Love Can Make A Way

“I’ve finished my work here.”

Irene let out a dry laugh, devoid of any hint of humor. She leaned back in her leather chair, crossing her arms as she looked at you with a mixture of superiority and irritation.

"What are you talking about? Is this one of your tantrums about what happened in Japan?" She scoffed, trying to regain control of the game.

“If this is a pathetic attempt to negotiate a pay raise or more vacation days after the scene you made at the hotel, I suggest you put that paper away and get back to your desk. I don’t have time for your childishness,” she added, her eyes darting back to her monitor.

“This isn’t a negotiation, Irene.” You cut her off. Using her name in the middle of the presidential office was like a slap of reality.

Irene tensed completely, her eyes widening as never before, and her hands gripped the arms of the chair. President Bae's rigidity faltered for a second, revealing the woman hidden behind it.

“How dare you…?” She muttered, half-rising from her seat. “I remind you that you have a valid contract. I can have your name blacklisted in this industry. I can destroy your career with a single phone call. You can’t leave!”

“You can do it if that’s what you want,” you replied, taking a step forward, resting your hands on the edge of the desk to look her straight in the eye. “Sign the termination, call the executives, blacklist me. I don’t care anymore.”

She remained silent, her chest rising and falling beneath the fabric of her designer suit. Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. Desperation, the same desperation she had tried to stifle in the Tokyo suite, began to surface in her eyes.

She couldn't understand how the ‘good boy’ who always bowed his head, the one who endured her daily bad moods and outbursts with infinite patience, the one who no matter what happened ended up giving her a sincere smile, now looked at her with such icy indifference.

“Why?” she finally asked. Her voice was no longer that of the president; it was a broken, disarmed, almost pleading whisper. “Why now? After all this time… after everything we’ve done together… Why are you doing this to me?”

You stared at her, taking in the features of the woman you had secretly loved for five years. The pain in your chest was still there, but it was no longer a burning fire; it was a cold scar.

“Because I’m in love with you, Joohyun.”

You were finally able to confess, taking a huge weight off your shoulders.

“And staying here, walking behind you while you pretend I don’t exist during the day and using me at night to keep your loneliness at bay, has completely destroyed me.”

Irene froze. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Her eyes welled with tears, reflecting a confusion and a heartbreak so profound that for a second you wanted to step back and comfort her. But you held back.

“I have nothing left to give you.”

It was the best thing for both of you.

You turned around, walked to the double doors, and opened them. Before stepping out, you paused for a second without looking back.

“Goodbye, President Bae. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me these past years.”

You left the office, closing the door softly behind you, leaving Irene completely alone and heartbroken. For the first time, you didn't clean up the mess you'd made on her office floor.

The news of your resignation spread through the office like wildfire. You said goodbye to your former colleagues, from the most junior to the highest-ranking officials. Some of them feared the worst, knowing you were the only one who had managed to tame the beast that occupied the presidential chair. Even Karina said goodbye with a warm hug, worried about your future well-being and that of her friend, the president.

During the first twenty-four hours, Irene tried to do what she did best: ignore the pain and take refuge in her work.

She convinced herself that you weren't indispensable. After all, the Human Resources department took barely three hours to send her a replacement with an impeccable resume, a graduate with honors from Seoul National University, perfectly dressed, and with submissive body language.

But the first mistake came with the morning report.

“What is this garbage?” Irene asked, dropping the folder onto the table. The new assistant jumped, instantly turning pale.

As the days passed, the situation only worsened. The president's mood became so volatile and destructive that working on the top floor became a high-risk activity.

The second replacement was summarily dismissed after three days for failing to anticipate that Irene would cancel the meeting with the finance committee due to a migraine. The third lasted barely forty-eight hours; Irene shouted at him out of her office simply because the sound of his shoes walking down the hall distracted her.

Being Bae Joohyun's personal assistant had changed drastically. It was no longer anything like a Hunger Games tribute. Now, it was a parade of pirates walking the plank, one after another. An absolute bloodbath.

