Chapter 11
The elevator glided upward with barely a sound. Harin stood beside me without speaking, her expression calm and unreadable. I tried not to fidget, but my fingers wouldn't stop tapping lightly against my side.
I wasn't sure what to expect from Yuna today.
Was she in a good mood? Or one of those moods?
The doors opened directly into a quiet, private corridor lined with dim golden lighting and dark wood panels. There were no company logos here, no reception desks. Just silence, luxury, and distance.
Harin led me down the hall to a tall set of black lacquered doors.
"She's inside," she said gently. "I'll be waiting here."
"Right," I said quietly.
I reached for the handle, hesitated for a breath, then opened the door.
The scent of black tea and fresh flowers hit me immediately.
Inside, the private dining hall looked more like something out of a royal palace than a corporate building. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers glowed above an elegant round table set for two. One corner had floor-to-ceiling windows showing a golden sunset behind the Seoul skyline.
And there—sitting alone at the table—was Yuna.
She didn't look up at first. Her long legs were crossed neatly, her posture flawless as always. She was dressed in a deep navy silk blouse and high-waisted trousers that hugged her shape perfectly. Her blonde hair was swept to one side, soft waves falling past one shoulder. Next to her was a white porcelain teapot, steam curling into the air.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
"…You came," she said softly, still not looking at me.
"I was told you wanted to see me," I replied.
Now she looked up.
Her eyes met mine—dark, unreadable—and for a second, I couldn't tell what she was feeling.
She gestured toward the empty seat across from her.
"Sit."
I did.
As I pulled out the chair, I tried to ignore how fast my heart was beating.
She poured the tea herself.
Just her.
The scent of jasmine and oolong rose between us.
I carefully lifted the delicate cup and took a sip. The tea was warm, gentle on my tongue, and slightly floral. I let the warmth settle in my chest before speaking.
"…It's been a while," I said quietly, eyes lingering on the white porcelain in my hands. "Since I last stepped into this building."
She didn't respond immediately. Her gaze drifted toward the window, watching the sunset bleed over the Seoul skyline.
"Mm," she murmured. "A lot has changed."
I glanced at her, trying to read her face—but she gave nothing away. Just that calm, polished look she always wore in public. Except this wasn't public. This was just us.
"How… have you been today?" I asked gently. "You left for work early. I was still asleep."
She turned her gaze toward me again. "Busy," she replied. "Meetings from the moment I walked in."
She paused, then added, "Sorry I couldn't meet you when you arrived. I was still in a discussion with the vice chairman. It ran longer than expected."
I blinked, surprised.
"…You're apologizing?"
She didn't laugh. But the faintest flicker of a smile touched her lips.
"I'm allowed to say sorry, Haemin."
I chuckled under my breath and looked down at my tea again.
"It just doesn't happen often."
She lifted her cup again, graceful and unhurried.
There was a short silence between us, the kind that didn't feel uncomfortable—just quiet.
"Thank you," I said after a moment.
She looked at me.
"For what?"
"For inviting our group to dinner," I said. "You didn't have to."
Her fingers stilled on the edge of her saucer.
"I did it because of you," she said softly. "Not for them."
After few second, she stood up.
I looked up in surprise. "Leaving already?"
"No," she said. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."
I followed.
We walked down a quiet hallway behind her tea lounge—past a set of tall, frosted glass doors—and stopped in front of a security lock. She entered a code, and the doors slid open with a faint chime.
Cool, fresh air rushed in.
Behind the doors… was a garden.
Not just any garden. It was suspended high above the city—a rooftop paradise hidden in the clouds. The glass walls surrounding it were nearly invisible, blending into the sky. Soft lights were built into the stone pathways, and every step led deeper into rows of carefully curated flowers. Camellias, white orchids, blue hydrangeas, lilies, roses—everything perfectly placed, blooming in quiet harmony.
"This is your garden?" I asked, stunned.
She nodded. "My private space. I come here when I need to think."
I looked around, still taking it all in. The fragrance, the light mist in the air, the way the flowers moved gently in the evening breeze—it felt unreal.
She began walking slowly. I followed beside her, our steps falling in sync on the stone path.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke. We just walked side by side.
Then I felt it.
Her hand—slipping gently into mine.
I froze for half a second before tightening my grip. She didn't look at me, didn't say anything. But her hand stayed there. Warm.
We stopped in front of a wooden bench under a cherry blossom tree. The blossoms weren't in season, but even the branches were elegant, shaped with care.
We sat close together beneath the soft branches of the tree, our shoulders almost touching on the garden bench. It was quiet here and peaceful
Yuna's hand was still in mine.
She didn't pull away. She didn't say much either. But her silence wasn't cold—it was calm, almost gentle. We just sat like that for a while, side by side, letting the soft breeze carry the scent of roses and lavender between us.
Our voices were low as we talked about simple things—how the garden was designed, how rare it was for her to get fresh air during the workday, how one of the department heads had worn mismatched shoes to a board meeting last week. Just light, quiet conversation, like we were a normal couple for once.
I smiled as I listened. At one point, I said something that made her pause—just a simple, clumsy joke—and to my surprise, her lips curled slightly. A faint smile. Barely there, but I saw it.
She didn't look at me, just kept facing the flowerbeds, chin tilted up slightly as if enjoying the breeze.
But her hand never left mine.
We walked slowly after that, through the winding path lined with soft lights and vibrant flower beds. Her heels clicked quietly on the stone pavement, but she moved unhurried. Still elegant, still perfectly in control.
And even when we reached the glass doors at the end of the path, where the lounge met the garden, she didn't let go.
We stood for a second before stepping inside. The light from the hallway was warmer now, casting soft shadows across the floor. It was almost time for dinner.
I knew this wouldn't last forever. Yuna was still Yuna. At home, she was colder—possessive, harsh, controlling. There were days I felt like I was nothing more than a shadow in her house.
But right now… in this quiet pocket of time, she wasn't that person.
I didn't know who she would be again the moment we were behind closed doors back home. But I knew one thing for sure—
I would treasure this moment.
And that was when the knock came.
A light, polite knock on the glass door.
"Excuse me," Harin's voice called gently from just outside. "Chairwoman, sir… dinner preparations are complete. The grand hall is ready."
Yuna finally let go of my hand.
Her fingers slipped away from mine slowly, as if reluctant to break the moment, and her posture straightened back to its usual poised form.
She nodded once, her voice even. "Thank you, Harin."
"Yes, Chairwoman," Harin said and stepped back.
As Yuna turned to walk ahead, I followed beside her in silence.
But the warmth of her hand still lingered in mine.