Chapter Text
San strides across the floor, the sharp sound of his loafers echoing against polished marble as he checks his watch for what feels like the tenth time.
Hongjoong had stressed the importance of this meeting, not casually, not suggestively, but with the kind of quiet intensity that meant do not be late.
And San knows better than to test that.
He may be good at his job, one of the best, if he’s being honest, but he has no illusions about where he stands despite the many years. Hongjoong values results, not loyalty, and if San ever stopped delivering, he doesn’t doubt the older would let him go without a second thought.
He checks his reflection in his phone one last time, tilting it slightly until the screen catches the light just right. A quiet hum of approval leaves him when he confirms his thick black glasses sit perfectly straight on his nose, his dark hair neatly styled without a strand out of place.
Satisfied, he slips the phone into his pocket and smooths a hand down the front of his white dress shirt, pressing out imaginary creases before stepping fully into the room.
The boardroom never fails to unsettle him. Floor-to-ceiling windows tower behind them, the city skyline stretching wide and merciless in the daylight. The sunlight pours in, sharp and exposing, leaving nowhere to hide. There’s something about the room–the height, the glass, the way every movement feels visible.
San offers a polite nod followed by small, respectful bows to executives already seated around the long glass table. He moves quickly to the open seat beside his manager, Hongjoong, Chief Financial Officer of KQ Entertainment, careful not to draw more attention to himself than necessary.
He sets his tablet and folder neatly on the table, aligning them out of habit, fingers brushing the back of the swivel office chair as he prepares to sit. And then he looks up.
Air leaves his lungs.
At the head of the table sits a man he knows.
Not intimately, not deeply—although someone could argue against that—but enough. Not from interviews or company newsletters, not from a LinkedIn profile he searched at two in the morning, no.
From tangled sheets and low laughter swallowed by the dark. From hands gripping tight enough to leave crescent scratches down his back, from lips and teeth that marked his skin in places concealed. From breathless moans that blurred into the early hours of morning, pleasure stretching long past midnight until dawn threatened the curtains.
His face heats up despite himself. Then, their eyes lock, and recognition flares instantly. Sharp. Undeniable.
The man’s expression barely shifts, a controlled lift of the brow, the slightest pause in his movement, but San sees it. That flicker. That memory.
He suddenly feels a light tug at his sleeve. “What are you doing? Sit down,” Hongjoong’s voice interrupts in a whisper.
San takes a seat, throat suddenly very dry. The atmosphere has shifted for him, immensely.
“Everyone,” one of the board members begins once seats are filled, oblivious to San’s impending doom. “As you’ve likely heard, CEO Park has fallen ill and will be taking a temporary leave of absence.”
A brief pause. Papers shuffle. Chairs creak.
“In the meantime, I’d like you to meet, to put it simply, our acting CEO.”
The man at the head of the table rises smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket with calm precision.
“Mr. Park’s son.”
San’s stomach drops.
“Hello everyone, I am Park Seonghwa, you can refer to me just as,” he starts. “In my father’s absence, I’ll be overseeing operations from this quarter forward. Please treat me kindly, thank you.”
Seonghwa looks immaculate. His grey tailored suit hugs his frame with effortless precision, every seam sharp and clean. His composed posture makes the room feel smaller, as if he commands not just attention but space itself. His black hair, wavy and long, falls perfectly to the tips of his shoulders, each strand in place. Bangs sweep just enough to shadow his eyes, softening the sharpness of his presence with a subtle, almost endearing touch.
There is not a single trace of the stranger whom San had pressed against a hotel door days ago. Not a single trace of the stranger San had thrust himself into and fucked. The intensity, the chaos, the raw desire—all gone, replaced by the composed, untouchable figure at the head of the table.
His pulse thunders in his ears. Of course. Of course it’s him. Of course the universe would do this.
The meeting drones on. Executives and their assigned supervisors report in, ticking off updates and responding to Seonghwa’s measured questions. San tries to follow along, but his mind refuses to cooperate. His heart hammers as if trying to escape his chest, and every word that passes feels distant, muffled by the storm of thoughts in his head.
If he could, he would excuse himself, flee the room, vanish somewhere no one could see him tremble like this. Instead, he fixates on the file in front of him, the one he had spent hours preparing, and chews anxiously at the inside of his cheek. His fingers tap a restless rhythm against the table, betraying the composure he’s desperately trying to maintain.
“San?”
The room falls into a sudden silence.
“Hmm?” he mutters, caught off guard, completely lost in thought. Hongjoong watches him with a tight, strained smile—one of those fake ones that says you’re going to hear about this later.
“Can you please give Seonghwa-ssi the run-down you prepared for the finance team?”
Oh, right.
San swallows, nodding quickly, and arranges his papers with meticulous care. He forces himself to focus, reciting numbers, accounts, and updates with practiced precision. His voice is steady, methodical, but he refuses to meet Seonghwa’s gaze; doing so would unravel the fragile control he’s clinging to.
When he finishes, he closes the file with deliberate care, eyes fixed on the table as though it suddenly holds the world’s greatest intrigue.
“Thank you,” he hears Seonghwa say smoothly, already moving on to call the next team.
San wishes the floor would split open and swallow him whole, plunge him into darkness where no one could see the color draining from his face. He is so unbelievably, catastrophically screwed.
The moment the meeting is dismissed, he practically bolts, weaving through the polished floors toward the exit like it’s a lifeline.
A hand catches him on the shoulder, steady and familiar, pulling him slightly to the side.
