The car slows to a stop in front of the hotel, and I nearly choke.

The place is massive—glass walls, sleek lines, golden accents, and a uniformed doorman who opens the car door before the engine even finishes shutting off.

Minjae gets out first. I follow, trying not to look as awed as I am, while mentally preparing myself to walk into a place that probably costs more per night than I used to make in a month.

The glass doors glide open without a sound, and the lobby is somehow worse—marble floors, an abstract sculpture thing in the center, and walls that probably have their own built-in climate control. Everything smells expensive. 

He doesn’t say a word as we step inside.

“Good afternoon, President Kang,” the receptionist says with a perfect bow, hands clasped and face unreadable.

He nods back—cold, impersonal, like the handsome chaebol male lead he's supposed to be. Meanwhile, I’m standing there like an idiot, gaping at the chandelier hanging above me. Crystal, obviously.

I clear my throat and smooth out my blouse, trying to ground myself. If I'm remembering right, this is the hotel Minjae and Yuri had their… first time in the book. A sharp reminder that this story isn’t meant for me.

Minjae doesn’t wait, heading straight for the elevators. I stumble after him, my heels clicking way too loudly against the marble floors, echoing like I’m the main character in a spy movie—except I’m not cool, or coordinated, or wearing sunglasses.

He presses the elevator button without looking back, as if he expects me to follow. 

I catch up just as the doors glide open with a soft chime. We step inside. It’s quiet—awkwardly so. The mirrored walls don’t help. I catch a glimpse of myself and immediately regret it. My hair’s slightly frizzy, my blouse has a tiny wrinkle near the hem, and there’s a faint mark on my arm that might be from when I literally fell on this man.

Great.

Minjae, on the other hand, looks like he just stepped out of that luxury watch campaign again. Leaning slightly against the side, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

“Where are we going?” I ask finally, because the silence is starting to physically itch.

He glances at me, just barely. “Hotel room." 

...Right. Of course.

Because that’s what every blind date needs—a hotel room for a man and a woman who are supposed to be the male lead and the villainess.

I sigh, tilting my head back to watch the glowing elevator numbers tick up every few seconds.

21… 22… 23…

How many floors does this building even have? Is he taking me to heaven or just trying to waste elevator electricity?

Beside me, Minjae shifts slightly. I catch the faintest sound—like a murmur, something muttered under his breath.

I squint at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says, cool and clipped. The elevator chimes. “Let’s go.”

He steps out like he owns the building—well, technically, he does—and I follow, mostly because I have no idea where I’m going. The hallway is quiet, walls lined with subtle golden trim, carpet too soft to eveb be legal. My heels barely make a sound now, which is somehow even more ominous.

I trail a few steps behind him, wondering how even the back of his head looked handsome. 

We stop in front of a sleek black door marked 2614. The numbers are carved into a brass plate, minimal and elegant—just like everything else in this stupidly expensive hotel.

Minjae pulls out a key card from his pocket, slides it against the reader with a quiet beep, and the lock clicks open. He pushes the door ajar and steps inside first, barely glancing back.

Then, without a word, he gestures for me to follow.

I hesitate for half a second, mostly to because it would make me feel like I had a choice in this situation, and then walk in.

“So… why did you bring me to a hotel room?” I ask slowly, eyes scanning the space. “You’re not going to pull anything, are you?”

The suite is stupidly nice—muted colors, huge windows, that subtle expensive-hotel smell that somehow always smells good. Too nice for whatever this situation is.

Minjae doesn’t answer right away. He sets the key card down on a floating shelf by the entrance, then loosens his tie with one hand like he’s in some kind of drama scene. I glance back at him—just in time to see him unbuttoning his blazer.

I practically leap back.

“Whoa—hey—!” I throw my hands up. “Consent exists, you know!”

He pauses, looking at me like I just tried to karate kick a houseplant.

 Then, to my absolute shock, he laughs. A short, genuine sound. Not a smirk. Not a scoff. An actual laugh.

“Do you really think that low of me?” he asks, expression already shifting back to unreadable as he shrugs off his blazer.

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. “I don’t know, I barely know you. For all I know you bring girls here every weekend.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says flatly. Then adds, “This suite’s barely used. My company owns the hotel.”

“Oh, of course. Just casually owns a skyscraper. No big deal.”

He doesn’t reply—just tosses his blazer onto the arm of a velvet couch and walks over to the minibar.

“Drink?” he asks.

I blink. “It’s barely noon.”

He raises one brow. “So?”

“I don’t drink,” I say, stepping further into the suite.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just opens a bottle of water and pours it into a crystal glass. 

The last time I drank, I nearly woke up in a stranger’s bed, but my friend swooped in to save me just in time. I hardly remembered what happened after that, but I'm sure it mainly consisted of throwing up into a toilet for the rest of the night. 

Minjae slides the glass of water across the counter in my direction, unfazed. “Suit yourself.”

I eye the glass like it might explode. “What are we doing here, then? You didn’t bring me all the way to your fancy hotel suite just to offer me a glass of water.”

He doesn’t smile, but there’s something smug behind his eyes as he sits on the armrest of the couch. “What I need to discuss with you has to be private if its going to work.”

“Oh, of course,” I mutter. “Everything you do is for privacy.”

He leans forward slightly, gaze cutting sharp. “If I wanted to seduce you, Yoo Sera, I’d do a better job than offering you tap water.”