"Sometimes the silence between two people is louder than any storm."
The morning air in Seoul carried a quiet crispness, brushing against the towering glass walls of Han Corporation's headquarters. The building looked alive—shining steel and ambition stacked into forty floors. Inside, the hum of printers, muffled heels clicking, and the subtle buzz of whispers marked the day's beginning.
Claire sat at the head of her office table, her posture sharp as ever, but her eyes faintly distant. Files were spread out before her, though she hadn't turned a page in several minutes.
Her assistant, Jisoo, entered with her tablet clutched to her chest. "Ms. Claire, the board reports are finalized, and Mr. Hwang is waiting for your signature. Also, the PR team requests your presence for the campaign briefing at 3 PM."
Claire lifted her gaze slowly, voice cool but precise. "Put Mr. Hwang's documents on my desk. Tell the PR team I'll be there—no excuses. What about the designer shortlist for the rebranding project?"
Jisoo scrolled quickly on her tablet. "We've got three candidates, but one name stood out more than the rest—Choi Jiwon. She submitted a bold draft overnight. Honestly…" Jisoo hesitated, "…it doesn't look like work from a rookie."
Claire's lips curved faintly. "Choi Jiwon again." She tapped her pen against the desk, tone unreadable. "She keeps surprising me."
Jisoo smirked. "Seems like you've developed quite an interest in her, Ms. Claire. Should I be jealous?"
Claire gave her a side glance, half amused. "Don't start. I don't get 'interested.' I evaluate talent."
"Mm-hm," Jisoo teased, dragging the sound deliberately. "Evaluating talent at midnight emails and early drafts. Very convincing."
Claire sighed but didn't argue. "Set up a private review meeting with her. No board, no department heads. Just me and her."
Jisoo raised a brow. "Directly? Won't that raise suspicion?"
"Let them suspect," Claire answered, tone clipped yet layered. "She deserves to present without distractions."
A few floors below, Jiwon sat in the small design lounge with her laptop open, biting her lip as she tweaked a color scheme. Her colleague nudged her shoulder.
"You've been redoing that slide for twenty minutes, Jiwon. It's already good."
She shook her head. "Good isn't enough. If Ms. Claire sees even one rough edge, she won't take me seriously."
The colleague laughed softly. "You talk about her like she's this terrifying exam you can't fail."
Jiwon smiled faintly but didn't respond.
Just then, Jisoo stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Choi Jiwon?"
Jiwon immediately straightened, nervous. "Y-Yes?"
"Ms. Claire would like to see you privately for a presentation this evening. Prepare your full draft."
The lounge fell silent; everyone turned. Private presentation? Directly to the CEO? Jiwon's pulse raced. "O-Of course. I'll be ready."
As Jisoo left, whispers followed. One colleague leaned over. "Wow… The CEO's eye is really on you. Careful, Jiwon. Attention from her is… complicated."
Jiwon didn't reply, but her heart hammered. Complicated was an understatement.
By evening, Jiwon entered Claire's office, clutching her laptop like a lifeline.
"Good evening, Ms. Claire," she greeted formally.
Claire didn't look up immediately, flipping a page in her folder before answering. "Sit."
Jiwon obeyed, fumbling slightly with her bag strap.
Claire finally looked at her. "Show me your draft. Walk me through it."
Jiwon nodded quickly, setting up her laptop. Her voice trembled at first but steadied as she explained her design choices, her reasoning, the symbolism behind colors and shapes.
Claire watched quietly, her chin resting on her knuckles, gaze unreadable. When Jiwon finished, silence stretched.
Jiwon's chest tightened. "I-I know it might not be perfect, but—"
Claire cut her off, voice firm. "It's bold. Cleaner than last time. You've improved… significantly."
Jiwon blinked, stunned. "Y-You think so?"
Claire's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Don't ask me to repeat myself."
Jiwon's lips twitched into a nervous smile. "Right. Thank you, Ms. Claire."
Claire leaned back, tapping her pen lightly against the desk. "Tell me, Jiwon. Do you work this hard because of ambition—or because you want my approval?"
The question hit her like a thunderclap. Jiwon stammered, "I… I just want to do well."
"Answer the question properly." Claire's eyes sharpened.
Jiwon swallowed, cheeks flushing. "Maybe… both."
For the first time, Claire let a small, genuine smile appear. "Honesty. That's rare here."
Jiwon looked down quickly, heart racing.
"Ms. Claire, the board's email just came through," Jisoo said, standing at the edge of Claire's office with her tablet in hand. Her tone was clipped and professional, but her eyes flickered with concern. "They want a detailed report on the financial implications of the Seoul expansion, by tomorrow morning."
Claire leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. "Of course, they do," she muttered under her breath before looking up at her assistant. "Jisoo, have the finance team prepare the raw numbers. I'll draft the analysis myself. I don't want the board thinking we're making decisions blindly."
Jisoo nodded. "Already on it. I've sent a message to Director Park. He'll have the spreadsheets ready in two hours." She hesitated, then added softly, "Ms. Claire… you haven't eaten all day."
