SIXTEEN
Taewon
?? ? ???? ??? ?? ?? ??? (Is she fucking crazy? How could she do this?)
The moment I saw the footage after the article hit the news, my mind raged with so much fury. For a moment—maybe even a good few minutes—I had calmed my heart, thinking that this was a mistake, a bad angle that was purposely made to look intimate.
Iris, partially hidden behind Levi, her hands resting gently on his shoulders.
Fuck. I didn’t know what to think.
So I did the next best thing—accessed the security logs and grabbed the video footage.
My heart sank when I saw that it was indeed her who had approached Levi.
Getting into his personal space. I also watched the shock on her face turn into reluctant understanding for what I think was a rejection from Levi.
God!
?? ? ?? ???. (She seriously crossed the line.)
And that ten-second mistake is now being blasted out to the public at the cost of Cece’s image.
After leaving his place where I walked out on a stunned, devastated Levi, I made my way back to my own apartment. I didn’t want to face a crowded office where I’ll be forced into the gossip mill.
I let Floki out of the kennel for a while, my mind still racing with what I saw—and what it means.
Even the persistent nudges and whining from my husky-boy can’t distract me from my iPad right now. I scour through the awful comments berating my Noona.
‘Well… that’s what you get when you want to marry for money.’
‘What a disgusting arrangement. He deserves better than to saddle himself with a high society robot.’
‘Dang! These people really don’t care about love, do they?’
‘Haha! That’s how you get a wife who fucks the pool boy, a cheating husband, and a mistress with a collection of Louboutins.’
‘Placeholder fiancée energy.’
Fucking hell.
‘Rich bitch can’t get a man on her own.’
‘Wow I went to HBS with Celestine. She did seem wishy-washy to me but contract marriage? Sheesh!’
‘She’s always had that RBF, idk what’s wrong with her.’
‘You can see the insecurity on her face lmao’
‘lol just another rich man confusing control for commitment’
‘He doesn’t look like someone who knows how to love her’
Then I see the reply to that comment that has me sneering at my damn screen.
‘Bro doesn’t look like someone who knows how to love. Period.’
‘Man skipped over the OF models and went with THAT? For $5 million? Is this a joke?’
I sigh, throwing my iPad next to me on the couch. The PR nightmare alone that this will bring already has me planning ahead. And then there’s the fact that the Astors—namely Odette, Thomas, and Gareth—will be arrested for embezzlement within the next week.
My mind irritatingly whirls back to that night a few days ago, to the Wentworth’s anniversary party.
And now I can’t, for the life of me, understand who Iris Desmond actually is.
??????
NIGHT OF THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY
This is it. This is my exit ticket.
Levi finally left after a few pointed comments about Cece by Gary fucking Ass-tor. I could see the way he was barely controlling his rage when Gary asked him to put a leash on her.
What a moronic thing to say.
I quickly grab my jacket from the coat check, hoping to manage a clean, uninterrupted exit—when I freeze a few steps from the main door.
The floor length windows facing the west garden should ideally show me a near empty area. The garden is usually something one would avoid during the chilly weather.
But there she is. Standing near the fountains, wrapped in a layer of ankle-length, beige coat. The brown fur lining the hood contrasting with her damn near gorgeous, black hair.
And I find myself exceptionally annoyed by the fact that I know it’s Iris, even though she’s facing away from me.
I’ve only met her three times. Talked to her maybe twice. But our first conversation was stilted—yet civil—at that dinner where Ronald invited her. Unlike tonight, where merely an hour ago I had let my frustrations run wild.
And the woman barely flinched at the venom I had spewed.
My face burns with a mix of embarrassment and irrational anger. I shouldn’t have accosted her the way I did. But she wouldn’t fucking stop approaching Cece.
I knew by the way Cece was holding herself together, that her social battery was slowly draining. So a conversation—even a professional one—with her fiancé’s ex-girlfriend-turned-consultant wouldn’t result in anything positive.
But then I got viciously stripped off my anger by one single statement from her mouth.
?… her mouth. (Wow…)
I need to get a grip. Remind myself that her words were not just pointed, but entirely true.
“You are an errant man whipping fantasies out of nothing. And using your flawed judgment to justify cornering a woman.”
God! I can’t get her triumphant little smirk out of my head.
Which is why—against my better instincts so as to not make a fool out of myself—I find my feet stupidly turning away from the exit that was two steps away.
