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He was the man she had longed to see so desperately.
The one she had wished, even in her dreams, to hold just one more time—but never like this. Never in a situation so surreal and unexpected.
It was hard to believe.
Was this even possible in reality?
She asked herself over and over, but no matter how she looked at him, the figure standing before her was undeniably real.
A cruel and beautiful reality, as striking as his handsome face.
The sheer weight of that beauty made it hard for her to breathe.
The space wasn’t small, and they stood facing each other across a large desk—yet why did it feel like he was right in front of her, suffocating her?
Joo-eun felt like a mouse trapped in a jar, her lips trembling uncontrollably.
In an attempt to hide her quivering lips, she bit down hard on them—but the memory of him biting her lips endlessly flooded back, causing her entire body to shiver.
And yet, the man who had once bitten and sucked on her lips with such intensity now stood completely composed, not a trace of wavering in his demeanor.
Why… Why was it only her who felt this way?
Joo-eun felt both frustrated and pathetic about her chaotic state.
Pull yourself together, Song Joo-eun. Stay calm…
She clasped her trembling fingertips tightly with her other hand, repeating the words silently to herself.
His sharp gaze calmly scanned through the documents, exploring every corner with deliberate slowness.
As if fully aware that her anxiety grew with the silence, he leisurely turned the pages, exuding confidence.
‘Ah… Hurry up and finish reading already.’
All Joo-eun wanted was to complete the report and escape as far away as possible.
Then, with a soft thud, he closed the document.
She flinched, her shoulders twitching.
Not a single word had been exchanged, yet it felt as though all her energy had been drained.
Slowly raising his head, his face appeared a million times sharper than when he had been looking down.
Those deep, dark eyes…
That night, those same eyes had gazed at her with an intensity that made her feel utterly adored.
But now, they glared at her as if he wanted to devour her whole.
The change in his temperature stung her heart in a way she couldn’t explain.
Joo-eun clenched her small fists tightly, trying to erase the memories of that night from her mind.
“Can you take responsibility for this content?”
“Huh?”
Taken aback by the unexpected question, her already wide eyes grew even larger.
“I’m asking if you can take responsibility for it.”
There was no trace of the lingering warmth from that heated night in his piercing gaze.
‘Does he really not remember me…?’
Flustered, Joo-eun thought that if he truly didn’t remember her, maybe she could afford to be bolder.
‘Yes. He clearly doesn’t remember. Don’t be intimidated, Song Joo-eun.’
After swallowing hard, she responded in a clear and deliberate tone.
“It’s a report, not a contract. I think it’s unreasonable to talk about taking responsibility for something like this.”
“Do you think there’s no obligation to take responsibility unless it’s a contract?”
“Not necessarily, but—”
“If there’s no sense of responsibility, I assume you tend to let things slide easily.”
His sarcastic tone carried a sharp sting, making her doubt again.
‘Does he really not remember…?’
Her slender hands, which had been politely folded, tensed up with newfound strength.
Min-hyuk briefly glanced at her hands before lowering his gaze back to the documents.
“Most of the marketing seems focused on Southeast Asia. Have you given up on Europe and the Americas?”
“No. We’re planning to expand into Europe and the Americas next year. If you look further in, you’ll see the business plan for next year—”
“It’s too late.”
“…”
A heavy silence filled the room.
Should she simply agree with him or voice her honest thoughts? A fierce battle raged in her mind.
Ultimately, her straightforward nature won out, and she found herself answering despite herself.
“That’s an old saying. These days, when you think it’s too late, it really is too late.”
She couldn’t deny that he had a point. Still, DK Media had always operated at its own pace—targeting one region this year, another the next, climbing step by step.
Joo-eun had often found this approach frustrating and stifling, yearning for faster progress. In a way, his proactive push for change was somewhat refreshing.
But she hadn’t expected him to be this aggressive about it.
“Start right now. Organize the global marketing strategies of our competitors and report back to me by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow…?”
She questioned her own ears, stunned.
Min-hyuk tilted his head lazily, as if wondering what the issue was. His cold expression betrayed no hint of humanity.
“Is there a problem? If tomorrow feels too rushed, should I make it due today instead?”
