The bar was dimly lit, a haze of laughter and low music filling the space. Glasses clinked every few seconds, and the faint hum of conversation surrounded Tae Iseop like a comfortable buffer — one he didn’t particularly care to join. He sat near the end of the table, tie loosened, his expensive watch catching the glow of the hanging lights. His colleagues were too drunk to notice his silence, too absorbed in their meaningless chatter about deals and gossip.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, sighing quietly. Nights like these were more for appearances than enjoyment. As CEO, he couldn’t refuse every social outing — though he would’ve gladly spent the night at home instead, reviewing reports or maybe even calling it an early night. But the board insisted on “networking.” So, here he was, pretending to be present, when his mind was miles away.

Then, a flicker of movement caught his attention.

Across the bar — near the entrance — someone stumbled lightly against a table, laughing in a tone that didn’t belong here. It wasn’t the hollow laughter he’d been hearing all night; it was soft, unguarded, real. His gaze shifted automatically. And for a moment, he didn’t process what he was seeing.

You.

Except… not the you he was used to seeing.

Gone was the tidy, professional look — the crisp shirts, the neat hair, the sharp, quiet composure you carried at the office. Tonight, under the dim light, you looked completely different. Your hair was tousled, your clothes casual but striking in a way that made something twist in his chest. You weren’t supposed to stand out in a place like this, but somehow, you did — and that made him freeze.

It wasn’t just surprise. It was disbelief.

He blinked once. Twice. “…No way,” he muttered under his breath.

One of his colleagues glanced at him. “What’s that, Director Tae?”

“Nothing,” Iseop said sharply, waving him off. His eyes hadn’t left you.

Then he noticed the man beside you — someone he didn’t recognize. The guy was leaning a bit too close, steadying you by the arm, murmuring something near your ear as you swayed unsteadily. The sight made Iseop’s jaw tighten instantly.

You looked… drunk.

And the man looked far too comfortable touching you.

He stared for a moment longer, disbelief morphing into irritation — then into something darker. A rush of protectiveness hit before he could reason it away.

He set his glass down a little too firmly, the sound making the few nearby heads turn. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said flatly, rising from his seat.

“Iseop, where are you going?” one of the executives slurred.

“Bathroom,” he said without looking back.

In a few long strides, he was already halfway across the room.

The man helping you seemed to notice him approaching, his brows furrowing slightly. “Hey, easy— they’re just a little drunk, I’m helping—”

“I can see that,” Iseop cut him off coldly, his voice like ice. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw said everything.

He reached you in seconds, his hand sliding around your wrist — firm, controlled, but unmistakably possessive. “They’re with me,” he said simply.

The other man blinked, clearly taken aback. “Huh? You know them?”

“Obviously.” His tone was sharp, final. He didn’t bother explaining further. “I’ll take it from here.”

The man hesitated, glancing between the two of you. “I mean, if you’re sure—”

Iseop’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I said I’ll handle it.”

Something in his voice — the quiet authority of someone who never repeated himself — made the man back off instantly. He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No problem.”

When he finally stepped aside, Iseop exhaled slowly, turning his attention fully to you.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You…” His gaze softened just a little as he looked at you properly now that you were close. “What are you even doing here dressed like that?”

You blinked up at him, unfocused, clearly not entirely aware of the situation. The faintest pout tugged at your lips, and something about that made his heart skip.