Rain had begun to patter against the high windows, blurring the neon city into watercolor. The rest of Lumina was bustling—last-minute fittings, urgent phone calls, interns zipping through with garment bags slung over their shoulders. But Yura's office was a quiet world apart, dim and still, the hush broken only by the distant clack of heels on marble.

Lawyer Park's closing words still seemed to echo in the glass and steel, even after he'd left with a polite nod and a promise to follow up soon. The click of the door felt final, like the toll of a bell marking the end of someone's patience.

Yura slumped behind her broad desk, shoulders rounded by too many hours spent upright, hands pressed against her temples as if she could ward off the headache with sheer will. In the golden spill of lamplight, her features were drawn, the glamour of her role slipping away to reveal the fatigue beneath.

Joon-ho sat nearby, elbows on his knees, watching her with quiet concern. He let the silence linger—a shared comfort, a rare gift in their relentless days—before speaking.

"What made you call Park for a divorce consult?" he asked, voice low, careful not to shatter her fragile calm. "Is it… Baek Ji-hwan again?"

She opened her eyes, the weight of the question visible even in her tired blink. "It never ends with him. He wants his new girlfriend—barely out of college, some European model—on the runway for Fashion Week. He's not even subtle about it anymore. And now he's working the family, promising shares, cash, whatever it takes to get the elders on his side." Her voice grew tight, trembling with a kind of helpless fury. "He's burning through Hanzenith's new crypto money like it'll last forever. I don't know if he's going to destroy himself, or try to take me with him."

She rubbed her eyes, then, as if even seeing was too much for now. "And they're listening. Of course they are. Anything for another slice of someone else's fortune."

Joon-ho stood, his movement gentle but deliberate, and stepped behind her chair. He laid his palms lightly on her temples, thumbs circling in slow, steady patterns—an anchor in the storm. She breathed out, long and shuddering, and let her shoulders drop, giving herself over to his touch.

"I spoke to Appa this morning," she murmured, her voice softening, pain tucked between the words. "The marriage was never his idea—he tried to stop it. But the elders… they forced it, called in debts, twisted his arm. He's better now, I think, finally starting to recover in business, but the stress…" Her words caught, and for a moment, she sounded very young, very small. "He had a health scare. I almost lost him, and if Ji-hwan starts pulling him back into all this…" She trailed off, biting her lip, fighting tears.

Joon-ho let his hands slide to her neck, then her shoulders, kneading with careful strength. He worked his thumbs along the cords of muscle, tracing the lines of stress he knew by heart. "You're carrying too much, Yura. Maybe it's time you set something down. Even just for a day. The world won't fall apart if you step away—Fashion Week won't burn without you."

She gave a soft, disbelieving laugh, the sound tinged with relief and longing. "You'd think after all these years I'd know how to rest." She let her head fall forward, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation of being cared for. "Maybe after the show… Maybe then I'll finally take a holiday. Somewhere no one can find me."

He smiled, though she couldn't see it, and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "If you do, I'll be your bodyguard. Or your luggage boy. Whatever you need."

Yura chuckled, the laughter rippling through her like a small wave loosening knots. She reached up, covering one of his hands with hers, squeezing. "For now, I just need this."

He worked in silence, the only sounds the soft rain and the quiet crackle of her breath slowly evening out. When he finally stopped, she turned in her chair to face him, searching his eyes.

He bent, cradled her cheek in his palm, and kissed her—slow, unhurried, a kiss that was more promise than passion. Her hand found his wrist, holding him there, as if afraid he might slip away.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Thank you," she whispered, voice thick with gratitude and something close to relief.

Joon-ho brushed his lips over her hair, his fingers tracing gentle lines along her back. "Always. Whatever happens next, you're not alone."

The city lights flickered outside, the hum of Seoul life continuing, oblivious to their little sanctuary. For a moment, time stretched—no rush, no looming headlines, just two people breathing in the quiet after the storm, drawing strength from the simple, stubborn fact that they still had each other.

And in that pause, Yura finally allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she would survive what came next—not because she was invincible, but because she was loved.

The evening chill had seeped into the marble hallways of Lumina, muting the earlier commotion of designers and models packing up. The elevator hummed its way down from the executive suite, carrying Joon-ho and Yura—two warriors momentarily off the battlefield.

Joon-ho had offered his arm as they left her office, a silent escort through the corridors lined with racks of half-finished dresses, boxes of invitations, the scent of fabric and steam pressing in around them. The noise of the world seemed to fade the farther they walked, leaving them in a hush edged with anticipation and exhaustion.