“Hey,” a voice asks, calm but concerned. “You okay?”
San turns and sees Yunho. His coworker, his confidant, his work bestie. They’re on different teams, Yunho heads marketing, San heads finance, but they came to KQ together years ago as bright-eyed interns, the kind who don’t know what they’re in for. They clicked instantly, an effortless friendship born out of late nights, shared coffee runs, and surviving the chaos together.
The rest, as they say, was history. San had even stood at Yunho’s side as a groomsman at his wedding.
And now, in this moment of quiet panic, just seeing Yunho there feels like the tiniest anchor in the storm.
“Yeah, all good… just having an off day,” San lies, forcing a casual tone he doesn’t feel.
No one knows about his little rendezvous a few days ago, but honestly, it wasn’t unusual. San’s single, has fun from time to time, and his friends already expect it. He didn’t know he’d slept with his new, major boss when it happened, and the last thing he wants is to broadcast it. Best to keep it buried, awkwardness avoided, for now.
“Did Jongho forget your coffee again?” Yunho teases, nudging a grin.
San is about to reply when a sharp voice cuts through the hallway.
“San. My office. Now.” Hongjoong strides past, efficient and commanding, leaving no room for argument.
Yunho glances at San, wincing at the stern tone. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” San whispers, voice barely audible.
“I’ll see you at lunch?”
He nods, then turns to follow Hongjoong down the corridor. When he enters the office, Hongjoong is already at his desk and instructs him to close the door. San gulps, obeying immediately, then slowly moves to take a seat across from his manager, every nerve on edge.
“Move slower, will you?” Hongjoong calls, voice dripping with sarcasm.
San can’t help himself. “’Sorry if I seemed a bit distracted during the meeting, I promise—”
“I didn’t call you here to scold you; there are more important matters,” Hongjoong interrupts smoothly, “although I did notice your hindrance. Don’t let it happen again.”
“Oh. Okay,” San murmurs, cheeks warming.
“Seonghwa wants a detailed report of our accounting files,” Hongjoong continues, eyes scanning his notes. “Finance is one of the top priorities here. I’ll schedule a one-on-one with the two of you later this week, I need you to get started on that asap.”
San winces. “Is… is that really necessary? Or maybe I could—pass it on to you for you to—” He cuts himself off, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze and raised eyebrow.
“I… will do,” he corrects himself quickly.
Hongjoong allows a small smile. “Much better. You’re dismissed.”
San nearly exhales relief as he reaches the door, but the manager’s voice stops him again, softer this time, hesitant.
“... Are you doing okay?”
Hongjoong isn’t one to ask personal questions on the job, not unless it’s necessary. For him to ask now, San realizes, he must be truly off his game.
“Yep!” San forces a bright tone, steadying himself as best he can, and steps out.
He practically sprints across the floor toward the elevators. Once inside, he slams the button for his team floor and leans back against the wall, exhaling a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
He can’t believe this is happening. His mind races, spinning through possibilities and consequences. What does this mean for my job? Every scenario feels worse than the last. Does anyone else know? The thought makes his stomach twist, the idea that someone could already be whispering behind his back, connecting the dots, makes him wish he could disappear into the polished metal walls of the elevator.
Truthfully, a small part of him settles, knowing Seonghwa will almost certainly act as if they’ve never met, and that he’ll have to do the same. After the night they spent together, San had woken up alone. In the morning, he found Seonghwa had left a neatly folded note, telling him to take his time leaving, to order room service, and assuring him that everything—even the bill—would be handled. It was considerate, sweet, as most people wouldn’t even bother to leave a note.
San had taken it at face value, nothing more. No number, no hint of future plans, nothing to suggest there was more than a single night. He hadn’t thought twice about it, nor had he considered that the man he’d shared a bed with was someone far more important than he had assumed. The thought had never crossed his mind before, but maybe he should start googling his one-night stands.
The elevator dings, and San nearly bolts, relishing the quiet luxury of his private office—a far cry from the cramped noisy cubicles of his early days. Light greetings are exchanged with his team as he passes, and finally, he steps into his office. Dropping into his chair, he groans, letting his forehead hit the cold wood of his desk with dramatic flair.
His thoughts are relentless, all revolving around a certain black-haired man. San can’t deny it, Seonghwa is not only strikingly attractive, but the memory of their night together is impossible to ignore—the sex had been incredible.
Before he even realizes it, his fingers are on his keyboard, the search bar open. The first headline to show up is his surprise from this morning.
“Chaebol Park Seonghwa to take over KQ ENTERTAINMENT amid CEO father’s illness.”
San scrolls through the search results, his stomach tightening with every click.
Age: 28, one year older than me.
Seonghwa comes from an impossibly wealthy family, it seems. His father owns a sprawling network of music companies and other businesses, while his mother is a high-profile politician. He’s an only child, impeccably groomed, with every photo of him exuding control, power, and wealth. Pictures of him in perfectly tailored suits, family portraits in palatial settings, press events, charity galas—everywhere, it’s the same polished perfection.
And then one headline stops him cold.
“ENGAGED!? Chaebol Park Seonghwa and Kim Jia”
Engaged?
San’s chest tightens in a way that feels almost physical. The article goes on with vague details about Seonghwa’s relationship with another chaebol, painting the picture of a union built on status, power, and family expectation.
It makes sense, he thinks, that someone like Seonghwa would marry strategically. But then—he also slept with San.
