"Sometimes love isn't lost in shouting, but in the silence that follows."
🌫️
The morning after the storm between her and Leo, Mira arrived at the office earlier than usual. She had barely slept, her eyes shadowed, her hair pinned up more sharply than normal as if the precision could hold her fraying emotions together.
Her office looked immaculate — papers neatly stacked, contracts waiting in their files, the scent of fresh lilies placed by Jisoo the night before lingering faintly in the air. But beneath that polished surface, a storm brewed inside Mira's chest, one that had nowhere else to go but into her work.
She sat behind her wide mahogany desk, her fingers drumming lightly against a pen, eyes sharp as the first group of employees hesitated at her door. Normally she welcomed them with warmth — a nod, a faint smile, a measured greeting. But today, her gaze flicked up with a cold clarity that froze them in place.
"Come in," she said, her tone perfectly formal, stripped of softness.
One of the senior designers stepped forward nervously with a portfolio in his hand. "Ms. Han, we've updated the drafts for the campaign—"
Mira held up her hand, the smallest gesture but enough to silence the entire group. She flipped open the folder, scanning every line and sketch with a precision that made their breathing grow shallow. When she closed it, her words were steady, but each syllable struck like a polished blade.
"This was due two days ago," she said. "And even now, it's incomplete."
The man swallowed hard. "We—there were complications with the vendor, and—"
"Complications," Mira repeated softly, her lips curving into something too restrained to be called a smile. "Do you think deadlines pause for complications? Do you think clients will forgive delays because you had obstacles?"
Her words weren't shouted. She didn't raise her voice once. But the air was heavy with unspoken disappointment, sharper than any scolding could have been.
The employees exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a junior staff member, stammered, "We'll fix it immediately, Ms. Han. We—"
Mira leaned back in her chair, her gaze narrowing slightly. "You'll fix it today. You'll also prepare a full report on why this delay happened and how you will prevent it from happening again. By noon."
Her assistant, Jisoo, who had been standing at her side with a tablet, risked glancing at Mira. She recognized the calm mask Mira wore — one she only put on when something deeper was eating her alive.
"Yes, Ms. Han," the group echoed almost in unison, bowing slightly before retreating from the office.
The door closed. Silence pressed in again.
Jisoo lingered, shifting slightly as though debating whether to speak. Finally, she asked softly, "Are you… okay?"
Mira didn't answer right away. She stood, walking toward the wide glass window that overlooked the city. The morning sun cast golden streaks across the skyline, but to Mira it looked pale and distant, as if mocking her unrest.
"I'm fine," she said at last, her tone clipped, her reflection in the glass unreadable.
But she wasn't fine. Her mind kept replaying the night before — Leo's anger, Jiwon's tears, her own helpless silence as everything shattered again between them. She had thrown herself into the office this morning because here, at least, she could control things. Here, her voice was law, her strength unshakable. Unlike with him.
Jisoo lowered her gaze, sensing the weight pressing down on her boss. She didn't push further, only whispered, "I'll bring you the finance reports," before slipping quietly out of the office.
Mira remained by the window long after she left, arms folded tightly across her chest as if holding herself together. Her heart ached, but she refused to let it bleed here. Not in this space where everyone looked to her for strength.
🌫️
But she couldn't deny it. Beneath the silence of her office, beneath the calm authority she had wrapped herself in, one question burned louder and louder — would she and Leo survive this fracture, or had last night carved the line that would never heal?
And as the clock ticked toward noon, that unanswered question lingered in the air, as sharp and uncertain as the morning light.
The morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mira's office, but instead of brightening the mood, it only sharpened the edges of her irritation. She sat at the head of the long table, her posture straight, her pen tapping lightly against the leather notebook as the first design team filed in.
They laid out their boards and mock-ups with nervous enthusiasm, hoping for a nod, a spark of approval. Instead, Mira's sharp eyes moved from sketch to sketch with the kind of detached scrutiny that felt like judgment.
"This—" she pointed to the first board without raising her voice, "is uninspired. You've recycled an old concept from last quarter and changed the palette. That's not innovation, that's laziness."
The designer's face paled, and his hands twitched against the table. Mira didn't shout, didn't slam her hand, but her precision cut deeper than volume ever could.
"Next."
The next presentation began, and though the work was objectively good, Mira's mood was merciless. She listened, lips pressed into a thin line, and when they finished, she leaned back in her chair.
"You call this bold? It's safe. Safe doesn't win markets. Safe doesn't disrupt competitors. If you're comfortable, you're already losing."
Her words fell like steady rain—calm but cold enough to chill the room. The designers exchanged glances, no one daring to argue.
Jisoo, sitting off to the side with her tablet, noticed everything. She noticed the slight tightness in Mira's jaw, the faint tremor in the way her fingers gripped the pen, the unspoken fury restrained beneath layers of professionalism. She knew where this was coming from—last night, Leo. Mira was the type who rarely let her private storms show, but today, they leaked through every syllable.