Then I walk back to the private door at the back that leads to the west garden, all while mentally cursing myself.
“The fountain is closed this time of year.”
She jumps at the sound of my voice. A tiny yelp escaping her, pulling her attention away from the lazy perusal of the statue in the middle of the fountain.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she grits out when she turns. A bitter scowl forms on her face. A small V between her brows that I immediately want to erase.
I clear my throat awkwardly before stepping closer to her.
She’s clutching the front of her coat tightly. “What do you want? I didn’t approach your precious Cece. Or even Levi. You can stand down.”
My lips part as another wave of uneasiness climbs up my cheeks. “I… would like to apologize for that.”
She frowns, looking adorably flustered for a second.
Fuck—no. Not adorably. Dammit.
“For…” she drawls then, her head shaking with mock-confusion.
She’s not going to make this easy on me. I can feel the way she’s slowly gained the knowledge that she has somewhat of an upper hand right now.
I sigh. “For cornering you. Talking to you the way I never… fuck. Listen, I shouldn’t have.”
Her frown softens a fraction and I find myself oddly motivated to remove it entirely.
I continue, my voice gentle. “I should’ve talked to you in a civil manner. And not let my frustrations run the show. It won’t happen again. I’m… sorry. Truly.”
Finally, the frown disappears. But what replaces it is something worse. That fucking smirk is back and I don’t think this bodes well for me.
“Are you, now?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Thank you for apologizing, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you attacked my character. You’re entitled to your suspicions, Mr. Choi—”
Choy? What the hell? It’s not fucking Choy. She pronounced it correctly before.
“—but you aren’t a cop demeaning me in the name of questioning. Had you properly asked, I would’ve given you straight answers.”
“I underst—”
“But you just had to run your mouth on false assumptions. Make me flustered in a public setting where I’m surrounded by my peers, my employer, and my newest client. You just had to, didn’t you, Mr. Choi?”
Choy. Fucking hell—she’s doing this on purpose, isn’t she?
“It’s pronounced Chhe and you know it,” I blurt out petulantly.
She snorts in amusement and I realize a few seconds too late that her tactic worked. She made me flustered and irritable. And I find myself trapped between annoyance and reluctant… admiration.
I huff softly, thoroughly amused by this woman’s impeccable skill at getting on my nerves. She’s watching me with curious eyes now, the anger from before melting down to a hesitant truce.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it.
I take a careful step toward her while maintaining a rather civil distance—hoping she recognizes that I won’t be repeating my stupidity from before. I won’t cage her… again.
Unless she wants you to.
??. I need to rein in my intrusive thoughts that surprisingly manage to slip past my rationality around this woman. (Fuck.)
I’ll admit. I spent a god awful amount of time looking her up after I realized she was the Miller-Moore consultant. Gathering her details, her personal and professional relationships—even going as far back as a decade.
I convinced myself that I was only looking out for Levi and gauging the risk for a potential scandal her presence could bring.
But that doesn’t explain why I know that she’s obsessed with Iced Passion Tango—no matter the weather. How her favorite flowers are no longer orchids from when she dated Levi. In fact, her choice kept changing until her niece was named after the Dahlia flower.
How she finds the most random moments to read a book—case in point, she was reading something at the dinner with our VPs and Levi.
I only glimpsed once—okay, three times—and caught the words “fated mates” and “pack alpha”. God knows why I went home that night and googled what that shit meant.
And that took me deeper into my understanding of this woman who seemed utterly magnetic yet dangerously elusive.
“What?” She tilts her head. “Nothing to say, Mr. Choi.”
I smirk at the correct pronunciation that she has childishly granted me, I suppose. “I’m not sure what to say without setting you off, ???.” (Aegiya ~ baby)
Her own little smirk drops off her face, clearly uncomfortable with the term of endearment I randomly threw at her. I doubt she knows it means ‘baby.’
And I am almost certain she doesn’t know that I’m not using it in a good way. It’s almost… entertaining.
“And I’m not sure whether you actually mean your apology. I’m actually waiting for you to start mouthing off again.”
God! She needs a more expanded vocabulary and find some boring synonyms for the word ‘mouth’.
And you need to control your fucking gaze, Taewon.
“I did say it won’t happen again,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Christ, you’re such a child,” she mutters before squaring her shoulders. “I told Levi the truth. He knows what exactly happened ten years ago—about his parents sticking their nose in… whatever. So he knows why I’ve been avoiding them. Your questions have been answered just… get them from him.”
