Chapter 8

A short silence stretched.
The air between the two men thickened with awkwardness until Chief Han spoke first.

“Actually, I was going to suggest something. How about we have a welcome dinner tonight for Secretary Chae? Now that Secretary Kwon has joined Do-won as well, it might be good for us all to share a meal, talk a little, and get comfortable with each other. What do you think, Managing Director?”

Yoon-jae, who had not taken his eyes off Su-yeon’s lips—red as though dipped in petals—slipped one hand into his suit pocket and answered.

“Why not. Before redevelopment projects make us busier, it’ll be good to have dinner together. Do you both have time tonight?”

Since it wasn’t dinner with Yoon-jae alone but a group outing, Su-yeon saw no reason to refuse.

“I’m fine.”

“Of course, I’m fine too.”

“Good. I’ll make the reservation. Let’s wrap things up in thirty minutes and head out together.”

That evening, 7 p.m.

The four of them climbed into Yoon-jae’s car.

“I’ll get you there safely, sir,” Tae-min said.

Yoon-jae said nothing, staring out the window.

“Secretary Chae, your seatbelt.”

Before she could react, Tae-min leaned forward and fastened it for her.

“Ah, thank you.”

Yoon-jae’s eyes, fixed on the passing city, stilled on their reflection in the glass. For some reason, every word from Tae-min scraped against his nerves.

“Please take care of me, Secretary Chae.”

“I only just joined too.”

“If you’re looking for guidance, ask Chief Han. Secretary Chae already has her hands full supporting me.”

The words fell from Yoon-jae’s lips as if he had been waiting for the chance.
The air thickened again.

Catching Yoon-jae’s expression in the rearview mirror, Tae-min quickly shifted the subject.

“Traffic’s heavy—it must be rush hour.”

“This area’s dense with buildings. Rush hour’s always a war,” Chief Han replied.

While the two chatted, the car pulled into a luxury restaurant in Gangnam.

Yoon-jae had reserved the entire place. Except for staff, it was empty.

“Sit.”

When Su-yeon naturally moved toward the seat beside Tae-min, Yoon-jae sat down between them first.

“Managing Director, wouldn’t the middle seat be uncomfortable for you?”

“We’re here to grow closer as a team. Sitting apart defeats the purpose. This way is better.”

At his signal, chilled wine was poured into waiting glasses, and the chef set up the teppanyaki grill.

“Secretary Chae’s welcome dinner is a little late, but since we’re all here, shall we start with a glass of wine?”

They each raised their glasses.

“To Secretary Chae Ha-yoon and Secretary Kwon Tae-min—welcome to the Do-won Construction secretary team.”

Su-yeon sipped politely, but Tae-min and Chief Han emptied theirs in a single gulp.

“I don’t usually drink much, but with good company, it tastes especially sweet tonight,” Han said with a laugh.

Yoon-jae’s lips curved faintly.

“Tonight’s menu is Hanwoo beef, abalone, and lobster—fresh from the market this morning.”

The chef lit the grill. Flames shot up, roaring high.

Su-yeon’s complexion drained of color.

“Eat as much as you like,” Yoon-jae said smoothly.

“Thank you, sir. Thanks to you, we’re feasting tonight,” Tae-min replied, eyes bright as he watched the sizzling ingredients.

“Don’t hold back, Secretary Kwon,” Han encouraged.

“Doesn’t look like he’s uncomfortable,” Yoon-jae muttered, arms crossed, eyes on the fire.

The flames danced higher, casting heat against their faces.

“Ha…”

Su-yeon’s breath grew shallow. Her lips trembled. Her face went paper-white.

“Secretary Chae?”

Her vision blurred. Her body shook as she struggled to hold on.

“Secretary Chae!”

Yoon-jae shot to his feet, voice sharp with alarm.

“Are you all right?” Tae-min leaned in.

“I… I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. I’ll go to the restroom.”

Her unsteady steps froze Yoon-jae’s expression. He quickly summoned a staff member to check on her, then paced the entrance restlessly.

“She looked too pale. Do you think she’s really okay?”

