02 - Family

⋘ ⁕⁕⁕ ⋙ Mia

The ginger tea sat untouched on the coffee table, a thin skin forming on its surface. The chicken soup, fragrant with garlic and green onion, steamed in its bowl next to a small plate of comforting rice porridge and a glass of cool water.

My stomach was a tight, nervous knot, but the smell was a tangible anchor. It was food made with care, not control. I took a tentative spoonful of the porridge. It was perfect. Simple. Nourishing.

Dal-mi watched me from across the small dining table, her food forgotten. “Eat, Mia. You need your strength. It’s the most basic thing, and it’s the first thing to go when you’re in survival mode.”

I managed a few more bites. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s nothing. The clothes…” She gestured to the sleek, hard-shell suitcase she’d wheeled in earlier, now open by the sofa. Inside, folded with precision, were cashmere sweaters in soft creams and greys, silk blouses, tailored trousers, and a simple, elegant black dress. “They’re from a fashion shoot last week for Éclat.

The model was your exact size. The stylist was going to donate them to a consignment shop, but I intercepted. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Once you’re ready, I’ll get you in with me at the company. We can properly start your new life.”

The generosity was staggering, a tidal wave after a long drought. I just nodded, my throat too thick with emotion to speak.

“Also,” she said, her tone shifting to something more matter-of-fact. “My Tae-Tae has hired a guy. To stand watch downstairs in the lobby. Just as a precaution.”

I froze, the spoon halfway to my mouth. “A guy? What kind of guy?”

Dal-mi’s expression was carefully neutral. “A professional. Tea-min has… connections. He moves in circles where this kind of thing is sometimes necessary. Don’t worry about the details. Just know there’s a very large, very capable man named Jae-won between you and the front door. He’s discreet. He looks like a secret agent always in combat gear.”

I was too scared to ask what Tae-min really did. The expensive, minimalist flat. The ghost address. The ability to hire private security at a moment’s notice.

It spoke of a world of money and influence that felt alien and slightly dangerous but now was desperately welcome. Whatever it was, he had the resources to create a shield. I would just leave it there, a silent, grateful acceptance. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“Of course.” She finished her tea and stood, brushing invisible lint from her impeccably tailored pants. “I have to get back to the office. I’ve already taken too long of a lunch. You relax. Sleep. Watch terrible television. Eat the food I ordered—it’ll be delivered later. Don’t answer the door for anyone but me or the delivery person with the specific password, okay? ‘Magnolia.’ I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight.”

And then she was gone, the door clicking shut with a solid, final sound, leaving me in a profound and strange silence.

Relax.

What a strange feeling that was. The absence of hyper-vigilance was a physical ache. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the central air. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting motes of dust dancing in the air.

I was alone, but for the first time in over a year, I was alone without the oppressive, smothering weight of Greg’s impending mood, his criticism, and his demands. The space felt… empty. But empty in a way that was full of potential, not dread.

I walked to the window and looked down at the city, a sprawling, anonymous maze of steel and glass. Somewhere out there, Greg was seething. But up here, twenty-three floors high, with a man named Jae-won in the lobby, I was, for this single, suspended moment, safe.

⋘ ⁕⁕⁕ ⋙ Min-ho

Across the city, in the soaring, sleek tower that housed Lee Global Beauty, I was not having a relaxed afternoon.

I’d noticed it the moment Dal-mi walked back into the office. The usual crisp, efficient energy that surrounded her was muted, frayed at the edges. She’d been distant all morning, her responses just a beat too slow, her famous focus seemingly scattered. She’d missed a minor detail in the quarterly report draft, something she’d never normally let slide.

I waited until she brought in my afternoon coffee, her movements precise but her eyes somewhere far away. I watched as she set the cup down, her gaze fixed on a point just beyond my shoulder.

“Dal-mi.”

She started, a slight jerk. “Yes, Chairman?”

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. “Close the door.”

A flicker of unease crossed her features, but she obeyed, the soft whoosh of the pneumatic door sealing us in my quiet, minimalist office.

“Now,” I said, my voice calm but leaving no room for evasion. “Sit.”

She did, perching on the edge of the visitor’s chair, back straight, hands folded in her lap—the perfect picture of a professional PA. But the tension in her jaw betrayed her.

I didn’t speak immediately. I let the silence stretch, watching her. I’d known Seo Dal-mi since I took over the company after my father’s sudden death five years ago. She’d been a junior assistant then, fierce, brilliant, and utterly loyal.

She’d become my right hand, the one person in the building who wasn’t intimidated by the Lee name or my own sometimes icy demeanor. She was dating my younger brother, Tae-min, which technically made her family. But more than that, she was family. The only one in this cutthroat industry I trusted implicitly.

