Chapter 11 …
For the moment, the discussion came to an end.
Seonghun gathered his laptop and the contract and rose from his seat. He said he would add the revised and additional clauses to the contract and send it over within a few days.
“Are you heading back to the office?”
“I should. Things are hectic because of the dating rumor.”
Ju-young sucked on her straw and sent a message to Secretary Shin. The Americano, which now tasted oddly pleasant, swam once around her mouth before sliding down her throat.
“What about dinner?”
Why does he keep asking?
She was about to reply to Secretary Shin’s text—saying he’d be waiting downstairs—when Ju-young lifted her head.
“I’ll figure it out somehow. It’s none of your concern, Mr. Bae Seonghun.”
She stood up, about to text that she’d be coming down—
“Let’s eat together.”
His expressionless face and indifferent voice seized her by the wrist.
Her head was already a mess. She needed to pin the reason for the divorce squarely on Bae Seonghun while also blocking any interference from Choi Kwon-yong.
And now what was this?
Why was this man suddenly insisting on a meal? Did he think she owed him dinner or something?
“No. I’m busy, so I don’t think I can spare time to eat with you, Mr. Bae Seonghun.”
“Sounds like you don’t mind if the contract falls through.”
Her finger, poised over the send button, froze again.
This man, honestly…
From the sarcastic tone he’d used since he walked in to now, there wasn’t a single thing about him she liked.
Most of all, while her insides were boiling over, his face remained perfectly calm—that was what irritated her the most.
“Mr. Bae Seonghun. You didn’t climb to your position without knowing that even a verbal agreement counts as a contract, did you?”
“I’ve always been on the ‘upper’ side, so I wouldn’t know the perspective of the ‘lower,’” he replied.
Crackle—something invisible sparked between them.
Ju-young swallowed, tightening her grip on her handbag as if to suppress her emotions.
“Fine. Let’s eat.”
“……”
“But since this also counts as spending time together, we’re deducting one from the ten dates.”
A short breath escaped Seonghun’s lips.
Was it a scoff, as if she were ridiculous? Or a dry laugh of disbelief that she still had the presence of mind to bargain even now?
Whatever it was, his answer was brief and clear.
“As you wish.”
They moved to an upscale Japanese restaurant on the 80th floor of the Seongun Hotel.
Ju-young texted Secretary Shin to apologize, saying the conversation might run long and that he could head home first.
Secretary Shin replied that it was fine even if it got late and asked her to contact him once she was done.
As always—but especially this month—she thought she should give him a generous bonus.
“Didn’t you say you weren’t seeing anyone?”
Ju-young narrowed her eyes.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ve been holding onto your phone the whole time. I thought maybe you’d already taken yourself a lover.”
“……”
What kind of mindset does this man even have? He had a talent for being sharp one moment and then leaving her speechless at the strangest points.
Sighing, Ju-young placed her phone face down on the table.
“He’s my secretary. An unplanned dinner came up, so I just sent a quick message to let him know.”
“Ah. That male secretary.”
He was the one who asked, yet once she answered, Seonghun merely rolled his eyes.
His lukewarm attitude seemed to say it had nothing to do with him—that he hadn’t been curious at all.
“As I said, I won’t be the one to provide grounds for divorce first. But if you decide to take a mistress—”
Grinding down her irritation, Ju-young continued.
“Well, I won’t stop you. A mistress would be a very clear reason for divorce.”
“I’ll pass.”
He added calmly,
“I’m the type who weighs gains and losses thoroughly.”
“……”
She didn’t understand.
If he truly weighed gains and losses so carefully, what exactly was Bae Seonghun gaining from this marriage?
Just as she had the Oido summer house, did he have some hidden benefit of his own?
She’d have to find out.
Knock, knock—
Right then, the food arrived. Thick slices of beautifully colored sashimi, assorted sushi, and a light salad were laid out in an abundant spread.
The problem was her stomach—it was a mess.
Even after taking stomach medicine, her chest still burned, and despite the picture-perfect dishes, she had no appetite.
“You don’t dislike Japanese food, do you?”
Seonghun picked up the long chopsticks meant for serving sashimi.
“Isn’t that something you should ask before choosing the menu?”
“Is that so.”
Murmuring lowly, Seonghun lifted a piece of fatty tuna belly from the center platter, switched chopsticks, and placed the thick slice into his mouth.
An indifferent voice.
An attitude to match.
A sort of notice that he’d continue doing whatever he pleased.
…Forget it. No point talking.
If it was to protect the Oido summer house, she could do anything.
Ju-young picked up her own long chopsticks, glanced around at the dishes, and took a small portion of what seemed most tolerable—the salad—onto her plate.
But the moment she caught the scent of the refreshing dressing, her hand froze mid-motion.
It wasn’t that she disliked refreshing dressings. The smell wasn’t bad either.
She just didn’t want to eat because she had no appetite.
“If you don’t like Japanese food, say so now.”
When Ju-young only stared at the salad on her plate, Seonghun met her gaze.
“I don’t dislike it.”
“Then why aren’t you eating?”
“……I just don’t have much of an appetite.”
In the end, Ju-young set down her chopsticks and picked up her teacup. Inside was a reddish-brown hojicha.
She wet her lips with the warm tea. Among the lavish spread, it was the only thing she could bring herself to touch.
Though she wasn’t sure tea even counted as a dish.
“You should eat mor—”
Her words twisted off.
Seonghun had placed a thick slice of salmon sashimi onto her plate.
What reason could there be to give sashimi to someone who said they had no appetite? It didn’t look like simple kindness—the calm in his eyes was cold.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Is salmon not to your taste, Ms. Choi Ju-young? Then how about tuna?”
He picked up a piece of tuna sashimi and placed it beside the salmon, then calmly watched her reaction.
“Is tuna not good either? Then—”
His gaze swept over the dishes, as if considering what to give her next. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“Shrimp sashimi should suit your taste.”
“……”
“Oh, there’s amberjack and sea bream too.”
Slices of sashimi piled up one after another.
Soon there was so much that some pieces began sliding off her plate.
“Ms. Choi Ju-young.”
Setting his chopsticks down, Seonghun leaned an arm on the table. His naturally clenched fist propped up his chin.
He smiled brightly—yet his eyes were not smiling at all.
“Try it. Unless you want the reason for divorce to be death by—”
“What do you think you’re—”
“……”
“—doing?”
Ju-young’s voice was sharp with displeasure. She’d watched to see how far he’d go, and Bae Seonghun had crossed the line.
“Why?”
The raised corner of his mouth quickly settled.
“We may not look it, but we’re on a date right now. Is it strange to serve food to your partner?”
“Did you not hear me say I had no appetite?”
“The less appetite you have, the more you should eat. And if you’re lovers, you should take even better care of each other.”
“I think we’re past the age of being ‘taken care of.’ Both of us.”
Their gazes tangled.
The tension between them pulled taut, visible in the air.
Ha—unable to hold it in, Ju-young let out a hollow laugh.
A date? Lovers? Ridiculous nonsense, wrapping the current situation in such a pretty package.
“That’s enough. If you’re going to act like this, don’t do it.”
She roughly swept her hair back and stood up.
“There are plenty of men to marry besides you.”
Ju-young strode out of the private room. Through the door closing behind her, she heard Bae Seonghun mutter to himself.
What a personality.
Ju-young’s response to that was simple.
“Crazy bastard.”
