The office lights were still on.
Not the bright, aggressive kind meant for meetings or presentations-but the softer after-hours glow, dimmed enough to suggest exhaustion rather than ambition.
Ji-Ah sat at the head of the long glass table, fingers resting against her temple, eyes scanning numbers that had begun to blur. The city outside her floor-to-ceiling windows pulsed with life, but inside the room, time felt suspended.
It was late.
Too late.
The last of the team had left an hour ago. She hadn't noticed.
Control didn't mean immunity to fatigue it meant ignoring it until it obeyed.
The door opened quietly.
She didn't look up.
"I thought you'd gone," she said, voice calm, clipped, professional.
"I did," Min-Ho replied. "Then I came back."
That made her pause.
She lifted her gaze slowly.
He stood just inside the doorway, jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The usual ease was still there but muted. Less stage, more real.
"This meeting ended hours ago," Ji-Ah said. "If you're looking for direction, my assistant....."
"I'm not," he interrupted gently.
She didn't like interruptions.
But something in his tone stopped her from snapping.
He walked in without asking, but stopped well short of her space. Respectful distance. Intentional. He set a paper cup on the table, sliding it toward her-not close enough to invade, not far enough to ignore.
Coffee.
Black. No sugar.
Her preference.
She stared at it for a second too long.
"I didn't order anything," she said.
"I know."
Her eyes flicked to his.
"I noticed you skipped dinner," he added. "And lunch."
That annoyed her more than it should have.
"My schedule is not your concern."
He nodded once. Accepted the boundary without argument.
"Then the coffee isn't sympathy," he said. "It's fuel."
Silence settled between them.
Charged. Not awkward.
Ji-Ah leaned back in her chair slowly, arms crossing. "You're crossing a line."
Min-Ho didn't flinch.
"Am I?"
"Yes," she said coolly. "Don't mistake proximity for permission."
The words landed sharp. Clean. Final.
For a moment, she wondered if she'd pushed too far.
Then he spoke.
"I don't cross lines I haven't been invited to."
No heat.
No defensiveness.
Just truth.
The room felt smaller after that.
Ji-Ah held his gaze. Searching-not for weakness, but for intention.
She found neither intrusion nor retreat.
Only patience.
That unsettled her.
She looked away first, reaching for the coffee despite herself. The warmth seeped into her palm. Grounded her.
"You should leave," she said. "Tomorrow's schedule starts early."
Min-Ho didn't move immediately.
"I will," he said. "When you do."
Her jaw tightened. "I don't need supervision."
"I know," he replied. "That's why I'm not offering it."
Another silence.
Outside, a siren wailed somewhere far below. Inside, only the hum of the building remained.
Ji-Ah stood, gathering her tablet, straightening her blazer with precise movements. Control reassembled piece by piece.
She walked past him.
He stepped aside instinctively, giving her space without being asked.
At the door, she stopped.
Not turning.
"Don't do this again," she said.
"Which part?" he asked softly.
She hesitated.
"…Any of it."
"Understood."
She finally looked at him.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't disappointed.
He wasn't hopeful.
He was… waiting.
That realization hit harder than anything else that night.
She left.
The door closed quietly behind her.
Min-Ho stayed where he was for a moment longer, eyes on the space she'd occupied. Not chasing. Not replaying. Just… absorbing.
Outside, Ji-Ah walked down the corridor, heels echoing against polished floors.
Her stride never faltered.
But something inside her did.
He hadn't tried to enter her life.
He hadn't tried to soften her rules.
He hadn't even tried to be necessary.
He was simply… present.
And that was dangerous in a way she hadn't prepared for.
Waiting wasn't weakness.
Waiting was control.
And for the first time in a long while
Ji-Ah Voss wasn't sure who held it.