No one knew her rhythms. No one knew when she needed absolute silence and when she required a reminder to eat. No one could read the storms brewing in her dark eyes before they erupted.

At night, Irene would stay alone in the vastness of her office, the Seoul skyline streaming through the window. She would stare at the center of her desk, where the white envelope appeared like a ghostly vision. But the only real ghost was the echo of your words:

“I’m in love with you, Joohyun.”

She crossed her arms, rubbing her shoulders as if she felt a sudden chill that the building's central heating couldn't soothe. She didn't want to go home; there, her loneliness intensified because you wouldn't be there to meet her anymore.

For the first time in her life, the success of her textile empire wasn't enough to fill the suffocating void that threatened to crush her chest. She was on top of the world, yes.

But she had never felt so terribly alone.

Several kilometers away, in a modest but comfy apartment, the alarm clock did not ring at five in the morning.

You stirred in the sheets, slowly opening your eyes to find yourself staring at your bedroom ceiling. During the first few days of your new unemployed life, your body, accustomed to the frenetic pace of haute couture and midnight phone calls, reacted with panic to the lack of stimulation. You woke with a start, searching for your mobile phone, your breath quickening, hoping to find a message from Irene demanding a last-minute change of itinerary.

But the phone remained silent. There were no emails from the board. There were no upcoming events.

Step by step, you learned to unwind. You started going for morning runs, feeling the fresh air on your face without the rush of having to hurry back to the office. You forced yourself to cook, rediscover the taste of simple things, and find new activities to fill the empty hours in your living room.

You started sending your resume to mid-sized companies, looking for low-profile administrative positions with modest salaries and, above all, much less pressure. You no longer wanted to return to a leading company in its sector. You wanted invisibility.

One night, while eating a bowl of instant noodles in front of the television, you decided to turn on the screen to break the deafening silence of the house. You flipped through the channels without paying much attention, until a news and variety show caught your eye and made you freeze, your thumb hovering over the remote.

The screen displayed the flashing label ‘LATEST NEWS’, accompanied by shaky footage recorded from a distance.

The footage, captured that same afternoon at the airport, showed Irene walking through the terminal surrounded by two bodyguards.

She didn't wear her usual expression of cold indifference; her face was gaunt, her eyes dull and fixed on the ground, devoid of the authoritative gleam that usually disarmed anyone. She seemed more fragile, paler, dragging her feet with a deep and heavy sadness that not even her impeccable designer outfit could conceal.

The paparazzi followed her a few meters away, capturing how she got into the car in absolute silence, oblivious to the commotion around her.

You stopped, chopsticks halfway through, staring silently at the screen. The distance and time you'd tried to build to heal seemed to crumble in a single second. She was broken, as broken as you, and the painful certainty that you had destroyed each other hit you in the chest with overwhelming force.

Then your phone started vibrating. Once, twice, even three times in a row. You unlocked it and sighed wearily. You set aside your impromptu dinner and typed quickly

What do you want now, Ning?

I have two tickets for tonight’s game and no one to go with

Are you interested?

You were going to refuse immediately, making up some lame excuse, but you thought twice. That night was the national championship final.

“Damn Ningning.” You muttered, typing again.

How much is it going to cost me?
Hey!

Who do you think I am?

It’s a friendly hangout, nothing more
Are you sure?
Obviously. I’ll pick you up at 6 PM

You sighed, throwing your phone onto the sofa. Was this even right? You wondered, heading to the bedroom to get ready.

The television continued playing the news in the background, but you could no longer hear it.

“And this is the news” the reporter commented.“Irene Group will be providing the team's official apparel next season. Tonight at the stadium, CEO Bae Joohyun will attend the tournament final to celebrate the new partnership.”

The stands were a cauldron of scarves, flags, and deafening chants. Your seats weren't just in the VIP box, but in one of the rows with the best view, courtesy of Ningning's father.

You were surrounded by local businesspeople and distinguished associates. It reminded you of your former life. You were both wearing the local team's jerseys, completely immersed in the festive atmosphere of the final.