“...No.”
Though baffled, Joo-eun answered in the negative.
“Add a note to the meeting report requesting two members from each team for a task force aimed at global market entry. Compile it within 30 minutes and share it with the entire division.”
This… This reeked of revenge.
There was no other explanation for why he’d single her out during their first meeting, bypassing both the team leader and manager to call in a mere junior associate like her.
Was this retaliation for disappearing on him that day? She wanted to confront him, to demand answers, but bit her lip instead, holding back.
What if he truly didn’t remember her, and she ended up stirring unnecessary trouble? But even if he didn’t recall now, repeated encounters might jog his memory—and then what?
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that the price for that one reckless night would come crashing down on her so shockingly.
‘This is bad…’
That was the only thought swirling in her mind.
Her future at the company seemed bleak, and despite her eyes being wide open, everything around her felt blurred. The air itself seemed thin, suffocating.
If she let her guard down even slightly, she feared she’d collapse right there.
Stay focused, Song Joo-eun. Pull yourself together.
Taking a deep, heated breath, she lowered her head and turned to leave.
“Wait.”
“...”
“Do you have something to say?”
Did he really just summon her and ask if she had something to say?
Joo-eun shot him a bewildered glare.
“I thought Song Joo-eun might have something to say, so I called her back. Do you? Anything at all?”
His sharp gaze, piercing upward from his seated position, was as cutting as ever.
‘So this is about that night.’
She had suspected as much, but now it felt certain.
Joo-eun’s eyes narrowed slightly.
I didn’t do anything wrong. Stay confident, Song Joo-eun.
Taking another deep breath, she met his gaze head-on, her voice firm and unwavering.
“Pretending not to recognize me anymore seems a bit absurd, don’t you think? You remember me, Director Jeong?”
Even as her face paled, she forced herself to speak her piece.
At last, a faint smile spread across Min-hyuk’s previously stoic face, as though he found the situation amusing.
“Of course I do.”
“As you can see, I’m an employee of DK Media.”
“So it seems.”
His sarcastic tone grated on her nerves, but Joo-eun refused to rise to the bait, speaking with deliberate clarity.
“But I assure you, I didn’t approach you intentionally. I never imagined you’d be connected to the DK Group. Honestly, this coincidence is almost laughable, and frankly, I hope you don’t dwell too much on what happened that night. It shouldn’t concern you.”
The fleeting smile on his face vanished instantly.
When it disappeared, only the same razor-sharp coldness remained, identical to the look in his eyes when they first met again.
Min-hyuk, who had been staring up at her intently, pushed his chair back and stood up from his seat.
At well over 190 cm, his towering frame forced her to tilt her head upward as he rose fully to his feet.
‘No, wait… You can speak perfectly fine from over there…’
Despite Joo-eun’s silent plea, Min-hyuk rounded the large desk and began closing the distance between them.
One step, two steps—just like that first night they met.
As the gap narrowed, Joo-eun tensed her legs, fearing her quickened breaths might betray her.
The man standing before her felt like an insurmountable mountain.
A mountain she couldn’t go back from, nor climb over.
“Song Joo-eun.”
“...”
“Do you really think you can stop thinking about me?”
His low question sent her heart pounding violently against her chest.
She wanted to retort: How could I possibly stop thinking about you?
With a mountain standing right in front of her, how could she ignore it?
“Yes, I’m... confident.”
Her blatant lie made Min-hyuk stretch one corner of his mouth into a sly smirk.
His gaze pierced through her, as if he could see every layer of her deception.
“How strange. From where I was standing, Song Joo-eun seemed quite shaken that night. Both body and mind.”
Flustered, Joo-eun instinctively glanced toward the door.
She was overwhelmed with anxiety, fearing their conversation might leak outside.
Though the room was hastily constructed, it was unlikely any sound would escape—but still, her unease refused to subside.
After all, this was dangerous territory.
“This is the workplace. Such talk is inappropriate, Director Jeong.”
“That night, I found myself in quite the predicament too.”
“...”
“I couldn’t stop.”
His words ignited a spark, and the memories of that night came rushing back like wildfire, engulfing her completely.
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