Normally, when a grace period is given, there’s something prepared for when it ends. Like when I decided to make him a perfume and ask everything, or when he gave me a week so he could prepare a gift for me.

In that sense, the three weeks Kwon Yido had set couldn’t have meant only the project’s conclusion. It wasn’t a number tossed out carelessly, nor an excuse made up on the spot. Perhaps I was overthinking, but that wasn’t how Kwon Yido operated.

“I don’t want anything from you, Sejin-ah.”

Then what was he thinking? Did he believe he could forget me in that time? Or did he mean to come up with another excuse afterward, to keep meeting? Was it only my own feelings that made me believe it was neither?

“...Mr. Kwon Yido said he’ll be coming again?”

Contrary to my expectation that we’d meet rarely, the very next day he contacted Mr. Kim, saying he would come to the office. The pretext was “progress review,” and naturally, I was the only one he could meet one-on-one. I spent the whole morning waiting for him, and once again had to walk to the reception room under countless watching eyes.

“Should I prepare tea for you as well, Representative?”

“No, that’s fine. You can keep working.”

Inside, the air was once again filled with the fragrance of coffee. Faint pheromones lingered too. Because of our bond, I was now the only one who could sense them.

“Executive Director.”

At my voice, he raised his eyes. His long, straight fingers were gently tracing the teacup. The instant his eyes met mine, the stiffness inside him melted away.

“You came quickly.”

Quickly, he says. He’d been kept waiting, yet he greeted me with such a sweet smile—as if it were me who had hurried to see him. I should have gone out personally to welcome him, but here he was, looking at me as if my face alone were worth it.

“Let’s sit and talk.”

“......”

I frowned slightly as I took my seat opposite him. However much I tried to remain businesslike, it wasn’t easy. My guard was up, nerves tense as I measured him and tried to read his intent.

“You came for a mid-progress review...”

After only a day.

I barely swallowed the rest. No matter what, there were things I shouldn’t say. After all, Kwon Yido was the client here—I couldn’t whine like a child.

“Feedback is better sooner than later. Did you bring the documents I asked for?”

I handed them over readily. They were proposals I’d prepared yesterday to get approval. Today, I had planned to email them to Seonho for the final signature.

“The ideas are fine, but some parts feel bland. Are you short on budget?”

“No, the budget is sufficient. It’s time we lack. I’ve set only the basic framework—we’ll add details later.”

I worried he might once again ask me to explain everything aloud, but fortunately he studied the papers seriously. He even pointed out specific parts and gave feedback, without a hint of teasing. I underlined the points with my pen, feeling my tension ease.

“We don’t need to change the package design too much. No need to complicate things—let’s focus more on advertising. Cut this and this, add just one seal to the collaboration product.”

“The design team suggested varying the sets that include bottles. And the PR team...”

Sejin’s bottle design was curved, like a budding flower. For the Christmas collection we planned to add golden engraving and a ribbon for holiday atmosphere. For the Seonho Foundation collaboration, we’d add a foundation seal for distinction.

“Advertising can go to Yuil Corporation. Seonho will cover the cost.”

Yuil was one of Seonho’s advertising subsidiaries. Reasonable enough, but it meant much less work on our side.

“...Would you like to sample the perfume?”

It felt like we were coasting. I regretted worrying about his visit. He hadn’t wasted time; he’d worked diligently.

“No, I’ll sample later.”

When the meeting ended, he rose. His movements were relaxed, but the glance at his watch was not. His phone must have been filling with missed calls.

“Organize the files and email them to me.”

He laid his business card neatly atop the papers. The phone number written there was different from the one I knew.

“But it’ll be faster to contact me through the number you already have. That’s my personal line.”

“......”

That’s right, he had two phones. I remembered—the one he used with me was different from the one for business calls.

“...Isn’t there a separate project manager?”

Did I really have to email him directly? At my question, he looked almost baffled. Tilting his head, he answered slowly:

“No manager... when I’m right here.”

Our eyes met. Just that, and something jolted inside me. His face softened, a gentle smile spreading.

“I’m the project manager this time.”

“......”

What executive director does this kind of work? Normally, he’d assign it to a team leader and drop in twice a week at most. And strictly speaking, the Seonho Foundation wasn’t even his direct domain.

“...Will you come tomorrow as well?”

I asked half in disbelief. He didn’t answer—only gave a small smile and glanced away. Checking the time again, he said casually:

“I’ll come next time to sample the perfume.”

***

How many people in the twenty-first century still preferred face-to-face meetings over simply sending documents with a click? And who, if not an executive director of a massive corporation who worked weekends too?

In short, that insane workaholic was Kwon Yido. From that day on, he appeared at Sejin every single day without fail. So that comment about coming to sample—had it actually meant yes? Every day, at the same time, he came to check the project’s progress.

“...Here again?”

I was always the one sent to meet him, representing the staff. Eventually the venue changed to the conference room, and the tea selection for him grew. It wasn’t a waste of time, either—after each visit, the project advanced by leaps.

“Aren’t you busy?”

“I have time for this.”

But I knew he didn’t. The way he checked the clock said enough. For me, it was only twenty minutes. For him, counting travel time, much more. They ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) said five minutes of his time was worth billions—and he was throwing away dozens every day.

“...That should do it.”

And so, again today, I sat across from him in the conference room. Two cups of coffee with a hint of acidity, and a cake covered in white whipped cream were on the table. His secretary had been bringing them in daily, ever since a certain day. The reason was obvious.

‘Representative, what kind of cake do you like?’