Minutes before the opening whistle, the stadium's PA system crackled to life, partially silencing the clamor of the fans.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to officially announce that the prestigious Irene Group consortium will be providing our club's jerseys starting next season.”

The stands erupted in cheers. In the center of the pitch, under the giant spotlights, the team owner appeared, shaking hands with Bae Joohyun. She wore an impeccable black cashmere coat, but draped over her shoulders, almost ironically, was a scarf in the home team's colors.

You froze, your eyes fixed on her figure while the crowd applauded wildly.

“With how big the world is, this has to be some kind of joke.” You muttered under your breath. You turned to your companion, narrowing your eyes. “You knew about this, didn’t you, Yizhuo?”

Ningning looked at you with wide eyes, feigning an innocence that didn't quite convince you, although a subtle smile betrayed her.

“How was I to know?” She complained, giving you a friendly shove on the shoulder. “I just wanted to take your mind off things for a bit. Enjoy the game, you grouch.”

You sulked in your seat like a little kid, but instinctively your eyes focused on the woman who until a few days ago was your boss.

She gave a brief speech, barely three sentences long, in that polite, cool, and perfectly modulated voice you had heard so many times at press conferences. However, from the distance of the VIP box, you could see that her movements lacked their usual energy.

You clapped half-heartedly, mimicking the rest of the stadium's ovation when the speech ended. Perhaps Ningning was right; you should forget everything and just enjoy the game.

And you certainly succeeded. As the minutes ticked by, the adrenaline of the match completely swept you both away. The game was a nail-biter, an end-to-end affair, and both you and Ningning ended up on your feet, shouting at every foul and celebrating every play with the unbridled passion of true fans.

Meanwhile, in the presidential area, just a few dozen meters away, Irene was bored out of her mind. She didn't like sports, she didn't like the smell of cheap beer, and she hated the shallow hypocrisy of the executives who tried to flatter her.

To distract herself from the migraine that threatened to return, she rested her chin on her gloved hand and began to make a quick, disinterested scan of the first few rows of the adjacent box.

Then, her gaze stopped abruptly.

Irene's heart leapt so violently that she felt a physical pain in her chest. There you were. After weeks of absolute silence, after entire nights suffocating in her office staring at an empty desk, she was seeing you live. But you weren't alone.

The home team had just taken the lead. She saw you jump out of your seat with a huge smile, that same genuine smile she missed so much, and saw Ningning throw her arms around your neck laughing, celebrating the goal with a complicity that made Irene feel like she'd swallowed hydrochloric acid.

Bae Joohyun unraveled completely. The mask of the ruthless president shattered into a thousand pieces before the executives. Her fingers dug into the edge of the box's handrail. Seeing the man who had declared his love for her just weeks before, the one who had dominated and broken her in bed in Tokyo, gleefully celebrating with that bitch Ningning while she lay dying of loneliness, broke her for good.

The game ended with a victory for the home team. The stadium was a sea of ​​ecstasy, fireworks, and shouts of jubilation. As you left through the VIP corridors to avoid the crowds, you and Ningning walked along, discussing the best plays of the night, the adrenaline still pumping.

“Yizhuo! What a joy to see you here!”

The team owner's booming voice stopped you in your tracks. The elderly tycoon was walking with his arms outstretched, beaming with joy at the victory. Behind him, surrounded by a few other partners and sponsors, walked Irene.

Upon seeing you, Irene stopped abruptly. Her dark eyes, bloodshot with a mixture of suppressed rage, pain, and deep humiliation, fixed on you and then descended to Ningning's hand, which was still brushing against your arm.

“Good evening, sir, and congratulations.” Ningning greeted him with formal respect.

“Stop with the formalities, girl.” The owner laughed, patting you on the back. “Your dad told me you’d be around. Listen, we’re going to celebrate the victory with a very traditional local barbecue nearby. No fancy restaurants, just grilled meat and good beer. President Bae has already agreed to join us. You have to come, I insist. I won’t take no for an answer.”