“Sir, perhaps the hospital would be best,” Han suggested.

Moments later, Su-yeon returned, supported by a waitress.

“I’m sorry… I think I should go home.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Just a bit of dizziness. Forgive me.”

“Can you go alone?”

“No. This won’t do. The dinner’s over. Chief Han, let’s postpone. I’ll take her.”

Grabbing his jacket and keys, Yoon-jae steadied Su-yeon’s arm as she swayed.

“And you still say you’re fine?”

“Perhaps we should go to the hospital. I’ll go with her,” Tae-min offered.

“There’s no need.”

“But—”

“Wine is alcohol. I won’t entrust this to you. Chief Han, I’m counting on you.”

“…Understood.”

“I’m so sorry,” Su-yeon whispered.

“Secretary Chae, I’ll take you. Let’s go.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“I’m not fine. Stop being stubborn and come with me to the hospital.”

“It’s just dizziness.”

“Chae Ha-yoon.”

His voice cut like steel, silencing the room.

“You’re not just an individual anymore—you’re part of Do-won Construction, and my personal secretary. Managing your health is part of your duty.”

“…I’ll rest. I don’t need a hospital. I’ve had this before—if I sleep, I’ll recover. I’m sorry.”

Yoon-jae’s brow furrowed.

“So you’ll only think of yourself? Don’t you care how worried we’ll be? If you won’t go to a hospital, then I’ll at least take you home. Don’t even think of refusing that.”

“Secretary Chae,” Chief Han added gently, “he’s right. None of us could relax sending you home like this. Rest, and call if you feel worse—even late.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your health comes first.”

Tae-min nodded. “Yes, please do as he says. I’ll get a car for Chief Han.”

With that, Yoon-jae guided her outside.

His face—so firm, his tone so sharp—felt like that of a stranger.
But what stayed with her most was the look on his face earlier—tight with panic, pale with worry.

The flames.
The smoke.
The accident.

She remembered the fire.
The night she had watched her parents die.

Her trauma had never healed. At night she still woke trembling, clutching her scarred shoulder, trapped again in those flames.

In the car

Yoon-jae entered her address into the navigation and drove slowly.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?”

“I know my body best.”

“Then rest. Close your eyes for a while.”

“I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m not doing this to hear sorry.”

He adjusted the seat so she could recline.
Within minutes, she drifted into sleep.

At a red light, he studied her face—so tired, so undone.
Her breaths came soft and steady.

The moment the flames rose, he saw it.
The terror in her eyes.

A fear he knew.
A fear only someone who had lived it could recognize.

That summer had been scorching hot.
No forecast had predicted the storm.

He had been with his mother, driving to their villa. His father, as always, was too busy. But young Yoon-jae had never minded—those trips with her were his happiest times.

Then the sky split open.
Rain hammered the windshield until they could see nothing. His mother pulled over.

“Yoon-jae, let’s wait until the rain eases.”

“The forecast was wrong! They didn’t say anything about rain today.”

“It’s just a shower. It’ll pass. Shall we play word chain until then?”

“Okay! I’ll start—‘Shower.’”

“‘Whale.’”

“‘Lemonade.’”

“‘Daisy.’”

“Aw, Mom, that’s cheating!”

Their laughter filled the car—until the crash came.

A truck lost control on the wet road. It slammed into them.

The car spun, rolled, plunged into the river. Water rushed in.

His mother smashed the glass with the headrest, hands bleeding, still smiling for him—still trying to reassure him.

That was the last image he ever had of her.

A white blur. Sirens. Screams.
The bracelet he had given her slipping from her lifeless wrist.

That day, the sky had wept a storm.

The honk of a car behind him snapped him back. His hands tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenched.

A long, ragged breath tore from him.

By the time they reached Su-yeon’s neighborhood, she was still asleep.

He covered her with a blanket and waited.

Her home was down a narrow, unlit alley—barely wide enough for a single car.

Under the same Seoul sky, this place felt like another world from his own.

The thought of her walking this path alone every night tightened something inside his chest.