CHAPTER 5
“So during the five months you don’t remember, you got married, fought like hell, beat each other up, and then got divorced. You did it secretly on the Big Island, so none of us knew.”
Well, look at that.
“Right. My records say I’m M16, so the British government wiped everything clean, and Gitaek, who was living with me on the Big Island, couldn’t even say he was forced into the marriage because he was being threatened. Yeah?”
“Ah, so Gitaek was there with you on the Big Island.”
Juntek let out a sigh, his face turning into an oh no expression.
“I always forget he exists. Even though he’s my younger brother. Hm… well, this time he’s the one who’ll file for divorce.”
Juntek clicked his tongue, lips tightening.
“Our parents like it. It was a marriage they opposed from the start. At least there’s no child—that’s something.”
“I heard.”
This time, Taeyoon poured soju into the glass and handed it to Juntek.
“Oh, right. Didn’t your mother mention Yeppi?”
Juntek changed the subject.
“Yeppi? A dog?”
“Haha.” Juntek burst into laughter, even wiping the corners of his eyes. “No. What was it again… You know that group mothers are in? The one that does lunchbox delivery volunteer work.”
“The Silver Society?”
“Yeah, the Silver Society! Yeppi is a member. Not her real name—just a nickname the members use because she’s so pretty. Apparently, your mother took a liking to her? As your match.”
—
Go Jina, Go Jina, Go Jina.
Damn it.
The one pushed into the worst possible situation by the “actress Go Jina” incident wasn’t Sol Studio—it was Lime Entertainment.
Lime’s CEO, Ahn Heejae, was a star. Or rather, he almost became one before turning to business and giving up acting.
Even so, at thirty-five, he was still frequently mentioned as a sex icon. His flower-like, striking features felt almost wasted on business alone.
Why he had abandoned acting remained shrouded in mystery, but the official line was that he realized he had more talent for business than acting.
But now, a devastating crisis had struck his precious Lime.
The flood of articles couldn’t be stopped. It wasn’t something you could hold back with a hoe—no, not even with a shovel. At this point, even building a dam wouldn’t be enough. Thinking it could ever be stopped with a hoe in the first place had been an illusion.
Even Go Jina’s most devoted fans, who had insisted on her innocence, began turning away one by one once the video was released.
“Damn it.”
Having just hung up on yet another complaint call from an advertiser, Heejae pulled out a cigarette to soothe his parched mouth.
Just as he flicked the wheel of his lacquered gold lighter—
—Sir, you have a call.
“Don’t put it through.”
Heejae spoke bluntly, about to hang up the receiver when—
“She says she’s actress So Yewon.”
At that, he paused.
“…Wait. Put it through.”
Heejae removed the cigarette from between his lips, set it in the ashtray, and picked up the receiver.
So Yewon. One of Korea’s biggest stars.
She debuted in her early twenties, skyrocketed to fame with her first drama, and since then had dominated both film and television, renewing her record-breaking fees year after year.
Why would someone like her call here?
Rumor had it she’d left her long-time agency to start her own company. So why reach out now?
—Hello, CEO. This is So Yewon. If you’re not too busy, I’d like to meet you.
It was brief, befitting a top star.
She had to know he was busier than anyone else right now, with contracts being canceled left and right.
She must have assumed he’d accept no matter what.
It was arrogant—but with a flicker of hope, Heejae accepted willingly.
—
It had been quite a while since he’d seen Yewon in person.
Her once fresh appearance had matured, and even her expressions were now controlled with practiced ease.
Even Heejae, who had seen more than enough beauties, momentarily held his breath upon seeing her.
Was she always this beautiful?
At thirty, So Yewon had long shed any trace of youthfulness.
After being guided into Heejae’s office, she looked around carefully before flashing a bright smile and asking him to clear the rooftop.
There were no recording devices or cameras installed, so what was she worried about?
There were several companies in the building, but after the recent snowfall, the rooftop garden had remained locked. Heejae agreed without hesitation.
As he tapped the keycard, the rooftop door opened, and a bleak chill rushed in.
They wouldn’t last even ten minutes in this weather.
Wearing a coat, Heejae clicked his tongue at Yewon, who stood there without even a padded jacket.
“Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine. You’re okay too, right, CEO?”
Not even close.
“Is there somewhere to sit?”
In this cold?
Knowing there was no such thing as a warm seat on the wide rooftop, Heejae still headed toward a bench with a good view—ready to lay his own coat on the ground if needed.
“Let’s go over there.”
“There’s definitely no one here, right?”
“Yes. Staff checked twice, and after it snowed, it’s usually kept closed. We only opened it briefly.”
“I see. That’s a relief. I think I can say what I want now.”
They moved to a viewing area overlooking Gangnam Boulevard.
Instead of his coat, Heejae folded his expensive muffler three times and placed it on the bench. When he gestured politely for her to sit, Yewon didn’t even bother with a token refusal and sat down lightly.
“If you had continued acting, CEO, we might have met on the same project.”
“That would’ve been nice. Well, should we do a project together now?”
“Shall we?”
A few meaningless exchanges followed.
Though impatient, Heejae decided to play along at her pace.
From the moment she came here, the upper hand had been hers.
“CEO.”
When their eyes met, she smiled faintly, her clear, deer-like eyes narrowing.
“You’ve been having a hard time lately, haven’t you?”
It sounded almost mocking, but Heejae responded casually, relying on his old acting instincts.
“Who isn’t having a hard time these days? You must have it tough too, always being in the public eye.”
“That’s true. But you seem to have it worse than me. CEO, I know you’re struggling financially because of Go Jina’s joint liability clause. The compensation must be huge, right?”
Is she mocking me?
“It is. If it doesn’t work out, I might have to sell my body. I’ve still got some credit left.”
“…Sell your body?”
As if amused, Yewon burst into laughter, laughing for quite a while before gradually calming down.
“Selling your body… If you’re going to sell it anyway, sell it to me.”
“…?”
“I’ll help you.”
Heejae examined her slowly, as if calculating, then let out a hollow laugh.
Even though So Yewon was a top-tier star—someone he might have to crawl before to secure a contract—he laughed.
There had to be a reason she came to a dying agency like his.
“So Yewon. Stop testing the waters and say it. If you just keep testing, even a restaurant owner desperate to sell food might flip the table. You want something from me, don’t you?”
“…”
“And it’s definitely not money. So what is it?”
Their gazes clashed, pushing aside the cold air.
After a moment of sizing him up, Yewon smiled.
“I made the right choice. Choosing CEO Ahn was the right decision. You’re quite perceptive.”
Heejae kept a neutral expression, unwilling to jump to conclusions.
“I’m not tied down anywhere anymore. I’ll sign with Lime.”
“A contract? Why? What do you want?”
A top Korean star at the peak of her career, with countless scripts piling up after her recent OTT drama success—why would she sign with a failing agency?
It was what he had hoped for since she first contacted him, but he needed to be sure.
“I have a project I want to do. I turned it down before. The title is High Tension. I’ll take it. Put me in instead of Go Jina.”
“…Ha.”
Forgetting the cold, Heejae bit his lip and stayed silent. After a long pause, Yewon spoke again.
“CEO?”
“So Yewon. You can do that with your own power, can’t you? I heard the script went to you first. You don’t think I wouldn’t know when you put Go Jina in for the audition.”
“…”
“If you just asked, Director Moon would jump at it—like trading a chicken for a phoenix. So why are you asking me?”
“Because you’re the CEO. There’s something only you can do.”
