THE Runway

Chapter 2: The All-Powerful Editor-in-Chief vs. The Mysterious Man

Even after three months, his face was still burned into her memory. And for good reason: his first impression had been intense. His looks, unforgettable. But most of all—because for the first time in her life, she had a one-night stand. With him.

For someone as conservative as Jian, it was an unthinkable lapse in judgment.

Even now, no matter how hard she tried to make sense of what had come over her that night, she couldn’t. It was reckless. Completely out of character.

Does he remember me?

As if sensing her persistent stare, the editor-in-chief lifted his cool, sharp gaze and met hers directly.

He didn’t smile. Instead, he furrowed his brow slightly and gave a small nod, gesturing for her to sit.

Just as I thought, he doesn’t remember me.

She hadn’t expected him to, so there was no reason to feel disappointed. No reason at all.

Jian had a habit—a professional quirk, really.

It wasn’t anything unusual.

As a fashion editor, she had an instinct to analyze. She would instantly take note of a person’s clothing brand, assess their accessories, estimate the price of each item—sometimes even mentally score their outfit.

Today was no exception.

Her gaze scanned the editor-in-chief, taking in the details.

Even on a second look, he was breathtaking.

His sculpted face was striking enough on its own, but it was the way his perfectly tailored Cesare Attolini suit—an elegant shade of grayish blue—fit his toned body that truly caught her attention.

She had noticed it in Paris as well—he had an effortless élégance about him.

He was the kind of man you could picture sitting on a Parisian terrace, sipping espresso while gazing at the Eiffel Tower.

No, not could. He had been that man.

He was more polished than most of the models she worked with—flawlessly put together, not a single detail out of place.

“Miss Jian Yoo.”

As soon as the introductions wrapped up, the editor-in-chief called her name.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, this is interesting. I don’t even know where to begin.”

There it was again—that sharp, almost mocking tone.

Does he talk like this to everyone out of habit?

“There are quite a few things I’d like to ask you,” he continued, with a sarcastic smile, annoyance creeping in at the edges.

“Do you always show up to work at this time?”

“N-no. I overslept today. I’m really sorry.”

“You say that without a hint of shame.”

He scoffed, and Jian’s head drooped like a heavy stalk of rice ready for harvest.

“My apologies if I offended you.”

“Not at all.”

He let out a small chuckle, his gaze dropping briefly before snapping back up—sharp, direct.

“What does bother me…”

He took a slow breath.

“…is that disaster of an outfit.”

Silence.

The entire conference room froze. But the editor-in-chief? He didn’t care.

This was nothing like the man she had met in Paris.

The man who had clinked glasses with her over drinks, who had smiled—who had actually listened when she spoke.

Sure, he’d had the same cynical edge, the same sharp charisma.... but he was warmer.

Get a grip, Jian.

A one-night stand in Paris doesn’t make him your boyfriend, your friend, or even an acquaintance. And clearly, he doesn’t remember you.

The man in front of her was nothing more than the absolute power in this office—her new boss.

“I’m sorry. I just moved two days ago, and I haven’t unpacked all my things yet—”

“Is being lazy something to brag about?”

His words were like poison—sharp, piercing, and seeping under her skin.

“Miss Jian. Where’s your phone?”

“In my pocket…”

“Take it out.”

Swallowing hard, Jian pulled her phone from the pocket of her white denim pants.

“Open your browser and look up ‘fashion editor.’”

For a split second, she felt like a voice assistant following orders.

Hmm.

The conference room remained silent, save for the occasional awkward cough from her colleagues.

“What does it say?”

“Uh... Do I have to read the whole thing?”

When Jian hesitated, his dark eyes flashed menacingly.

“Yes. Word for word.”

Anyone in this industry knew one thing: the power of an editor-in-chief was absolute. The presence they commanded, the authority they wielded—it was unlike anything else.

Jian had worked with many editors-in-chief, but none had ever been like this.

