The morning sun cast long shadows across the marble floors of NexGen Tower as Soyeon stepped out of the elevator, her pulse racing. The sleek navy dress Jungwoo had sent clung to her curves in a way that felt both foreign and empowering. She'd paired it with her favorite Louboutins—a small rebellion against the corporate aesthetic—and the sharp click of her heels echoed through the cavernous lobby like a declaration of war.
At the reception desk, a perfectly coiffed woman with a practiced smile looked up. "Good morning, how may I—"
"Kim Soyeon for Park Jungwoo," Soyeon interrupted, channeling every ounce of her mother's icy poise.
The receptionist's fingers hovered over her keyboard. "Do you have an—"
"She's with me."
Minho materialized at her elbow, his ever-present earbuds dangling around his neck. His grin was infectious as he leaned against the reception desk. "Wow. You clean up nice, princess."
Soyeon resisted the urge to adjust her dress again. "Where's your brother?"
"Pissed off at some investors," Minho said cheerfully, steering her toward a private elevator. "Which means you're walking into a warzone. Exciting, right?"
The elevator walls were mirrored, and Soyeon caught herself studying her reflection—the way the dress accentuated her waist, the subtle shimmer of her nude lip gloss. She looked... competent. Like someone who belonged in a place like this. The realization was unsettling.
Minho watched her with amused curiosity. "So. You and hyung, huh?"
Soyeon's head snapped up. "There is no 'me and hyung.'"
"Could've fooled me," Minho said, tapping his access card against the sensor. "He doesn't let just anyone stay in his private suite. Not even me."
The elevator doors opened directly into Jungwoo's office—a sprawling, minimalist space that screamed power. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Dubai's skyline, the Burj Khalifa piercing the morning haze.
Jungwoo stood with his back to them, phone pressed to his ear. Even from behind, his tension was palpable—the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his free hand clenched at his side.
"—not acceptable," he bit out. "Either they revise the terms by noon, or we walk."
Minho cleared his throat. "Hyung, your distraction is here."
Jungwoo turned, and Soyeon's breath caught. The morning light sharpened his already severe features—the blade of his nose, the cut of his jaw. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a heartbeat, something raw flickered in their depths before his usual mask slid back into place.
"You're late," he said, ending the call.
Soyeon lifted her chin. "I'm five minutes late."
"Which is late."
Minho edged toward the door. "I'm gonna... not be here for this."
The moment the door clicked shut, the air between them crackled. Soyeon crossed her arms. "You blackmailed me here. Start talking."
Jungwoo moved to his desk with predatory grace, pulling out a sleek folder. "Your mother approached me last month with a proposal."
"I can imagine."
"A merger of assets," he continued, ignoring her sarcasm. "With certain... conditions."
Soyeon's stomach twisted. She didn't need to see the papers to know what they contained. The weight of her father's will—of her mother's relentless scheming—pressed down on her. "Let me guess. Marriage."
Jungwoo's expression remained unreadable. "Among other things."
She stalked forward, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. "And you agreed?"
"I'm a businessman, Soyeon. I consider all opportunities." He flipped open the folder, revealing a stack of documents. "But I have a counterproposal."
Soyeon hesitated, then leaned in. The first page was standard legalese, but the second—
Her breath caught. "This is a business plan."
"A joint venture," Jungwoo corrected. "One that satisfies your mother's requirements without the... personal entanglements."
The numbers swam before her eyes—projections, timelines, profit margins. It was bold. Innovative. Exactly the kind of project her father would have championed.
"Why?" The word slipped out before she could stop it.
Jungwoo studied her for a long moment. Then, to her shock, he rounded the desk, stopping just inches away. His cologne—something dark and expensive—wrapped around her.
"Because I've seen your transcripts from King's College," he said quietly. "The thesis you wrote on urban development. The proposals you drafted for your father's company."
Soyeon's pulse stuttered. No one knew about those. No one cared.
Jungwoo's gaze never wavered. "You're not just some spoiled heiress, Soyeon. And I'm tired of watching you pretend to be."
The truth in his words hit like a physical blow. For years, she'd hidden behind champagne and designer labels, letting the world see only what she wanted. But Jungwoo had peeled back the layers with terrifying ease.
Outside the windows, Dubai glittered—a city built on dreams and ruthless ambition. Soyeon exhaled sharply.
"Okay," she said, meeting his gaze. "Let's talk."
---
The meeting stretched for hours. Jungwoo laid out his vision with razor precision—a luxury residential development combining her family's real estate holdings with his tech innovations. Smart homes. Sustainable design. A project that could redefine Dubai's skyline.
Soyeon found herself leaning in, arguing over design elements, suggesting amenities. For the first time in years, her mind buzzed with possibilities rather than escape routes.
It wasn't until the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the office in gold and shadow, that Jungwoo finally sat back.
"There's one condition," he said.
Soyeon arched a brow. "Of course there is."
"You'll work with me directly. No assistants, no intermediaries." His gaze burned into hers. "And no more parties. Not while we're in development."
Her laugh was sharp. "You're asking me to become a nun?"
"I'm asking you to take this seriously."
The challenge in his voice sparked something in her chest. Soyeon tilted her head, considering. "Fine. But I have conditions too."
Jungwoo's lips twitched. "Naturally."
"First, I want final say on all design elements. Second—" She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Second, you stop looking at me like I'm some broken project that needs fixing."
A beat of silence. Then, to her shock, Jungwoo smiled—a real, unguarded smile that transformed his entire face.
"Deal," he said, extending his hand.
Soyeon took it, ignoring the electric jolt that raced up her arm at the contact. His palm was warm, his grip firm. For the first time, she wondered if she'd just made a deal with the devil—or something far more dangerous.
The door burst open, revealing Minho balancing three takeout coffees. "Alright, lovebirds, break it up—oh." He blinked at their joined hands. "Are you... shaking on it? How anticlimactic."
Jungwoo released her hand with a glare. "What do you want, Minho?"
"Just bringing sustenance." Minho set the coffees down with a flourish. "And a message from The Mommy Dearest. She's summoned you both to dinner tonight. Formal attire."
Soyeon's stomach dropped. Her mother's "formal dinners" were legendary for their ambushes.
Jungwoo sighed. "Tell her we'll be there."
As Minho sauntered out, Soyeon turned to Jungwoo. "We?"
His expression was unreadable. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right. Starting with presenting a united front."
Soyeon opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. The determination in his eyes was undeniable. And for once, the idea of not facing her mother alone was... tempting.
"Fine," she muttered. "But I'm picking your tie."
Jungwoo's quiet chuckle followed her all the way to the elevator.
---
That evening, as Soyeon stood in her penthouse surveying an array of gowns, her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Don't be late.
She rolled her eyes, typing back: Worried I'll run?
The response came instantly: Worried you'll change your mind.
Soyeon stared at the message, her chest tight. Because the terrifying truth was—for the first time in years—she didn't want to run.
And that scared her more than any marriage contract ever could.
To be continued...