The questions hit all at once. Does this mean they’re no longer together? Were the tabloids exaggerating for clicks, as they so often do? Or … San swallows hard, the other possibility that makes his stomach twist even further… Did Seonghwa cheat?
The cursor hovers over the next article, but San can’t bring himself to click. His mind is already spinning, heart racing. The man in the boardroom has just become infinitely more complicated.
A knock at the door snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Come in,” San calls quickly, slamming the ‘X’ on every open tab before pulling up an Excel sheet like it’s been there all along.
The door opens, and Jongho steps in, tablet tucked against his chest. “Hyung, I heard the news,” he says, already grinning as he takes a seat. “Is it true he’s even better looking in person?”
San nearly chokes. Heat rushes to his face. Does he know? His defenses shoot up instantly. “Why are you asking me that?”
Jongho blinks at him. “Because it’s all anyone’s talking about. You should hear the finance team—actually, scratch that, you should hear the ladies on marketing. They’re practically fighting over who’s going to get him to take them out first. As if he’s not supposedly engaged.” He squints at San. “Why are you so tense?”
“N–nothing,” San replies too quickly. He clears his throat, forcing professionalism back into his tone. “Hongjoong assigned us a detailed accounting report for the acting CEO. Which means”—he gestures vaguely between them—“you’re suffering with me. We’ll need to stay late for the next few days.”
Jongho groans dramatically, head falling back against the chair.
San chuckles. Jongho has only been his assistant for a few months, starting as an intern before being hired full-time, but they’d clicked easily. Despite the hierarchy, Jongho had dropped formalities early on, and San never minded.
“There go my plans,” the younger laments.
👔🖊️💼📈💰
San doesn’t get home until well past eight. He usually makes it back by five or six, depending on traffic and if he decides to stop at the gym, but his new responsibility calls for more work than usual, just his luck.
Expecting silence, San pauses when he notices more lights on than usual. Voices drift from the kitchen, accompanied by the rich, mouthwatering aroma of something simmering.
“Sannie?”
Wooyoung pops out from behind the kitchen wall, wooden spoon in hand, grin wide and bright. “You didn’t text me back, but I figured you’d be staying late. You’re just in time for dinner!”
“Sorry, work got the best of me. Dinner?” San echoes, dropping his briefcase to the floor as he steps fully inside. His keys hit the ceramic bowl by the door with a dull clink. “Why are you cooking this late?”
Wooyoung disappears back into the kitchen, voice carrying effortlessly. “Yeo finished work late, and I wanted to cook for him today. It worked out, didn’t it?”
San walks past the living room and into the kitchen, greeted by the sight of Yeosang seated at the island, laptop open, fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard. Wooyoung’s long-time boyfriend—brilliant lawyer, San’s gym buddy, and one of his closest friends by extension.
Yeosang glances up, soft brown eyes meeting San’s, and offers him a warm smile. “Hey,” he says gently.
“Hey, Yeo. Long time no see,” San greets brightly, stepping forward to pull him into a quick hug.
“I know, right?” Wooyoung cuts in dramatically. “His job is eating him alive. Always stressed.” He beams proudly as he abandons the stove and slides up beside Yeosang. “That’s why he has me, to cook for him and suck him off.”
Wooyoung leans down to press a quick kiss to Yeosang’s lips.
San makes an exaggerated gagging noise, but it’s entirely performative. The two of them are painfully adorable, and San couldn’t be happier that his best friend found his person.
San and Wooyoung have known each other since they were seven, when San’s family moved from Namhae to Goyang. Childhood best friends who somehow never drifted apart, bond strong. A couple of years ago, when they were both still figuring life out, they moved to Seoul and into an apartment together. San climbed the corporate ladder; Wooyoung chased his culinary dreams and eventually opened his own restaurant, now buzzing with steady success.
Their lease ends in a few months. Wooyoung will move in with Yeosang. San will be on his own, whether that's renewing or finding a new place.
It’s time.
Still, he can’t help the small ache that forms when he imagines an apartment quieter than this. No off-key singing from the kitchen, no late-night bickering over takeout and a movie, no free gourmet meals appearing on the table.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Soon, the clinking of chopsticks against bowls fills the space as they dig into Wooyoung’s latest masterpiece, conversation flowing easily.
“I’ve got this incredibly frustrating case,” Yeosang says when asked about his day. “It’s a custody battle. The parents are… something.”
Wooyoung immediately rubs his arm, offering a sympathetic look. “You’ll win it. You always do.” Then his eyes slide to San. “What about you?”
He tenses.
He hasn’t told Wooyoung about that particular one-night stand. Not that it was unusual—Wooyoung was used to his random adventures and rarely asked questions unless necessary.
For a split second, San debates telling them. It would be nice to unload this insanity onto someone.
But then he reminds himself, there isn’t a situation. What happened between him and Seonghwa was one night. That’s it.
“Our CEO is ill,” San says casually, shoveling rice into his mouth. “His son’s taking over. It’s been busy because of it.”
“Oh, I saw that on the news this morning,” Wooyoung says immediately. “Park Seonghwa, right?” He grins mischievously. “When I saw his picture, my first thought was wow, he’s so your type.”
San nearly chokes. Heat creeps up his neck. “He is attractive,” he admits carefully.
“Look, babe!” Wooyoung exclaims, grabbing Yeosang’s sleeve. “He’s blushing!”
Both of them stare at him, laughing while San glares in mock offense.
If only they knew.
