After a long shift, you left your bag at the Golden Brew café and returned to retrieve it—only to stumble upon a secret gathering of nine women, some familiar, some famous. The next day, your memory was hazy, but the illusion shattered when Chaeyoung confronted you. With a veiled threat, she led you to a hotel, ensuring a sleepless night.
You stir awake to the soft rustle of fabric and the faint, lingering scent of lavender. Morning light seeps through the curtains, casting the room in a muted gold. Every muscle in your body protests as you shift beneath the tangled sheets, memories of the night before flickering like fragments of a dream.
By the window, Chaeyoung stands wrapped in a silk robe that clings to her frame like liquid. She gazes out at the city below, her expression unreadable—calm, distant, almost detached. But when she notices you stirring, a sly smile tugs at her lips.
“Finally awake?” Her voice is a low purr, amusement dancing in her eyes.
You sit up, raking a hand through your disheveled hair. “What did you mean earlier… about it being a long day?” Your voice scrapes raw, throat dry from lack of sleep.
She turns, gliding toward the bed with effortless grace. “You’ll see,” she says, deliberately vague. Her robe slips slightly off one shoulder as she leans against the bedpost, watching you.
You glance at the clock on the nightstand and freeze. Shit. “What time is it?”
“Thirty minutes past your last alarm,” she replies, tracing a finger along the edge of the bedsheet.
“You looked so peaceful. I thought I’d let you sleep a little longer.”
“ Peaceful?” You groan, scrambling for your clothes strewn across the floor. “I’m late for my shift. Gyuri’s going to skin me alive.”
Chaeyoung tilts her head, her smile sharpening. “Relax. I’ll call her. Tell her you’re… detained.”
You pause mid-motion, shirt halfway over your head. “But they’ll know I remembered everything. The meeting, the Nine—”
“They already know, silly.” Her laugh is light, almost musical. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”
You glare at her, but she only smirks, unfazed.
As you yank your shoes on, her voice stops you at the door. “Oh, and if any of the girls ask why you were with me…” She pauses, her gaze sharpening. “Just tell them Saerom will explain.”
You frown, adjusting your bag. “Saerom? The one you called earlier? Is she your… captain?”
Chaeyoung’s lips twitch. “You could call her that. Trust me, it’ll be enough.”
You hold her gaze, searching for answers she’ll never give, before turning away. Her soft laughter follows you out like a ghost.
The bell above Golden Brew’s door jingles as you slip inside, the café’s warmth enveloping you—rich coffee, buttery pastries, the hum of morning chatter. But the comfort evaporates the moment Gyuri’s voice slices through the noise.
“You’re late.”
She stands behind the counter, arms crossed, her usual warmth replaced by a frosty glare. The air around her crackles with unspoken tension.
You duck behind the counter, fumbling with your apron. “Sorry, I was—”
“With Chaeyoung?” Her tone is sharp, eyes lingering on the faint mark peeking above your collar.
Your cheeks flush, guilt and shame mingling. Of course she’d notice. “Look, I can explain—”
“Save it.” She cuts you off, turning to aggressively wipe down the counter. “I trusted you to be professional. To respect this workplace.”
You catch what you think is hurt in her voice, and your stomach twists. Great. Now Gyuri thinks you’re fooling around with Chaeyoung instead of working. “It’s not what you think. Chaeyoung, she…” You swallow hard. “She said Saerom would explain everything.”
The name hits like a thunderclap. Gyuri freezes mid-motion, the rag clenched in her fist. “ Saerom?” she echoes, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“That’s what Chaeyoung told me,” you say, watching her reaction carefully.
The anger in Gyuri’s face transforms into something else entirely – fear? She sets down the rag with deliberate slowness, her hands trembling slightly. “Of course she did,” she mutters, more to herself than you. When she looks back, her eyes are haunted. “She dragged you into this, didn’t she?”
Your confusion grows. This isn’t the reaction of a jealous boss anymore. “Into what? It’s not like I had a choice—”
“You always have a choice,” she snaps, then catches herself, voice softening to something almost desperate. “You could’ve come to me first. I could’ve… protected you.”
The words hang between you, heavy with meaning you can’t quite grasp. Your earlier assumption about jealousy crumbles, replaced by creeping unease.
“Protected me from what?” You step closer, frustration boiling over. “From them? From whatever this is? What aren’t you telling me?”
Gyuri’s expression shutters closed, professional mask sliding back into place. “You’re a good kid,” she says flatly, already turning away. “Like you said… Saerom will explain.”
The dismissal stings. Before you can retort, she’s already vanished into the kitchen, leaving you alone with the echo of her silence.
Your phone vibrates. Reaching into your pocket, the blue screen flashes your eyes, you find messages from a familiar name.
“Where did you sleep? I went to your dorm this morning you weren’t there.”
The message feels oddly natural. “I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep in the dorm, something unexpected came up”
“okay I wont ask more…”
You turn back to work, focusing on the morning rush. The steam wand screams as you foam milk for a cappuccino. Another message.
“Can you grab my textbook from your place when you’re done with work?”
You pause. Her textbook? Right – the calculus one she left last week when you were studying. The memory feels hazy, but it must have happened.
“Sure, which one was it again?”
The morning blurs between orders and conversations. A businessman wants his Americano extra hot. A student spills her latte. Your phone buzzes.
“The blue one! Don’t tell me you’re using it as a coaster again ”
You smile, remembering the water ring on her– wait. When did that happen?
“I would never,” you type back, uncertain why you’re playing along.
The cafe fills with the lunch crowd. While preparing a sandwich, another message arrives.
“By the way, I cooked seaweed soup for you, to bad you weren’t there this morning, you know the one that you kept asking me to cook?”
You blink. You were craving for some seaweed soup recently. Though you don’t remember asking her for it. But there’s that image – her concentrating, in the kitchen one hand om the ladle the other on her phone, trying out the recipe– No. That couldn’t have happened. Could it?
“I’m sorry,” you reply simply, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
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