Chapter 4: Cracks in the Ice
The days slipped by faster than Seo-Ah could have imagined.
Her schedule at Lee Financial was relentless: early mornings, late nights, endless tasks.
She was often the first to arrive and the last to leave, determined to prove herself, to bury the shame of her drunken night deeper and deeper.
She hadn't seen Lee Min-Jun again — not directly, at least.
But sometimes, when she passed polished corridors or glass-walled conference rooms, she felt him.
The shift in the air.
The way senior managers stood straighter.
The way whispers chased after his long strides.
Whenever it happened, her stomach fluttered painfully.
You're being ridiculous, she scolded herself, slamming a stack of reports onto her desk.
He doesn't even remember you. You're just another worker here.
And yet…
Sometimes, in the rare moments she let herself daydream, she could still see his face — that cold gaze, the faint brush of his fingers against hers.
---
Meanwhile...
Min-Jun sat in one of his many offices across Seoul, reviewing investment portfolios with a frown.
He hated distractions.
Especially ones he couldn't explain.
Yet every so often, an image would creep unbidden into his mind:
The girl on the floor, cheeks flushed, fumbling with papers.
The sad, drunken eyes from that night in the bar.
The tiny hand brushing against his.
Min-Jun leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers to his temples in frustration.
Irritating, he thought coldly. Insignificant.
He needed to focus on what mattered — expanding his companies, maintaining his spotless reputation, winning contracts overseas.
Not wasting time thinking about some random admin girl who couldn't even walk straight without tripping.
And yet…
There was something about her that lingered.
Something small.
Something he couldn't quite shake off.
---
The Office Crisis
Two weeks into Seo-Ah's new job, disaster struck.
An important set of quarterly financials — meant for an urgent board meeting — went missing.
Panic rippled through the administrative floor.
Seo-Ah had stayed late again, finishing some extra filing, when the department head, Mr. Kang, stormed into the office looking livid.
"Who was in charge of preparing the audit folders?" he barked.
Silence.
Seo-Ah stood up nervously. "I—I organized them, sir."
His face twisted. "Then you must have misplaced them. The CEO is expecting them by tomorrow morning!"
Her heart plummeted.
"I—I double-checked everything," she stammered. "Maybe—maybe they got moved accidentally—"
"Enough!" Mr. Kang snapped. "Find them. Now."
Seo-Ah nodded frantically and dropped to her knees again, combing through cabinets, drawers, supply closets — heart pounding in humiliation and terror.
If she lost those documents…
If she messed up…
Her only chance at a new life could be ripped away before it even started.
---
At that exact moment...
Min-Jun arrived unexpectedly at the building.
His instincts were sharp — trained by years of corporate warfare — and the second he entered the floor, he sensed the chaos.
He frowned.
Employees whispered nervously.
The atmosphere buzzed with tension.
He spotted Seo-Ah immediately — kneeling by a filing cabinet, hair falling into her face, frantically digging through stacks of paper.
Something twisted in his chest.
For a long moment, he simply watched.
He should have walked away.
Should have let the floor managers handle it — it was beneath him.
But for some inexplicable reason, his feet carried him closer.
---
Seo-Ah didn't notice his approach until a shadow fell across her hands.
She gasped and looked up, eyes wide — locking straight onto Min-Jun's unreadable gaze.
Instantly, she scrambled to her feet, bowing deeply.
"I—I'm so sorry, sir!" she stammered. "I'm looking for the files— I'll find them right away—!"
Her voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying how close she was to tears.
Min-Jun said nothing for a long moment.
His dark eyes swept over her — disheveled hair, smudged fingers, trembling hands.
Completely unlike the composed, polished assistants he usually saw.
And yet...
There was something painfully real about her.
Something that made him hesitate.
Against his better judgment, he spoke — voice low, clipped.
"Where did you last see them?"
Seo-Ah blinked, stunned he was speaking to her directly.
"I—I filed them last night. I labeled everything... I—I don't know what happened—"
Her voice broke again.
The corner of Min-Jun's mouth twitched — not a smile, but something close to it.
A flicker of reluctant amusement.
This girl… she was a complete mess.
But somehow, she was his mess to deal with now.
"Calm down," he said, voice cutting through the rising panic like a blade.
"Panicking won't fix it."
Seo-Ah froze.
She swallowed hard and nodded quickly, kneeling back down to continue searching — this time slower, more methodically.
Min-Jun crouched down as well, ignoring the shocked looks from the other employees.
Together — in tense silence — they dug through folders and drawers.
And then, finally — tucked behind a stack of unrelated documents — Seo-Ah found them.
She gasped and held them up like a precious treasure.
"Here! I—I found them!" she breathed.
Min-Jun simply stood, adjusting his suit jacket coolly.
"Good," he said shortly. "Deliver them to the conference room in fifteen minutes."
Seo-Ah nodded so fast she almost knocked herself over. "Yes, sir!"
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
---
Later that night
Seo-Ah stood alone outside the building, cradling a paper cup of cheap coffee, the cool breeze whipping her hair around her face.
She should have been exhausted.
But instead, her heart fluttered strangely in her chest.
He could have scolded her.
He could have fired her.
He could have humiliated her in front of everyone.
But he hadn't.
He had helped her.
Without a word of complaint.
Without mocking her weakness.
Seo-Ah sipped her coffee, staring up at the glittering Seoul skyline.
Maybe he wasn't as cold as he seemed.
Maybe there was something hidden under all that ice — something worth reaching for.
Her cheeks flushed.
Don't be silly, she thought fiercely.
Don't fall for someone like him.
But it was already too late.
Tiny cracks had formed in her heart — and she was falling.
Falling fast.
Falling hard.
Without any way to stop herself.