After a long, scalding shower and brushing his teeth on autopilot, San finally slips beneath his sheets with a tired groan. The familiar weight of his comforter settles over him, grounding in a way the rest of the day hasn’t been.
This morning, he’d woken up as a competent finance supervisor with a stable routine.
Now he’s the man who slept with his chaebol boss—who may or may not be engaged—and has a private meeting scheduled with him later this week.
He exhales slowly, staring up at the ceiling as shadows from the city lights stretch faintly across it. His mind drifts back to that night.
A few days prior ….
San sits at the polished mahogany bar, a lowball glass balanced between his fingers as amber liquid catches the dim light. The lounge is intimate but undeniably upscale—low lighting, velvet booths, industry elites murmuring over the soft thrum of unreleased tracks playing through hidden speakers.
He’s only here because Yunho insisted.
He was invited as a courtesy to Mingi’s—Yunho’s husband and famous producer and hitmaker—event, small and exclusive, a relaxed listening session to debut new music in a private lounge setting. San had come to support. And maybe to people-watch.
Unfortunately, Yunho has completely abandoned him within the first twenty minutes, swept away into conversation with other industry insiders, leaving San.
He nods lightly to the music, swirling the last of his drink before turning to order another.
That’s when he feels it.
A presence.
Close enough to shift the air beside him.
The scent hits him first—rich cologne, warm and expensive, something woody layered with something subtly sweet. It makes San glance sideways.
And then he freezes.
The man sitting beside him is, without question, the prettiest man he has ever seen.
Sharp features softened by long, dark waves of hair. Clear skin. A fitted black dress shirt with the top button undone just enough to be intentional. Effortlessly put together.
Dangerous.
The stranger signals the bartender with quiet confidence, ordering his drink in a low, smooth, controlled voice before turning his head slightly.
Slowly.
Knowingly.
As if he felt San staring.
As if he’d been waiting for it.
Their eyes meet.
The man’s lips curve into a devastating smile, white teeth flashing under the dim lights.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks.
San’s face heats instantly, caught red-handed. His pulse jumps, betraying him.
“I—” he stumbles, hating how breathless he suddenly sounds.
His smile only deepens. “Seonghwa,” the pretty man says smoothly, extending his hand toward him.
Up close, he’s even more unfair—dark lashes framing steady eyes, lips still curved in quiet amusement.
San hesitates only a second before placing his hand in Seonghwa’s.
“San.”
The handshake is firm, warm. It lingers just a fraction longer than necessary.
“So, what do you do, San?” Seonghwa asks casually, leaning one elbow against the bar.
“Finance,” San replies. “Exciting, I know.”
Seonghwa smiles faintly. “Stability is underrated.”
“And you?” San asks.
There’s the slightest pause, so brief most wouldn’t notice. “Business,” Seonghwa answers smoothly. “Family-related. Nothing glamorous.”
San hums. “That sounds secretive.”
“Does it?” Seonghwa takes a slow sip of his drink. “I prefer private.”
That should be a warning.
Instead, it’s intriguing.
They keep it easy after that. Travel stories without specifics. Favorite cities. Music preferences.
At some point, their knees brush.
Neither moves.
When San laughs, Seonghwa watches him like he’s memorizing it. “You look good when you smile.”
San feels heat rise to his face again. “You say that to everyone?”
“No.” A beat. “Just when I mean it.”
The music swells around them, bass vibrating faintly beneath their feet. The bar grows louder, but their little pocket of space feels separate.
Isolated.
By the time Seonghwa leans closer, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down San’s spine, the shift feels inevitable.
“I don’t want this night to end here,” Seonghwa says. Not cocky. Not presumptuous. Just certain. “Would you like to spend it with me?”
“Yes,” he answers.
The Uber ride is charged silence. Thighs pressed together. Hands almost touching but not quite. Anticipation thicker than the city air outside.
The hotel room door barely closes before Seonghwa pulls him in. The kiss is immediate. Heated. Like they’ve both been holding back for hours as they lick into one another’s mouths.
Belts are pulled, clothes fall. Fingers tangle in hair. Breath mixes.
They stumble toward the bed in a blur of urgency and quiet laughter, unable to keep their hands to themselves.
The night stretches long and electric, intense, consuming, impossible to regret in the moment. And at no point does he think to ask exactly who Seonghwa really is.
San squeezes his eyes shut.
It had been uncomplicated. Just attraction. Chemistry. A night meant to blur and fade into memory.
Instead, it followed him into a glass-walled boardroom and took the seat at the head of the table.
He turns onto his side, pulling the blankets closer.
The worst part isn’t the embarrassment. It isn’t even the engagement rumor.
It’s the fact that when Seonghwa looked at him that morning—cool, composed, entirely professional—there had been something else there, a pull he hadn't felt in a long time.
The usual fade of these types of nights is not apparent.
👔🖊️💼📈💰
The next few days pass in a blur, work serving as a welcome distraction from the chaos swirling in his mind. Yet, the thought of the upcoming meeting gnaws at him, a constant undercurrent of tension that refuses to fade. By the end of the week, nerves have begun to take hold, fraying his usually steady composure.
Even after late nights at the office, San makes a point to hit the gym a few times, letting the burn of weights and the pounding of his own heartbeat temporarily shred the stress away. For a brief moment, it works, muscles aching, lungs on fire, mind otherwise occupied, but the relief is fleeting.
