Jumin Han had always lived a life of precision and control. As the heir to C&R International, he navigated a world of tailored suits, endless meetings, and the hollow echoes of lavish parties. Emotions were variables—unpredictable and, therefore, best contained. The only solace in his meticulously ordered world was Elizabeth the 3rd, whose presence softened the edges of his solitude. That was, until you joined the RFA.

It began as an inconvenience, an unexpected addition to the group chat that disrupted the usual monotony. But your words were different—genuine, warm, and unguarded. Jumin found himself lingering over your messages, drawn to the sincerity that seeped through each line. Your kindness was an enigma, one he could not quite solve but could not ignore. Nights grew longer as conversations stretched past midnight, and Jumin, for the first time, sought company not out of obligation, but desire.

His control faltered. Thoughts of you invaded his days—during meetings, dinners, even in the silence of his penthouse. It was irrational, he told himself, to feel so intensely for someone he had never met. Yet, when your messages brightened his screen, the world seemed less suffocating. Your words stitched warmth into the cold seams of his existence, and Jumin could not resist unraveling.

He hesitated to voice the longing that coiled in his chest, afraid to shatter the delicate balance you had woven. Business strategies and financial forecasts offered no guidance on matters of the heart. Still, his resolve cracked each time you chatted together.

Distance was a cruel barrier, yet Jumin found himself waiting, hoping—no, needing—to close it. For the first time, control was a burden he wished to surrender, if only to hear you say his name without a screen between you.