“Um...”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she began to read.

“According to Online Knowledge Encyclopedia, a fashion editor is an expert in fashion journalism. Since journalism is a highly influential medium, fashion editors hold significant power in shaping trends. As such, their sense of style and knowledge of the industry are constantly scrutinized… Editors sometimes write articles themselves, but they also plan editorial content, collaborate with stylists, photographers, models, writers, and reporters to gather and analyze fashion information, and then curate and deliver it to consumers.” (Reference: Online Knowledge Encyclopedia)

“Read the sentence after, ‘fashion editors hold significant power.’”

“As such...” Her throat was dry. She desperately needed water. “As such, their sense of style and knowledge of the industry are constantly scrutinized.”

“So.” His cynical smile gone, he suddenly turned serious and asked, “Tell me—do you look like a fashion editor right now?”

The entire room fell into stunned silence.

Without a care, he got up and walked out.

His parting words? A line in French she couldn’t understand.

“Regarde-toi.”

Jian’s colleague, Seonyeong Min—the team’s best French speaker—widened her eyes.

That sounded like an insult...

Jian turned to Seonyeong immediately.

“What did he just say?”

“Uh… well…”

“He insulted me, didn’t he?”

“Not quite...”

“What did he say?! Tell me now!!”

Seonyeong hesitated, but the other staff were just as eager to know, urging her to spill.

Finally, she winced as she muttered, ”If I had to put it in English…” Jian gulped. “He basically said you’re a total mess.”

* * *

Jian dragged herself down to the second basement level of the parking garage, her body heavy with exhaustion.

She had made a terrible first impression on the most powerful man at the company. At this point, she just wanted to down a glass of vodka and forget this day ever happened.

A one-night stand turning up as your new boss? That kind of thing only happened in dramas.

Yet, somehow, it was happening to her.

Her once-peaceful life now felt like a calm lake being swallowed by a storm.

Beep.

She unlocked her car and was about to get in—when suddenly, a firm grip caught her arm.

“Agh!”

Jian’s eyes went wide—then even wider when she saw who it was. Her whole body trembled, like a small boat tossed around in a storm.

“Miss Jian.”

The editor-in-chief stood before her, looking down with those same dark, unreadable eyes.

“B-boss.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Yes? Please.”

Clearly nervous, Jian swallowed hard and glanced up at him with a quivering stare.

He sighed, his grip tightening slightly before he finally spoke.

“How does it feel... to pull a Houdini?”

“What…?”

Jian blinked, confused. He pulled her arm closer to him.

Then he lowered himself to meet Jian’s eyes directly, his tone laced with cynicism.

“Did you have fun…”

The atmosphere got heavy, and so did his tone.

“…pulling a Houdini?”

A smirk curled at his lips.

Silence stretched between them before he let out a sharp exhale, as if his patience was wearing thin.

“No answer?”

“Answer... what?”

“Tell me why you vanished.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“You dined and dashed.”

"What? And what exactly did I eat?”

“Oh, come on.”

He scoffed, brows knitting together.

“You had your fun with me.”

He remembers me?

Jian’s eyes widened in shock.

“You… remember?”

“Ever heard of a photographic memory?”

“Uh… yeah, I think I’ve heard it in TV shows.”

“It means remembering things with picture-perfect accuracy. And I happen to have one.”

Hyunmin finally released her arm, tapping his temple lightly.

“Not that I needed a perfect memory to recall the woman who used me and then vanished.”

“U-use you?”

Jian’s voice trailed off weakly.

The truth was, after their one-night stand, she had slipped out while he was still asleep—practically fled the hotel room.

She had been in a rush for another appointment, but if she was being honest, the real reason she left so abruptly was that she couldn’t bear to face him.

The entire situation had been overwhelming.

Jian wasn’t the kind of person to do something so reckless. She was conservative. Traditional.

