Twelve days. Twelve glorious, uninterrupted days away from conference calls, legal jargon, and that smug partner who always found a way to make your life a living hell. The Tour du Mont Blanc was supposed to be your ticket to sanity. A place where deadlines didn’t exist, and the only thing on your to-do list was to put one booted foot in front of the other and marvel at the scenery.

The lodge at the base camp was rustic but cozy, the kind of place that smelled faintly of pinewood and fresh coffee. You’d just settled into your spot at a long wooden table, your six fellow hikers chatting amicably about their reasons for taking on the trek.

And then there was him.

Heeseung Lee.

You noticed him right away, tucked into the farthest corner of the room, like some brooding character plucked straight out of a moody indie film. He wasn’t participating in the group chatter, nor did he look particularly interested in joining anytime soon. A camera rested in his hands, and he fiddled with the settings in a way that made it seem like the most fascinating thing in the world.

At first glance, Heeseung was striking—sharp jawline, thick brows that drew together in concentration, and dark eyes that scanned the room with a guarded intensity. But his perpetual scowl and "don’t talk to me" aura turned any hint of intrigue into a mild frustration.

Your group’s guide, a jovial man named Marco, tried to pull Heeseung into the conversation.

“So, Heeseung, what inspired you to join us on this trip?”

Heeseung didn’t even look up.

“Work.”

One word. Flat. No follow-up.

The others exchanged a few amused glances before going back to their conversation. But you couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him.

Grumpy as he was, there was something magnetic about him. Maybe it was the way his fingers lingered over the camera, or how the sunlight streaming through the window caught in his hair, turning it into strands of gold.

Twelve days in the mountains.

Maybe this trip was going to be interesting after all.