You looked at Irene. She didn't say a word, but her eyes pleaded and threatened you at the same time, demanding that you reject the invitation so as not to prolong her torture.

Perhaps it was for the best; neither you nor she deserved to prolong this any longer.

“Of course, sir. We’ll gladly come.” Ningning said, anticipating the meeting, with a smile that wasn’t subservient. “A nice cold beer would be very welcome.”

The barbecue restaurant was a noisy place, filled with charcoal smoke, the smell of pork belly, and the constant clinking of beer mugs. The team owner sat at the head of the table, Ningning next to you, and Irene... right across from you, separated only by a narrow wooden table and a metal grill where the glowing coals were beginning to sizzle.

The tension at the table became so thick that the smoke from the bar seemed to float around it. While the team owner talked a mile a minute about the game and Ningning laughed at his jokes, Irene kept her eyes fixed on you.

She stared at you through the flames of the grill, an untouched glass of beer in her hands, a storm of wild jealousy devouring her from the inside out.

When Ningning casually placed a piece of meat on your plate, Irene couldn't contain herself any longer. Her dominant hand, the one she used to sign million-dollar contracts, gripped the beer glass with fury. Under your watchful gaze, she raised the glass and downed it in one gulp, her eyes never leaving yours.

You stared at her in silence, feeling a chill run down your spine. You knew her alcohol tolerance perfectly well, and you knew that when Irene drank like that, uncontrollably and fueled by anger, it wasn't going to end well.

As the hours passed, the dinner degenerated into a typical noisy post-game celebration. Alcohol flowed freely, and many of the members and directors ended up quite drunk. The club owner, his tie now undone and his cheeks flushed, celebrated the evening's successes with great enthusiasm, completely oblivious to the silent drama unfolding at his own table.

Irene, for her part, continued emptying glass after glass in stony silence, with a tragic elegance that only you knew how to decipher as pure despair.

Around 1:00 a.m., the group began to disperse on the sidewalk outside the restaurant under the cool Seoul night breeze. Taxis and official cars began to take the guests away.

Ningning, her cheeks flushed from the beer and a bright smile on her face, turned to you to say goodbye.

“I had an amazing time today,” she said, taking a step into your personal space. She stood on her tiptoes and placed a warm, lingering kiss on your cheek.

At that very moment, barely two meters away, Irene came out of the restaurant. She stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, witnessing the scene. Her eyes flashed with wild fury under the streetlights.

“Don’t thank me for the help.” She whispered, looking over your shoulder at a wobbly Irene.

“What are you talking about now?” you asked, confused.

Ningning simply said goodbye to you, winking at you before getting into her taxi and disappearing into the distance down the avenue.

You were alone with your boss. Neither of you dared to say anything; the air between you vibrated with the unspoken words of the last few weeks, with the echo of Tokyo, and with the insurmountable distance of your resignation.

Irene, visibly drunk and unsteady from the mix of alcohol and anger, broke eye contact. She whirled around on her heels, ready to get into her car and flee, but her coordination failed her. The heel of her left shoe twisted on a crack in the sidewalk, and her body, weakened by the tension and the drink, collapsed.

She hit the pavement with a sharp, sickening thud.

“President!” You shouted, reacting immediately out of pure instinct, forgetting resentment, distance, and formalities.

You knelt beside her on the cold cement, reaching out to support her shoulders and help her up. But as soon as your fingers touched the fabric of her designer coat, she reacted violently.

"Don't touch me!" She spat out, her voice slurred by alcohol, slapping you hard and furiously away from her arm.

She tried to get up on her own, pushing herself up with her hands on the ground, but her arms trembled and she almost fell again. She was humiliated, broken, and completely defenseless before the only man she couldn't control.

You stared at her for a few seconds, the mark of her slap still warm on your arm. You could have turned away. You could have let her driver deal with her and returned to the solitude of your apartment. But you saw her lying there, so small, so weak and defenseless, that your pride completely dissolved.

You swallowed what little self-respect you had left and decided to perform one last service for her. Not as her assistant, but as the man who knew her better than anyone.

