Just outside Seoul, in a private duplex apartment owned by Celeste.
Only two people knew about this place—Steve and Howard.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Noah stepped inside.
She'd sent the address and unit number without much explanation.
On the surface, the place looked like any other upscale apartment.
But something about the air felt... still. Purposeful.
— Ding-dong.
The door opened, and Celeste appeared in the doorway, dressed down in gray sweats and slippers. Far from the polished executive image she wore in public.
Noah let out a short laugh.
"So, this is where the magic happens? Maybe I should stay awhile… You know, since I'm your favorite now."
She blinked at him, deadpan.
"…Not in the mood for your bullshit today. Get inside. You've already messed up my whole schedule. I bought double—figure it out."
She dropped two sushi boxes on the low table.
Noah sat without a word, picked up his chopsticks, and took a bite.
"Damn. This is unreal. And we're just eating it plain? No drinks?"
Without waiting, he popped up and opened the fridge.
"Jesus, this place is stocked."
It was packed—sparkling water, beer, soju, and every mix you could think of.
"Knew it. Sushi's not sushi without a soju bomb."
He expertly pulled glasses from the cabinet and lined them up like he owned the place.
"You've been through a lot, huh?" Celeste said softly.
Noah scoffed, pouring drinks.
"You have no idea. I'd need all night just to scratch the surface."
He handed her a shot.
"Here—perfect mix. Learned it from an old war-scarred reporter. Never failed to loosen tongues. Trust me."
She gave him a skeptical glance, took a sip—then blinked in surprise.
"…Okay. That's dangerously good."
She downed the rest in one go.
"No cheers? Not even a little toast?" he teased.
She smirked. He raised his glass.
"To secrets."
Clink.
They drank again, silence settling between them like velvet.
Then he asked, casually, "So. This positive answer you mentioned—what's the deal?"
Celeste put down her chopsticks and looked at him directly.
"We're starting our own media outlet. No need to acquire someone else's mess. You want control. You'll have it—on our terms."
He gave a slow, impressed smile.
"Damn. You really did your homework. Wonder how much more you've dug up."
A pause.
"…I know about your parents."
Her voice was quiet.
"I'm sorry."
His face stilled.
A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes, then, just as quickly, he masked it with a crooked grin.
"Of course you know. Langley Group always hits where it hurts."
He refilled both their glasses—starting with hers this time.
"Well. Since you're playing it straight, I guess I should too."
He lifted his third shot, held it a moment, then drank.
And this time…He started to talk.