As the third team entered, Mira's critiques only grew sharper. She didn't yell, didn't scold, but she dismantled each proposal with exacting calmness that left the room heavy.
"Deadlines were given for a reason," she said, after flipping through the last mock-up with a slow turn of pages. "Excuses don't interest me. Competence does."
Silence stretched, suffocating.
Jisoo finally cleared her throat softly. "Madam, perhaps—" she paused carefully, "—we can take a short break? Give everyone a chance to regroup and refine their thoughts."
Mira's eyes flicked toward her assistant. For a moment, it looked like she might refuse. Then, slowly, she shut the file in front of her.
"Ten minutes," she said flatly, rising from her chair.
The teams almost sighed in relief as they shuffled out, whispering among themselves. Jisoo lingered, her gaze following Mira, who stood by the window with her arms crossed, staring out at the skyline as if it might offer answers she refused to admit needing.
Jisoo didn't speak. She didn't need to—she had seen enough.
The day stretched on with back-to-back meetings, each department filtering into Mira's office one after another. The atmosphere in the room was heavy from the moment the first team entered.
They presented their designs with hopeful eyes, but Mira's gaze stayed sharp and unyielding, her fingers tapping lightly against the table as if marking each flaw she spotted before a word was spoken.
"This—" she said, turning a mock-up sheet around so it faced the designers again. Her tone was calm, almost too calm, but there was a weight behind it that pressed down on everyone present. "—is the same recycled idea from last quarter. Do you expect our clients to be impressed with this?"
One designer tried to defend himself, stammering something about time constraints, but Mira leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Deadlines are not an excuse for mediocrity. If I had lowered my standards every time someone felt pressure, this company wouldn't exist."
Her words were cutting, but her voice never once rose above that controlled, professional pitch. That made it even worse. The employees could feel her disappointment more than her anger.
When another group came in with their campaign draft, Mira flipped through the slides without a hint of emotion. Halfway through, she set the file down with deliberate care.
"You want to know the truth?" she asked, her gaze shifting from one nervous face to another. "If I were your client, I would have walked out by now. This lacks vision. It lacks the courage to take risks."
The team exchanged defeated glances, one of them bowing slightly in apology. Mira didn't soften. Instead, she straightened in her chair, her expression unreadable.
"Redo everything," she ordered. "From scratch. If you don't understand the difference between filling space and telling a story, then you've misunderstood why you're here."
Silence followed her words as the employees gathered their materials and left, their footsteps hurried.
Throughout it all, Jisoo sat quietly by her side, flipping through her own notes. She had grown used to Mira's high standards, but today… something was different. Mira wasn't just strict; she was restless, almost volatile in her restraint.
Every time a presentation failed to meet her expectations, her pen dug harder into the page. Every time someone offered an excuse, her lips pressed tighter together as if holding back words she wanted to release but didn't.
Finally, when the fourth team left, Mira leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes for a moment. The sunlight from the large windows cast sharp lines across her face, making her look both powerful and unbearably tired.
Jisoo tilted her head slightly, studying her. She didn't speak—Mira wasn't the type to appreciate sympathy when her walls were up—but she noticed everything: the way Mira's hands trembled slightly when she picked up her water glass, the way she inhaled deeply before forcing her tone back into calmness, the way her eyes flickered with something raw every time someone disappointed her.
Jisoo knew what this was. Mira wasn't just angry at the designs. She was angry at herself, at the night before, at Leo's words and the silence that followed them.
But no one else in the room could see it. To the employees, she was simply the flawless CEO holding them to impossible standards. To Jisoo, she was a woman unraveling beneath the armor she refused to take off.
The meeting room's air was already stiff with tension. Employees sat around the long glass table, their laptops open, files spread like shields, as if bracing for battle. Mira's sharp eyes scanned the new presentation on the screen. The designs glowed under the projector, but instead of admiration, her brows furrowed deeper and deeper.
"This is what you're calling a finalized draft?" Her voice was calm, but dangerously cold. Each word cut like a blade, and the young designer at the end of the table looked as though he might crumble on the spot.
Silence followed, broken only by the soft hum of the projector. Mira leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs elegantly, but her tone carried no softness.
"I asked for fresh, dynamic lines. Not… recycled mediocrity." She turned her gaze from one face to another, her words precise but laced with disappointment. "Tell me—if this were handed to our competitors, do you think they'd even bother to look twice? Do you think I'd risk my company's name on this?"
The employees exchanged nervous glances, and a young woman cleared her throat to offer an explanation. But Mira raised her hand ever so slightly—an elegant, sharp motion that silenced the attempt.
Jisoo sat near the corner, her hands folded over her notebook, watching closely. She knew this wasn't just about the designs. Mira's anger wasn't raw or loud—it was polished, laced into every calculated phrase. That was her way. But today, it felt different. Heavier. Sharper.
The meeting dragged on, with Mira rejecting slide after slide, proposal after proposal. She didn't raise her voice, but the weight of her disappointment pressed down harder than any shout could. By the end, half the employees looked pale, their confidence crushed.
