Hobby? Her words sting, but deep down, I know she doesn’t mean it. “Minji, I really didn’t know?—”
She meets my eyes in the mirror, her gaze cold and unforgiving. “Of course you didn’t. You never do.”
I want to reach for her, to steady her the moment I step in. But she’s already yanking off her pajamas and throwing on a black silk robe.
She whirls toward me, and I almost stumble back. “You’re going to apologize. You’ll say you didn’t mean it—that’s what everyone says.” She unleashes, each word a thrown dart. “But my life isn’t some fucking chapter in your story, Aaron.”
My instinct to defend myself scorches my throat. “I’m not like William. I would never hurt you on purpose?—”
She laughs, brittle and achingly beautiful. “Exactly. Nobody ever means to hurt me,” she spits, lip curled. “Yet it keeps happening, over and over, and I’m left cleaning up the mess.” She lifts her chin, jaw clenched.
I step forward, hands splayed, but she holds up a hand. “Don’t.”
My heart thunders. I want to shout that she’s being unfair, that I canceled my tour and flew home for her, that love means screwing up and then fixing it. But the exhaustion in her eyes stops me cold.
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” I admit, every ounce of me sincere. “I wish I could undo it. I swear I didn’t know. If I realized one of them was your client, I wouldn’t have even said hello. Minji, I haven’t sat in on most of your consultations or followed you to every deposition—how the hell would I know? How could I predict that one gym trip would put me in front of your biggest client? And you made confidentiality clear: no names unless I was in the room. I would never?—”
She cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter. The damage is done. Now I have to watch William—who can’t hold a candle to me—enjoy the fruits of my labor.” She wipes at her eyes, stopping tears before they fall. “Just leave, Aaron. Please.”
“Minji—”
She uses the same clipped tone she reserves for William, and it cuts deeper than any argument. “Please, I want to be alone right now.”
I freeze. Every counterargument dies on my tongue as I stare at her face. All I can do is nod once and retreat toward the door.
“Wait,” she calls, voice cracking. “Don’t go. But also—” She inhales sharply. “I reserve the right to hate you for approximately the next fiscal quarter.”
The contradiction hits me like déjà vu. Sophomore year, she threatened to leave my dorm at 3 AM during finals, then melted against me when I offered to walk her home. I reach for her hand and tug gently. She resists for a heartbeat, then crashes into me like a wave finding shore. Her forehead thumps against my chest.
We stand like that for several breaths, city noise seeping through the double-paned windows. I want to say I’d set theworld on fire if it meant she’d get what she deserves, but instead I just hold her until the shivers fade.
Minji finally steps back, her voice barely carries. “God, I’m pathetic.”
“No,” I say, studying the floor tiles. “You’re human. I happen to specialize in those.” I press my lips to her hairline.
Her fists clench, unclench. Then her face crumples—not the elegant, single-tear kind, but full, hiccupping sobs. There’s snot too, the whole nine yards. She even tries to stop it with the back of her hand, smearing her nose a sickly army-green thanks to the remnants of the face mask. I do the only thing that makes sense. I pull her close and hold her tight.
After a while, her voice emerges muffled against my chest. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was, though.” I press my lips to her temple. “And I promise I’ll find a way to fix it.”
She pulls back, eyes red-rimmed but dry now. “My career? Just like that?”
“I don’t know how yet.” I smooth her hair back from her forehead. “Maybe I’ll have William framed for insider trading. Or start a rumor that he’s writing an unauthorized tell-all about the firm’s clients.”
A laugh escapes her, small but real. “God, you’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously yours.” I work my fingers through her hair, the silky strands sliding between my fingers.
I will make this right, even if it means destroying a marriage.
A weekand a half has crawled by since that night at Minji’s, and my phone is now a mausoleum of unanswered messages.Every text is left on read, each attempt at contact… nothing but utter silence. Yesterday, I even sent a voice memo breathlessly reciting legal jargon, hoping for a laugh, but the only reply was silence. Logic says to retreat. Emotion wants to rent a plane and scrawl ‘I’M SORRY’ across the sky above her office.
Axel and Grayson have staged an ‘intervention’ in my living room, which devolved almost instantly into a contest over who’s been my superior wingman, all while I drain my liquor cabinet dry.
I pour three fingers of bourbon, muttering, “All I want is temporary amnesia.”
Grayson intercepts the bottle. “Not on my watch.”
