Jin was halfway down the corridor when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, expecting it to be a business call.
Mom.
He sighed and answered, bracing himself.
"Jinwoo," came his mother's crisp voice—polished, commanding, and unmistakably unimpressed—even across the ocean. "Do you think ignoring my calls will make me disappear?"
Jin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mother, I've been busy."
"Too busy to respond to Minji?" she snapped. "She's messaged me three times this week. Cried, if you must know. Told me you didn't even show up for the brunch I arranged."
"I never agreed to that date."
"You never explicitly declined either," his mother replied sharply. "Jinwoo, I'm not asking you to marry her. Just to consider your options. You're thirty-two. Single. And running a company with no successor in sight."
"I don't need a woman for public display," he said, voice harder now. "And certainly not one you've handpicked."
There was a pause, then her voice dropped low—calm, but dangerous. "I'll be flying to Seoul in two weeks. I suggest you have a woman by your side before I arrive, or I'll make the arrangements myself."
Jin closed his eyes. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?" she answered sweetly. "You forget I know your passwords."
Click.
The call ended, leaving Jin staring at the screen. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
He hated being manipulated.
And yet… he knew his mother. She wasn't bluffing.
Another sigh escaped him as he opened his contacts and scrolled until he found the number she'd given him weeks ago—the blind date he'd ignored.
Choi Minji.
He hesitated for a moment, then tapped "Call."
She answered after two rings. "Hello?" Her voice was soft, hopeful.
"Minji. It's Jin."
A brief silence. "Jinwoo?" Then, brighter, "Oh—wow. Hi. I wasn't sure you'd actually call…"
"I apologize for the delay," he said, his tone polite but distant. "There's been a lot on my plate."
"That's alright," she said quickly. "I mean, I understand. I just wasn't sure where we stood."
"I think we should talk," Jin said, pacing slowly into his private study. "Face to face."
"Of course! I'm free anytime—when works for you?"
"Tomorrow evening," he said without thinking, then paused. His mind flashed back to Mian—pressed against the wall, lips parted, breath trembling.
His jaw tightened.
"7 p.m. I'll send you the address."
"Perfect," Minji chirped. "I'm looking forward to it."
He ended the call and leaned against the desk, exhaling sharply.
This wasn't what he wanted. Not even close.
But unless he wanted his mother flying in and parading potential wives through his office, he needed to buy some time. Pretend. Play the game.
At least for now.
But even as he tried to rationalize it, guilt twisted low in his gut. Because while Minji would walk into that dinner with hope in her eyes—
He already knew who had set his blood on fire.
And it wasn't the woman he'd just called.
Later that night, Mian was heading upstairs with a basket of freshly folded towels. She knew Jin had retreated to his study hours ago and figured it was safe to drop the linen off in the guest room down the hall.
Her steps were light, quiet—second nature by now. As she neared the study, she heard his voice—low and composed, the way it always got when he was in business mode.
But something about the tone made her slow.
"I'll meet you at 7. No expectations—just a conversation. I think we owe each other that much."
Her breath caught.
A pause, and then: "Of course. I understand. I'll see you tomorrow, Minji."
Minji?
Mian's feet froze.
The name echoed in her head like a slap.
She leaned slightly closer, careful not to make a sound. But the conversation was over. Silence filled the study again, followed by the soft scrape of a chair.
She backed away quickly, heart suddenly pounding for a very different reason.
Minji. Of course. A woman like Jin—powerful, polished, dangerously charming—would have someone. Probably several someones. And someone with a name like Minji? Classy. Likely beautiful. The kind of woman who could be announced on his arm at galas, not sneak around behind service doors.
Her cheeks burned again, but this time not from desire.
From shame.
Stupid. How stupid could she be? Whatever had happened between them earlier—it had been a moment. A mistake. One that probably meant nothing to him.
She'd let herself believe it had weight. That he looked at her like she was something more than a maid. Someone worth chasing.
But he was chasing someone else tomorrow night.
She turned abruptly, abandoning the towel delivery, and hurried down the stairs before she humiliated herself any further. Her chest felt tight, like someone had slipped a hand inside and was squeezing.
Back in her room, she slammed the door and leaned against it.
"Get it together, Mian," she muttered, hugging her arms around herself. "He's your boss. Nothing more. You're just a convenience. A passing fancy."
And she refused—absolutely refused—to be the kind of girl who got in the way of a man's real life.
Not again.
The restaurant was upscale, quiet, and polished to perfection—just like the woman sitting across from him.
Choi Minji was beautiful. Jin could acknowledge that objectively. She wore a sleek black dress, minimal jewelry, and a soft pink lipstick that suited her delicate features. Her laugh was elegant, practiced. Her words carefully chosen.
But Jin wasn't listening.
Not really.
He nodded when it seemed appropriate, smiled faintly when she complimented his company's latest project, and took sips of his wine without tasting it.
Because in his mind, all he could see was Mian.
Not dolled up in a designer dress—but in her plain work clothes. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and trembling with confusion after he'd nearly lost control.
Minji reached across the table suddenly, resting her hand lightly over his. "You seem distracted," she said with a tilt of her head. "Is everything alright?"
Jin blinked, pulling back slightly. "Yes. I just have a lot on my mind."
She gave a soft, understanding smile. "I get it. Running Light Corp must be exhausting. I can't even imagine the kind of pressure you're under."
He nodded politely, but didn't respond. Pressure? Sure. But it wasn't boardroom negotiations or quarterly projections that had his chest in knots.
It was a pair of wide eyes that wouldn't leave his mind. A trembling voice saying "please," caught between want and fear. And the way she'd looked at him—like he was dangerous. Like he was temptation.
And she'd wanted him anyway.
"Maybe we can start over," Minji offered gently. "No pressure, no expectations. Just… get to know each other."
Jin forced himself to meet her eyes. She was trying. She was kind, pretty, and well-suited for the life his mother envisioned for him.
But she didn't stir anything in him. Not the hunger. Not the chaos. Not the madness that Mian stirred just by breathing near him.
"Minji," he said carefully, "I appreciate you being here. I really do. And I don't want to waste your time."
Her expression faltered. "Oh."
"I think you're incredible," he added. "But I'm not in the right place for this."
"You're seeing someone," she guessed quietly.
Jin paused.
He could lie. Say no. Pretend he was just too busy. But the truth tasted bitter in his throat, and something about Minji's honesty didn't deserve a fake answer.
"I'm… not sure what I'm doing," he admitted.
Minji's smile was sad but graceful. "Well. At least you're honest. That's rare."
He nodded, grateful for her poise. "I'm sorry."
She reached for her wine. "Don't be. But if she's the reason, Jin—don't wait too long. Women like that don't stay forever."
He stilled.
She was right.
Mian was already slipping away. He'd seen it in her eyes the last time they crossed paths. Heard it in her voice when she said she wasn't running—when she obviously was.
And if he didn't do something soon, he might lose her completely.