There weren’t many things that made the office hold its breath.

But Koh Kaori, in a mood, was one of them.

Her voice echoed down the hallway, sharp as shattered glass. “No, that’s not what I asked for. I said revise the indemnity clause, not delete half the paragraph!”

I stepped out of my office just in time to see her snap a folder shut and thrust it back at one of the new hires. The poor guy looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Kaori wasn’t usually like this—not this fired up. She was demanding, yeah, but calculated. Always kept her cool, always two steps ahead. But this morning? She looked… tired. Frazzled. She hadn’t touched the coffee on her desk. And there was something in the tight way she was standing—rigid shoulders, jaw clenched like she was fighting something invisible.

I crossed my arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe. “You’re going to scare the poor kid into quitting.”

She didn’t look at me. “Then he probably doesn’t belong in law.”

“Fair,” I said, cautiously. “But maybe take a breath before you set the whole bullpen on fire.”

That earned me a sharp glare. “Not today, Jueon.”

Noted.

I held my hands up and backed off, but I didn’t go far. Something was off. More than just work stress.

Kaori turned back toward her desk, took two steps—then froze.

Her hand went to her chest.

I saw the change immediately. Her spine straightened unnaturally, like she was forcing herself upright, and her breath hitched. Then, slowly, she sank against the edge of the desk, gripping it like a lifeline.

“Kaori?”

She didn’t answer.

I was at her side in a flash, just in time to catch her before she lost her balance.

“Hey, hey—what’s going on?” I crouched beside her, steadying her by the waist. Her skin was pale, and a sheen of sweat had broken across her forehead.

She winced. “It’s—my chest. Tight. Hurts to breathe.”

“Dammit.” I turned to the nearest junior. “Call an ambulance. Now.”

The kid fumbled for his phone while I eased Kaori into the nearest chair. “You need to lie down,” I said, voice low, steady.

She shook her head. “I’m fine—just—stress.”

“No. This isn’t normal. You’re not fine.”

She was trembling now. I kept one hand pressed gently to her shoulder, the other checking her pulse. Fast. Too fast.

“Kaori, look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain. “I didn’t want to take the day off. We’ve got the arbitration hearing tomorrow—”

“Forget the hearing.”

Her lips twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. “You saying that? Must be serious.”

“It is,” I said, quieter. “You scared the hell out of me.”

The EMTs arrived minutes later. I stayed close as they asked her questions, ran vitals, prepped a stretcher. She kept trying to sit up straighter, to act like it was no big deal. But I saw her flinch with every breath.

When they lifted her onto the stretcher, she caught my wrist. “Jueon.”

“I’m here.”

Her fingers tightened. “Don’t let anyone touch my desk.”

Despite everything, I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Okay.”

They wheeled her out, and I followed without hesitation. My father would yell, the office would buzz, paperwork would pile up—but I didn’t care.

All I could think about was her hand grabbing mine. The tremble in her voice. How quickly the strongest person I knew had folded in on herself, right in front of me.

She was always holding everything together. The firm. The legal team. Herself.

Maybe someone needed to hold her, just this once.

So I drove behind the ambulance, fingers clenched on the wheel, heart in my throat.

And all I could hear was her voice. That moment of panic buried under everything she didn’t say.

Maybe she wasn’t just a colleague after all. Maybe I’d known that for a while.

And maybe now was the moment I stopped pretending otherwise.