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[Meddle about ] - [Chase atlantic]

They say power lies in the subtle, unspoken things—like a glance that lingers too long or a choice that carries meaning only one person can decipher. Tonight, Iseul wielded her power not with words but with intention.

In the dim glow of the taxi, Iseul's mind drifted back to her mother's words earlier that evening. She had descended the stairs with a confident spin, the silky dress swaying around her. Her mother, standing behind the counter of their restaurant, paused mid-wipe of a table and let out a low whistle.

"You look stunning, sweetheart," her mother said warmly, though a flicker of concern shadowed her smile.

Iseul grinned, her confidence bolstered by the compliment. "You think he'll regret everything when he sees me?" she teased, smoothing the hem of her dress.

But before she could leave, her mother stepped forward and caught her by the wrist. "Iseul," she said softly, her voice tinged with warning. "When you go hunting, remember—there's always a chance you could become the prey. Be careful."

"Don't worry, Mom. I have the perfect plan. He hurt me, so now it's my turn. I'll make him fall for me again, and then I'll break his heart. Easy."

"What if you fall for him?" she asked quietly. "You were married to him once, Iseul. Don't forget what that means."

"That's nonsense," she said firmly, brushing past her mother and out the door.

Now, as the taxi pulled up to the gleaming entrance of the restaurant, Iseul shook her head to clear the memory. The dress she wore felt heavier now, as though her mother's words clung to the fabric.

But she squared her shoulders, adjusted her lipstick in the reflection of the window, and stepped out into the crisp evening air.

The soft hum of chatter in the restaurant fell into a lull as she walked through the grand entrance, her silhouette framed by the warm, golden light spilling from the crystal chandeliers above.

Sunghoon sat alone, his gaze fixed on the swirling wine in his glass, seemingly indifferent to the world around him. But the moment she entered, the glass stilled. His hand froze mid-motion as his eyes lifted, drawn to her.

When his gaze landed on her, it was instant and all-consuming. His breath hitched, his mind faltering for a fraction of a second.

His dark eyes traced her every movement, lingering on the deliberate sway of her hips and the way the dress teased the curve of her shoulder as it slipped slightly down one side. But what caught his attention most wasn't the way she looked—it was the dress itself.

His favorite. A detail she couldn't have possibly forgotten. A detail she was flaunting now, like a challenge, like bait. And it was working.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, his fingers tightening imperceptibly around the edge of his glass. She knew exactly what she was doing, and it was driving him insane.

A flicker of something primal ignited in his chest, a mix of annoyance, desire, and something far more dangerous. She wanted to toy with him? To get under his skin?

Fine. If she wanted to play this game, he'd let her. But she wouldn't win. Not this time.

You'll regret this, he thought, his gaze never leaving her. I'll make sure of it.

Sunghoon stood the moment she neared, his movements precise, almost predatory. His sharp gaze met hers, and for a heartbeat, the tension between them was palpable.

"Hello, Miss Lee," he greeted, his voice smooth and measured, the faintest edge of mockery laced in his tone.

"Hell to you too, Mr Park."

Before either could say more, a poised woman with a clipboard and a professional smile stepped forward, breaking the charged moment. "Welcome," she said, her tone brisk yet warm. "I'm Ella, the PR manager. I'll be accompanying you tonight. Let me lead you to the table."

Ella gestured, and Iseul and Sunghoon fell into step behind her. As they reached their table, Sunghoon moved ahead, pulling out a chair for Iseul.

She blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden gesture of chivalry. This wasn't like him. Not the man she knew—or thought she knew. But then her eyes darted around the room, catching the subtle glances from a few company associates seated nearby.

Ah. Of course.

Just as they settled into their seats, a photographer approached, camera in hand, politely asking for their permission to take a photo for the company's social media. Sunghoon gave a slight nod, his calm demeanor unshaken, but Iseul was already feeling the beginnings of trouble.

Her nose twitched, and before the photographer could snap the shot, she sneezed—loudly. Embarrassed, she hastily covered her face, but the sensation didn't stop, and a string of sneezes followed.

The photographer waited patiently, offering an awkward smile as Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, clearly amused. When the sneezing subsided, Iseul sat stiffly, her cheeks flushed as the camera clicked.

"Perfect, thank you," the photographer said, retreating.

But the ordeal wasn't over. The waiters arrived moments later, their arms laden with a lavish spread of seafood dishes. The table was soon filled with an array of glistening plates, the rich aroma wafting toward Iseul, who instantly grimaced.

