"I don't know how I'll ever get any work done in here again," I muttered, still catching my breath.
It didn't matter how many lines of code were waiting. Every time I sat here now—all I'd see was her. On her knees. That dress hiked up. Her eyes locked on mine while she devoured me like I belonged to her.
I reached behind me, instinctively tapping the keys to shut off my monitors, trying to come back to earth, to get control over myself for just half a second.
But when I turned back to her, YN wasn't smiling anymore.
There was something there for a flash—something tight, something a little too quiet. Hurt. Maybe I imagined it, but the way she looked away too fast, voice suddenly cooler—
"Speaking of distraction," she said smoothly, "I came in here for a reason."
I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah?" My hand slid around her hips again, tugging her close. I didn't care about whatever she meant to say—I couldn't keep my hands off her. She was soaked when I cupped her through her panties, heat radiating against my palm. "Was this the reason?"
Her breath hitched, and her head tilted back with a soft gasp as her hips pushed into my fingers. "No," she moaned. "But I'll take it."
I laughed, low in my throat, and leaned in to press a kiss to that sweet spot just below her ear. Couldn't help myself. Then I slipped two fingers past the lace, curling them deep inside her, pumping slow—deliberate.
"Then tell me, YN... what was the reason?"
She tried to focus, but her body betrayed her—hips grinding to meet me, heat clenching tight around my fingers. Her voice caught when she spoke. "I need a favor."
Just like that, the mood shifted.
Her words sliced clean through the haze. A favor.
My fingers halted. My pulse slowed, wariness creeping in around the edges of the moment. I withdrew my hand from between her thighs, slow and careful, like yanking myself too fast would tear something neither of us named.
I studied her, face blank now. Calm. But I felt the tension in her body like it was my own. I stepped back half an inch—enough space to think.
"A favor?" I asked quietly, wariness creeping in despite myself. She heard the shift in my tone. Saw the way my shoulders stiffened. Her eyes widened... but YN didn't flinch. Undeterred, she nodded and folded her arms tightly across her chest as she took a few slow, measured steps back.
"Yeah, Jungkook. A favor."
My brows drew together, an angry crease setting deep between them. "Of course." I let out a humorless laugh and walked around my desk, needing the barrier—needing distance before my rising anger lashed out any harder. "It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?"
Her expression faltered, just briefly, but she still didn't back down.
I gripped the edge of the desk to stop myself from saying more—but it spilled out anyway, sharper than I intended. "What is it you want, YN? A piece of must-have jewelry? A seat on my private jet? A new pair of those designer heels you love wearing when you're stomping through my brain?"
I knew I sounded like an asshole.
Because I was being one.
But the rage... the betrayal... the disappointment burning in my lungs felt too familiar—like history rewriting itself with a different face this time.
"You really think that's what this is about?" she asked quietly, disbelief dripping from her voice. "You're serious right now?"
I ignored her tone. I had to.
"Don't play coy now," I snapped, bitterness bubbling up and drowning the part of me that knew better. "Just tell me what you want. I'm feeling generous. You've more than earned it."
Her lips parted in shock, like I'd just slapped her across the face. She took in a breath so sharp it cut the space between us like glass.
Oh, she was angry now. I could see it—rolling beneath her surface in waves.
Good. I was angry too.
"Wait," I added coldly, "Is this about some investment? You have a business pitch for me? That blowjob—was that the sales pitch? Pretty effective."
"No." Her voice dropped to a quiet growl. "That was because I wanted to. Because I wanted to see you fall apart like that. Because I like the way you come undone when I touch you." Her voice cracked, full of pain she was doing her best to shove down. "But I guess treating me like shit makes you feel better about yourself."
My jaw clenched, and still—I rolled my eyes. Not because I wasn't listening. But because hearing the truth in her voice made me feel things I didn't want to feel. Guilt. Regret. Shame.
"Just say it," I muttered. "Tell me what you want so I can decide if you've earned it or not."
She didn't speak right away.
She just... looked at me. And the pain in her eyes leveled me.
She took a stiff step back like I'd physically hit her, but YN was strong. Stronger than I remembered in that moment. Her face smoothed into something unreadable—unnervingly calm.
Then she reached for the office door, hand gripping the knob like she needed something to steady her. She pulled it open slightly but didn't leave right away. Not yet.
