Jin’s POV
What the hell are you doing?
The question hammered against my skull in time with the idle purr of the town car’s engine. I stared at the cracked pavement of the sidewalk, the glow from her fifth-floor window a mocking beacon in the periphery of my vision.
You are Baek Jin. You do not lurk outside the apartments of women who flee from you. You do not make unannounced, emotionally charged visits in the middle of the night. This is beneath you. This is chaos.
Logic, my oldest and most reliable ally, dictated I get back in the car, tell David to drive, and handle this via a tersely worded email drafted by my legal team in the morning. That was the protocol. That was control.
I was not stupid. I knew Emily had feelings for me, or at least I suspected it. That means the contract was void. She broke one of the clauses I had drafted.
The problem was…
I wasn’t indifferent to her.
Could I call
Emily’s POVOkay, deep breaths.I already told myself I would tell him the truth if he asked, and that was what I was going to do. Even if he later hated me for it, the worst thing he could do was break the contract, and to be honest, that would be for the better."Ilay told me," I said. “I went to a coffee shop, and he was there. He ambushed me and mentioned her name and what happened with Minjun. The rest I discovered on my own.”The silence that followed was heavier than any accusation. Jin didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stared at me, his blue eyes turning from cold to glacial. I could almost see the calculations happening behind them, the connections being made, the security breach being assessed."I see," he said finally. The two words were devoid of all emotion, all the earlier rough gratitude completely erased. "So von Oberhaus is now using my past as a weapon. And you…" He paused, his gaze sw
Emily’s POVMy blood ran cold. It was a different kind of chill than the one Ilay inspired. This was deeper, more profound, a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with rivalry and everything to do with a ghost stepping out of the past.There, standing near the grand staircase, surrounded by a hushed, admiring crowd, was Yuna Kim.She was even more stunning in person. The photos hadn't done her justice. She was ethereal, like a porcelain doll brought to life. She wore a pale pink gown that seemed to float around her, her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon. She was smiling, nodding graciously at something an older socialite was saying, her movements fluid and poised. She was everything I wasn't: serene, effortless, perfect.And she was here.My hand, which had been resting on Jin's arm, tightened involuntarily. I felt him go rigid beside me. His entire body stiffened, the casual ease h
Emily’s POVI took a deep and steady breath. Jin had called me a few hours ago—his voice a brief, businesslike rumble—to inform me a last-minute meeting had come up. David would be picking me up and escorting me to the opera. I’d simply replied, "Understood.”Now, standing in front of my full-length mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back.The gown David had me deliver was beautiful. It was a deep, midnight blue velvet that felt like liquid night against my skin. It was deceptively simple—sleeveless, with a high neckline in the front that plunged into a dramatic, open back. It was elegant and timeless, but it hugged my curves in a way that felt both powerful and subtly daring.Chloe’s "hostile takeover" accessories were the true masterstroke. At my ears, she’d clipped dramatic, art deco-inspired drops of silver and dark blue sapphire that caught the light with every turn of my hea
Emily’s POV.Finding information about Yuna Kim was not as hard as I thought. Ilay wasn’t kidding when he said the breakup was quite public. The only reason more people didn’t know about it was that it happened in Korea, and not everyone is interested in news from that country.But I was.Late at night, with the glow of my laptop staining my face an unhealthy blue, I clicked through archived news articles, gossip blogs, and old interviews. Yuna Kim—actress, socialite, philanthropist. The kind of woman who walks into a room and makes everyone else feel like they’re extras in her movie. And Jin… Jin had been on her arm once. Smiling in photos that didn’t look forced. Standing close in ways that didn’t seem staged.I told myself I was looking for inconsistencies, evidence of Minjun’s involvement, and proof that Ilay wasn’t feeding me a carefully curated narrative. But if I was hone
Emily’s POVWhat is the true nature of your relationship?My mind raced, a frantic scramble for a cover story that wouldn’t instantly unravel under his scrutiny.Ilay was cunning, like a fox. He knew how and where to strike, and he had hit perfectly on the spot. I was still processing his words about Minjun’s betrayal, which didn’t let my mind think about anything else.I really hate billionaires…Yet, I’m surrounded by two.I took a slow sip of my now-cold Americano, using the second to school my features into something resembling calm detachment. The bitter taste grounded me.“The true nature?” I repeated, forcing a small, wry smile that felt like it might crack my face. “It’s complicated. Isn’t that what everyone says?” I was stalling, buying milliseconds.Ilay just watched me, his expression unchanging. He wasn’
Emily’s POVTrue to his word, Jin didn’t contact me over the weekend. The only message I got was a single, sterile text yesterday evening: Pickup Friday, 8 PM. Black tie event at the opera. Details to follow. - JinIt was Tuesday, and I was already dreading Friday. The "no contact" had been my idea, my desperate plea for space to build my emotional fortifications. But the silence felt less like a reprieve and more like a void. He’d given me exactly what I’d asked for, and it was… lonely. The memory of our last encounter on the sidewalk played on a loop.I wanted to smash my head against the keyboard, but I didn’t because I’m supposed to act like a freaking adult.Chloe’s intervention helped a little, but I’m unsure if all her training will work once I’m in front of Jin.By Tuesday afternoon, my brain was a fog of unproductive anxiety. I’d stared at the same paragraph about the new story I wrote for hours, but that