I accepted the invitation. After all, it’s just coffee. Two adults can share a table and pretend the past doesn’t hang between them, or at least, that’s what I want to believe.

Ever since we discovered who we really were, we’ve kept our distance. Cordial, but cold. What happened in the Fine Concepts elevator earlier shattered something between us. It was personal. Almost intimate, for us. And completely unexpected.

The night we met, three years ago, I had no idea who he was. How could I have known he was Seo Jae Min, lead singer of the most talked-about band in the country and, on top of that, the son of the CEO of the company I had just joined?

It was my sixth month in Seoul. I barely knew how to order a decent meal at a restaurant. Spotting a celebrity heir under neon lights? Not a chance.

I called Kim NaNa that night. I needed to go out. Feel the city. Feel myself outside the work bubble.

We went to one of the most exclusive clubs in the capital. Paid extra to access the VIP section, where celebrities blend into discreet glances and cocktails with unpronounceable names.

I wore a long-sleeved olive-green dress. NaNa, as always, looked stunning in a tight black one. We danced. We drank. We laughed.

And then I saw him.

K-VoX. Seo Jae Min’s stage name, something I’d only learn much later.

He didn’t just enter the room. The room made space for him.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

He saw me. Kept looking. And didn’t look away.

Dark, unreadable eyes that cut through makeup, through fabric, straight to intent.

Here was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and in that moment, it was me.

With that in mind, I danced knowing I was being watched. Not seeking approval. Offering a challenge.

NaNa was already wrapped up in animated conversation with strangers I didn’t recognize. I felt alone, but vividly present.

I went to the bar. A drink. A pause. When I looked back, he was gone.

I sighed, like closing a book mid-sentence.

I was about to return to the floor when I felt a hand on my waist. Firm. Measured. That rare kind of touch that says, "I’ve already arrived, you’re the one who’s late."

I turned slowly. He was there. So close, his warmth softened the perfume on my skin.

"Isabelle," I whispered, as if offering my name were part of a bet.

He tilted his head, savoring it.

"Seo Jae Min. Delighted, not that you look surprised."

His smile was insolent. I smiled back, just with my eyes.

He extended his hand. A wordless challenge. I took it.

That night we danced.

Not the usual kind. It felt more like a silent agreement between strangers who weren’t strangers at all.

Our bodies understood more than our words. Hands landed exactly where they belonged. Our eyes stayed locked.

He leaned in. Intentional. Composed. Near.

"Do you always dance like no one’s watching?"

"Only when someone looks at me like they know exactly what to do with what they see."

He let out a low laugh, more felt than heard.

"You’re dangerous, Isabelle."

"I just find hesitation boring."

"I like your style."

"Don’t flatter me. It ruins the mystery when I decide to leave."

"Who says I’ll let you?"

"Who says you can stop me?"

We paused. Just long enough for the tension to shift. From teasing to something sharper. More honest.

Words have never worked well for us.

He leaned close, voice brushing my ear:

"Let’s get out of here."

"And where would you take a woman who owes you nothing and expects even less?"

"Somewhere that knows her worth."

I smiled. Damn him for knowing exactly how to say the right thing, in the wrong moment.

The car was black. Discreet. Luxurious. The city blurred outside in golden streaks.

We arrived at a minimalist building, dark stone, soft lights, quiet security. He opened the door with biometrics. The elevator led directly to the penthouse.

As it opened, we stepped into a room washed in amber light, wide windows revealing all of Seoul.

A private place. Removed. Still.

"I come here when I want to forget I exist," he said, setting his keys on the marble counter.

I didn’t answer. The air between us was loud enough.

He stepped in. His fingers brushed the back of my neck.

The kiss landed right on time. Not rushed. Not uncertain.

Clothes fell away in rhythm, not reluctant. Like a choreography we both already knew.

In that secret space above the city, he unraveled me. With intention, not urgency.

He understood quickly that I reacted to touch more than words.

But when he did speak, it made me feel like no one else mattered.

Little was said. Everything was felt.

When he whispered my name, heat thick in his voice, it was like he’d never said it before. As if the world had collapsed to make room for just that: him, me, and this.

Afterward, silence again. No numbers. No promises. That night ended where it began.

Or so I believed.

Two months later, Seo Joon Hyuk called me to the executive floor. Introduced his only son. The heir to Fine Concepts: Seo Jae Min.

He recognized me. I recognized him.

And again, it felt like the world stepped aside, this time, to drop me into a pit of guilt.

I, who had always put work first, now stood before every working woman’s worst fear: being reduced to one night, her entire value questioned because of it.

No words passed between us. Only distance.

And for three years, we let that silence do all the talking.

Until today.

🔐 RESTRICTED_ACCESS // Some memories never log out

At the café, I order an iced Americano. He chooses espresso.

We stare too long. When I look away, he lets me. But the air still presses between us.

"Been a while since we were... close," he says, voice lower than I remember.

"Three years," I say. Even.

He leans slightly on the table. Stirs his coffee with a steady motion. Searching for order in small things.

"Didn’t expect you to be the one my father always praised."

"And I didn’t expect the heir to Fine Concepts to be the man who whispered my name like it was the only one that mattered."

He chuckles. Not mocking, guarded.

"I heard you’re leading the Rising Flame MV project."

"I am."

The quiet that follows is no longer passive. It weighs.

He looks for something in my face. Justification. Permission. An escape, or entry.

"It’s late," I say. "I’ve got work. And not much patience left for people who assume they already know me. So let’s cut to it."

He exhales. Carefully chosen words follow.

"About what I said in the elevator. That’s why that’s why I needed to see you."

"You’ve got ten minutes."

"Whatever’s happening between you and my father… it should stop. We don’t need gossip. It’s not good for him, or the company."

I stay quiet. Almost admire how neatly he’s wrapped his projection in logic.

"You really believe that? That something’s going on between us?"

He pauses. Long enough.

"The way you two got close… it was fast. Too fast. And after that night…"

"Of course," I interrupt. "One woman. Two men. The classic conclusion. Easier to imagine a triangle than admit you misread me."

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t look sure. And that bothers him.

“Three years ago, I wanted you,” I say. “Only you. Even without knowing your name, or what came with it. I regretted it, not because of what happened… but because I had options. And I chose wrong.”

I stand.

"As for your father… he’s the only one who ever truly saw me. And the only one who didn’t try to rewrite me into something easier to digest."

I grab my purse. Our eyes meet once more.

"If you want the truth, stop chasing whispers. Maybe they’re just shielding you from what you’re not ready to face."

I leave.

Each step lands with purpose. But inside, I’m unraveling.