When the room finally cleared, leaving only Mira and Jisoo behind, the assistant let out a soft breath. She glanced at her boss cautiously, gathering courage.
"Mira…" Jisoo began carefully, "you've rejected every single design today. Maybe—"
"Maybe they should start working as if deadlines actually mean something," Mira cut in, her tone crisp, her eyes still on the scattered papers in front of her.
Jisoo bit her lip but pressed gently. "You've been harsher than usual. I just… don't think it's only about the work."
At that, Mira's eyes flicked up sharply. The intensity in them made Jisoo falter for the first time, but she stood her ground.
"You're letting your emotions get tangled with the office," Jisoo said softly. "I noticed it yesterday, too. Something happened, didn't it?"
Mira's lips tightened, her jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. For a moment, silence filled the space.
Then she exhaled slowly, and her next words came sharp, defensive.
"Jisoo… I don't need you psychoanalyzing me right now."
The assistant blinked, stunned at the bite in her tone. Mira never spoke to her like that—not to her.
"I'm here to work," Mira continued, her voice clipped, rising just a fraction. "So either bring me results worth looking at, or don't waste my time with excuses."
The words landed like a slap, and for the first time in years, Jisoo felt the sting of being on the receiving end of Mira's unleashed frustration.
Her chest tightened, but she stayed quiet, nodding softly before gathering her things. As she moved toward the door, she cast one last look back—seeing not just the powerful CEO she worked for, but a woman crumbling beneath the weight of a storm she couldn't yet admit was personal.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Mira alone in the meeting room, her composure finally slipping for just a second as she pressed her hand against her temple.
She didn't know whether to curse Leo's name… or whisper it.
🌅 Leo's Morning
The morning sun felt harsher than usual, not because of its heat but because of the heaviness in Leo's chest. He drove in silence, the hum of the engine and the faint growl of the city waking up around him only making his thoughts louder. Sleep hadn't done much for him. His head still echoed with Mira's voice, her sharp glares, the way her silence cut deeper than any argument. He hated how much she still had that effect on him.
By the time he parked outside his friend Seojin's apartment, he forced himself to shake off the weight. Today was simple: pick up Jiwon, take her home, and maybe… just maybe… figure out how to move forward without Mira clawing at his mind every second.
He buzzed the door, and Seojin greeted him with a lazy grin, already sipping his morning coffee."Wow, look who's up early. Didn't think you'd be alive at this hour."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "I'm just here for Jiwon."
"Yeah, yeah. Come in for a second. She's still packing up her stuff."
Leo hesitated. He knew Seojin well—too well. That tone usually meant trouble. Still, he stepped inside, leaning against the counter as Seojin busied himself making another cup of coffee.
"So…" Seojin started casually, stirring sugar into his mug. "You look like crap."
Leo sighed. "Thanks for the observation."
Seojin smirked. "Something happen? Or should I guess? Let's see… dark circles, clenched jaw, that vibe like you're carrying the entire world on your shoulders… Yep. Definitely woman problems."
"Not everything's about that." Leo's voice was curt, sharper than he meant.
"Uh-huh." Seojin leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. "And here I thought Mira was out of your system years ago."
The name alone made Leo stiffen. His friend didn't miss it.
"Oh, so it is her."
Leo glared. "Drop it."
Seojin held up his hands. "Alright, alright. But… you know, holding it all in isn't exactly your specialty. You look like you're two seconds away from punching a wall."
Leo stayed silent, but Seojin pressed on, his voice softening."You've been dragging this for too long, man. It's Mira, isn't it? She's back in your life, and it's messing you up."
The words hit too close, and for a moment, Leo debated brushing it off, deflecting like always. But something cracked. The sleepless nights, Mira's stubbornness, her face flashing before him every damn second—it all boiled over.
"You don't get it, Seojin," Leo muttered, running a hand through his hair. "She just… storms back in, acting like nothing happened, acting like she has the right to pull Jiwon into her world. And I'm supposed to just stand there?" His voice grew rough, strained. "I hate her for it. I hate how she doesn't back off. But the worst part—the worst part is that no matter how much I fight it, I can't stop—"
He cut himself off, jaw tight.
Seojin's eyes narrowed. "You can't stop what?"
Leo's fists clenched at his sides, his voice low, almost bitter."…I can't stop wanting her."
The admission burned, but the moment it left his lips, it was as if some weight lifted off his chest, leaving him raw, exposed.
Seojin gave a long sigh, shaking his head. "Damn, Youngjae… you're screwed."
Leo let out a humorless laugh. "Tell me something I don't know."
Just then, Jiwon emerged with her bag, oblivious to the tension. "Oppa, let's go!" she chirped.
Leo straightened instantly, burying everything back under his usual cold expression. But Seojin's knowing look lingered, and for the first time, Leo couldn't quite meet his friend's eyes.
To Be Continued.....