She turned to Sunghoon, her expression a mix of disbelief and disgust.

Sunghoon, unbothered, leaned forward slightly, his smirk sharp and deliberate. "You don't like it? Shame. I hear it's quite the delicacy here."

The glint in his eyes told her everything. This was his doing. His game. His rules.

Her irritation mounted, but before she could respond, another sneezing fit overtook her. She reached for a napkin, her eyes suddenly widening as a thought struck her. She glanced at the waiters and asked, her voice tinged with panic, "Does this have nuts?"

"Yes, miss," one waiter confirmed. "All our salads include nuts."

Her heart sank. "But I'm allergic!" she exclaimed, her voice rising slightly.

The waiter hesitated, looking toward Sunghoon. "The menu was pre-selected at Mr. Park's request."

"Of course how would he know Im allergic?" she hissed.

Sunghoon's smirk only widened, a picture of infuriating calm. "I must have overlooked that detail," he said smoothly, though the wicked gleam in his eyes betrayed his true intent.

They locked eyes, refusing to back down, the atmosphere crackling with unresolved animosity. The PR manager, sensing the rising heat, awkwardly cleared her throat, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Miss Iseul, this is your chance to ask the CEO anything you want."

Iseul's smirk curled like a slow burn, her eyes glinting with something dangerously playful. Anything. The word reverberated in her mind, a chance to take another shot, to twist the knife just a little deeper. She turned to Sunghoon, her gaze sharp, the words she was about to speak carefully calculated. "If you had the chance to go back in time, is there something you'd change?"

The instant the question left her lips, Sunghoon's entire demeanor shifted. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing beneath the surface, but he fought to keep his face still. He took a slow, deliberate breath before answering, his voice clipped, tight with restraint.

"The past remains in the past. Time is far too precious to waste on regrets."

Iseul's smirk didn't falter; if anything, it deepened. She leaned in just a little, her voice dripping with venom, each word slow and deliberate. "But our past defines us, doesn't it? We are who we are today because of it. Every step we took, every person we met. We owe it to them—those from our past. They shaped us, made us who we are."

His eyes narrowed, hardening into cold, unrelenting steel. A sneer tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was barely noticeable. His voice was low, a deadly calm beneath the surface.

"No. We don't. Successful people had others who tried to hold them back. I became successful not because of someone, but in spite of someone."

"Are you sure, Mr. Park? Think carefully. Maybe while you were out there working, someone else was quietly paying for everything. You should've thanked them."

"Why would I thank the very person who left me halfway through? Who wasn't loyal, who went crazy at the sight of money?" Sunghoon's words cut through the air, bitter and sharp, a final stab aimed right at Iseul's heart.

His eyes were burning with anger, the raw edge of old wounds exposed. He hadn't even flinched when the words left his mouth, his voice steady with a cold certainty that made Iseul's stomach turn.

Iseul's lips curled into a scoff, a low, mocking sound that escaped before she could stop it.  Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass as she slowly turned her gaze away, shaking her head in disbelief. She took the glass to her lips, the wine sliding down her throat like a bitter pill.

She glared at Sunghoon, her eyes flashing with a fury he knew all too well. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, the tension thick and suffocating as they locked eyes—each of them daring the other to break. But neither of them moved, the air between them crackling with animosity.

The night had fallen, casting the room in a dim, moody light. Iseul and Sunghoon sat at opposite ends of the bar, their bodies angled away from each other, the space between them charged with an invisible tension.

The PR manager, sensing the distance but determined to wrap things up, approached with a polite smile. "Can we take one last photo for the company magazine? It's the final one, I swear."

They both nodded stiffly, too tired and too proud to argue.

The photographer moved into position, adjusting his camera with an air of precision, before glancing at Iseul. "Miss Iseul," he called, his voice polite but firm. "You're a little out of frame. Could you move just a bit closer?"

Iseul shot a quick glance at Sunghoon, the briefest flicker of hesitation passing through her before she complied. With a deliberate, fluid movement, she closed the space between them.

As she stepped closer, she felt the electric pulse of the air around them shift. The distance between them had always been more than physical, but now, as she drew nearer to Sunghoon, the tension was palpable, clinging to her skin like a thick fog.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath caught in her throat when she finally stood beside him. She was almost flush against him now, their bodies mere inches apart, the faintest of touches threatening to set everything off.

