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The city outside their window glowed like a field of stars, but Jumin’s gaze was fixed only on her.
She was curled against him on the sofa, her hair spilling across his chest, Elizabeth 3rd nestled in her lap. The soft crackle of the fireplace filled the silence, broken only by her quiet laughter as he tried — and failed — to read aloud the recipe from a cookbook she had teased him into attempting.
“You sound like you’re negotiating with the flour,” she giggled, turning her face up to him.
He sighed with mock gravity, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “I’m far more skilled at contracts than confections, my love. But for you, I’ll always try.”
Her heart warmed at the earnestness behind the words. Leaning up, she kissed him softly. His lips curved against hers, and soon the kiss deepened, unhurried but certain. His hand found the small of her back, drawing her closer, while her fingers tangled in his tie, tugging him down to her.
“You,” he murmured, his voice thick with tenderness, “are everything.”
Later, when the candles burned low and the apartment was wrapped in quiet, they lay entangled in the sheets, her head against his chest, his arm protective around her. She felt his breath slow as though sleep was near, but then he spoke again, voice barely audible.
“Sometimes…I wonder how long happiness like this can last.”
Her brows furrowed, but before she could answer, he pressed a kiss into her hair and whispered, “Rest, my love.”
*
The next evening, the penthouse was hushed, the faint echo of her piano practice still hanging in the air. Elizabeth the 3rd dozed on the cushions as she set two cups of tea on the low table.
When Jumin came in, she moved to take his coat, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Welcome home.”
He exhaled, the lines of his day softening at her touch. “This…” he says as he glides his thumb over her lips, “you make the hours worth enduring.”
As he loosened his tie, she smiled and stared. “So, the others are planning a small night out tomorrow. Just dinner, maybe karaoke after. I thought I’d join them — it’s been a while since we’ve all gathered outside of events.”
His hands stilled on his cufflinks. “When?”
“Tomorrow evening. Zen mentioned a place near the river.”
“And who will be there?” His tone was casual on the surface, but there was a steel thread beneath it.
“Everyone. Yoosung, Jaehee, Zen, and Saeyoung too.”
Something in his expression shifted, almost imperceptibly — the faintest flicker in his eyes, a pause in the way he set down his cufflinks. He looked at her for a moment, unreadable. Then, smoothing his expression, he said evenly, “I can arrange to accompany you.”
She blinked. “You told me you have a meeting, didn’t you?”
“I’ll reschedule,” he said simply, as if that were no obstacle at all. “Your presence there means mine should be as well.”
Her brows drew together. “Okay…but love, it’s only a casual night out. You don’t have to rearrange everything just for that.”
“I want to,” he said, his voice quieter now, though steady. “I would prefer to be with you.”
Her lips softened into a smile, touched by the earnestness beneath his composure. She reached for his hand. “I’d be happy to have you there.”
He gave a small nod, but when he drew her into his arms, his embrace held just a trace too tightly, like a man anchoring himself to what he already owned, afraid it might slip away.
*
The RFA’s night out turned out lively — Zen dragging them all into karaoke, Yoosung getting red-faced after one glass of wine, Jaehee trying to herd the chaos back into order. By the time they left, the air outside was cool and sharp with the smell of the river.
Driver Kim assisted Mr. and Mrs. Han in the backseat. Meanwhile, Saeyoung, still buzzing from the night, asked for a ride as well and slipped into the passenger seat.
He fiddled with the radio until static gave way to a corny pop song, which he immediately sang off-key, complete with dramatic hand gestures.
“Stop, stop—” She burst into laughter, pressing a hand over her mouth. “You sound like Zen trying to imitate an opera singer.”
Saeyoung gasped in mock offense. “How dare you. This is raw talent. You’ll regret not supporting my career.”
Her laughter spilled freer, leaning slightly forward as she teased, “Your career as what? A broken radio?”
She swore she heard Driver Kim snort, though subtly.
But beside her, Jumin’s hand on her lap never shifted. His eyes stayed on the road, expression composed, though his grip felt a touch firmer than before. He didn’t join in the laughter, didn’t scold either. He only sat in silence with the glow of the city lights reflecting off the glass.
When they finally dropped Saeyoung off, Jumin’s “Good night” was polite but clipped.
Later, in the quiet of their bedroom, he removed his cufflinks with measured care. “You seemed to enjoy yourself,” he said, his tone carefully even.
She tilted her head and smiled innocently. “I had fun, didn’t you?”
He hummed, noncommittal. Sliding into bed, he pulled her close, kissing the crown of her head. His hold was steady, but she noticed how long he stayed awake, even after she drifted into sleep.