“Okay, Squirt,” I finally said, using the old nickname from her early, scrappy days. “You’ve been quiet and distracted all day. What’s going on?”

She offered a tight, professional smile. “I apologize, Min-ho. I didn’t mean to let it affect my work. It’s just… a personal situation. At home. It’s upsetting me, that’s all.”

I studied her. The shadows under her eyes were carefully concealed with concealer, but I could see them. The slight tremble in her carefully still hands. This wasn’t a minor domestic squabble.

“You know you can talk to me,” I said, my tone softening a fraction. It was a tone I used with very few people. “Maybe I can help. If it’s too personal, I’ll let it go. But you should know the offer stands.”

She looked down at her hands, conflict warring on her face. “You’re still my boss.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged. “But you are dating my brother, so technically you’re family. And you have been my family since I took over this gilded prison. So if I can help, I want to. You know that, right?”

The directness, the acknowledgment of our real bond, seemed to breach her defenses. She let out a slow, shaky breath. “It’s… a friend. An old friend from university. She’s in trouble. The kind of trouble that follows you. She got out of a… a bad situation. A man. But men like him don’t let go.”

Every word was measured, revealing just enough without giving the friend’s name or the horrific specifics. But I am a man who reads people for a living—board members, rivals, potential partners.

I heard what she wasn’t saying. The fear in her voice wasn’t just for her friend; it was the fear of a predator who knows no boundaries.

I leaned forward, my dark eyes intent. “Is she safe right now?”

“For now. She’s somewhere… hidden. Tae is helping.”

A nod. That explained the distraction. Tae’s world, with its opaque dealings and private security—that’s my brother for you, always so involved. “And this man. What does he want?”

Dal-mi’s composure cracked, just for a second. Raw anger flashed in her eyes. “He wants what he thinks he owns. He disguises it as something else, but it’s just… possession. Control. Taking without consent.”

The phrase landed in the quiet room with a specific, heavy weight. Taking without consent. My own expression didn’t change, but something shifted behind my eyes—a cold, sharp understanding. I am a man who understands power, who wields immense influence in my world.

My understanding of dominance is architectural. It is built on a foundation of explicit, enthusiastic consent. On negotiation. On trust so absolute, it becomes its own form of strength. The idea of using it as a mask for predation, for theft of another’s will… it ignited a quiet, contemptuous fury in me.

“I see,” I said, my voice now a low, calm murmur. I didn’t need the graphic details. The subtext was clear, and it was vile. “She’s under your protection. Which means she’s under mine.”

Dal-mi’s head snapped up, surprise and relief flooding her features. “Sir, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” I interrupted, finality in the word. “Men like that are a plague. They operate because people look away. We are not looking away.” I paused, my gaze unwavering. “We will protect her.”

The ‘we’ was definitive. It included me. It included my resources, my influence, and my own formidable will. Dal-mi looked like she might cry from sheer relief. She just nodded, swallowing hard.

I let the moment settle. Then, with a masterful shift in energy, I leaned back again, the intensity dissipating into something lighter. I reached for the coffee she’d brought me. “So. On the other note, Ms. Seo. How is the hunt going for the next Mrs. Lee?”

The abrupt change of subject was a lifeline, a return to normalcy. Dal-mi grasped it, a genuine, if weary, smile touching her lips. “That is not funny. But you haven’t found anyone yet?”

I took a sip, grimacing slightly—it was already going cold. “I need to soon. My mother keeps bringing these… money-hungry dolls to every family dinner. Social climbers with the personality of a press release. I want someone who sees me. And all my flaws.” I said it with a wry dryness, but there was a thread of real longing underneath the sarcasm. The loneliness of the crown was a constant, quiet companion.

“You’ll find her eventually,” Dal-mi said, her professional mask fully back in place, but warmer now. “She’s probably out there cursing your name for being so hard to find.”

“Let’s hope so.” I set the cup down and held out my hand. “Now, here’s the file for the new fabric and makeup collaboration. Let’s see if we can make something beautiful today, shall we?”

She handed me the thick portfolio, her movements once again sure and efficient. “The mood boards are in the front. The Italian textile mill is waiting for your final approval on the swatches.”

I took the file, my attention already shifting to the work, to the creation of something tangible and elegant. But in the back of my mind, a new file had been opened. A file with no name, only a silhouette of a woman on the run, and the shadow of a man who needed to be taught a very permanent lesson about the difference between ownership and respect.

As Dal-mi left my office, my gaze drifted from the fabric samples to the glittering skyline. Somewhere in my city, a woman was hiding, healing. And somewhere else, a man was hunting.

The hunt, I thought with a cold, focused certainty, was about to become mutual.