Before he even realizes it, Friday arrives. And with it, the meeting with Seonghwa, scheduled precisely at noon. The timing is cruel, he has to skip lunch with Yunho and Jongho, one of the few comforting rituals he looks forward to. That alone makes the day feel heavier, the anxiety simmering just beneath the surface, ready to boil over.
“Everything prepared?” Hongjoong asks, stopping by San’s office.
San nods, handing over the file for the older to check. “You’re joining the meeting, right?”
Hongjoong shakes his head. “I’m leaving early. Important conference an hour away, then back for my daughter’s school show. It’s all in good hands, you know I trust you.”
San internally screams.
Does that mean… just me and Seonghwa?
His fears are confirmed as he makes his way to the CEO’s office, top floor, private corridor. The silence outside the office is almost suffocating. A secretary sits at the desk in the waiting room, quickly making a call before giving him the go-ahead.
“Proceed,” she says politely.
San’s hands tremble as he reaches the massive doors. Heart racing, throat dry, he knocks lightly.
“Come in,” comes a low, calm voice.
He exhales, trying to steady himself, and twists the knob.
The office is the grandest one he’s ever seen—floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the skyline, the city bright and imposing beneath the afternoon sun.
Seonghwa sits behind the polished desk, his posture immaculate. The moment their eyes meet, he rises, offering a small, controlled smile.
“San-ssi, please close the door and have a seat.”
San swallows hard.
So it’s just the two of them.
He does as instructed, offering a quick, respectful bow to Seonghwa before sliding into the chair. The leather seat is stiff beneath him, and he can’t help but straighten his posture, nerves making him unusually aware of every movement.
Seonghwa sits again, eyes fixed on San with a measured, unreadable gaze. His hands are neatly intertwined on the polished surface, posture perfect, betraying nothing—even if he might be feeling something, he conceals it flawlessly.
“May I see the file?” he asks, voice calm, controlled.
“Oh, yes,” San replies quickly, leaning forward to hand it over.
Seonghwa accepts it with a faint nod, murmuring a polite, almost airy, “Thank you.” He flips through the pages, eyes scanning swiftly but carefully, absorbing the details.
San sits back slightly, hands folded in his lap, aware of every subtle movement, every tilt of Seonghwa’s head. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustle of paper, but the tension between them is palpable—an undercurrent that makes it impossible to focus entirely on the numbers.
If he’s going to act like nothing happened, so will I.
“My father is very particular about finances,” Seonghwa says, his voice calm and precise, “so I want to make sure everything is in order.”
“O–of course,” San stammers slightly, clearing his throat, trying to steady his racing heart.
Seonghwa moves to his computer, fingers gliding over the keyboard as he begins inputting numbers and cross-referencing the file. For a few minutes, the office is quiet except for the soft clack of keys and the occasional rustle of paper.
Then, methodically, Seonghwa begins asking questions—about accounts, distributions, projections. Every query is precise, every number noted carefully as he types, his focus unwavering.
For forty minutes, the rhythm continues. San’s nerves slowly settle into a controlled efficiency. He answers clearly, confidently, showcasing exactly why Hongjoong trusts him.
But, even amid the focus, every subtle glance from Seonghwa still sends a small, unmistakable pulse of tension down his spine.
“This is great. Everything seems to be in order,” Seonghwa says, his tone calm but sincere. “Thank you for this, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”
“Of course,” San replies, voice steady. “Please let me know if I can help with anything else.”
“Will do. Well, that’s all for now—you’re free to go.”
San nods, standing and offering another quick, polite bow. He strides toward the door, hand wrapping around the knob… and then hesitates.
A part of him wants to turn back, to ask Seonghwa something, anything, about that night. But he snaps out of it; he cannot. He swallows, presses his lips together, and forces himself to move forward.
“Take care,” San calls softly as he pulls the door open.
“You too, San-ssi,” Seonghwa replies, eyes tracking him intensely. The weight behind that gaze is unmistakable, lingering even as the door swings closed.
San exhales silently, heart hammering.
He has his confirmation now.
Whatever happened between them, every fleeting touch, every heated glance, every whispered word in the dark, he needs to bury it. Deep.
Forget it. Pretend it never happened.
Because this isn’t personal. This isn’t a chance encounter he can replay without consequences. This is work. This is his career.
And if he doesn’t let it go, he knows it will ruin him.
So he takes a steadying breath, squares his shoulders, and forces himself to step forward, leaving the memory behind—for now.
👔🖊️💼📈💰
A celebratory dinner is in full swing, and San can’t help but grin at the joy radiating from his friends. Wooyoung lifts his hand in mock flourish, drawing attention to the shimmering silver ring now perched on his finger—bright, elegant, expensive—a symbol of the commitment he and Yeosang have made to each other.
Yeosang had proposed just the night before, and Wooyoung had practically screamed yes before the lawyer could even finish his speech. The memory alone has San laughing as they share a table of sizzling Korean barbecue, the aroma of grilling meat filling the air.
“He planned the whole thing, a beach night vibe,” Wooyoung gushes, eyes sparkling as he stares at his ring. “Fire pits, roses, the works. Ugh, San, if you had seen it.”
San smirks knowingly. “Let me guess… beach sex?”
Wooyoung waves a hand, horrified. “God, no! Could you imagine the mess with all the sand? Plus, there were workers around, not trying to get arrested for public indecency. We had sex after, at the hotel he booked. Hence my absence last night.”
San chuckles, winking at Yeosang. “Nice job.”
“I’m already stressed,” Wooyoung continues, waving his hands dramatically. “Who’s going to cater? Will their food be better than mine? Should I cater my own wedding? And don’t even get me started on the cake.”