*
A week later, the RFA gathered again at Zen’s apartment to plan their next charity gala. The meeting started serious enough — program, budgets, guest lists — until Saeyoung managed to trip over Elizabeth’s carrier (which Mrs. Han had brought, refusing to leave her at home alone).
The cat yowled indignantly, scrambling onto the table, while Saeyoung fell flat on his back with a groan.
She rushed forward, half-concerned, half-laughing. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Saeyoung wheezed, dramatically clutching his chest. “Worry about Elizabeth’s broken trust. I’ll never recover her respect.”
Elizabeth swatted at his hoodie string as if to confirm it. She couldn’t hold back her laughter, her shoulders shaking. “You’re hopeless,” she teased, helping him up.
Around them, Yoosung giggled, Jaehee sighed, and Zen muttered something about “careless idiot.” Jumin, however, only lifted his glass of water, sipping without a word.
Later that night, when they were home, she noticed his silence. “You’ve hardly said a word since the meeting. Are you feeling okay?”
He stops to look at her, gaze unreadable. “I rarely see you laugh like that with me.”
Her breath caught. “Jumin…” her brows knit, a faint disbelief in her tone “Are you serious?” She replayed the evening in her head, how she treated Saeyoung. Did she really do anything unbecoming of Mrs. Han?
“Did I...make you feel bad? Did I hurt you?”
He studied her, as though weighing her words against the memory in his mind. Finally, he drew her into his arms, burying his face in her shoulder. “You are mine,” he murmured, soft but edged with something sharper, something that unsettled her.
She stroked his hair gently, whispering, “Everyone knows that.”
*
Another evening, after another late-night RFA session at Saeyoung’s bunker this time, she noticed the scrape on his hand. He had been tinkering with wires all day, and the skin along his knuckles was raw.
“Saeyoung,” she sighed, rummaging through her bag. “At least cover it so it doesn’t get infected.”
He blinked as she pressed a band-aid into his palm. “You’re too nice,” he joked, though his smile was softer than usual. “If Jaehee saw this, she’d scold me. You just fix me up.”
She shook her head, amused. “When will you ever learn how to take care of yourself?”
“Do I have to?” he grinned, flexing his hand once the bandage was on. “Thanks!”
She only smiled back before turning to gather her things. She didn’t notice the figure in the doorway — but Jumin did.
His gaze flicked from her hands to Saeyoung’s, then back again. He said nothing, only placed a firm hand at the small of her back as they left, guiding her to the car with the kind of possessive gentleness only he could manage.
The silence in the car stretched until she finally asked, “Something wrong?”
His eyes stayed forward. “He’s not your responsibility.”
She blinked, startled. “Jumin… I just gave him a band-aid. You do realize I’d do the same for Yoosung, for Zen, for anyone.”
He didn’t answer. His hand tightened around hers, but his gaze stayed fixed on the darkened road ahead.
*
The RFA gathered in the office, papers and schedules spread across the long table. The gala was only a week away, and every detail had to be finalized.
Jaehee adjusted her glasses, her tone brisk but steady. “We’ll need to divide responsibilities. Yoosung, please coordinate with the volunteers — arrival, seating, and meal service. Zen, you’ll manage the entertainment schedule.” Zen gave a dramatic salute. “Leave it to me.”
“Now,” Jaehee continued, glancing at her notes, “for guest check-in and security. Saeyoung, you’ll handle the technical side — ID verifications, surveillance feeds, communication with staff. Mrs. Han, it would be ideal if you assisted him. You’re good with people, and he’ll need someone to manage the guest flow while he monitors the systems.”
She nodded easily. “Of course, no problem.”
Saeyoung leaned back in his chair, flashing a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the chaos at a socially acceptable level.”
Yoosung groaned. “That’s what you always say before everything explodes.”
She only laughed softly. “We’ll manage. The important thing is making sure guests feel welcome and safe.”
But across the table, Jumin had set his pen down with deliberate care. His expression was composed, but there was an edge in his voice when he finally spoke. “Would it not be more appropriate for me to assist my wife with guest coordination? I’m accustomed to dealing with high-profile attendees.”
Jaehee looked up, surprised. “Mr. Han, you’ll be hosting. Guests will expect your presence in the hall, not at the check-in counter.”
Jumin’s gaze flicked briefly toward Saeyoung, then back to Jaehee. “Then perhaps we should consider hiring additional technical staff. It isn’t necessary for Saeyoung to handle it all.”
Saeyoung raised his brows, feigning lightness. “Outsourcing my job? Harsh, Mr. Han. I thought you trusted me with your firewalls.”