A few days ago, we’d been chatting in the office when he arrived. The topic had turned to cravings for sweets after working hard. At that moment, I had answered casually:

‘If I had to choose, fresh cream cake. With milk.’

I should have seen his face then. Who would have thought an offhand remark would return this way? From the very next day, his secretary delivered fresh cream cakes from Myeongseong Hotel—different kinds, in numbers matching the staff.

“Thank you so much, Executive Director!”

“Appreciate it!”

“Kind and handsome—he’s perfect!”

The staff... well, they were delighted. At first wary, they had warmed up after a few visits. Without ever speaking to him directly, they judged him “a good person” based only on how he treated me.

But the problem was how they viewed our relationship. I thought their joy was innocent, but after he left they sidled up, making requests. They had noticed, of course.

‘Representative, next time say you like macarons, please.’

‘I’d love some cookies too.’

‘Cake is fine as well...’

Half-joking requests, but we all knew. If I so much as mentioned it, the next day it would appear.

I hadn’t realized he was this transparent. Claiming he wanted nothing, yet acting like a man trying to woo me. The staff’s imagined romance grew fatter by the day. If he didn’t want misunderstanding, he should stop. But to explain would be unbearably awkward.

“...That’s the extent of my updates. The rest is nearly complete, just awaiting final approval.”

When my briefing ended, he nodded. With no nitpicking from the client, progress was smooth. I had thought time too short, but now it seemed we might even finish early.

“You really do work well.”

“...It’s thanks to the staff’s skill.”

Though without his input, it would have been impossible. No one could excel at everything—but he did. This project wasn’t even his field, yet he offered perfect advice at every turn.

“Usually, it’s the leader who makes the difference.”

He glanced through the documents again. On the table lay scent strips and sample bottles. The glass petal on the cap glinted under the fluorescent light.

“You said you liked fresh cream cake, didn’t you?”

“...Excuse me?”

I looked up at the sudden remark. He wasn’t looking at me, but at the cake. Pure white, nothing on top but whipped milk cream.

“I noticed you haven’t touched it all week.”

So he had been watching. And he, who never touched sweets himself, dared to say it. Mr. Kim always set out tea and cake, but no one ever ate during the meetings.

“If it doesn’t suit you, tell me. I’ll bring something else.”

“......”

Why declare outright that it was for me? The words tangled inside. I hadn’t wanted to eat in front of him, but neither did I want to reject his gesture cruelly. So the cakes had just sat there, untouched.

“...Mr. Kwon.”

I met his eyes. Whenever I did, I felt it—the pounding thrill, the tight anxiety, even a faint ache in the chest. All of it was his.

“I’d like you to stop coming.”

“......”

His face froze. The change was slight, but I saw it clearly. His eyes, darkening, weren’t like usual.

“What manager comes every day for progress reviews?”

“......”

“Especially someone of your position.”

I had wanted to say it sooner. I knew it was harsh, but it was time to draw a line. He claimed he wanted nothing, yet his actions weighed heavily on me.

“Because you come, I have to meet you personally.”

He knew how one-sided it was. The meetings only happened because I was the counterpart. The schedule was being forced. He couldn’t pretend not to know.

“And stop bringing desserts.”

I should have added thanks. I regretted it immediately. I hadn’t meant to trample his kindness—but in trying to be concise, I came out cold.

“...The project isn’t—”

“It’s nearly finished.”

But since I had started, I had to finish. I had thought it through already. It was harsh, but now or never.

“This is burdensome.”

I couldn’t give him anything. I didn’t want cracks in my fragile peace. And I didn’t want to hurt him either. But after such a brutal end, we couldn’t just slip into daily life again.

“......”

He said nothing. His gaze, steady on me, sank into silence. His emotions swirled stormy, yet his face remained composed.

“...We agreed on three weeks.”

That was all he said. Each breath I took came with a pang in my chest. Was it mine, or his? Lowering his eyes, he spoke softly:

“I believe time still remains.”

“......”

Promises—so many had already been broken. Like the perfume gift that had never come to be.

“I didn’t mean to burden you. If it’s uncomfortable, I’ll come less often.”

His voice steadied again, as if nothing had happened. Since the bond, I had learned how skilled he was at controlling his face. Before, I might have thought he truly felt nothing.

“The desserts... fine, I won’t bring them.”

“......”

“Just don’t tell me not to come.”

That was why I needed to cut him off. Because when he was before me, my resolve faltered. Because his sorrowful eyes made me pity him. Because I found myself waiting for him—and feeling disappointed when he left.

“...There’s one thing I’m curious about.”

Maybe it was pointless pride. Maybe my wounds hadn’t healed. He wanted nothing, yet I was still caught up in him. I didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to let it drift. But the memory still clung.

“It’s not business... it’s personal.”

He gazed at me silently. I expected him to tell me to ask. Instead, after a long pause, he averted his eyes and said slowly:

“...Personal questions require a separate appointment.”

Was he being petulant? He had been so serious a moment ago, now he said this. It almost made me laugh out of sheer disbelief. Forcing it down, I replied curtly:

“Then I won’t ask.”

“......”

His eyes flickered. When he looked back, regret filled them. Why did I insist on such foolish pride? I wasn’t the one whose time was being wasted—he was.

“...May I ask?”

“...Go ahead.”

His quiet permission fell. I drew a deep breath, trying not to show it. To ask this question, I had to steel myself.

“When you bonded with me before...”

Before we reunited, he had forced the bond on me. A vile, unbearable sensation. But with time, there was one question I could finally bring myself to voice. Even after I had given up, it had lingered.

“...Why did you abandon me?”