasp, pulling his jacket tighter around her shoulders. The night air was cold, the street lamps casting long shadows over the parking lot.
Leo caught up to her, his voice soft but pained. "Mira… you don't have to hold it in. Cry if you need to. Don't—don't kill yourself trying to stay strong."
Her steps halted for a moment. She turned her head slightly, her profile illuminated by the dull glow of the lights. Her voice was hoarse, stripped of its usual fire.
"I don't cry… on these kinds of things."
Her words were brittle, her pride the only thing keeping her upright. Without another glance, she pulled open her car door, slipped inside, and drove off into the night.
Leo stood there for a long time, his hands curled into fists at his sides, the echo of her words ringing painfully in his chest.
The hospital lights flickered faintly behind him.
To Be Continued.....