Jaehee shook her head firmly. “Saeyoung is the only one who understands our security systems end-to-end. Replacing him isn’t feasible at this stage.”
There was a pause. Jumin’s face betrayed nothing, but the stillness in his posture felt heavy, almost suffocating.
She glanced between them, her voice calm but purposeful. “I don’t see the issue. The assignments have always followed this structure. The point isn’t who does what, but ensuring the event runs smoothly. Saeyoung is best suited for security. I’ll assist him however I can — it’s for the sake of the guests.”
Her words settled the matter. Jaehee nodded, moving briskly on to the next agenda item, while Zen muttered something about “too many egos in one room.”
But Jumin’s silence lingered. He said nothing more, only shuffling his papers with meticulous precision. His expression was smooth as glass, but his hand against his wife’s back when they left the office pressed a little too firmly — as though reminding her where she belonged.
*
The gala shimmered with quiet elegance, crystal lights reflecting across polished marble floors. The RFA moved like a well-oiled machine: Zen dazzling the crowd, Yoosung herding volunteers, Jaehee orchestrating schedules with calm precision.
At the entrance, she stood with Saeyoung. She welcomed guests with her warm smile, guiding them through check-in while Saeyoung scanned IDs, his tablet synced to background security feeds.
Between arrivals, Saeyoung leaned close, voice pitched low. “Do you remember our first party? How I nearly crashed the servers just to watch Zen sweat?”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I thought Jaehee was going to kill you.”
Saeyoung grinned, eyes glinting with nostalgia. “And you — you stayed calm through all of it. I remember thinking… maybe you were the reason I could hold myself together.”
His words came out gentler than he intended, lingering in the space between them. She blinked, caught off guard, but before she could reply, a tall man in a dark suit stepped forward.
“Invitation,” Saeyoung prompted, scanning the card the man presented.
For a moment, the screen glowed green. Then, almost imperceptibly, it flickered red. A forged ID.
Her hand lifted instinctively. “Excuse me, sir—”
But the man brushed past. His eyes were sharp, calculating — too sharp. A whisper of recognition stirred in her: she had seen his profile in one of Saeyoung’s briefings, flagged as a known scammer and data thief who had once tried to infiltrate RFA’s network.
Security acted quickly, intercepting him before he could disappear into the crowd. He protested, but fled when questioned, vanishing into the night.
The disruption lasted only seconds. But Jumin had seen everything.
From across the hall, his gaze locked on her and Saeyoung standing too close at the entrance, her hand still half-raised, his expression unreadable.
~~~
The next day, at the RFA debrief, his voice carried the measured weight of authority.
“Yesterday’s breach was a result of negligence,” Jumin said. “A dangerous individual nearly gained entry — someone previously identified as a fraudster with ties to financial crimes. We cannot afford that risk again.” His eyes darted at Seven. “You know this. You’ve mentioned this man before.”
He takes a deep breath and continues, “For future events, at least until I’m certain he’s capable enough, I recommend suspending Saeyoung from direct security operations.”
The table fell into stunned silence.
Saeyoung gave a hollow chuckle. “Ouch. Straight to suspension. Guess I slipped up worse than I thought.”
Yoosung fidgeted. “But he caught it before it was too late—”
Jaehee interjected. “Mr. Han, the situation was contained. It was a close call, but replacing Seven now would destabilize our systems. He remains the most qualified.”
Before she could finish, Mrs. Han spoke, her voice steady but soft. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I distracted him when I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stayed focused on the guests.”
Her admission rippled through the room.
Jumin’s eyes snapped to her, his composure cracking for a fraction of a second. His tone sharpened. “You will not take the blame for this. You were fulfilling your role. If anyone was at fault, it was his lapse. I saw it.” I was watching you the whole time, he almost confessed.
The words fell like ice, his gaze cutting briefly to Saeyoung.
She shook her head. “No, Jumin. We both share responsibility. This isn’t about blame — it’s about making sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Her fairness only deepened the silence. To the team, it was professionalism. To Jumin, it was a knife: she had placed herself beside Saeyoung, even in error.
For the first time, the RFA felt the tension between them like static in the air, sharp and undeniable.
*
The debrief ended in uneasy silence. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped, but the air still crackled with what had been left unsaid.
Jumin rose first, smoothing his jacket with practiced calm. “Shall we go?” His eyes were on her, his hand hovering near her back, a quiet claim in his composure.
She hesitated. “Jumin… I think I’d like a little time before heading home. Could you go ahead? I’ll see you later.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly masked. “If that is your wish,” he said, his voice calm but edged. He kissed her temple lightly before leaving with measured steps.