“That’s enough, Irene.” You said firmly, ignoring her weak protests.

You crouched down, slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her up. Her body, though stiff at first from surprise, felt incredibly light in your arms.

Irene gasped, clinging to the lapels of your jacket out of pure instinct for survival, burying her gaunt face in your neck as a stifled sob escaped her lips. Her breath, hot and redolent of alcohol, brushed against your skin.

“Let me go!” She tried to defend herself by throwing clumsy punches in the air. You looked both ways across the street, grateful for the lack of an audience during that embarrassing moment.

You walked the few blocks that separated you from your modest apartment with her in your arms, feeling how, little by little, Irene's rigidity faded away, surrendering completely to your strength and letting herself be carried away by tiredness and drunkenness.

You went upstairs in silence, opened the door to your house, and led her into your humble and peaceful refuge. You gently placed her on the sofa in your living room, a place where she could rest.

"Don't move, I'll get a glass of water." You said, walking to the kitchen without taking your eyes off her.

Everything was spinning for Irene. She was drunk and confused, not quite sure where she was, and her eyes began to close slowly. She looked for a more comfortable position on the sofa.

"Here, have a drink, I'm sure you'll feel better..." You fell silent when you entered the living room again and found her fast asleep, softly snoring.

“This is unbelievable.” You whispered, unable to believe what your eyes were seeing. Your ex-boss, the woman who had driven you crazy like never before, the one you were deeply in love with, was now sleeping off the alcohol in your own apartment.

You took her in your arms again, more carefully this time, trying not to wake her, and laid her on your bed. You tucked her in and gazed at the tranquility and natural beauty of her face as she slept peacefully.

You stood silently by the bed for a few minutes, watching her chest rise and fall slowly. With extreme care, you brushed aside a couple of dark strands of hair that had stuck to her forehead with the night's sweat.

You left the glass of water on the bedside table, turned around, and left the room, closing the door quietly. That night you slept on the sofa, wrapped in an old blanket.

The next day, you woke up with your body aching from the bad posture on the sofa. You went to the kitchen to prepare something for breakfast. A little coffee and some toast with jam would be enough to wake you up.

Just as you were about to pour the coffee into a cup, the bedroom door opened with a soft creak.

Irene appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes were swollen, her hair was disheveled, and she had one hand resting on her temple, suffering the effects of the terrible hangover from the night before.

She stood motionless, staring at you in the middle of your modest kitchen. Gone was the fury of the barbecue, the office arrogance. Only a raw, silent shame remained.

“Drink this,” you said gently, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen table. “It’ll settle your stomach.”

Irene moved forward slowly, dragging her bare feet across the wooden floor. She sat down at the table and took the mug in both hands, seeking the warmth of the coffee, and took a small sip under your watchful gaze. Instead, she avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, unable to meet your eyes for the first time in five years.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the night's chill and the alcohol. “You should have left me on the sidewalk.”

“I couldn’t do that,” you replied, leaning against the counter. “I know exactly how you get when you drink. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Irene pressed her lips together. Her shoulders shrank beneath her new and expensive designer jacket.

“I saw you,” she whispered, a hint of pain she couldn’t quite hide. “Ningning and you during the game. You looked so… happy. I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages. With me, you were always tense, tired… down.”

You held her gaze, feeling a lump in your throat. The honesty of daylight was far more devastating than the darkness of night.

“She’s just a friend, Irene. There’s nothing between us,” you confessed calmly. “But she was never the problem. The problem is what we do to each other when we’re together. We consume each other until there’s nothing left.”

Irene closed her eyes, absorbing your words as the steam from the coffee caressed her face. She knew you were right. She knew that the power dynamic, the secrecy of your nights, and the coldness of your days at the office had led you to a dead end.

"I need you."

Irene's sudden confession caught you off guard. You felt something stir inside you.

“You can survive without me,” you said with your voice quiet and exhausted. “The company won’t go bankrupt because of the lack of a simple assistant.”

