And my heart stopped.
Timestopped.
Hell, the whole world felt like it stopped rotating as I stared into the eyes of the woman whose very existence both haunted and enraged me in the same breath.
Seven years ago, she’d stolen my heart.She stole the rhythm of the beat inside it and made it her own. She stole the very air from my lungs and watched as I fought for air. And for her, I would have gladly suffocated a thousand times over just to have her next to me.
Until she walked away and changed everything.
For seven years, I’d hated and loved her. I never thought, of all the people, of all the cities and markets and agents in the world, that one day I’d come face to face with the woman who broke my heart and soul all those years ago.
And here she was, inches from me, her eyes swimming with recognition, sadness, and something else. Something I didn’t want to see in the depths of that traitorous gaze.
Manipulative. That’s all she is, Jun. She left you, you idiot. Don’t you dare give her another second of your time. Just shake her hand and pretend you don’t even know her.
Over the past seven years, I told myself that if I ever ran into her again, I’d tell her exactly how I felt and what I thought of her for leaving like she did, abandoning us like she had. Disappearing without so much as a goodbye, leaving behind a part of herself as if it cost her nothing to abandon a child she’d carried for nine months without even giving her a name.
Yang-Jin jammed his finger into my spine, and it stunned me long enough to take her hand and pretend I wasn’t seething with all sorts of emotions I didn’t want to analyze right now. “Kim Seo-Jun.”
“Right.” Those long lashes I’d spent nights staring at fluttered as she stared at our shoes, hoping to avoid aconfrontation. In Korea, it might be seen as a sign of respect for a higher-ranking acquaintance or elder. In her homeland, refusing to meet my gaze made her a coward.
Nothing more.
Minseo watched as Yang-Jin shoo-ed me aside and flashed her a smile that spoke volumes without a single word. “Yang-Jin, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”
What a joke. He was playing with her, and we all knew it. She’d worked alongside us for a year and a half in Korea before her abrupt departure. And here he was, pretending he’d never met her.
Minseo didn’t offer her his hand, just an angry stare that did nothing to hide his contempt for her. These poor men who worked alongside her probably thought we were mannerless assholes from the way we treated her, but if they cared, they weren’t showing it.
We all sat opposite the KR employees, putting a table between us and both our past and future. Beneath the table, I could feel Yang-Jin’s leg bouncing, the same move that always happened when dealing with something that made him anxious. Minseo’s hands steepled atop the table as he regarded the contract in front of him like he hadn’t read it six times through using a translation app and a dictionary to make sure he understood every word. I wanted no surprises this time, and they were determined to ensure this new contract worked for me and the company I’d sign with.
I didn’t want a repeat of our old label.
Predatory contracts, no-dating clauses, and rules on everything from where we were allowed to be seen to what we should wear when leaving the dorms. As teenagers eager for stardom and fame, we signed anything that seemed like it’d earn us money. As an adult, I had a child to consider, and I was tiredof hiding her from the world, being punished for doing the right thing and keeping her.
Miss Simmons, as they mockingly referred to her, stayed silent for most of the conversation, as my English, which they’d been led to believe was atrocious at best, was better than expected. About halfway through the reading, Yang-Jin held his hand up and smiled that sharktooth grin, staring directly at the lawyer while he worked out how to word his question.
“Is this part of the contract . . . ah, I’m not sure of the word here.”
The lawyer turned his head to our ‘translator’ and frowned. “Isn’t this what you’re being paid for?” He gestured at us and snapped his finger, an act that enraged me on her behalf as much as I didn’t want it to.
If anyone deserved to make her feel less than, it was the man she’d done dirty, not this random fuckwit who was only here to make a paycheck he no doubt didn’t deserve.
She flushed red and put a hand over her chest, trying desperately to hide her tits from us when she stood and moved around the table, leaning over Yang-Jin’s shoulder to read the portion he pointed out on the contract.
She uttered a few words effortlessly in damn near perfect Korean, and I watched Yang-Jin’s eyes widen in shock.
She had never been that fluent when she worked with us. Hell, she’d barely known the little necessary to do her job in the middle of a busy Korean metropolis. Now, she spoke it like she’d been born to it, which opened up an entirely new side of her to my analysis.
When had she bothered to learn conversational Korean? And why?
“He wants to know if section four, clause two thirteen, line five, is ‘mutually exclusive’ to the artist or agency, or if it’s abroad blanket term that covers everyone who signs or is involved in this contract.”
The lawyer looked down, as did the agent, and dragged their fingers over the words until they came to whatever Yang-Jin had wanted clarification on. The lawyer pasted that fake, weak grin on his too-thin lips while the agent frowned. “We can remove it if it doesn’t suit the client. The language is made to protect all parties–”
“That’s not what he asked, and I know you speak the language I translated it into. Is this clause mutually exclusive, or is it a blanket for anyone who signs the contract?”
The lawyer cleared his throat and began to squirm, his eyes darting to the agent for help. “I, ah, I’ll have to defer to my colleague–”