The door shut softly behind him.
~~~
She slipped outside into the cool night air, needing the distance. The city hummed around her — neon signs, muffled traffic, the low buzz of life that didn’t know her world was cracking.
She wasn’t surprised when Saeyoung’s voice came from behind her.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
He leaned against the railing of the small terrace, hands shoved in his pockets, hoodie shadowing his eyes.
“You really didn’t have to stand up for me back there,” he said quietly. “Not with him watching.”
“I wasn’t standing up for you,” she answered gently. “I was standing up for what was right. The RFA needs you, Saeyoung. That’s the truth.”
He gave a small, bitter laugh. “You always say the perfect thing. Even when it hurts.”
Her chest tightened. “Saeyoung…”
For a moment, the mask slipped. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, burned with something raw. He stepped closer, his voice low, unguarded.
“Because for a second, when you stood up like that… I let myself think maybe it wasn’t just about fairness. Maybe you’d always choose me.
Her breath caught, the ache in his words cutting deeper than she expected.
The silence stretched, weighted, as if the night itself held its own breath.
Then he laughed softly, shaking his head, forcing the mask back on. “But that’s not who you are. You’re loyal. You’ve always been loyal. That’s… what I love about you.”
Her heart ached. She stepped closer, her voice trembling but steady. “You’ll always be my friend. Nothing can change that.”
She drew in a breath, the truth heavy but necessary.
“But Jumin – he’s my home.”
His face crumpled for the briefest second, the smile shattering before he rebuilt it. “Yeah. Of course. Guess I needed to hear it out loud, again”
He looked away, toward the glittering skyline. “He’s probably on his third glass of wine by now… waiting for you.”
She lingered, wanting to ease the wound, but knowing she couldn’t. So she simply touched his arm once — a fleeting, gentle goodbye — before stepping away.
And as she walked into the night, Saeyoung remained at the railing, his figure hunched against the neon glow, breaking quietly where no one could see.
*
The penthouse was quiet when she returned. Too quiet.
Jumin was waiting in the living room, jacket discarded, his tie loosened, a bottle open on the low table. The third glass of wine glowed half-empty in his hand, just as Seven had prophesied. He didn’t rise when she entered, only turned his head slowly, his eyes unreadable in the dim light.
“You came home late.” His voice was calm, almost gentle, but it cut all the same.
“I needed some time,” she said softly, setting down her bag.
“Time,” he echoed, as though tasting the word. He swirled the glass, red clinging to the crystal.. “You had time to joke with him. Time to defend him in front of everyone. Time to stay after. Time to reminisce, maybe?" He chuckled bitterly. "But not to come home to me.”
Her throat tightened. “Jumin…”
He stood, each movement measured, as though keeping himself from unraveling. “You laugh with him. You speak with him too fondly. You spend hours at his side. Can you honestly say you’ve never thought of going back to him?”
Her breath caught. The calm cruelty in his words stung sharper than if he’d raised his voice. “That’s not fair. You know I would never betray you.”
Jumin’s composure finally cracked, his voice low but sharp.
“I know it could have been him. And it kills me to think he might take back his place… any time, if you let him. Even though he left, even though he chose something else before… he still lingers. And when I see you look at him with such tenderness, it feels as though you could slip away. And I… I just cannot bear it.”
Her throat ached, tears threatening. “You think my kindness is betrayal?”
He faltered, but forced the words anyway. “You are the only constant I have, the only one I truly want. If I lose you… I lose everything.”
She swallowed hard, the weight of his confession both beautiful and suffocating. “Don’t you think you’ll lose me faster by treating me this way?”
He looked at her, eyes dark with anguish and longing. “So even my love has become something you can’t endure.”
Her eyes stung, but she stood her ground. “I’d never leave you. But I can’t sleep beside someone who doesn’t trust me. Not tonight.”
The words landed between them like a fracture.
For a moment, he looked as though he’d stop her. His hand twitching, his lips parting. But he didn’t. His pride, his fear, his love twisted together, silencing him.
She turned and walked toward the guest room. Her footsteps echoed softly against marble.
Jumin stood alone in the living room, staring at the glass of wine. The weight of his own silence pressed down on him.
For the first time in years, the penthouse felt empty, not because she was gone, but because she was just out of reach.
*
The soft scent of coffee filled the air when she stirred awake. She blinked against the morning light spilling into the guest room, her chest heavy with the memory of last night — the sharp words, the hollow ache of leaving him alone.
