For a beat, her brain refused to process.
She had lost?
She, who lived in the kitchen, who could measure spice with her eyes closed?
To him?
To Seo Minho?
Giggles spread through the room, and a few girls whispered, not even bothering to lower their voices.
"Of course he's good at cooking too."
"He's literally perfect. What can't he do?
"That's the crown prince for you."
Heat rushed to Haeun's cheeks, and not the good kind. Her grip on the ladle tightened.
She was the best cook here. She had repeatedly won awards for her great cooking.
How could she lose to him?
To a spoilt heir who was probably used to having everything handed to him on a platter of gold?
How?
She wanted to scream.
She caught Yuna's shocked look from across the room, her eyebrows shooting up.
How?
Minho's gaze found hers across the room, and his lips curved into a slow, infuriating smirk, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
As students clapped for him, he didn't say a word.
He just ignored everyone, turned on his heel and walked out.
~
Seo Minho couldn't remember the last time he had been properly amused or intrigued.
He was used to having girls fawn over him shamelessly, throwing themselves at his feet with no sense of dignity.
And growing up with his father had affected how much he esteemed women.
His father, Chairman Seo Woobin, brought women to their house almost every night when he was growing up.
His mother was still alive then, and despite her presence, his father had slept around with various women like a dog.
Unlike his father, Minho had never had sex before. He found it too intimate, and had decided he would remain unmarried till he died.
Sex?
Off the table.
But minor foreplay and kisses?
That was Minho's forte.
And he wasn't used to being refused.
When he wanted something, 9 times out of 10, he got it.
Until her.
Park Haeun, as they had called her.
Bright eyed.
Hair packed into a simple pony tail.
When girls surrounded him, vying for his attention, she didn't.
She didn't even want him.
And that intrigued Minho.
Minho chuckled to himself as he walked towards his department's campus.
Park Haeun.
The first girl in a while to treat herself with respect and not trip for the rich boy in a Bentley.
Maybe this semester wouldn't be so boring.
Just then, his phone rang, and he cursed under his breath when he realized who was calling.
He reluctantly picked the call, pressing his phone to his ear.
"Where are you?" A deep voice floated from it, and Minho swallowed.
"I'm at my school, father." He hated calling him that, as he had acted like anything but one.
"I see. Are you well dressed?"
Minho looked at his outfit. He was pitifully dressed. A hoodie, sweatpants, and a pair of slides.
No.
He was definitely not well dressed.
"No sir. I'm not."
There was a beat before the voice came again.
"Come to the front of your school. I am driving there now." Chairman Seo Woobin hissed.
"Yes father." Minho responded and ended the call. He knew better than to question his father.
The last time he did nearly cost him an eye.
He changed his direction, walking towards the school entrance.
People that walked by gasped when they saw him, eyes twinkling like gold in sunlight.
Minho resisted the urge to roll his eyes and swat them away.
Suddenly, someone launched themselves at him from behind and he instinctively punched the person's face.
"Ow! Seo Minho, are you crazy?!"
Minho's eyes widened as they landed on his only friend, Yoon Daerim, son of one of his father's rival groups. He was clutching his nose, his usual smirk faltering for a second.
"Next time don't scare me like that." He stated matter-of-factly, a smile tugging at his lips.
"You bastard. Where are you off to in a hurry?" Daerim queried, running his hand through his wavy blonde hair, his eyes scanning Minho with suspicion.
"My father wants to pick me up." Minho muttered.
Daerim's face went ice. His eyebrows furrowed, and he slightly opened his mouth, his cocky expression cracking.
"The Chairman is coming here?" His voice came out in a shaky whisper.
Minho bit his lip, turning around to keep walking.
"Yeah. See you later, Daerim."
His father, Seo Woobin, never came to personally pick him up unless it was serious, unless he wanted Minho present for something involving the syndicate.
Everyone else saw the Taekang group as a shining conglomerate. But Minho knew better.
The company was nothing more than a mask that was hiding something rotten underneath.
His father didn't just sign papers in boardrooms, he pulled triggers.
He killed.
Minho had seen it once, the image burnt into his mind: Chairman Seo Woobin shooting a man in the head, calm as if he were swatting a fly, right in front of him.
By the time Minho reached the curb, his palms were sweating.
A black limousine was parked there already, and the tinted windows reflected his pale face back at him.
Minho's hand trembled as he reached out to open the door. His legs felt like jelly, but he forced himself forward, climbing shakily inside.
The scent of leather and expensive cologne hit him immediately. Sitting at the far end, like a king in his throne, was Chairman Seo Woobin.
The man was in his early fifties, his sharp features radiating power and cruelty. His hair was slicked back, his tailored suit was immaculate.
But it wasn't the clothes that commanded fear, it was his eyes. Cold, predatory, a storm contained within glass.
Before Minho could even bow in greeting, a heavy palm cracked against his cheek. His head snapped to the side, the sting spreading like fire across his skin.
"Why are you dressed so casually?" Woobin's voice thundered, each syllable dripping with disgust. "My only heir? You pathetic failure!"
Minho's throat tightened. He bowed his head immediately, fighting the burn in his eyes. He could not—would not—cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
"I'm sorry, sir." His voice was barely a whisper.
Another slap came, harsher, snapping his head the other way. The metallic tang of blood spread in his mouth.
"You better not disgrace me," Woobin spat, his glare cutting into Minho.