POV ( Jae-min)

The view from the 40th floor in Singapore is spectacular, but I didn't hire a view. I hired a location.

I sat at the glass desk in my hotel suite, the blue light of my tablet reflecting in my watch face. My schedule for the next seventy-two hours was mapped out in fifteen-minute blocks. This is how I live. This is how I succeed. Everything is a calculation.

I had just ended the call with Yoon-jae.

I put the tablet down and rubbed the bridge of my nose. My son is a good boy. Better than good—he is efficient. At ten years old, he doesn't cry, he doesn't complain, and his grades are in the top one percent of his private academy.

When I look at him through the screen, I see a reflection of a well-managed system. People think parenting is about emotions, but I know better. Parenting is about providing a foundation. I provide the best tutors, the best security, and the best environment. Because of me, Yoon-jae will never know the chaos of wanting for anything.

"Is the car ready for the morning gala?" I asked without looking up.

"Yes, Mr. Seo," my assistant, Kim, replied from the doorway. "And the flowers for the anniversary of the foundation have been sent in your name."

"Good."

I stood up and walked to the window. My reflection stood in the glass, tall and sharp in a tailored shirt. I looked like a man who had everything under control.

I thought back to the call. Yoon-jae had been late to the car. It was a small glitch—a five-minute error—but errors lead to habits. I had corrected him firmly but fairly. That is what a father does. He maintains the boundaries so the child doesn't get lost.

I don't remember much about my own father, except that he was never there and left behind a mountain of debt. I fixed that. I turned our name into a brand that stands for stability.

Yoon-jae doesn't need hugs or bedtime stories; those are fleeting things. He needs the Seo name to remain heavy and powerful. He needs a father who is a pillar, not a playmate.

Still, for a split second before the screen went black, I thought I saw something in his eyes. A shadow. Or maybe it was just the poor connection in the hotel Wi-Fi.

I checked my watch. 11:45 PM. I had six hours of sleep scheduled before the merger meeting. I walked to the bedroom, my footsteps silent on the expensive carpet.

The room was perfectly climate-controlled. The sheets were crisp. The silence was absolute.

I closed my eyes, satisfied with the day. My son was safe in a house I built. He was becoming the man I designed him to be. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

I didn't realize that a single smudge of flour on a boy's sleeve was the first crack in the wall I had spent thirty-six years building.