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“Business is tough. It’s almost like politics.”
“It is tough. Anyway, the prosecution took all the documents they wanted.”
Still wearing that bittersweet smile, he finished the rest of his mushroom soup.
Realizing why he had been so lost in thought, Sena felt a pang of guilt.
There really was nothing she could do for him.
“Don’t make that face.”
He gently spoke after putting down his spoon.
“Just having you by my side gives me so much strength.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“If that’s true, then I’m glad... but honestly, it makes me feel sorry that there’s nothing I can do except watch while you’re struggling.”
She confessed her honest feelings.
“It would be nice if there were something we could overcome together, but there’s nothing I can do for KMS.”
“Why not? You even made me this mushroom soup.”
“Not things like that.”
Sena chuckled softly, shaking her head at how hopeless it was to argue with him, and Joo-Hyuk followed suit with a smile of his own.
“It means a lot to have someone like you who asks about my well-being. Someone who checks on my thoughts, tells me we’ll get through this together, and waits for me at home like a solid pillar. I think marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”
“Are you only realizing that now?”
“I’ve felt it since the day we got married, but lately, I feel even more certain about it.”
As Joo-Hyuk looked directly into her eyes without averting his gaze, Sena felt her face flush with heat.
How could he say such things so naturally, without even a hint of embarrassment?
“Don’t you feel the same way?”
“O-Of course I do. I… I…”
“You love me, right?”
“I’m your wife.”
Her face turned bright red as his question cut her off mid-sentence.
“Just because you’re my wife?”
“No. Yes, I love you.”
“Your face is completely red.”
“It’s because you’re teasing me.”
She quickly covered her cheeks with her palms. The warmth radiating from her face traveled through her hands.
“Are you still embarrassed to hear the word ‘love’?”
“I don’t know about you, but it was the first time I’ve ever said it.”
Especially to a man.
She used to say it often to her mother when she was little, but after her mother passed away, she hadn’t uttered those words again.
“I’m curious about something.”
“What is it?”
“You’ve never talked to me about your feelings before.”
“Hmm?”
He tilted his head slightly and looked at her.
“I mean… do you… like me?”
She couldn’t bring herself to ask if he loved her.
“Of course.”
“Really?”
“I’m not the kind of irresponsible man who would hold a woman he doesn’t like.”
For now, Sena decided to be satisfied with that answer.
“Even if it’s a sweet lie, I’ll take it.”
“It’s not a lie.”
“If it’s not a lie, then it’s just… too…”
“Too what?”
“Too good.”
“Why are you so embarrassed?”
How could he not understand? Just hearing him say these things made her blush, while he seemed completely unfazed.
Her ears turned red as she shrank back slightly. Somehow, every word he said felt like foreplay, sending tingles through her body.
“Oh? Your ears are red too?”
“Stop it.”
Sena hastily pushed her chair back and stood up.
“The way you’re teasing me makes me think I don’t need to worry too much.”
“Are you upset?”
“No.”
It wasn’t that she was upset—it was just embarrassing. If she stayed any longer, she might end up dragging him to the bedroom, so she decided it was best to retreat for now.
When she first met him, she hadn’t even considered dating a man, let alone marriage. Yet somehow, without realizing it, she had become so deeply drawn to him.
“How’s everything around you?”
“Huh?”
“Are reporters bothering you?”
“Aah—”
Sena shrugged as she placed the empty dishes in the sink.
“I’m fine.”
“If anything happens, tell me right away. Don’t just keep saying you’re fine.”
“Sometimes reporters wait outside the center.”
“Outside the center?”
Joo-Hyuk looked startled as he repeated her words.
“Do they come inside and bother you?”
“No, not inside. Since the center is mainly frequented by teenagers, I asked them to stay outside so the patients wouldn’t feel uneasy.”
“You did that yourself?”
“Yes.”
A few days ago, when a reporter lingered at the entrance of the center after entering the building, Sena had taken them outside.
Two or three other reporters approached her, and she spoke firmly.
“I have nothing to say to you. This is a place where patients, especially teenagers, come for counseling, so if you’re waiting for me, please do so discreetly outside the building.”
After making her position clear, she added one more warning to those who tried to question her further.
“If you enter the building without permission, I’ll report you to the police for interfering with business operations.”
Since then, reporters no longer entered the building where the center was located, though they still waited outside for her during her commute—but they got no answers from her.