He paused at the corner where the corridor widened, letting a pair of assistants scurry by with garment bags before he spoke. "How's Harin? Still managing to survive your regime?" His smile was gentle, teasing—just enough to let her drop her guard.

Yura's lips curled, the first real smile he'd seen on her face since the meeting with Park. "She's a force. I throw anything at her, she masters it. Honestly, the only reason she's not running the whole show is because I keep getting calls from sponsors and brands changing their minds. We're in that limbo—waiting for confirmations, final model lists, venue approvals. But if she keeps this up, next year she'll be the one hiring me."

Joon-ho let himself imagine it for a moment: Harin, with her quick wit and faster fingers, barking orders while Yura stood to the side with a clipboard, finally breathing. It almost made the grind feel hopeful. "She always did have too much energy to just be a junior. Maybe you should make her your partner."

"Don't tempt me," Yura replied, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as they rounded the last corner.

A security guard at the front desk bowed as they passed, eyeing the two of them with the curiosity of someone used to seeing celebrities but still able to appreciate the intimacy of a quiet partnership. The main lobby was nearly empty, the last of the staff filtering out through the glass doors as the city's evening pulse grew louder.

The revolving doors glimmered under the lights, their mirrored panels showing fractured images of Yura and Joon-ho side by side—a pair of survivors.

As they waited for the elevator to the parking garage, Yura asked, "What about you? Did you and Park decide anything for Mirae?"

Joon-ho exhaled, eyes fixed on the polished marble at his feet. "We talked through everything. His idea is a new agency—build a safe place for Mirae after we pull her out of EON. He's got dreams of fixing the whole system, breaking the power of agencies like EON, White Prism, all of them. I admire it, but honestly…" He turned to her, his voice low. "All I want is to keep her safe. Make sure what happened to her doesn't happen again. The rest—money, headlines—if it comes, it comes."

Yura arched an eyebrow, challenging but proud. "And if that puts a target on your back? EON's not going to forgive you for stealing their cash cow, especially if you start something that makes the other CEOs nervous."

"I've never cared much about forgiveness," he said, almost grinning. "If Mirae needs a shield, I'll be it. I'm not interested in power plays. But I won't let her sign another contract with a leash on it. Park wants a revolution. I just want Mirae free. If we end up building something bigger, I'll figure it out then."

They reached the elevator. Yura hit the button, and for a second, they stood together, the reflection of city lights glimmering in the glass.

She leaned her head against the cool wall, sighing. "It's strange. You're the first man I've ever met who'd walk into the fire for someone else just because he could." Her eyes met his, soft, wondering. "You're too good at making people believe, Joon-ho. One day you'll have an army, and you'll still think it's all an accident."

He reached for her hand, squeezed it lightly. "If I ever get that army, I'll need a general. You in?"

Yura snorted, the sound full of old affection. "Only if I get a vacation first. And a raise."

The elevator dinged open, and they stepped in. The ride was smooth, silent. They watched the floors tick down: 12, 11, 10…

"I know it's a lot," Joon-ho said, breaking the silence. "But I want more time for all of us. For you. For Harin, for Ji-hye, Min-Kyung, Mirae. If I have to give up the clinic, I'd do it if it meant I could actually be there."

Yura's smile turned wistful. "You know, when I was young, I thought ambition would fill all the empty spaces. Now I think I just want the people I love around me, safe and whole. Is that so wrong?"

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender. "No. It's the only thing that matters."

The elevator arrived at the lobby. As the doors slid open, the city's noise pressed in—cars, horns, distant music, laughter rising from bars and cafes. The world was moving too fast, but for a moment, they stood still together.

"I'm heading home," Yura said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Promise me you won't let Harin work herself to death tonight. Or you, for that matter."

He grinned. "No promises. We're hopeless cases, both of us."

She lingered a moment longer, then kissed his cheek—a soft, lingering touch. "Rest tonight, Joon-ho. Tomorrow, we start the next war."

He watched her walk away, her figure dissolving into the pulse of Seoul. For a moment, he felt the weight of the battles ahead—the legal fights, the headlines, the ambitions and fears of everyone he loved.

But beneath it all, there was a current of hope—a sense that maybe, just maybe, this found family could build something new, something cleaner, in a city that had always run on secrets.

He squared his shoulders, turned back toward the corridor, and made his way to find Harin—ready, once again, to face whatever tomorrow would bring.

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