Chapter 102
The question did not drop like a hammer. It slipped into the silent space between them like a deceptively smooth blade, catching Sunghoon entirely off guard.
"Why do you want to date him?"
Director Park asked the question with a terrifying, clinical indifference, her silver chopsticks hovering inches above her bowl. Her eyes remained fixed on his face, cold and unblinking, tracking the microscopic shift in his posture.
Haru found himself momentarily taken aback. His mind, usually so sharp and quick, drifted through a rare moment of genuine disorientation. In neither of his lives had he ever sat across from a lover's parent to defend the validity of his affection. His only references for this specific brand of high-society confrontation were the highly dramatic, sensationalized scripts he had reviewed for television dramas. He had mentally prepared himself for a ruthless checklist of demands: the immediate slamming down of an envelope thick with hush money, the blunt threats of a blacklist that would erase his name from every broadcasting network in the country, or perhaps a fierce, venomous lecture on how a nameless rookie was dragging a star down into the dirt.
Instead, she had offered him a high-end traditional dinner, sat silently through a selection of side dishes, and asked a question that felt bafflingly personal.
"Ummm..." Haru hesitated, the syllables dying in his throat. He sat there, feeling momentarily dumbfounded under the suffocating weight of her gaze.
The silence stretched, thick and unyielding, as Director Park simply waited, her calm demeanor offering absolutely no room for him to retreat.
Haru cleared his throat, forcing his composure to straighten his spine. He needed to say something that sounded grounded, yet entirely non-threatening. "He is... good."
Director Park looked at him, her sharp eyebrows arching slightly. The corners of her lips twitched into a subtle, cutting expression that was almost a scoff. She didn't say a word, but her face clearly communicated that she found his vocabulary profoundly lacking for an actor.
Haru felt a sudden prickle of heat against the back of his neck. He didn't know where to start, exactly. Haru swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing the inadequacy of his own words. How could he possibly summarize the reality of what Jae-wook was to him? How could he explain to her that what he felt for her son had long since exceeded any linguistic boundaries he could fathom and place? He couldn't tell her that Jae-wook was the only person who made Sunghoon feel like a living, breathing man. That he was his sanctuary.
"I don't know exactly," Haru murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, more honest register. "I just like him."
Director Park set her chopsticks down against the ceramic rest with a faint, sharp clink. She leaned back slightly against her silk cushion, her posture elegant and entirely unbothered.
"How much did he give you?" she asked, her voice completely straightforward, stripped of any emotional inflection.
Haru blinked, his mind stalling for a fraction of a second. "What?"
"It wouldn't be the first time he has done that," she stated , picking up her ceramic cup of barley tea and taking a slow, elegant sip. Her dark eyes remained fixed over the rim, tracking the micro-expressions on his face with terrifying efficiency. She had stated it plainly, as if she were discussing a routine corporate transaction or an automated monthly expense.
The implication hit Haru like a sudden, freezing splash of water. The soul of Sunghoon, fierce and protective, roared to life beneath his skin. "He didn't give me any money!" he exclaimed quickly, his voice cutting through the quiet room with a sharp, defensive edge that he didn't bother to soften.
Director Park quietly observed his reaction, her dark eyes evaluating the flash of genuine anger in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, and the way his knuckles turned white against his thighs.
"Really?" she asked, her tone carrying a profound, mocking disbelief.She lowered the cup back to the table with a soft clink .She shifted her weight slightly, her dark green pantsuit rustling against the tatami mat. "Then why are you with him?"
"I just love him," Haru said.
The words were not loud, but they were set in stone. Completely unwavering, and filled with the terrifyingly absolute conviction of a man who had already crossed the boundary of death itself. He didn't blink. He didn't lower his gaze. He met the cold, identical-to-Raiven eyes of the woman across from him and held them.
The heavy, suffocating silence seeped into the pavilion once again, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic dripping of the stone courtyard pond outside. Director Park stared at him for what felt like an eternity, searching for a tremor, a hint of greed, or the calculated hesitation of a performer.
Finally, she let out a slow, quiet breath that wasn't quite a sigh.When she spoke again, the clinical distance in her voice mutated into something resembling weary pragmatism.
"Look, I am not against gay or whatever it is you two think you are doing," she said, her tone completely casual, as if she were discussing a minor formatting change in a corporate contract. "Only heaven knows how much he has shoved it down my throat for me to not care anymore.His private inclinations are no longer my concern."