I freeze.
I had somewhat guessed that our suspicions about his parents intervening were proven true when Levi came to me, after his chat with Iris. But I suppose, this is yet another confirmation.
“So I’d appreciate it if we close the topic and keep our interactions… civil. I’m still supposed to be working with you all.” She averts her eyes uncharacteristically. It’s almost as if she’s draining herself with the confession and my stomach clenches.
Fuck. I don’t want her retreating like that. I want the smirk back. Even anger would be more tolerable than having her suddenly immersed in her sad past with Levi.
I turn sideways and lean back against the stone edge of the fountain, folding my arms like I’m bored—like my pulse isn’t hammering in my throat.
“Well,” I say mildly. “If we’re done unpacking decade-old trauma in the cold, I’ll let you get back to… avoiding everyone.” My words don’t match my actions. And I make absolutely zero effort to leave her here by herself.
Her head snaps up.
There it is. The spark—or maybe anger. I’d take it.
“I wasn’t avoiding everyone,” she says. “I was avoiding you. Save you from running your mouth in public.”
Ah, fuck. There it is. Mouth again.
I push off the fountain and take a step closer, casual. Deliberate. “You don’t like me running my mouth or just… my mouth?”
“I hate your mouth,” she says promptly, but I catch the immediate flush in her cheeks. “It’s… reckless. Unfiltered.”
“But Iris,” I murmur, another step, “you keep bringing it up.”
Her eyes flick to my lips before she can stop herself. Barely a second. But I catch it. Of course I fucking do.
“That’s not—don’t flatter yourself,” she says, but her voice is sharper now. “I’m just stating facts.”
“Facts,” I repeat, amused. “Funny. Most people don’t fixate on a man’s mouth unless it’s bothering them.”
“It bothers me because you use it to relay your uninformed opinions,” she says flatly.
“Careful, ???,” I say softly. I’m close enough now that I can see the tiny hitch in her breathing. “You’re going to give me the wrong impression.” (Aegiya ~ baby)
She scoffs, but she doesn’t move away. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” I say again, because she’s making this too easy. “You haven’t told me to leave. Not once.”
Her mouth opens—probably to tell me exactly that—but her heel slips on the loose gravel.
“Shit—”
She stumbles forward, instinctively grabbing my arm. Her fingers curl into my coat. She steadies herself but doesn’t let go.
She. Doesn’t. Let. Go.
I react without thinking, my other hand coming to her waist, firm, anchoring her. She’s warm. Slightly shaking. Real in a way that punches the air out of my lungs.
We freeze like that.
Oh lord. Her hand is still on my arm. My hand is still on her waist. Neither of us is moving. Even the damn breeze seems to hold its breath.
“Are you—” I start.
“I’m fine,” she says, too quickly. But she still doesn’t move her hand.
She looks up at me then. Really looks. Her gaze drifts—slow, unguarded—down to my mouth. The topic I’ve somehow spun into this uncontrollable moment.
Her eyes are almost dazed—fear flickers there. And something else. Something darker. Hungrier. And I know she’s probably looking in a mirror when she finally meets my eyes.
Fuck.
The world narrows to the space between us. The tension is thick, suffocating, vibrating under my skin. I should say something smart. Something safe.
I should step back. She should step back.
Instead, I tighten my hand at her waist.
That’s it. I’m done for.
She tilts her chin up just a fraction, eyes dropping again to my lips like she’s already lost the argument with herself during the two breaths we’ve shared.
“Fuck me.” I close the distance.
The kiss hits like a collision—sharp and desperate and entirely out of control.
Her gasp melts into mine as I pull her closer, impossibly close, my mouth claiming hers like I’ve been starving.
Teeth graze. Tongues meet. It’s messy and consuming and nothing like the restraint I usually pretend to have.
She kisses me back just as hard.
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but heat and breath and the way she fits against me.
Then reality crashes in. For her.
She wrenches herself away, stumbling back a step, chest heaving. Her eyes are wild, shocked, fingers hovering over her lips like she can’t quite believe what we just did.
“I—” Her voice breaks. She shakes her head once, sharply, like she’s trying to reset herself.
“Iris, I—”
She bolts.
Disappearing back toward the building, leaving me standing there with my hand still curved in the shape of her waist and my mouth still burning.
I’m so screwed.