Claire's brows arched slightly. "Are you my assistant or my caretaker, Jisoo?"
"I'm both," Jisoo replied matter-of-factly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But if you collapse in this office again, the board won't be asking for spreadsheets—they'll be asking for your resignation."
Claire smirked despite her exhaustion. "Fine. Order something light. Soup, maybe. Nothing fancy."
Jisoo scribbled a quick note, then glanced back at her boss. "And… about Mr. Choi's sister. Jiwon."
Claire's pen froze mid-signature. "What about her?"
"She submitted her trial design files. Honestly, Ms. Claire…" Jisoo's lips quirked into a rare grin. "They're better than half the junior team's work. Are you sure she's just an intern?"
Claire's expression softened, though she tried to mask it with cool detachment. "She has potential. I noticed it the first day she walked in. Keep an eye on her progress—but don't treat her differently from the others. She wouldn't want that."
Jisoo gave a knowing look. "Understood. But… you like her, don't you? She reminds you of someone."
Claire tapped her pen against the desk, staring at the skyline outside her window. "She reminds me of a time when loyalty meant everything… before titles, before money, before I became 'Ms. Claire' to the world." Her voice grew distant, almost wistful. "Maybe that's why I can't help but protect her."
The room fell into silence until Jisoo, ever professional, broke it. "Then we'll protect her carefully. Quietly."
Jisoo cleared her throat softly, her tablet in hand. "Ms. Claire, the board has been requesting your presence for an emergency strategy meeting this evening. They're concerned about the sudden shifts in our market position."
Claire's pen froze mid-note. Her eyes lifted, sharp but tired. "Emergency meeting? And what brilliant insights do they expect to pull out of me this time? A magic wand?"
"Most likely reassurance, ma'am." Jisoo's tone was professional but there was a flicker of sympathy beneath it. "They want to see confidence, even if the numbers… don't fully reflect it yet."
Claire leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping against the polished desk. "Confidence. That's their favorite drug. They consume it, but they don't understand the cost it takes to manufacture."
Jisoo hesitated, then leaned a little closer. "Should I arrange for a briefing pack with the finance team before you step in?"
"Of course." Claire's answer was quick, clipped. Then, after a moment, her voice softened. "Jisoo… do you think they trust me?"
The assistant blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Ms. Claire, they follow your lead. Whether or not they admit it, they rely on you to keep this company's spine straight. Without you—"
"—they'd already be circling like vultures," Claire finished bitterly, her lips curling into something between a smile and a grimace. "Yes, I know."
There was a pause. Jisoo carefully set the tablet on the desk. "May I be frank, ma'am?"
Claire arched a brow. "When have you ever been anything else?"
"Sometimes," Jisoo said slowly, "you push yourself so hard to prove them wrong that you stop letting anyone prove you right. Even the people who… care."
The silence stretched. Claire's eyes flickered, betraying the briefest trace of emotion before she looked away. "Care," she echoed faintly. "Dangerous word in business, Jisoo."
"Not everything is business," Jisoo replied softly.
Claire didn't respond right away. Instead, she stood, walking toward the wide glass windows that overlooked the city. Lights blinked in the distance, alive and uncaring. Her reflection looked back at her — poised, polished, but undeniably tired.
"Schedule the meeting," she said finally, her voice steadier again. "And draft a statement for the press. I don't want rumors filling the silence."
"Yes, Ms. Claire." Jisoo moved efficiently, but her eyes lingered on her boss's back, her concern unspoken.
The stack of reports on Mira Claire Han's desk blurred before her eyes. She had been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes, her pen tapping rhythmically against the wood. No matter how hard she tried, the words refused to register. Her mind kept drifting back to the sterile hospital room, to the lifeless body of her mother, to the way silence had screamed louder than any grief.
Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she snatched her phone.
"Jisoo."
Her assistant's voice came crisp and alert on the line. "Yes, Ms. Claire?"
"From now until further notice, you'll oversee the department reports directly. Call the Graphic department. I want every Designs of 2024. Nothing slips past. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ms. Claire." Jisoo paused briefly. "Are you… leaving the office?"
"I need air." Mira's voice softened just slightly, before snapping back to its usual cold edge. "Handle everything."
"Yes, Ms. Claire."
Mira grabbed her keys, sunglasses, and coat. Without a word to anyone else, she swept out of her office, heels striking the marble floor like gunshots.
Mira's car cut through the highway like a knife, the speedometer edging toward dangerous numbers. The wind tangled her hair, the radio hummed low, but her mind was blank. No tears, no sobs, just emptiness stretching wide and endless.
By the time the clock struck 5:00 p.m., she was back at the company. A major meeting awaited.
The moment she entered, the room fell quiet. Dozens of employees sat stiffly, eyes flickering nervously between one another. But whispers began almost instantly, just low enough to think she couldn't hear.
"She came back already? After her mother just passed?""So heartless… no shame at all.""She didn't even take a week off. What kind of daughter does that?""Ruthless woman… she probably only cares about the company profits."
Mira adjusted the cuffs of her blazer, walked to the head of the table, and stood tall. She placed her hands lightly on the table and let her sharp gaze sweep across the room.
