The conversation in the lounge had shifted toward technical matters. Mr. Philip and the other investors were animated, swirling their wine glasses as they discussed production strategies and long-term partnerships.
"Mr. Lee," one of them began, a sharp-eyed man from Chicago, "do you anticipate production scaling to reach international markets by next year?"
Joon-hyuk's jaw tightened. His gaze wasn't on the man. It was on the window again — on the sight of Hye-rin, seated outside the small café just across the courtyard.
Even from here, he could see her laugh — the way her shoulders shook, how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she smiled. And next to her sat Choi Min-jae, effortlessly casual in a white shirt, his tone light, his attention all on her.
Something unfamiliar twisted in Joon-hyuk's chest. It wasn't just irritation. It was something more dangerous — something he didn't have a name for.
"Mr. Lee?"
He blinked. Three pairs of expectant eyes were watching him.
Mr. Philip chuckled, swirling his wine. "Mr. Lee, do you anticipate production scaling to reach international markets by next year?"
Joon-hyuk blinked, his attention snapping back. For a moment, his gaze had drifted — across the lounge, to where Hye-rin sat laughing softly with Choi Min-jae and Se-hee. The easy warmth in her smile did something strange to his chest, something he couldn't quite name.
"Getting distracted doesn't suit you," Mr. Philip said with a knowing smirk.
A faint pause. Joon-hyuk's jaw tightened before he inclined his head politely.
"You're right. I'll make sure to stay focused — it's unlike me to get distracted."
The words came smooth, measured, but his throat felt oddly dry.
Mr. Philip only laughed, unaware of the storm brewing behind that polished composure. "Good to know. I'd hate for you to lose your edge, Mr. Lee."
But as the conversation moved on, Joon-hyuk's mind didn't.
His eyes kept flicking toward the table by the window — toward Hye-rin. Toward the man who made her laugh that way.