You’re only supposed to be at The Garden Bay Hotel for a week. Just a short stay. Ocean view, quiet mornings, and time to reset.

You don’t expect to meet Hyunjin.

He doesn’t wear a nametag. Doesn’t act like staff. Doesn’t act like a guest either.

You first see him sketching by the pool deck — expensive rings, paint smudges on his hands, sunglasses at night.

He looks up when you pass.

“You walk like you’re late to something,” he says. “I’m not.” “Then maybe you just don’t know how to slow down.”

You roll your eyes.

You don’t see him again — until the next morning, when he’s casually helping the concierge organize breakfast menus. And again, two days later, giving quiet directions to the cleaning staff.

And then you see him arguing in low tones with a man in a suit — something about press, and inheritance, and being “seen with the wrong people.”

That’s when it clicks.

He’s the son of the hotel owner. Rich. Private. Stuck in a role he clearly doesn’t want.