chapter 12

He sipped his coffee lazily, letting the bitter liquid warm his throat as his mind buzzed with curiosity. Damn, I kinda love the drama. Should I butt in? Nah… not yet. Let's see how much more he explodes first.

Just as he was starting to enjoy the show, the man turned his fiery gaze toward the room, and Eun-jae quickly plastered on a friendly smile. He placed his cup down and rose gracefully, adjusting his tie like the picture-perfect professional he pretended to be. "Haha, excuse me," Eun-jae said, his tone light and disarming as he gestured toward the hallway. "I have to use the washroom."

He slipped away without waiting for a response, his steps quick but unhurried, like someone who had all the time in the world. As soon as he reached the bathroom, Eun-jae let out a dramatic groan, leaning over the sink. His reflection stared back at him, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to his sleepless night.

Thank God I had no problem blending in, Eun-jae thought, running a hand through his dark hair. I mean, sure, I spent half the night memorizing every single detail in that ridiculously thick file Boss sent me—because who needs sleep, right? But hey, it worked. They totally bought it. He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. I swear, if my eyeballs fall out today, I'm mailing them straight to Boss. "Here, take these—they're yours now, since you clearly don't think I need them."

Straightening up, Eun-jae splashed cold water on his face, the chill snapping him out of his mental grumbling. Focus, Eun-jae. The person you need to see isn't even here yet. Maybe I should just wait a little longer…

That's when he heard it. Footsteps.

At first, it was faint, the soft echo of polished shoes against the marble floor. But with each step, they grew louder, more deliberate. Eun-jae froze, his ears pricking like a cornered animal.

Then came the voice. Low, smooth, and laced with an edge of amusement. "No, haha, that's crazy. I didn't even want to come, but what can I say?"

The sound of it sent an unexpected shiver down Eun-jae's spine. He straightened up slowly, his hands still under the faucet. The footsteps drew closer, each one heavy with purpose.

Who the hell is that? Eun-jae wondered, his heartbeat quickening. His eyes darted to the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the person approaching. Is it one of the board of directors? Or someone worse?

The voice came again, but this time it was softer, darker, almost like a whisper meant to tease. "Do you want me to beat the shit out of him?"

The words hit Eun-jae like a slap, and he stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. There was something unsettling about the way the man said it—almost playful, like he was enjoying the thought. The voice had a strange pull to it, seductive yet menacing, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

And then Eun-jae smelled it.

A faint, unmistakable scent wafted through the air—tobacco. But not just any tobacco. This was the same scent from that night, the one that had clung to the attacker who had ambushed him. The memory slammed into Eun-jae with the force of a freight train.

No way. This scent… it's him. That bastard is here.

His blood ran cold, and his pulse quickened as the realization sank in. His wide eyes locked onto his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

What the hell is he doing here? Eun-jae's mind raced. Of all places, why here? Is he following me? Was this planned? Damn it, keep it together, Eun-jae. Don't let him see you panic.

The footsteps stopped just outside the bathroom door, and Eun-jae felt a knot tighten in his stomach. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the paper towel, drying them as casually as he could manage.

Okay, deep breath. Act natural. Pretend you're just some random guy washing his hands. You're not a target. You're not a threat. You're just a guy who really needed a bathroom break. Yeah, that's totally believable.

The door creaked open, and Eun-jae tensed, his heart hammering against his ribs. Here we go. Show time.

The door creaked open, and Eun-jae froze mid-motion, his hands hovering above the sink. His heart rate spiked, thudding like a bass drum in his chest as the man stepped inside.

Eun-jae risked a glance and immediately regretted it. The man was really tall—towering, honestly—easily over 200 cm. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, making the small, dimly lit bathroom feel even more claustrophobic. His striking blue eyes stood out against his cool, grey-blonde hair, catching the faint light and glinting like ice.

And those dimples. Dimples? Really?! What kind of unfair genetic lottery is this man winning?! They appeared briefly as the man smirked, adding a layer of charm to his already handsome face. Handsome didn't even cover it, though—he was cute too. The combination of his sharp jawline, strong features, and those ridiculous dimples made Eun-jae want to scream. How can someone look like they just stepped out of a high-fashion magazine while also being a walking, talking danger sign?

The man's presence was suffocating, radiating a kind of confidence that screamed, I own this room and everyone in it. Every step he took toward the sink felt deliberate, like he was in control of not just his movements but the entire atmosphere.

Why? Why of all places would he show up here? Eun-jae's thoughts screamed as he quickly averted his eyes, pretending not to notice the man. He plastered on a casual expression, his inner monologue rolling at full speed.

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I need to leave before anything cray-cray happens, Eun-jae decided. Turning on his heel, he plastered on a nonchalant smile, like he hadn't just recognized the guy's scent as the same one from his attacker. He even whistled softly, pretending he didn't have a single worry in the world.

But just as he reached for the door, the man's voice stopped him cold.

"I believe we've met, Mr. Ivanov. Not even a 'hi'? Are Ukrainians this rude?"