Sunghoon's posture stiffened for a moment, his body rigid, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to suppress something inside of him. But as Iseul stood there, closer than he had expected, something shifted.

He could smell her perfume—a soft, familiar scent, one he hadn't realized he'd missed. It was the same fragrance she used to wear, the one he used to love.

The photographer, oblivious to the crackling energy between them, instructed them to look towards the camera. But Sunghoon's focus remained on Iseul—her warmth, the way her scent lingered in the space between them, her presence making it hard to breathe.

The photographer finally lowered his camera, signaling the end of the shoot. The tension that had been crackling between Iseul and Sunghoon seemed to dissolve in an instant, and they both exhaled, their bodies momentarily relaxing as the air between them cleared.

Iseul stepped back, reaching for her cocktail, the cool glass a welcome distraction from the heat that still lingered in her chest.

The soft hum of the music filled the background, the world outside their small bubble fading into a blur. She took a slow sip, the tang of the drink easing the tightness in her throat. Then, breaking the stillness, she let out a soft chuckle, her gaze flicking to Sunghoon.

"When we were together," she said, her voice carrying a strange mix of nostalgia and something unspoken, "we dreamed of coming to places like these."

Sunghoon, never one to show much emotion, allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch upward in a hint of a smile. "I never complained, though. You took after your mother in cooking. Your food was so good."

A small laugh escaped Iseul, and she leaned back in her chair, eyes glazing over as memories started to resurface. "We were poor, but we knew how to have fun, didn't we? Remember that one night, when we had nothing but ramen, and we decided to turn it into a five-star meal? We even made up our own fancy names for the dishes."

Sunghoon's lips curved into a more genuine smile now, his gaze softening as the memory settled between them. "I remember. We sat on the floor, pretending like we were in some extravagant restaurant. It was ridiculous, but... it felt right. The best kind of stupid fun."

The laughter between them lingered in the air, warm and bittersweet, and for a brief moment, Iseul allowed herself to indulge in the memory. They'd been so happy back then, before everything changed.

But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the smile on her face faltered. A sudden thought invaded her mind, sharp and unwelcome. What if she had never divorced him? What if things had worked out differently, and they'd stayed together? The question hit her like a wave, and her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her chest.

She felt the familiar, uneasy flutter in her stomach, the guilt creeping in. Could she really go through with this? Was it worth it? But no, she shook her head quickly, as if brushing away the thought. The plan, the revenge—it had to happen. She had to stick to it.

Sunghoon's voice broke the quiet "Do you want to continue this conversation somewhere else?"

Iseul, startled by the sudden shift, coughed and choked on her drink, her cheeks flushing as she tried to steady herself. But despite the surprise, despite the inexplicable shift in the atmosphere between them, she nodded. She had no idea what Sunghoon was planning, but there was something magnetic about the way he spoke, something that tugged at her resolve.

The ride to their destination was thick with unspoken words, the silence between them suffocating. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting fleeting shadows across their faces, yet neither of them said a word.

When the car finally stopped, Iseul blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. "What is this?" she asked, her voice a little hesitant as she looked at the unfamiliar building before her.

"Home," Sunghoon replied, his voice oddly casual. "It's my other one. I bought it last year but never really went here."

Iseul's heart skipped a beat as they entered the house. The moment she stepped inside, she felt something stir deep within her—a sense of recognition. It was everything she had ever dreamed of. The polished wood floors, the soft lighting that gave the house a warm, welcoming glow, the subtle luxury in every corner. It was as if she had walked into the very vision she had once shared with Sunghoon, back when they'd dreamed about their future together.

She looked around, awe spreading across her face. "So... do you like it?" Sunghoon asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I—very," Iseul answered, her voice soft with admiration, but there was still a sense of confusion clouding her thoughts. She didn't quite understand what was happening here.

Sunghoon, still watching her with that calm, calculating gaze, shook his head with a small, amused smile. "You don't get it, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Check it out again."

Iseul turned her head, eyes scanning the room once more. And then it hit her like a freight train. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart seemed to stop for a beat as memories flooded her mind.

This house—it wasn't just any dream home. It was their dream house. The one they had talked about late into the night, long before everything had crumbled between them.

The rocking chair by the fireplace. The soft cream-colored carpet they had both imagined beneath their feet. The delicate curtains fluttering by the windows, the ones she had always pictured framing the perfect view. Every detail, every element of this house was something they had once dreamed of together.