Haru felt a sudden, unexpected knot of relief loosen in his chest, a faint breath escaping his lips. But his muscles remained rigid. Until they completely parted ways and he was out of this 'meeting', he wasn't going to let himself relax.
"But what I do care about," Director Park continued, her voice dropping into a chillingly precise register, "is the fallout."
Haru remained silent, keeping his hands flat against his lap, listening intently.
"I have worked extraordinarily hard for him to be where he is right now," she stated, her words carrying the heavy weight of a woman who had spent decades fighting in the corporate trenches of the global entertainment market. "I mapped out his trajectory before he could even understand what a career meant. I will not allow a reckless relationship to get in the way of that."
"I understand," Haru replied quietly.
"I don't know if you are using him, or if he is the one using you. To be quite frank, I don't care," she stated, her voice dropping into a register that was truly, chillingly cold. It wasn't a threat; it was a definitive promise.
Her gaze was locked onto his, letting every single syllable sink deep into his consciousness. "But just so we are completely clear: if you two are careless and get caught by the media, I will put him as my absolute priority. I will use every resource at my disposal to insulate his reputation, and I will not care, not even for a fraction of a second, about how the results affects your career or your life."
She sat there, a ruthless and unyielding. Her eyes were trained on him, letting every syllable sink into his bones. Sunghoon recognized that look. She had done it before, and she wasn't afraid to do it again.
Haru let out a long, slow breath through his nose. Then, slowly, a soft, entirely calm smile broke across his face. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers without a single hint of the cowering terror she had undoubtedly expected to see.
"I am glad he has someone who cares so much by his side," Haru stated softly.
Director Park was visibly taken aback. Her fingers froze against the edge of the mahogany table, her eyes searching the contours of his face for the lie, for the trembling hesitation that usually followed her boardroom executions. But there was nothing. Haru's expression was entirely serene, his voice carrying the deep, appreciative weight of someone who genuinely loved Jae-wook enough to be thankful for any shield around him, even a monstrous one.
She let out a long, heavy sigh, the sharp corporate edge of her posture softening just a fraction.
"I will give you some advice before it's too late... consider it a courtesy," she stated quietly. She reached for her ceramic cup, taking a slow, elegant sip of the warm traditional tea before setting it back down. She stood up, her dark green trousers falling into perfect lines as she smoothed it down.
She stood up and walked toward the sliding wooden door, her footsteps making no sound against the mats. Just before her fingers touched the frame, she paused, looking back over her shoulder at the young man sitting alone in the center of the room.
"Save yourself before you fall any further."
Haru remained silent, his dark eyes watching her as the rice-paper door slid open with a smooth click.
"Let's meet under different circumstances next time," she murmured over her shoulder. And with that, the screen slid closed with a smooth, sweeping click, leaving him entirely alone.
Haru sat entirely still for a long time, contemplating her parting words. It had been an incredibly weird, volatile interaction. He understood her primitive need to protect Jae-wook, he was her son, her ultimate creation. But why would she leave him with a warning to save himself before he fell any further? What was she truly warning him against? Why did her warning sound less like a threat, and more like a dark, protective premonition about the inherent danger of being near Jae-wook?
He reached for the ceramic cup in front of him, his throat completely dry, and drank the remaining tea in a single, desperate swoop.
Suddenly, the sliding door moved back again.
Haru's posture snapped back into a rigid, defensive alignment, his heart jumping against his ribs. He thought it was Director Park returning, perhaps because she had forgotten a personal item or wanted to deliver a final, crushing blow. But instead, a young woman stepped into the entrance. Her dark hair was pulled up into a neat, professional ponytail, and she wore a simple, tailored black business suit.
The assistant walked quietly to the edge of the mahogany table, placing a beautifully crafted, heavy wooden box onto the polished surface.
"A gift from the Director," she said softly, giving Haru a surprisingly warm, gentle smile before bowing and retreating from the room.
Haru sat in a complete daze long after the door closed for the final time. The quiet hum of the Hanok pavilion surrounded him, but his mind was a chaotic storm of questions.
After several long minutes, his fingers finally moved. He reached across the table, sliding the intricate latch of the wooden box open. Inside, resting against a bed of dark velvet, were two bottles of incredibly rare, expensive vintage wine, their labels bearing the marks of an old-money estate.
He stared down at the dark glass for a long time, the cool air of Seongbuk-dong brushing against his face.
A bitter, quiet smile touched his lips. She really wasn't what he expected.