The words slid through the air, smooth and taunting, with just a hint of mockery that made Eun-jae's blood run cold. His hand froze on the door handle, his mind racing a mile a minute.

Wait. WHAT?! How does he know my name?! How does he know where I'm from?! Oh yes it isn't even me. Oh, no, no, no, no, no—this is bad. This is so bad.

Eun-jae's heart jumped into his mouth, pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. Am I having a heart attack? Is this what a heart attack feels like? Because it feels like I'm about to die. Right here. Right now. In the middle of a freakin' bathroom.

He didn't dare look back, didn't even so much as flinch. Instead, he did what any self-respecting, self-preserving person would do in his situation: he bolted. Like a bat out of hell, Eun-jae jolted out of the bathroom, his legs carrying him down the hall as fast as they could without drawing too much attention.

His chest heaved, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Who the hell is that guy? And why does he have the audacity to scare the life out of me like this? I don't even know him, but he's acting like he knows my entire life story! Ugh, men like that are the worst—so smug, so cocky, like they think the world revolves around them.

Just as Eun-jae's mind spiraled further into panic, his phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, great timing. My phone buzzes when I'm halfway to a heart attack. Thank you, technology," he muttered under his breath, fishing it out with trembling hands.

That's when it hit him.

Director Jin! He said he'd send me a picture of my partner.

Eun-jae's fingers fumbled with the screen as he unlocked his phone, praying the picture would provide some kind of reassurance. He tapped on the message, and the attachment began to load… slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

"Oh, come on! Of all the times for the internet to be trash, it has to be now?" Eun-jae groaned, resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall. The loading bar crawled at a snail's pace, mocking him with its refusal to cooperate.

And then, just as he was about to scream in frustration, he felt it.

The presence.

That same overwhelming, suffocating presence, like the weight of someone's gaze boring into the back of his skull. The scent hit him next—tobacco, sharp and distinctive, the same one that had haunted him since that night.

Eun-jae stiffened, his entire body going rigid. His eyes darted to his phone screen, willing it to hurry the hell up. Not now. Please, not now. Just load already, stupid phone!

Then, the voice.

"Oh… is that me?"

The words were casual, almost amused, but they sent a chill down Eun-jae's spine. His blood froze in his veins as the voice wrapped around him like a noose, tightening with every syllable.

No. Nope. Absolutely not. This cannot be happening.

Eun-jae swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. Why is he here? What does he want? And, most importantly, how do I survive this without peeing myself? Because I'm this close—like this close.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Eun-jae turned his head, his eyes wide and frantic as they met the man's. The smirk on the man's face was infuriatingly smug, his eyes sharp and predatory, like he was enjoying every second of Eun-jae's discomfort.

And that's when Eun-jae's phone, bless its terrible timing, finally loaded the picture. His gaze flicked down, and his stomach dropped.

It was him.

The man standing behind him, smirking like the devil himself, was his supposed "partner."

Eun-jae stared at the screen, then back at the man, his thoughts spinning out of control. Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Director Jin, what kind of sick joke is this?! This guy isn't a partner—he's a walking nightmare! You really want me to work with him? I'd rather jump off a cliff.

"Surprised?" the man drawled, his smirk widening as if he could read Eun-jae's mind.

Eun-jae's jaw clenched, his brain scrambling for something—anything—to say. But all he could manage was a strained, "Uh… hi?"

Inside, he was screaming.

Eun-jae stood outside the door to his hotel room, staring at the engraved numbers as if they might magically explain how the CEO never showed up to their meeting. His day was already spiraling into chaos, and all he wanted was a quiet moment to figure out what was going on. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door.

What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

There, lounging in his room like he owned the place, was that same man. The one with the height of a basketball player, the dimples of a heartbreaker, and the attitude of a mob boss. Caesar.

He was pouring himself a glass of his whiskey, swirling it lazily before taking a slow sip. The audacity was unreal.

"Oh, come in, come in," Caesar said casually, gesturing toward the room like he was the host and Eun-jae was the guest.

Eun-jae's eye twitched. His glare sharpened as he crossed his arms. Come in? Oh, so we're playing house now? Sure, why not? Should I bring you a pillow and blanket while you're at it?

He stepped into the room, letting the door shut with a click behind him. "You're talking as if this is your room," Eun-jae snapped, his tone sharper than a knife.

Caesar didn't even flinch. He leaned back against the table, his long legs crossed casually, and smirked like he was enjoying the show. "Now, now, no need to be so hostile. Relax. Have a drink."

Eun-jae's glare could've burned a hole through steel. "Now speak," he demanded, his voice cold as ice.

Caesar raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Hm?" he hummed, as if he hadn't heard him.

Eun-jae was two seconds away from throwing something at his stupidly perfect face when Caesar finally spoke again.

"We haven't even exchanged pleasantries," Caesar said smoothly, his tone dripping with mock politeness. He extended his hand toward Eun-jae, his grin widening. "The name is Caesar."