Later at Delirium Lounge, Private RoomThe room was drenched in amber light and expensive shadows. Plush seating. Bottles of imported liquor lined the shelves. It smelled like leather, cigar smoke, and perfume.
The third bottle of whiskey had just been uncorked.
Laughter echoed around the dimly lit private room — thick with cigar smoke and secrets. Red velvet walls soaked in the sound of low jazz and the clink of crystal glasses.
Around the circular table sat the inner circle of Han & Jung Legal.
At the center: Director Han Taekyu, mid-50s, wealthy, powerful, and married — at least on paper. With thick-rimmed glasses and a stiff laugh, he filled the space like a storm cloud in a designer suit.
Taeha sat near the right side of the table, fingers lightly resting on the stem of a wine glass he had barely touched. His sharp eyes moved from face to face.
"Taeha," Director Han said, beckoning. "Sit by me. You're leading the argument next week, aren't you?"
Taeha nodded politely, taking the seat.
Minseok sat on the other side. "Kill me now," he whispered.
Director Han guffawing about some celebrity scandal, and the rest of the senior lawyers playing their roles with polished smiles. They toasted. Drank. Laughed.
Even joked about the victim in their newest scandal — a woman allegedly assaulted by the Son of the chaebol. The mood was disgusting, yet polished.
Taeha didn't belong here.
But leaving wasn't an option.
Then the signal came. Two claps.
The door opened.
And in they came.
One by one — women in silk dresses, with sultry smiles and expensive skin. They floated into the room like perfume made flesh.
Delicate heels. Glittering dresses. Smiles that looked rehearsed. They walked in one by one, each finding a seat near the men with practiced grace. Perfume followed like a quiet breeze — flowery, expensive, false.
And then—
Him.
The last to enter.
Lee Hamin.
He wasn't smiling.
He stepped into the room like a breath being held.
Wearing a soft black silk shirt, half-buttoned, the fabric shimmered faintly under the amber lights. It hung loose on his frame, just enough to show the shape of his collarbones, the curve of his chest, and a glimpse of pale skin that looked untouched by sunlight.
Black slacks clung perfectly to his long legs. He was slimmer than Taeha remembered. Softer around the face, maybe — but no less beautiful. In fact… more.
His hair had grown longer. Dark, wavy, falling naturally across his forehead. And his eyes — those same quiet, knowing eyes — lined ever so slightly — didn't sparkle like the others.
They burned.
Just enough to make them sting if you stared too long.
He didn't look at Taeha.
Not at first.
He walked forward with his gaze straight ahead, lips slightly parted, expression unreadable.
Then — just as he passed — their eyes met.
Like a bolt of quiet lightning.
Taeha felt his body freeze.
His fingers clenched around the stem of the glass.
That face. That gaze. That silence.
It had been nearly a decade. But he'd recognize him anywhere.
The only boy who had ever confessed to him.
The only boy he ever rejected cruelly.
The only boy he never forgot.
Hamin looked at him. Just one second. Long enough.
Then looked away like he didn't know him at all.
But Taeha knew.
No one had ever confessed to him like that in high school. No one had ever cried like that after he rejected them. And no one had looked at Taeha like he was their whole sky — except this boy. This man.
Lee Hamin.