And yet, she had gone to bed with a complete stranger—a man whose name she hadn’t even known at the time.

Finding out that her fiancé had been cheating on her must have been a real gut punch. In Paris, she had been full of bad decisions.

Jian bit her lip, her expression tightening with unease.

“That night… I mean, I do feel bad about leaving without saying anything. But I did leave a note…”

“Oh, you mean that note? ‘Last night was amazing. Unforgettable. Thank you.’?”

He repeated every word she had scrawled on the note, verbatim.

“Miss Jian. Are you aware...?”

With his arms crossed, he leaned in, looking straight at her. The intensity of his direct gaze made her look away.

“...that your note only annoyed me more?”

His voice was laced with dry sarcasm.

Jian’s head snapped up.

“What…?”

“It came off like, ‘Got what I wanted. Thanks for the good time.’”

“N-no! You misunderstood. That’s not what I meant at all—!”

“Relax. I’m not here to grill you over ancient history. Seeing you again was just… a pleasant surprise.”

“Yes… same here.”

“Well, that aside...”

Before she could respond, Hyunmin cut her off, tossing his parting words over his shoulder as he strode toward his car.

“Just a heads-up—don’t get on my bad side. I didn’t become Vogxe’s fashion director by chance. Since we did spend a night together, think of this as your advance warning.”

* * *

Underground Parking Garage.

Jian stood outside her apartment elevator, her expression dark.

With a deep sigh, she leaned against the wall and shut her eyes.

And just like that, the memories came rushing back—three months ago, that night.

Paris, the city of love. She and Hyunmin sat on the outdoor terrace of URBANA, a trendy bar favored by Parisians.

Jian parted her lips slightly as she took in the scenery, momentarily lost in it.

Paris was stunning by day, but at night, its charm oozed, making its magic even more intoxicating.

“What do you want to drink?”

He opened the menu and slid it toward her.

“Honestly, I don’t know much about alcohol. I’ll just go with whatever you recommend.”

“You’re not much of a drinker?”

“I drink, but I don’t particularly enjoy it.”

“Then why offer to buy me a drink? I don’t usually drink alone.”

“Well… that’s because…”

“Because?”

“Because I’m in Paris.”

Jian smiled slightly, meeting his gaze.

“I feel like getting drunk tonight.”

For the first time, his sharp expression softened into a quiet chuckle.

“Merci.”

The waitress set down their drinks—a “La Vie en Rose” for her, and a “Spritz” for him.

He thanked her in perfect French. it was a simple phrase, but his pronunciation alone made it clear that he was fluent.

“You studied abroad?” Jian asked.

“I work here.”

“Wow. What do you do?”

“Just… work.”

“Wow, so mysterious.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly as he picked up his cocktail, as if amused by her comment.

“I mean, you won’t tell me your name, and now you won’t tell me your job?”

Clack.

He set his cocktail glass down, his gaze unwavering.

“Considering we’re never going to see each other again, why would I need to tell you any of that? Wouldn’t that make it weirder?”

“Well, if that’s what you feel, I’m not going to argue.”

“But I’d listen if you wanted to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Your story.”

Jian scoffed. “Do I look like someone with a story to tell?”

“You traveled all the way here alone. I’d bet you have plenty on your mind.”

His voice carried an air of certainty—like he knew he was right.

He rested his chin on one hand, shifting ever so slightly closer. The subtle movement brought the scent of his cologne toward her—a warm, rich fragrance, smooth yet deep.

“What cologne is that? You can tell me that much, right?”

“Penhaligon’s Endymion.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“I wouldn’t know. But according to Vogxe, it’s the number one fragrance women want their boyfriends to wear.”

The mention of a fashion magazine immediately piqued Jian’s interest.

Her lips curled into a grin, her voice a little more excited than before.

“Do you like to read magazines?”

“No comment.”

Ha. Jian scoffed. Still resting his chin on his hand, he smirked quietly in response.