Yeosang chuckles, pressing a light kiss to his fiancé’s cheek to calm him down. “Baby we have time, relax.”
San continues turning the meat on the grill, watching the couple with a warmth that’s hard to contain. A soft pang stirs in his chest, a quiet wonder—will I have that one day?
As if reading his thoughts, Wooyoung glances at him. “San-ah, we’ve got to get you on a date. You’re always the third wheel.”
“Wow, thanks,” San says sarcastically, pouting.
Yeosang shoots Wooyoung a look, and the chef raises his hands in defense. “Not saying it’s a bad thing. I love having you around, but eventually, we won’t be seeing each other every day… I worry about you.”
San nods, understanding completely. He does want that too—someone to share life with, to come home to, to laugh with over mundane things. Everyone seems to be moving forward in life, and he’s quietly left wondering when it will be his turn.
“I know, Woo. I guess what’s meant to be will be,” he admits, voice soft.
That night, in bed, San finds himself downloading a dating app. Over the next week, he swipes, hesitates, laughs, and eventually matches with a few people—two men in particular catching his attention. Their conversations are light, witty, and engaging, a gentle spark in contrast to the whirlwind of the week he’s just endured.
For the first time in a while, he feels… hopeful.
By the following week, he finally has a date lined up. His stomach flips with nervous anticipation as he gets ready, carefully choosing his outfit, practicing casual conversation in his head.
But reality doesn’t match the hopeful fantasy he’d been building.
The conversation is awkward, stilted. The laughs feel forced, the chemistry nonexistent. Every smile he tries to offer seems to land flat. By the end of the evening, it’s clear—this isn’t the connection he hoped for.
San walks to his car quietly, the cool night air brushing against his face. A pang of disappointment lingers, but beneath it, a quiet determination takes root.
He’s not giving up just yet.
The second date, with another match, goes far more smoothly, at least in the beginning.
From the moment they meet, the conversation flows easily—light teasing, shared jokes, stories that feel effortless to tell. San laughs more freely than he has in weeks. Soft piano music drifts through the air, waiters glide past with trays of glistening dishes, and the city lights glitter through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
San laughs at a witty comment, swirling the wine in his glass, genuinely enjoying the evening. For a moment, he almost forgets about everything else.
That is… until his eyes flick around the room.
And freeze.
Seonghwa.
Sitting at a table not far from theirs, surrounded by unknown people. He’s impeccably dressed, calm, collected as ever. His black hair perfectly in place, eyes scanning the room. And then… those eyes land on San.
His heart thuds painfully in his chest. The conversation on the table in front of him suddenly becomes background noise. Every laugh, every casual gesture from his date feels awkward, meaningless.
Seonghwa’s gaze doesn’t waver. There’s no smile. No flicker of recognition for the world around him—just San.
San’s stomach twists. He glances back at his date, cheeks heating, desperate to keep his composure. He clears his throat, forcing a laugh.
He can feel Seonghwa’s eyes tracking him.
He quickly sips his wine, hoping the glass will shield him just a little. The night suddenly feels smaller, the distance between him and Seonghwa impossibly close in his mind, and all of a sudden, San is hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, every heartbeat.
Why is he here?
It’s a popular restaurant, he suddenly realizes, especially among the wealthy and well-connected. If he’s being honest, it makes sense that Seonghwa could be here for business relations.
But that doesn’t make it any less infuriating.
San leans back slightly, forcing himself to take a slow breath, though his chest feels tight. It’s like the universe is against me, he thinks bitterly. Nothing ever goes in my favor. These can’t be coincidences.
He glances at his date, who is still smiling, unaware of the chaos roiling just behind San’s eyes. He wants to focus, to enjoy this—he deserves this—but every flick of Seonghwa’s gaze across the room pulls him out of the moment.
The wine in his hand suddenly feels heavier. The music, the candlelight, the soft clink of cutlery—all fade into the background, replaced by the awareness that the man who dominates his thoughts, his nerves, and now seemingly his evening, is sitting just a few tables away.
San forces another breath, gritting his teeth. Focus. You’re on a date. Just… focus.
But the universe, it seems, isn’t giving him that luxury. San keeps forcing himself to focus on his date, trying to laugh, trying to nod along at the right moments, but every flicker of movement from Seonghwa across the room makes his stomach knot tighter.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Seonghwa rises. Every movement is deliberate—smooth, composed, effortlessly commanding. He shakes hands with those around him, exchanging polite nods and smiles, before pausing just long enough to spare San one last, measured glance. Then, as quietly as he appeared, he slips out of the restaurant.
San exhales audibly, relief flooding through him, but it’s short-lived.
“Are you okay?” his date asks gently, a hint of concern in his voice.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” San lies, forcing a smile, turning his attention back to the conversation. But the ease isn’t there. His mind keeps drifting back to Seonghwa, to the way he looked at him, to the tension that refused to leave his chest.
By the end of the night, his date senses it too. As they step outside into the cool evening, a quiet disappointment hangs in the air.
“I… I had a nice time,” he says softly, hesitating. “I just… wasn’t sure if you were as into this as I thought.”
San swallows, guilt prickling his chest. “No, I—It’s not that…”
But he can’t explain. Not yet. Not when even thinking about Seonghwa makes everything else feel secondary.
They part ways with a polite, tentative hug, and San watches his figure fade into the night, feeling a pang of frustration—not with his date, but with himself.