“The office is a hell without you,” she admitted. She looked up abruptly, and for the first time you noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

She left her half-finished mug on the table. She stood up slowly, her stiffness betraying how much effort it took her to take each step, and walked toward you.

Her fingers, icy and trembling, timidly brushed the back of your hand. It was a brief contact. A spark. Your first physical impulse was to pull your arm back, fearfully, like that time during the photo shoot. But this time something inside you wouldn't allow it.

“I miss you,” she murmured.

Taking advantage of your immobility, she slid her hand over yours and intertwined her fingers with your own.

“My house is empty. It doesn’t feel like a home. I don’t know… I don’t know how to make my life work if you’re not here.”

You stared at her, feeling the love you had for her squeeze your chest with overwhelming force. It would have been so easy to give in. But you remembered the suffocating emptiness of the day you resigned. You remembered that you wanted to save yourself from that pain.

“You are the most incredible woman I have ever known. You never depended on anyone, and you became who you are today all on your own.” You squeezed your hand against hers.

All you had to do was take her hand, put your arm around her waist, and kiss those lips dry from the hangover. Promise her that you'd be back in her office at eight o'clock tomorrow morning.

“That’s why you can’t depend on me now.”

You gently released yourself from her grip, softly separating your fingers from hers, giving her one last sad caress on the back of her hand.

“That’s the mistake, Joohyun. I can’t be your only anchor if I have to sacrifice my own life.”

“I love you…“

That was a low blow. Too cruel, even for someone like her. You froze, your hand hovering millimeters from hers. Those two words. The ones you'd longed to hear for five years of silence and empty dawns.

Irene took another step, closing the physical distance you were trying to maintain. A clean, heavy tear rolled down her makeup-free cheek and hit the wooden floor. Her lower lip trembled, but she didn't take her eyes off you. There was no pride left in them.

“I love you in a way that terrifies me.” She whispered, opening up, and her voice, devoid of any trace of authority, made her feel so vulnerable that it didn't seem like her own.

“I’ve been a coward. A damn selfish coward this whole time. I convinced myself that keeping my distance during the day was the right thing to do, that it was what my position demanded, but the truth is, I hid behind my status because I was afraid of how much you affected me.”

She placed a trembling hand against your chest, right above your heart, which was beating with excessive force.

“During these years, the world out there was a viper's nest where everyone wanted something from me. My position, my money, my influence… Everyone was looking at me, waiting for me to make a mistake so they could step on me.” She sobbed, tears streaming from her beautiful dark eyes.

“Everyone but you.”

You were stunned. Hearing Bae Joohyun break down like that was a devastating blow.

“You were the only one who looked me in the eyes and truly saw me. The only one who cared for me without asking for anything in return. I became so accustomed to your warmth, your infinite patience, the security I felt knowing you would always be there protecting me from everything, that I became blind. Blind and miserable.”

A stifled sob interrupted her words. Irene clenched her fists against your shirt, wrinkling the fabric desperately, as if she were clinging to the edge of a precipice.

“I used you. I know I used you to avoid facing my own loneliness, to have a refuge at night and continue being the invincible president during the day.”

Your eyes welled up too. A suffocating lump closed your throat as you stared at her desperate, trembling hands.

“It hurt to see you leave my house in the late hours of the night. It broke my heart to have to pretend you were just the man who brought me reports when we were at the office,” she continued, her voice breaking, little more than a breathless whisper. “But I was too proud to admit that I needed you more than anything in this world. I thought you would always be there because… because I couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

She looked up, her eyes completely clouded, pleading for a mercy she knew she perhaps did not deserve.

“Every corner of my house reminds me that you’re gone. Every time I look at my phone, I hope for a message from you. I had to see you smiling with someone else to realize that I’ve been killing you inside for all these years, and I hate myself for it.”

She clung to you, resting her forehead against your shoulder, burying her face in the crook of your neck, stifling her sobs, just as she had in the Tokyo suite. You felt a violent, almost uncontrollable urge to wrap your arms around her, to press her body against yours and comfort her.