Her legs felt weak, the weight of the realization crashing down on her. She looked at Sunghoon, her eyes wide with shock. He had remembered. They had both remembered. And this, this house, was the physical manifestation of a dream that was now tainted by everything that had happened between them.

Iseul stepped outside into the cool night, the flickering lights of the pool casting an ethereal glow on the water, making it shimmer like liquid silver.

She stood there for a moment, eyes tracing the gentle ripples as they danced under the soft moonlight. A quiet smile touched her lips. You did it... for us, she thought, the weight of the words settling in her chest. This was everything they had once dreamed about. A vision they'd shared together, all the little details of a future they once built side by side.

But before she could fully embrace the bittersweet memory, the sound of footsteps broke the stillness. Sunghoon's voice—sharp, almost venomous—cut through the night air.

"Iseul," he said, his tone dark with something she couldn't quite place, but the way it lingered in the air made her spine stiffen.

She turned to face him, a quiet shock on her face as he approached, his steps deliberate, purposeful. His eyes, once familiar, were now cold, distant, like someone who had been buried too long under layers of resentment.

He shook his head slowly, almost as if disappointed, and his words hit her like a blow to the chest. "I know what you're doing. The dress, the perfume, the act. I'm not the naive Sunghoon you used to know."

Her heart skipped, the subtle warmth she had felt earlier quickly turning to ice. She felt exposed, laid bare. His gaze was relentless, and his words—sharp, barbed—dug into the soft places she thought she had hidden so carefully.

"Sunghoon," she whispered, but he wasn't done.

He let out a bitter laugh, devoid of humor, and the sound felt wrong. It wasn't the kind of laugh she remembered, the one that filled the air with lightness. This one was a rasp, full of contempt.

"I know exactly why you're here," he said, his voice thick with disdain. "It's because I own all of this now."

Iseul blinked, confusion sweeping through her like a cold gust of wind. "What are you talking about?" she asked, voice wavering slightly. But her chest felt heavy, like the air itself was pressing in on her.

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed, and the edge to his voice only sharpened. "You always pull that look," he spat, his tone venomous. "That fake innocence. Whenever things go wrong, you leave. But when it's good, you come crawling back. And now, I know exactly what you are—a gold digger."

Each word felt like a hammer striking her chest. It was as if he had just stripped her bare, exposed every part of her to the elements, and left her to freeze in the wind. The words stung in a way she hadn't anticipated, so raw, so cutting.

And the worst part was, she couldn't even argue with him. What had she come here for, if not to take advantage of everything he had now? To make him pay for hurting her?

Her throat tightened, the rush of emotion making it hard to breathe. "Is this why you brought me here?" she asked, trying to steady her voice, though it faltered on the last word. "To hurt me?"

He shook his head slowly, the contempt curling his lips into a smirk. "No," he said, his words laced with something darker, something final. "I brought you here to show you what my life could be. With the woman I'll love. The woman who won't leave me. With the woman...who won't be you."

His words hit her like a bullet to the chest, the force of them knocking the wind out of her. Her throat constricted, and for a brief, agonizing second, she thought she might collapse under the weight of it all.

But she refused to let him see it.

She blinked rapidly, pushing the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes back into the darkest corners of her soul. She wasn't going to cry. Not in front of him. Not when she had come here with every intention of making him feel the same hurt she had endured.

She turned sharply, her body moving of its own accord as she walked toward the door. The cold night air rushed over her, biting into her skin, but it did nothing to numb the sting that had settled deep inside her chest.

Her heart felt like it was breaking all over again, but this time, the ache was different. It wasn't the love she thought she still had for him. No, this hurt more because it was real. Because, in some twisted way, he was right. She had come here for all the wrong reasons.

The sharp sting of his words echoed in her mind, reverberating against the walls of her thoughts. A gold digger. The words clung to her like a second skin, and she couldn't shake them off, no matter how hard she tried.

Iseul reached the door, her hand gripping the cold handle. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, and she almost didn't want to leave. But she knew she had to. There was no place for her here anymore, no place in this house that wasn't filled with bitter memories and broken promises.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Iseul's breath hitched. The night air was freezing, and yet it felt like nothing compared to the ice that had settled in her veins. The moment she stepped outside, the harsh, biting wind cut through her like a blade. She kept her gaze forward, refusing to look back, though a part of her wanted to scream.

But she kept walking. Because walking away was the only thing she knew how to do.

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sorry again its toooo long but i have to