👔🖊️💼📈💰
“Greetings. Seonghwa-ssi would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience,” the secretary’s calm voice comes through the phone.
“Right now? Is something wrong?” San asks, his stomach tightening.
“He would like to discuss some matters with you. Are you available?”
San lets out a quiet groan, running a hand through his hair. Of course. “Sure… I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He hangs up and sits back for a moment, exhaling slowly, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
After sending off one last email, San gathers himself and makes his way toward the now far-too-familiar office.
Maybe there was an error in the report.
The thought makes his stomach twist. That would be humiliating—and Hongjoong would definitely not be pleased.
When he reaches the top floor, the secretary offers him a polite nod, gesturing toward the large double doors. San gives his usual knock, waits for the low approval from inside, and steps in.
Seonghwa isn’t seated behind his desk this time. Instead, he stands near the expansive windows, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he looks out over the city below. His back is turned.
Today he’s dressed in navy slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, sleeves neatly buttoned at the wrist. The sunlight filtering through the glass outlines his figure sharply, casting him in a quiet, commanding silhouette.
San closes the door softly and waits near it, hands folded in front of him.
Seconds pass.
Seonghwa doesn’t turn.
Confusion flickers through San, and he clears his throat lightly before taking a few careful steps closer.
“Seonghwa-ssi,” he starts, voice measured but edged with uncertainty. “You called?”
He doesn’t even have time to react.
One second Seonghwa is turning toward him, expression unreadable. The next, he’s closing the distance—warm hands gripping San’s face, lips pressing against his.
San gasps into the kiss, the sound muffled between them. For a heartbeat he’s frozen, mind blank, shock rooting him to the floor.
But then recognition floods in.
And he automatically melts.
His hands instinctively rise, fingers curling around Seonghwa’s waist to pull him closer. The kiss deepens—hungry, desperate. Their lips move in frantic sync, chasing something that’s been simmering since that night.
The sharp pop of parted lips echoes in the quiet office when San finally pulls back, breath uneven, eyes wide.
“What—”
“Sorry,” Seonghwa blurts, cheeks flushed a deep red that starkly contrasts his usual composure. “I should have asked. I’m so sorry. I’m stressed and—and I just…” He drags a hand down his face, stepping back as if he’s overstepped a line he can’t redraw. “That was inappropriate.”
San blinks, still catching his breath. “Um… it’s okay. I mean…” His voice softens despite himself. “I like kissing you.”
Seonghwa looks up at that.
San exhales slowly, nerves creeping back in now that the heat has faded into something heavier.
“It’s just…” he continued carefully, meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. “Are we going to keep avoiding the elephant in the room?”
The question hangs between them—thick, unavoidable, and long overdue.
Seonghwa watches him for a long moment, something conflicted flickering in his eyes. Then his gaze drops to the floor, guilt softening his sharp features.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For acting like nothing… transpired.” He exhales through his nose. “This doesn’t usually happen to me, I don’t normally run into people I’ve slept with at work. I didn’t know how to react.”
San’s lips twitch into a small, understanding smile. “Heh… me neither. I figured we were both just going to pretend it never happened.”
“That… was the original plan,” Seonghwa admits, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “But I—” He hesitates, then forces himself to continue. “I can’t seem to get you out of my head. I really enjoyed our night together. And if you’re… if you’re open to it, I’d like to … continue.”
San blinks. “Continue?”
“Casually,” Seonghwa clarifies quickly. “No strings attached. We work together, and I don’t want anything to appear unprofessional. We keep it private. Between us.” His voice softens. “We have fun. That’s all. How does that sound?”
Oh.
San’s thoughts scatter. He’s never been much of a relationship person—his longest one barely scraped a year back in high school. Casual has always been easier. Cleaner.
And yet… something about this feels different.
A small, dangerous part of him wonders what would happen if they didn’t keep it surface level. If they let it grow into something more.
But that’s not what Seonghwa is offering.
For now, it’s simple. Pleasure. Secrecy. No expectations. No baggage.
He briefly thinks about the article—the supposed engagement—but decides against asking. It’s not his place, and if there’s something to know, Seonghwa will tell him. He has to trust that.
Fuck it.
San lifts his chin slightly, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze.
“I’d like that.”
👔🖊️💼📈💰
[5:00PM] Me:
Don’t wait up for me, staying late.
[5:05PM] Wooyoungie❤️:
Alrightyyy, leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry, don’t work too hard
San almost laughs at that. He kinda is working hard.
Just not in the way anyone would assume.
By the time he leaves the office and heads to the parking garage, the city is bathed in evening light, golden hues reflecting off glass buildings. He unlocks his car, slides into the driver’s seat—
and he’s not alone.
Seonghwa sits in the passenger seat, composed as ever, sleeves rolled up slightly, phone in hand.
It feels surreal.
If anyone from the company saw them now—finance supervisor and chaebol CEO, alone in a car after hours—it would be catastrophic.
“You don’t have to look so nervous,” Seonghwa murmurs, glancing over. There’s a faint hint of amusement tugging at his lips.
“I’m not nervous,” San lies immediately, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
Seonghwa hums softly, unconvinced. He taps at his phone. “I’ve booked a place.”
“Already?”
“I prefer being prepared.”
Of course he does.
A hotel notification flashes briefly on the screen before Seonghwa locks it, slipping the device into his pocket. The air in the car feels heavier now—charged, expectant.