For a moment, she thought he might have retreated into his cold armor again, burying himself in meetings and silence. But when she stepped into the kitchen, she stopped.
Jumin was there. Still in his dress shirt from last night, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly undone. On the counter sat a breakfast he’d clearly tried to prepare himself: uneven toast, eggs slightly overcooked, coffee brewed far too strong.
He looked up the moment she entered, and for once, there was no shield of composure. Just exhaustion… and love.
“You didn’t have to—” she began softly.
“I did.” His voice was low, almost breaking. He set the cup down carefully, as though afraid his hands might shake. “I couldn’t sleep. Not when you were in another room, not when the last words you gave me were… distance.”
He crossed the space slowly, as though afraid she might vanish. His hand reached for hers, hesitant, reverent.
“I don’t know how to love without clinging, without needing you,” he admitted, the words raw, stripped of his usual pride. “I fear losing you so deeply that it makes me selfish. But if that drives you away, then it is my undoing.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
His voice dropped further, almost a whisper. “Forgive me. Forgive me for doubting you, for doubting what you’ve given me so completely. I have never begged for anything in my life… but for you, I will.”
The sight of him — Jumin Han, the man who had always stood untouchable, now crumbling softly before her — broke her heart wide open.
She touched his cheek, her thumb brushing the faint shadow under his eye. “You don’t need to beg. You only need to trust. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His composure wavered, eyes closing as though her touch was the only thing tethering him. “I will. Even if I have to relearn it every day. Because I can’t lose you, not to the past, not to anyone.”
Her tears slipped free then, but her smile broke through them. “Oh my dear husband, my love, you won’t.”
Something inside him shattered at that — and then reformed, whole and raw and real. He pulled her into his arms, holding her as though she were the last safe thing in the world.
The kiss that followed was not hurried but aching, filled with apology and longing, desperation and devotion. It deepened slowly, then all at once, as if both were clinging to prove they still belonged only to each other.
When they finally parted, breathless, Jumin rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, voice trembling, “but I will spend my life trying to.”
She pressed her lips to his knuckles, smiling through her tears. The morning light washed over them, warm and golden, chasing away the shadows of the night. And in that fragile, tender moment, the cracks between them no longer felt like fractures — but proof that even when broken, they would find their way back to each other.
*
The restaurant glowed with warm candlelight, private and understated, exactly how Jumin preferred gatherings. He had arranged the dinner himself, a quiet gesture of gratitude for the RFA team after the chaos of the past weeks.
The clink of cutlery and soft hum of conversation filled the room. She sat beside Jumin along the side of the long table, his hand resting lightly over hers as though it belonged there by nature. He hadn’t let go since they arrived.
Jaehee, seated directly across from them, leaned forward with a rare softness in her expression. “I’m glad everything came together well. And Saeyoung… your handling of the recent breach was commendable. If not for your vigilance, it might’ve ended very differently.”
Saeyoung waved it off with a crooked grin, though the faint tiredness in his eyes gave him away. “All in a day’s work. Don’t worry, I’ll send you the invoice later.” His attempt at levity earned a ripple of laughter from Yoosung and even a smile from Zen.
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, gratitude unspoken, before she caught Jumin watching her. For a heartbeat, she braced for the flicker of jealousy she had seen before, but instead, his thumb brushed against her knuckles in a quiet, steadying motion.
“Saeyoung is… very good at what he does,” Jumin said, his tone even but not cold. He inclined his head slightly toward Seven. “And for that, I am grateful.”
It wasn’t an apology in words, but in Jumin Han’s language, it rang louder than one.
Her heart softened. She leaned closer, whispering just for him. “Thank you… for trusting me.”
He exhaled faintly, as if those words loosened something that had been bound too tightly inside him. His hand tightened around hers under the table.
Later, when the dinner wound down and the others began to leave, Jumin drew her aside to a quieter corner of the room. His gaze held hers with the same reverence he had in the early days, like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real.
“Do you remember what you once told me?” he asked softly. “That I was your home.”
Her eyes warmed. “Yes.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “Then allow me to be that for you. Not the man who doubts, nor the man who clings too tightly. But the one who steadies you. The one who keeps the world quiet when it overwhelms you.”
She smiled through it, cupping his face in her hands. “I think I like this version of Mr. Han.”
Behind them, the murmur of the city carried on, but in that moment there was only the two of them — no ghosts of the past, no shadows of jealousy, only the steady light of a love that had endured its fire and emerged brighter.
He kissed her then, a promise sealed not with fear, but with trust.
And as the night deepened, she thought: love was not about never breaking — it was about breaking, mending, and choosing, again and again, to piece one another back together.