At those words, Han Na-Eun waved her hands, startled, and shook her head vigorously.
“No! I absolutely was not waiting for you, Director. Why would I ever wait for you?”
Han Na-Eun spoke with forced resolve, but it was difficult to hide the faint flush spreading across her cheeks. Seeing her adorable reaction, the last of Choi Kang-Woo’s fatigue melted away. He shrugged, adding with a playful lilt, “Then that’s a relief. I had half a mind to think you were.”
Han Na-Eun let out a flustered laugh and turned away, but his smile lingered in her mind. The space between them seemed to shrink, charged with a sudden, strange intimacy.
“Let’s go in. It’s cold.”
At Choi Kang-Woo’s gesture, Han Na-Eun nodded and stepped inside. The warmth of the interior enveloped them, and the atmosphere shifted, growing more natural. Once they were through the door, Choi Kang-Woo glanced around, his expression unreadable.
“The children are asleep, then.”
His voice held a subtle, lingering note—almost as if he were relieved to have them tucked away. Han Na-Eun offered a soft smile, her tone carrying the quiet pride of a teacher who valued the children’s disciplined routine.
“Of course. They never miss their bedtime.”
Choi Kang-Woo turned to her, his gaze dropping to hers. “Shall we have a cup of tea?”
Han Na-Eun hesitated before giving a slight nod. “Would you like chamomile? It should help you sleep.”
She looked at him with a gentle smile, but Choi Kang-Woo’s eyes reflected a heat that had nothing to do with sleep.
“Could we… drink it in my room?”
His gaze was deep, heavy with intent. As the implication hit her, Han Na-Eun’s face flared crimson. Her heart gave a violent jolt. *Is this what I was waiting for?* The thought was unexpected, yet enticing. What, exactly, could a man like him lack?
A flurry of thoughts rushed through her mind. She recalled Hye-seon’s last phone call—the playful prying about whether she wanted the man to visit at night. She had been at a loss, paralyzed by her own inexperience, but then Choi Kang-Woo spoke again.
“Does that displease you? We can stay downstairs if you prefer.”
Han Na-Eun bit her lip. Her eyes widened, and she met his gaze with sudden boldness. “No. Let’s go to the second floor. But serve me alcohol, not tea.”
Choi Kang-Woo’s hands clenched, a visible effort to suppress the surge of heat flooding his body. *Asking for alcohol? And without a hint of fear? In my room, of all places? Does she have any idea what she’s inviting?*
She must know. Even with the child in the house, she had to know. Her provocation set his heart racing, hammering against his ribs as if it might shatter.
Choi Kang-Woo caught her hand and led her inside. Han Na-Eun followed, her mind a blur; she barely remembered ascending the stairs. Fearing she might bolt, he held her hand in a firm, unyielding grip until they reached the second floor.
It was a different world up here. A private inner door led to a spacious living room that felt entirely distinct from the one below. It was his sanctuary, his alone; even the air held a different, more intimate tension. The bedroom lay just across the lounge, and to the side stood a small bar.
“What shall I pour for you? Something strong? Or wine?”
Han Na-Eun pondered for a moment. “I want to try something I’ve never had before.”
“Something new, then? Hmm. Have you ever had whiskey?”
She shook her head. She’d shared wine with friends before, but whiskey was uncharted territory. “I heard it’s quite intense.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game. Why drink something that strong? Trying to bewitch me?”
Han Na-Eun laughed, a low, melodic sound. “If I drink it, will you be bewitched, Director?”
Choi Kang-Woo nodded, his expression darkening. “I’m already half-bewitched, even now.”
He moved with practiced grace, dropping ice into two glasses and pouring the amber liquid.
“It’s potent—don’t rush it. Savor it, and it will be fine. It hits the tongue with fire, but the flavor lingers before vanishing cleanly. Shall we toast?”
He extended his glass. Han Na-Eun met it with a crisp *clink*, then paused as if remembering something.
“We should say something first,” she murmured, hesitating before she finished. “To the health of the children, and to all of us.”
She toasted, the glasses meeting again. Choi Kang-Woo stared at her, his intensity absolute, before he clinked his glass against hers once more.
“And to our courageous future.”
The words felt heavy with meaning, but Han Na-Eun only smiled. The whiskey was indeed strong, leaving a searing warmth that vanished as quickly as it arrived. When she took a second, larger sip, she couldn’t help but shudder.
“Oh. That’s… sharp.”
“I warned you. Do you remember what I said earlier? That drinking tea on the second floor wouldn’t just be about the tea.”
Han Na-Eun met his eyes and nodded slowly. Choi Kang-Woo stepped closer, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek. The light touch sent a wildfire racing through her nerves. She felt a sudden, sharp shyness and tried to turn away, but he didn’t allow it.
“Don’t tell me you don’t understand. Not after we’ve already shared this.”
Before she could form a reply, he closed the distance. Their lips collided.
His kiss was heavy, hot, and all-consuming. It swallowed her resistance in a single stroke. Her head spun, the room tilting as if she were suffering from vertigo. He parted her lips, his tongue coaxing hers, deepening the rhythm until her breath came in ragged gasps. She didn’t realize she had closed her eyes until his hand cupped the back of her head, anchoring her in place.
As the kiss deepened, a new hunger bloomed within her. She found herself clinging to him, wanting more. When they finally broke apart, she opened her eyes to see his—darker than before, submerged in a raw, primal desire.
“Are you drunk already?”
“Not at all,” she whispered.
“You have a surprising tolerance, Han Na-Eun. Another glass?”
She shook her head. If things were to progress—and she knew they would—she didn’t want to be so intoxicated that her first experience blurred into a haze. Even if this were only for a single night, it was a moment she wanted to hold in her heart.
Choi Kang-Woo leaned in, his lips meeting hers once more. This time, she met him halfway, kissing him back with newfound intent. Choi Kang-Woo let out a low, ragged huff and swept her into his arms.
“Don’t even think about running away. I won’t let you go, not even if it kills me.”
“I won’t run away.”
He carried her into the bedroom. The air in here was cool—the temperature turned low, a sharp contrast to the spring-like warmth of the downstairs nursery. The dark gray bedding felt cold against her skin as he laid her down.
Choi Kang-Woo stripped off his tie, his movements efficient, casting his jacket aside. Piece by piece, his clothes fell away. When he moved over her, his gaze was molten. He leaned down, his lips trailing fire against the nape of her neck, and she couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder.
“Did you know I’ve wanted to do this?”
She didn’t answer. She only thought of the way his body had strained against the driver’s seat that day, realizing she had been anticipating this ever since.
“Did you think I would follow you up here so boldly, Director?”
Choi Kang-Woo nodded. “I knew the moment you waited for me outside. Let’s stop pretending. We both knew exactly what kind of tension was coiled between us.”
He was right. His subtle glances, his hesitation, the way he couldn’t hide his body’s reaction—she had seen it all. She wanted this. It was a feeling she had never known—a desperate, aching desire to be held, to have her heart find its home in his arms.
“I will go slowly,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “But… I’m not very good at this.”
She couldn’t bring herself to confess her inexperience, but the admission was enough. Choi Kang-Woo let out a low, rough laugh, his eyes burning into hers.