The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence filled with awareness—the subtle brush of Seonghwa’s knee when the car turns, the faint scent of his cologne, the knowledge of what waits at the end of the route.
No strings attached.
Just fun.
San exhales slowly as the hotel building comes into view, sleek and discreet.
He finds himself working hard later that night, just not in the way spreadsheets require.
The hotel room is dim, city lights bleeding through the curtains, sheets tangled beneath them. Seonghwa is breathless, composed edges long gone, fingers gripping the sheets tight as San thrusts into him with relentless precision. Every sound pulled from Seonghwa’s lips feels like a victory—raw, unguarded, nothing like the controlled CEO he presents to the world.
Their breaths tangle. Their rhythm builds. Seonghwa moans his name like it’s something fragile and sacred all at once, and it sends heat straight down San’s spine as he cums into the condom, still deep inside Seonghwa’s warm hole.
This becomes their routine.
A few times a week, when stress runs high or the tension becomes unbearable, a simple text is sent.
Are you free?
Hotels are easy. Discreet. Seonghwa handles everything effortlessly. No trails. No risks.
They explore each other without hesitation. The bed, the shower, the couch, slow nights and reckless ones. Some evenings are desperate, almost frantic, others drawn out, deliberate, teasing. Each time, they learn something new, a new reaction, a new weakness, a new way to unravel the other.
They even begin to experiment with control.
One night, Seonghwa surprises him, handcuffs in hand, calm voice low, fingers firm, setting rules with a seriousness that makes San’s pulse race. It’s playful, but charged. Testing boundaries. Testing trust.
[6:03PM] 🩷:
What are you up to?
[6:34PM] Me:
just finished my workout at the gym
[6:35PM] 🩷:
Cutie 🥰
[6:36PM] Me:
😊 How about you?
[6:41PM] 🩷:
About to start pilates
[6:42PM] Me:
You’re killing me .. 😍😍 Not sure if I can wait until tomorrow to see you
[6:44PM] 🩷:
I have a new position in mind I think you’ll like 😉
[6:45PM] Me:
Stop doing this to me 😫
[6:46PM] 🩷:
See you tomorrow 😘
“You’ve been really bright these past few weeks,” Jongho comments one afternoon, narrowing his eyes suspiciously across the desk.
San only smiles to himself.
They promised no strings attached. And for a while… It was working.
Until one night.
The drive is quieter than usual.
He notices it almost immediately. Seonghwa, who normally rests a confident hand on his thigh or scrolls through his phone with calm detachment, is staring out the window instead. His reflection in the glass looks distant. Tight.
San considers asking what’s wrong.
He doesn’t. It’s not his place.
They agreed on those terms.
They reach the hotel. The room is familiar now—neutral walls, dim lighting, the quiet hum of city life outside. Routine.
San moves closer, brushing his fingers along Seonghwa’s waist, pressing a slow kiss beneath his ear. Normally, that’s all it takes.
But tonight, Seonghwa stiffens.
And then—
San feels it.
A tremble. A quiet, broken inhale.
He pulls back immediately.
Seonghwa’s shoulders shake. His face is turned away, but it’s unmistakable–he’s crying.
San’s chest drops.
“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says quickly as he backs up, swiping at his face like he can erase it. “I’m okay. Truly, let’s continue—”
“Seonghwa,” San calls, voice firm now. Grounded. “Hey, look at me.” He doesn’t continue until they make eye contact again. “It’s fine. We don’t need to have sex every time we meet.”
“But that was our arrangement…” Seonghwa whispers, like he’s reciting terms from a contract.
“That was your arrangement,” San replies gently. “I just agreed.”
Silence settles between them.
San steps closer, slower this time, careful. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”
Seonghwa exhales shakily, something heavy sitting behind his eyes. For once, there’s no CEO composure. No practiced control.
Just a man who looks exhausted.
And suddenly, this doesn’t feel casual at all.
“I… I honestly don’t even want to talk about it,” Seonghwa whispers at last, voice thin, fragile in a way San has never heard before.
San nods gently. “Okay.”
A beat passes.
“How about a movie night?”
Seonghwa looks at him like he’s spoken another language. Shock flickers across his face—confusion, disbelief… then something softer. After a moment, he nods.
San orders room service, choosing comfort food over anything fancy. When it arrives, they change into their underwear—shedding not just their clothes, but the weight of expectation. No performance. No arrangement.
Just quiet.
They drag the oversized comforter from the bed to the couch, cocooning themselves beneath it. The city hums beyond the windows, distant and irrelevant. San queues up a movie they both vaguely agree on, something easy, something mindless.
They eat first, side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally.
Then gradually, naturally, they drift closer.
Seonghwa shifts until he’s settled between San’s legs. One of San’s arms wraps around him without thinking, palm warm against bare skin. Seonghwa relaxes into it instantly, like he’s been craving this more than anything else.
His head rests against San’s chest, ear pressed right over his heartbeat.
The movie continues playing, dialogue filling the room, but Seonghwa goes quiet halfway through. His breathing deepens. Evens out.
He’s asleep.
San looks down at him, really looks.
The sharp edges are gone. No guarded expression. No CEO mask. Just softness. Trust.
Something tightens in San’s chest—gentle but undeniable. Before he can overthink it, he presses a light kiss to the crown of Seonghwa’s head.
It feels natural.
Too natural.
And in that quiet hotel room, with the city glowing outside and Seonghwa asleep in his arms, San realizes something that terrifies him more than any workplace scandal ever could.
He wants more with Seonghwa.