Ji-Ah returned to the mansion, brushing a few loose strands of her brown hair behind her ears.
She stepped into the living room and spotted Do-Hyun sprawled on the couch, arms crossed, half-awake.
"Hello," she said, placing her bag down carefully.
Do-Hyun glanced up, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm hungry."
Ji-Ah rolled her eyes. "No kidding. What do you want? Something fancy or… just edible?"
"Simple Korean lunch. Don't overthink it."
"Simple, got it," she said, heading for the kitchen.
Nisa popped up behind her, smiling. "Need a hand?"
Ji-Ah raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Just… don't set anything on fire."
They moved around the kitchen like a well-practiced team, chopping, stirring, occasionally bumping elbows, laughing softly.
When Ji-Ah carried the dishes out, Ha-Joon appeared at the doorway.
Hair falling slightly over his forehead, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable—but calm and dangerous as always.
Do-Hyun glanced at him and muttered, "Looks like someone's getting a personal chef today."
Ha-Joon's lips twitched—barely, almost invisible—but it was there.
Ji-Ah froze, cheeks heating. "Sir…"
"Sit," Ha-Joon said evenly, walking past the table to his usual corner.
He didn't say more, just watched.
Do-Hyun leaned back, smirking at Ji-Ah. "You okay? He didn't glare. That's… progress, right?"
Ji-Ah rolled her eyes, chuckling softly. "Yeah… barely. Tiny progress."
They sat down.
The smell of freshly cooked food filled the room.
Small smiles, subtle glances, and quiet laughter passed between them—Ha-Joon's calm presence keeping everyone just a little on edge.
Lunch was served.
The meal had started light, Ji-Ah and Do-Hyun joking back and forth, but the mood shifted when Do-Hyun's expression darkened slightly.
"Do-Hae isn't stopping," he muttered, chewing slowly. "He's getting bolder. We need a plan."
Ji-Ah frowned, setting down her chopsticks. "A plan? Like… fight fire with fire?"
Nisa spoke up, voice low. "He even came to Hanryeon Foods yesterday."
Ji-Ah raised an eyebrow. "Wait… why? That's our company."
Ha-Joon, sitting across the table, finally spoke, voice calm but carrying weight. "Because he's trying to test boundaries. See how far he can go."
Ji-Ah's lips pressed into a thin line. "And he told me… if he doesn't get the documents, he'll get me instead. Said I was… interesting."
Ha-Joon's eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. "I'm aware."
She froze slightly. "So… what now?"
Ha-Joon leaned back, fingers steepled lightly.
His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was an undertone that made her stomach tighten.
"Do-Hae isn't just testing us. He's probing. That… includes you. But don't worry. I'll make sure nothing happens. For now."
Ji-Ah's shoulders tensed. "For now?"
Ha-Joon's lips twitched—so slight, almost invisible—but his gaze lingered.
Quiet, controlled, and sharp. "For now."
The room fell silent.
Even the small clinks of cutlery seemed loud.
Ji-Ah exhaled slowly, gripping her chopsticks, realizing the danger was closer than she thought—but Ha-Joon's presence made her feel… almost protected.
Do-Hyun slammed his chopsticks down. "Enough of this small talk!"
Ji-Ah blinked.
He turned to Nisa, took her hands gently, then looked over at Ha-Joon. "Today… we're going out. One-year anniversary as a couple."
Ji-Ah's eyes widened.
She blinked rapidly, then let out a short, squeaky laugh. "WHAT?! You're serious? One year?! Congrats, you two! Finally!"
Ha-Joon, sitting nearby, didn't flinch.
He gave a small nod. "Just tell me where you want to go. I'll book it."
Ji-Ah gasped dramatically, hands on her chest. "Sir, that's… that's amazing. I can't… I mean, wow!"
Do-Hyun smiled at Nisa and leaned close.
"Let's go change," he whispered.
Everyone else finished eating quietly.
Ji-Ah picked up her plate, heading toward the sink to do the dishes.
Ha-Joon stepped beside her. "Stop."
Ji-Ah froze, plate in hand. "Uh… sir?"
He didn't look at her, voice calm, commanding. "Today… you will play for me."
"Play? For you?" she stammered, confused.
"Yes. Piano, ukulele, guitar… anything."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving Ji-Ah blinking at the empty space he'd occupied, heart racing.
"Uh… what just happened?" she muttered to herself, setting the plate down
--
Ji-Ah stood in front of the small studio room for a moment, fingers hovering over the handle.
The space was quiet—thick, expectant quiet.
She pushed the door open.
Soft lights lined the walls, not too bright, not too dim.
The room wasn't large, but it felt intentional.
Sound panels curved gently around the walls, and at the center sat the piano—black, polished, waiting.
Her piano.
She exhaled, shoulders loosening without her permission.
"Okay," she whispered to herself. "Just… play."
She walked in, set her bag down neatly, and sat on the bench. Her fingers rested lightly on the keys, not pressing yet—just feeling the familiar smoothness beneath her skin.
Then—
The door opened behind her.
She didn't jump. She just knew.
Ha-Joon walked in quietly and took a seat a few rows back, posture relaxed, hands resting loosely on his knees.
No phone. No files. Just him.
Ji-Ah turned slightly on the bench. "Sir… what would you like me to play?"
He looked at her, expression neutral, voice even. "Anything."
She blinked. "Anything?"
"Yes."
That was all.
She nodded once, turned back to the piano, and lifted her hands.
The first note was soft. Careful.
Then another.
Then a melody—slow, steady, unhurried.
Nothing flashy. Nothing loud.
It was the kind of tune you played when you weren't trying to impress anyone. Familiar, warm, slightly nostalgic.
The kind that felt like evening light slipping through curtains.
Ji-Ah's shoulders relaxed as she played, body moving with the rhythm, hair falling forward as she leaned in.
Her fingers grew more confident, the melody deepening, weaving something gentle but sure.
Ha-Joon watched silently.
He didn't interrupt. Didn't shift. Didn't look away.
For the first time since she'd known him, there was no calculation in his eyes—just focus.
When the final note faded, the room stayed quiet.
Ji-Ah's fingers hovered over the keys, then slowly lowered. She turned on the bench, suddenly nervous.
"…Was that okay?"
Ha-Joon stood.
He walked closer, stopping a respectful distance from the piano. His gaze stayed on the instrument for a moment before lifting to her.
"You don't play to be heard," he said calmly. "You play to settle yourself."
Ji-Ah blinked, caught off guard.
"That's… not common," he continued. "Most people perform."
She swallowed. "Is that bad?"
"No."
A pause.
"It's rare."
She didn't know what to say to that.
Ha-Joon turned toward the door, hand on the handle, then stopped.
Without looking back, he added quietly ,"Keep playing. This room exists because of that."
Then he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Ji-Ah sat there for a long moment, heart beating a little faster than usual.
"…He's impossible," she muttered.
But her fingers drifted back to the keys anyway.
And she played again.