“If something like that happened, you should’ve told me earlier.”
“What could you have done about it?”
“I could’ve sent security guards to make sure reporters didn’t even come near the center.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The patients would get anxious.”
Leaning against the sink, she shook her head as she looked at Joo-Hyuk.
“People who come here for counseling already have enough anxiety. Imagine how they’d feel if they saw burly guards standing around. They might stop coming altogether.”
“You’re right. My thinking was shortsighted.”
“Fortunately, the reporters seem to realize there’s nothing to gain from me, so their numbers are gradually decreasing. Besides, I have nothing to tell them anyway.”
“Do Director Joo-Ah and Seolyoung dislike me a lot?”
“They’re neither friendly nor unfriendly.”
“Neutral?”
“Counselors, much like journalists, often need to maintain neutrality.”
If counselors approach clients with preconceived notions or biases, the counseling session is bound to fail. On the other hand, blindly siding with the patient and agreeing with them can prevent addressing their underlying issues.
That’s why Sena always tried to maintain a neutral stance with the clients who came to see her.
“Is this something we have in common?”
“Hmm? Is it?”
“I thought our fields were so different that it’d be hard for us to understand each other, but maybe we share this aspect—maintaining neutrality in how we view things.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Of course.”
He broke into a wide smile—a very bright one that she hadn’t seen in days.
“That’s nice.”
Just seeing him smile made her happy. If something as small as this could bring a smile to his face, then she felt her presence by his side was more than justified.
“The motion to dismiss CEO Choi Joo-Hyuk has passed with 279 votes in favor, 163 against, and 43 abstentions, achieving a majority.”
At the announcement from the chairperson of the shareholders’ meeting, Joo-Hyuk squeezed his eyes shut. It was the moment he lost KMS, the culmination of his youth and hard work, in an instant.
“Until a new CEO is appointed, Editor-in-Chief Eun-Woo will serve as the interim CEO.”
“Damn it. Damn it!”
A small, frustrated curse escaped Eun-Woo’s lips as she sat next to Joo-Hyuk, watching the outcome. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrest of her seat tightly.
“Interim CEO Eun-Woo, would you like to say a few words?”
When the chairperson called on her, Eun-Woo opened her eyes sharply.
“Show some restraint.”
“Restraint? Hmph!”
Joo-Hyuk no longer felt the urge to fight against the decision that had already been made. If this was what the shareholders wanted, if this was for the good of KMS, then there was nothing he could do about it.
But Eun-Woo, snorting derisively, stepped up to the podium and glared silently at the shareholders with piercing eyes.
As the silence dragged on, murmurs began to ripple through the crowd. Finally, Eun-Woo twisted her lips into a bitter smile.
“You’ll all regret this decision someday.”
With that, she returned to her seat next to Joo-Hyuk.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes the emergency shareholders’ meeting. We sincerely thank all the distinguished guests for attending.”
The chairperson’s flustered closing remarks marked the end of the meeting.
Amidst the cacophony of voices, criticisms of Joo-Hyuk and Eun-Woo could be heard, but the two remained seated, refusing to look back even once.
After everyone had left and the chairperson gave them one last troubled glance before closing the heavy doors of the auditorium, Eun-Woo let out a deep sigh.
“Damn old fools.”
“Calm down.”
“How can they betray you so easily after everything you’ve done for them? After all the money they’ve made because of you?”
“They might have made the right call. If things continued as they were, KMS could have become the broadcasting station that disappeared as soon as it opened.”
“No matter how you look at it, it’s absurd that we’ve come to this because of one trashy article!”
It was their mistake for underestimating the power of such a trashy article.
“The prosecution is still investigating. Once the investigation concludes, things might return to normal.”
“You know as well as I do that people don’t care about the backstory of an incident.”
That was true.
Someone did this or that. Someone got caught up in something.
Once a sensational story broke, people would talk about it for a while, but by the time the investigation progressed and reached its conclusion, their attention would have already shifted to another scandal. No one cared about the original case anymore.
How many innocent victims had been created this way?
“Isn’t it our job to change that?”
“The problem is that it’s not easy.”
“But we can’t give up.”
“Right. No matter what, we need to get your position back. No matter how long it takes.”
How long would it take?
That was the biggest question. They needed to set everything right before the public’s memory faded and the topic shifted to something else.
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