Then she spoke, voice steady, formal, yet cutting like a blade.
"How impressive."
The room went still.
"How impressive that my employees, who should be focusing on their projects, their deadlines, and their responsibilities, are instead so deeply invested in my personal life. You know details even the tabloids don't. Perhaps I should hire you all as private investigators."
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
She continued, straightening her coat with deliberate grace.
"Yes, my mother passed away. And yes, I returned to work. If you have hearts so big, then by all means—attend her funeral. Do it on my behalf. But until then, stop pretending that my grief is a matter of public interest in this company."
Her eyes darted to a man at the far end. "Mr. Park. How is your divorce proceeding? Still fighting for custody of your son?"
The man froze, paling. "I—I—"
"Ms. Kang," Mira turned smoothly to a woman who gasped. "How is your brother's gambling debt? Paid off yet? Or is it still eating into your salary?"
The murmurs turned into suffocated silence. Mira's tone remained perfectly formal, but each word landed like steel.
"You see… I don't involve myself in your private lives. Because it's irrelevant here. And in the same way, my private life is irrelevant to you. If you truly find it difficult to separate personal curiosity from professional duty, then perhaps journalism is your better calling. There are many magazines hungry for gossip."
Her voice hardened, final.
"And if you want to do nothing but speculate about me, then write me your resignation letter tonight. I will not tolerate employees wasting my time or theirs."
Dead silence. Not even a breath dared to move.
Mira looked around once more, sharp chin tilted high. "Good. Now… continue the meeting."
The rest of the session passed with robotic efficiency. No one dared whisper again.
When she pushed open the door, Amelia was already sitting on the sofa. She jumped up and rushed forward, arms wrapping tightly around Mira.
"Mira!" Amelia whispered, voice thick with sympathy. "I'm so sorry. I thought… you might need someone after your mother—"
Mira stood stiff, arms unmoving, her face blank. When Amelia pulled back, Mira's eyes were cold.
"Why are you here, Amelia?"
Her friend flinched at the detached tone. "Because you just lost your mother. You shouldn't be alone. I thought maybe we could go for coffee, talk—"
"I don't need anyone's support. And I don't need your pity."
Amelia's lips trembled. "It's not pity. It's friendship."
Mira turned toward her desk, picking up a folder as if the matter was closed. "Friendship that interferes with my work is useless. I don't take coffee breaks when there are deals to finalize."
The words landed like a slap. Amelia's expression crumbled, but she said nothing.
"Close the door when you leave." Mira's voice was final.
Amelia left silently.
The penthouse was dark and empty when Mira returned. She dropped her bag by the door, pulled a can of beer from the fridge, and sat on the floor by the window. One drink turned into another, until her vision blurred and her body slumped back against the glass.
The doorbell rang. She dragged herself up, opened it, and found Leo standing there.
She wasn't even surprised. "Come in."
Leo stepped inside, removing his shoes. Just as he did, Mira swayed dangerously, about to collapse. He lunged forward, catching her in his arms. Their faces stopped just inches apart, her breath warm against his cheek.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then he carefully lowered her onto the sofa. When she reached for another drink, he snatched the glass from her hand.
"No more."
"Give it back," she slurred, struggling.
When she tried to grab it, she stumbled forward and fell onto him. Their faces hovered close again, the silence thick.
Her hand lifted, trembling, and cupped his cheek. "I love you…" she whispered, eyes half-lidded, leaning in.
Leo froze. For a fleeting second, his chest ached with the truth he carried. But he gently pushed her back onto the sofa.
"Behave, Claire. I'm not someone you can get so easily."
She pouted faintly, but her eyes were already heavy with drink.
That night, Leo stayed. He carried her to her bedroom, laid her down, and pulled the blanket over her. Standing in the doorway, he whispered words she couldn't hear.
"I love you too."
But he couldn't say it aloud.
🌙 Midnight
Leo woke for water. From her room, faint sobs leaked through the door. He knocked softly, then entered.
She sat on the bed, wiping at her eyes furiously. "Nothing," she muttered. "I wasn't crying."
Leo crossed the room, knelt, and gently took her hand. "Are you missing your mother?"
She shook her head, stubborn. "Why would I?"
He held her gaze. "Because no matter how strong you act… you're still her daughter."
The dam broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook her head, trying to resist. But Leo pulled her into his arms, cupping her face gently.
"Cry as much as you want. I'm here."
And she did. For the first time, Mira allowed herself to cry—for her mother, for her loneliness, for everything she'd buried. Eventually, exhaustion claimed her.
She drifted asleep on his lap, her head resting against him. He stayed there, sitting stiffly on the sofa beside her bed, until he too nodded off.
☀️ Morning
Sunlight spilled into the room. Mira stirred, blinking awake, and realized her head was still resting on Leo's lap. A wicked thought crossed her mind—so she shut her eyes again, feigning sleep, savoring the rare intimacy.
When Leo woke moments later and looked down, shock flickered across his face.
And that was how the morning found them: Mira pretending to sleep, Leo frozen in disbelief—caught in a moment neither of them could deny.