“I hate myself for taking so long to tell you what I’ve always felt. I love you. I love you so much that if you ask me to give up everything, to resign as president, to tell the company to go to hell so I can start over with you in this apartment… I’ll do it.”

For five years you had secretly prayed for this moment, dreamed of her stepping down from her altar and telling you she loved you. The problem now wasn't her lack of love, it was the destructive dynamic you had become entangled in.

With painful slowness, you placed your hands over hers. Gently you separated her fingers from your shirt, loosening her grip with a delicacy that hurt more than any slap.

“Don’t tell me that, Irene. Please, don’t do this to me.” You said, and your voice broke for the first time, revealing all the pain you had tried to bury.

Irene shuddered as she felt you walk away, staring at you with wide eyes, terrified of a rejection she didn't know how to process.

“It’s true… every word is true.” She sobbed, trying to move forward again. “I’m not lying to you, please.”

“I have loved you silently every damn day of these five years, Irene.” You replied, your eyes dropping for a second before locking onto hers again.

“Every time I walked behind you, every time I covered for you at meetings, every late night I had to leave your house as if it were a shameful secret... I did it because I loved you.”

You let out a trembling sigh, swallowing your tears so as not to lose what little strength you had left.

“But I’m not coming back. And I’m not going to let you quit your company because of me.” You added in a voice that, despite the pain, sounded unwavering.

Irene stood motionless, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks, completely broken.

“If you abandon your empire for me, you’ll end up hating me. Because that company is who you are, it’s your life, it’s what you built with your blood and your pride. And if I come back, I’ll end up hating you. We’ll be right back where we started.”

Irene shook her head, clenching her fists in frustration. Your words, lacking anger but brimming with overwhelming maturity, finally broke down her last defense.

“I will change… I swear I will change this time,” she pleaded in a whisper.

You looked into her tear-filled eyes, listened to the trembling of her voice, stripped of all power, and something in your chest finally cracked. Logic, the arguments for survival, the safe distance you had tried so hard to maintain... it all evaporated in a millisecond.

It was stupid.

It was fucking absurd to keep pretending indifference when you had the woman you had loved with every fiber of your being for a whole five years all to yourself, disarmed, fragile and unprotected in the middle of your kitchen, offering you her empire in exchange for your warmth.

Your feelings were still too strong to ignore.

You couldn't contain the impulse for even a second longer. You took a step forward, closing the distance between you, and pulled her roughly towards you. Your arms encircled her waist with excessive, almost violent force, squeezing her against your body.

Irene gasped in surprise, but immediately clung to your neck with blind desperation, digging her nails into your back as if she feared it was all a mirage.

“Damn it, Joohyun…” You let out in a broken murmur just before you sought her lips.

The kiss was a clash of pure, repressed need, tinged with the salty taste of tears. There was no tenderness; it was a hungry, chaotic reunion, a fire that consumed in an instant the five years of silence and the pain of the last few weeks.

She returned the kiss with the same intensity, parting her lips and tangling her fingers in your tousled hair, surrendering control to you for the first time in her life.

When you separated by just millimeters to breathe, your foreheads remained pressed together. It was in that moment of respite that the dam completely broke.

Your own eyes overflowed. Hot, heavy tears began to stream down your cheeks, and you could do nothing to stop them. Your body began to tremble, overcome by the weight of so much pent-up suffering, and your legs gave way.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” She sobbed against your neck, breaking into a thousand pieces, squeezing you as if her life depended on it. “Forgive me for hurting you, for using you… I didn’t mean to break you, I swear, I didn’t…”

“Forgive me,” you replied, your voice choked with sobs, cradling her head in your hands, kissing her forehead and cheeks. “Forgive me for leaving like that, for leaving you alone… I couldn’t take it anymore, Joohyun, I was dying inside…”

“I know, I know…” Irene nodded repeatedly, burying her face in your chest as her sobs filled the small apartment. “Don’t go. Don’t let me go back to that empty office.”

You held her face in your hands, forcing her to look at you. Despite her swollen eyes and the traces of tears, you never stopped seeing her as incredibly beautiful.

