Ji-Ah was just about to slip out The door after everyone had left when Ha-Joon's voice cut through the room—cold, precise.
"Stop."
She stiffened and turned slowly. "…Sir?"
"I watched you," he said flatly. "You didn't read the contract fully."
Her brows knit together. "I—what?"
"You skimmed it," he continued, eyes unreadable.
"But you still signed. I didn't want to talk then." A pause. Sharp. "Go home and finish reading it."
That wiped the protest right off her face.
"…That's it?" she asked carefully.
"Yes."
She opened her mouth again, instinctively ready to complain, but his gaze shut that down immediately.
"And Ji-Ah," he added, tone cooler than before, "your food is edible."
She blinked. "…Edible?"
"But it tastes like effort without direction," he said calmly. "You cook like someone trying too hard to impress instead of understanding what they're doing."
Ouch.
She stared at him, wounded but stubborn. "People like my cooking."
"I didn't say they didn't," he replied. "I said it lacks balance."
Her lips pressed together. She huffed quietly. "You could've just said thank you."
"I don't lie," he said. Then, dismissively, "Go."
She turned toward the door, muttering, "Heartless. Tyrant. Contract-policing robot."
He didn't react.
But as she reached the hallway, his voice followed—low, controlled.
"And Ji-Ah."
She paused.
"Next time," he said, eyes back on his documents, "read before you sign. I won't repeat myself."
She swallowed. "…Yes, sir."
And this time, she left—heart pounding, pride bruised, and very aware that Ha-Joon hadn't softened at all.
If anything… he'd just drawn the line sharper.
--
Ji-Ah went straight home and into her room.
She kicked off her shoes, swapped her blazer for a loose T-shirt and jeans, then walked to her wardrobe.
From the very back, tucked behind clothes she barely wore, she pulled out a thin file.
The contract.
She sat on the edge of the bed and opened it.
Same rules as always.Wake-up times.Work boundaries.Confidentiality clauses so long they made her yawn.
She flipped the page once. Then again.
And that's when she froze.
Her eyes slowly moved back up.
There—neatly typed, calm, official, like it meant nothing at all:
Additional Clause — Special Arrangement
Party B will play the piano whenever Party A is feeling mentally burdened or emotionally fatigued.
Ji-Ah blinked.
"…What?"
Her finger slid down.
Party A will, in return, assist Party B in improving her cooking skills when necessary.
She stared at the page.
No dramatic wording.
No explanations.
No emotions attached.
Just… that.
Her lips parted slightly. "That's not—"
Ji-Ah lowered the contract slightly, then lifted it again—as if the words might rearrange themselves if she blinked hard enough.
They didn't.
She flipped the page once more, slower this time, rereading the clause like it might explain itself if she stared long enough.
Mentally burdened.
Emotionally fatigued.
Her brows knit together.
"…That's such a corporate way to say 'sad,'" she murmured.
She glanced at the signature at the bottom.
Her signature—messy, rushed.His—clean, precise, perfectly controlled.
Of course.
She scoffed softly, then sighed, leaning back fully this time.
The file slid down onto her stomach as she stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above her.
"So that's why," she whispered.
Why he'd asked her to play without explaining.
Why he'd sat there in silence, listening.
Why he'd looked… not relaxed, but less sharp afterward.
Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the file.
"And cooking lessons?" she added, lips twitching despite herself. "Wow. You really hated that soup."
She shut the folder gently, not slamming it, not tossing it aside—just closed it like it was something fragile.
Her gaze drifted to the corner of the room where her keyboard sat, quiet and waiting.
For the first time since she'd moved into that mansion, the contract didn't feel like a cage.
It felt… selective.
Intentional.
Ji-Ah hugged a pillow to her chest and rolled onto her side, staring at the wall.
"…You're still cold," she muttered, eyes softening despite the words. "Still bossy. Still impossible."
A beat.
"But you planned this."
--
Ji-Ah waited.
The sun slid down slowly, turning the windows gold, then blue, then dark.
Do-Hyun and Nisa eventually grabbed their jackets, laughing as they announced they'd eat outside.
The front door closed behind them, leaving the mansion unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
Ji-Ah stayed in the kitchen anyway.
She leaned against the counter, chin resting on her folded arms.
She told herself she was just resting her eyes.
She wasn't asleep—not really.
So when the sound of water pouring into the sink cut through the silence, her lashes fluttered open immediately.
Ha-Joon was there.
Casual clothes this time—plain dark T-shirt, loose shorts.
His hair was slightly messy, like he'd run a hand through it one too many times.
Still sharp, still composed… just less armored.
He didn't jump when he noticed her awake.
"You're up," he said simply.
She straightened, blinking once. "Yes, sir."
He tied an apron around his waist—neat, practiced. "Cut the vegetables."
Of course.
He moved to the stove, sleeves pushed up, already heating the pan and setting out ingredients.
Efficient. Controlled.
The kind of person who didn't waste motion.
They worked side by side in silence for a moment.
The knife tapped rhythmically against the cutting board.
Oil warmed in the pan, releasing a soft hiss.
The kitchen filled with quiet, domestic sounds that felt strangely… intimate.
Ji-Ah let out a slow sigh.
Without a word, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her AirPods, and slipped them into her ears.
Soft music filled her head—low, calming.
She moved with it, chopping more smoothly now, shoulders loosening as she worked.
Ha-Joon noticed.
He didn't comment.
He simply adjusted the heat, stirred the pan, and continued cooking beside her—two people sharing a kitchen, not as boss and worker… but something quieter.
They finished cooking and sat down to eat.
No rush. No talking.
Just the soft clink of cutlery and the quiet hum of the kitchen lights.
Ji-Ah's phone and AirPods rested off to the side now, forgotten.
Halfway through the meal, Ha-Joon spoke.
"What were you listening to earlier?"
She blinked, surprised by the question. "Oh—uh… calming music."
He glanced at her. "Like what?"
She smiled a little, shoulders easing. "Still With You… by Jungkook."
He nodded once, thoughtful. "BTS?"
"Yes."
"You like them."
"I do."
He paused, then added, almost casually, "Why?"
She tilted her head. "Their music feels… steady. Like it stays with you."
A beat.
"Hm," he said. "Seems we have something in common."
Her smile came out before she could stop it.
Then he stood up, carried his plate to the sink. "I'll wash these."
She nearly choked. "No—sir, I will!"
He didn't even look back.
He took her plate too and turned on the tap.
She froze in her chair.
He is a tyrant.
A cold, contract-writing, glare-using tyrant.Y
ou do not get flustered by a man washing dishes.
Do NOT turn pink.
Her face turned pink.
She cleared her throat aggressively, crossing her arms like that might help. "You're… uh… doing it wrong."
He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow lifting. "I'm washing plates."
"That's… exactly how tyrants start," she muttered. "First dishes, then suddenly you're… normal."
He turned back to the sink, lips twitching—barely. "Focus on eating."
She huffed, grabbed her spoon, and muttered under her breath, "Unbelievable. Washing dishes and liking BTS…"
Her ears burned.
And Ha-Joon, still silent, washed the plates—completely unaware (or maybe very aware) that Ji-Ah was losing a very unnecessary internal battle right behind him.