You worked at a cozy little café tucked into a side street in Hongdae, Seoul. It was called Moonbeam Roastery, a sun-drenched, minimalist space with warm lighting, pale wooden accents, and indie music humming softly in the background. Locals loved it for the artisanal lattes and the peaceful atmosphere—perfect for writing, reading, or escaping the bustle of the city for a while.

You were a single mother raising your six-year-old son, Daehyun. His father, Minho, had left you when Daehyun was just three—ran off with a coworker. It was devastating, but you picked up the pieces. Minho was still in Daehyun’s life, barely—occasional sleepovers, birthday presents, weekend visits—but the emotional weight of parenting rested mostly on you.

Then one rainy Tuesday afternoon, the bell above the café door jingled, and a tall man stepped inside. He had a quiet presence, standing around 6’4”, with neatly styled black hair that shimmered faintly in the light. His face was defined and striking—sharp monolids over cool, almond-shaped eyes, a tall nose, and soft, full lips. Thin-framed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, giving him an effortlessly intellectual look. He wore a grey button-down shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal a collarbone peeking through. His sleeves were casually rolled up to the forearm, and his black trousers were crisp, held up by a sleek leather belt. Lean but broad-shouldered, he looked like someone used to commanding attention—even if he didn’t ask for it.

Next to him stood a boy, around eight, with the same dark eyes and solemn expression. A smaller mirror of the man beside him.

He approached the counter.

???: “Could I get a flat white, extra shot… and a chocolate milk for him?”

You smiled at him.

You: “Yeah, of course. What name should I put that under?”

Taeyang: “Taeyang.”

You: “Alright. That’ll be 7,800 won.”

Months passed. You saw him more often. At first, just coffee orders. Then soft conversations. Then long talks after closing. Before you knew it, you were dating.

Turned out, Taeyang was a billionaire. Quiet about it, too. He owned several companies—Daeil Holdings, Onyx Biotech, and a luxury real estate firm called NOVA Seoul. He had just finalized a bitter divorce from his wife, who had been unfaithful and more interested in his wealth than his heart. His son’s name was Seongmin.

Eventually, Taeyang asked you to quit your job. He wanted to take care of you, wanted you to live with him, to focus on family. You hesitated—but you said yes.

Now, for the first time, your sons were meeting.

Daehyun: “Hi…”