Our eyes met one last time.
"What I want from you, Mr. Jeon," she said, tone icy but voice trembling beneath, "is to keep an open mind when Layla finally works up the courage to ask you to buy her a guitar."
I froze.
"She's getting good at it. She loves it. She's excited to keep learning. But she's scared you're going to say no."
Her lips quivered, just a little. Eyes glossy—not with weakness, but with hurt.
"And if you do say no..." she added softly, "just think about it first."
Then she turned.
She didn't slam the door. She didn't give me the satisfaction of stomping away or letting her temper make the exit for her.
She simply closed it. Quietly.
And she was gone.
Silence sank into the room like a weighted blanket I couldn't shake off.
My chest tightened instantly—quick, constricting—and all I could see was that look in her eyes. That flash of something that felt like defeat. Like I'd made her feel smaller than her own parents ever had. Like I'd become exactly what she'd told me she'd fought her whole life to avoid.
"...Fuck."
The word tore out of me because anything else would've been a lie.
I screwed up.
Badly.
And this time, I truly didn't know if there was any coming back.
The second she left, I felt the loss like a vacuum in my gut—and it didn't take long before every other thing in my day blurred into white noise behind the sound of my own guilt.

YN's POV
Enough is enough, YN. Get your shit together.
I'd said the exact same words to myself every morning for the past few days. Each time I stood in front of the mirror, staring at puffy red eyes, a hollow expression, and a version of myself I barely recognized. Eyes dull, spirit dragging, mascara smudged from nights I didn't even bother to wipe it off.
I cried. A little at first.
Okay, a lot.
For the first couple of days, I cried ugly, snot-nosed tears because Jungkook had accused me—me—of playing him for gifts. Like all the emotion, all the trust, all the vulnerability I gave him had come with a price tag.
I cried because I thought he was a nice guy—damaged, maybe. Guarded. Scarred by all the wrong people. I thought if I stuck around long enough, he'd see me clearly.
But once again, I was wrong. He wasn't scarred.
He was just another rich asshole in disguise.
Now that I finally saw him for who he was—calculating, cynical, cold—I could start the process of moving the hell on. It was Friday, and I had the entire weekend ahead of me to officially begin the Jungkook detox.
The second he got home, I bent down to give Layla a tight hug, whispering a reminder to be good for her uncle even if I didn't believe in him anymore. Her little arms clutched my neck like she knew something had shifted, but I gave her a big smile and one last squeeze.
Then I walked out.
Straight to my apartment, where I lit candles like I was marching into a ritual and climbed into a long, scalding-hot bath. Before that, I pummeled my body with a coffee scrub like my skin owed me penance for letting his hands linger there. I rubbed at myself until I was pink and raw, hoping each grain of scrub carried a trace of him away. Every sigh, every kiss, every lie left behind.
By the time I emerged from the bath—steamy, flushed, clean—I felt lighter.
Not whole. Not healed. But lighter.
And still completely unwilling to spend the entire night sulking alone.
I grabbed my phone, scrolled through my minimal list of people who wouldn't ask too many questions, and hit call.
"Jia," I said when she picked up, "it's YN. Up for drinks tonight? On me."
She laughed, a little too hard, which just confirmed what I already suspected. "Girl, that sounds way better than peanut butter and jelly and reruns of New Girl on my cousin's busted couch. When and where?"
An hour later, I spotted her pushing through the crowded entrance of the dive bar downtown. She looked like she'd been dragging herself through the week barefoot, emotionally speaking—but still pulled off effortless chic in black jeans and a fitted jacket.
I raised my hand in greeting and poured beer into the glass I'd ordered her ahead of time.
She plopped down across from me and cracked her neck. "Please tell me you ordered fries."
"Two baskets," I confirmed, lifting the beer in her direction. "Rough week?"
Jia grabbed the pint and took a long, impressive sip. "Let's just say, if I had a dollar for every meeting that could've been an email, I'd have paid off my car this week."
I smirked. "Yeah, well... I'm pretty sure I emotionally repossessed my dignity this week. Kinda the same."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh it's gonna be that kind of night?"
"Buckle up," I said with a shrug. "We earned it."
And for the first time in a long week—I smiled, not because I had to...
But because I wanted to.