“I’m not going back to that office,” you said firmly, though your eyes were still moist. “I’m never going to be your assistant again.”

Irene shook her head vehemently, wiping the tears from her chin with the back of her hand.

“I don’t want an assistant,” she declared, and for the first time, a spark of absolute resolve and relief shone in her dark eyes.

“I want the man I love.”

A sigh of pure relief escaped your lips. The dead weight you had carried in your chest for years finally dissolved, giving way to immense peace. You leaned down and kissed her again, this time with a sweet slowness, savoring the promise of a real, clean future, on your terms.

“This is the first time I’ve missed work voluntarily.” Irene commented, watching the sunrise from the balcony of your apartment.

The smudge of jam at the corner of her lips seemed so cute to you that you couldn't resist taking your phone and opening the camera app, pointing it directly at her.

She raised a confused eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wiping the remains with a napkin.

“Can’t I take pictures of my beautiful girlfriend?” you asked with a smile, taking a few more pictures. “I have 7 gigabytes of space to fill.”

A laugh escaped Irene, trying to muffle her laughter with a hand over her mouth.

"You're an idiot." She said, hitting you on the arm.

Six months passed.

You kept your word. You found an administrative position at a mid-sized book distributor. The salary was modest, but you left at six o'clock sharp, no one called you in the middle of the night, and weekends were yours to enjoy. You began to smile for real again, to sleep eight hours a night.

And the best part was that your relationship with Irene was excellent. She didn't leave the business, but she appointed a new CEO to handle the international fashion shows, delegated secondary board meetings, and, for the first time in her career, the press caught her taking a holiday with you in a modest country house. She was still the majority shareholder, of course... but now she had a lot more free time.

One spring afternoon, in mid-May, the sky threatened a storm. You left the distributor with a box of samples under your arm and stopped under the building's porch when you saw the first heavy, thick raindrops begin to hit the asphalt.

You looked for the umbrella in your backpack, but realized you had left it on your desk.

"Do you need some help?"

The voice, soft, mature, and perfectly modulated, made your heart skip a beat. You turned around slowly.

Just a few steps away, sheltering from the rain under the same porch, there she stood. There were no official cars on the sidewalk. No bodyguards flanking her. Her hair was loose, swaying in the spring breeze, and she wore comfortable jeans and an unmarked beige trench coat. She held a black umbrella in her hands. She looked relaxed, her skin healthy, and there was a light in her dark eyes that you had never seen before.

“Is your shift over, Madam President?”

“Not entirely.” She remarked, approaching you and sheltering you from the raindrops under her umbrella. “But I had an important date tonight.”

A clear laugh escaped your chest. The tension of the past seemed to have dissolved. You took her hand and looked up at the cloudy sky, feeling an immense peace throughout your body.

“It’s time to go home, together.” You murmured, looking at her with a smile.

You walked together in the rain, sharing the same umbrella, blending into the city crowd like two ordinary people. Two people who had been destroyed, who had been saved, and who now, at last, could truly love each other.

The views of this paradise destination from your suite's balcony early in the morning were simply unbeatable. Dressed only in your bathrobe, you let the fresh breeze clear your mind.

“Karina was right,” a female voice said behind you. “The beaches of Bali are breathtaking.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your wife, Bae Joohyun, also in her bathrobe, leaning against the railing and gazing at the vast ocean. You laughed at her comment, turning to face her.

“We haven’t even set foot on the sand yet.”

She walked towards you with a smile, wrapped her arms around your neck and gave you a soft kiss on the lips which you instantly returned.

“We’ve been really busy, haven’t we?” she asked with a wry smile. “And I think we will be for quite a while longer.” She added, swaying back into the suite.

“Come on,” you said playfully. “Aren’t we going to leave the room for the entire honeymoon either?”

Irene didn't answer. Instead, she turned towards you, winked, and untied the knot of her bathrobe, letting it slip to the floor.

You looked at her naked body from top to bottom, feeling a sudden surge of heat in your veins.

"Does this answer your question, darling?"