Was she polluting his air?
The oppressive energy in the room wrapped around her throat.
In business, Shin treated women with respect. Professionals, that is.
As for this kind of woman? Pretending to like programming while trespassing in his sanctuary?
He leaned back in his chair, eyes cold.
"If you're truly interested in programming," he said, "go to school. My study is not a classroom. And I don't tutor liars."
Calin's face paled. Her dreams of seduction vaporized like mist under a harsh sun.
Shin turned back to his laptop.
The message was clear: He can see through her schemes.
---
"I'll give you a minute to get lost."
Shin Keir lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly, and leaned back in his chair like a man with too much money, too much time, and far too little patience.
Calin Ricci stiffened, biting her lip so hard she nearly gave herself a piercing. The air around her turned prickly with anxiety.
She was the darling of the fashion world, the heiress to a jewelry empire, and the epitome of poise under pressure. Yet here she stood, facing a man who seemed determined to squash her dignity like a bug on a windshield.
One minute? Why exactly sixty seconds? Was he timing her humiliation with a stopwatch?
And more importantly, did he already know why she was here? His notorious hostility didn't seem to be surfacing—at least not yet. That alone was terrifying.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Calin straightened her spine. This was not the time for coy smiles or coquettish batting of lashes. She had rehearsed this moment a dozen times, each version more diplomatic than the last.
"I have a proposal," she began with the poise of a seasoned negotiator and the soul of a crumbling disaster.
The truth was, if she confessed any affection outright, she'd only invite his legendary disdain, countless women had already thrown themselves at him like moths to a bonfire, only to get incinerated.
So she chose a safer battlefield: politics.
"Brother Shin," she began, trying to sound casual, "you may or may not be aware, but our families have long discussed our engagement. Of course, if you refuse, they'll keep pressuring you to marry—just as they're pressuring me. So, for mutual benefit, I suggest a contract marriage. We live our own lives, do our own thing, and enjoy some peace from the family vultures."
Shin raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered.
Calin took that as a cue to continue. "If you consider our statuses, we're actually a good match. I can assist you in many ways—socially, professionally. And when we inevitably part ways, there's no need for alimony. I won't ask for assets or a single dime."
Not that she ever planned to divorce him, of course.
In her mind, this was just the prelude to a lifetime of subtly seducing him into eventual affection. A romantic slow burn… minus the romance or the burning so far.
Shin's fingers tapped rhythmically against the mahogany desk, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a sardonic smile.
Ah. A smile. Progress? Success?
No.
"Marriage contract?" he repeated, voice dry as the Sahara. "Heh."
A deep, humorless snort followed.
His father had once been lured into a similar arrangement, tricked by the glossy veneer of 'duty and virtue'. That "contract" turned into an emotional hostage situation, complete with obsessive outbursts, screaming matches, and vicious temperament. Shin wasn't keen on revisiting that charming chapter of family history.
To him, marriage was the most creatively self-destructive thing humans ever invented.
A legally binding lie wrapped in tulle and cake. People spent fortunes on weddings only to end up suing each other over who got the dog and the appliances.
And don't even get him started on vows.
"Ugly and flat."Shin's voice cut through the air like a guillotine.
Calin's eyes widened. What?
She had expected negotiation. Maybe even mild condescension. But... ugly?And flat? Was he talking about her personality or—
Like a lightning bolt, realization struck.
Flat-chested?! Nah, that shouldn't be the case!
This devil of a man, rumored to be an enigma of sophistication and stoicism, actually cared about bust size?
"For such proposal, you should at least have the bare minimum qualifications."
"Brother Shin, I'm still your fiancée!" she burst out, voice cracking like a bad-tempered cat.
She, the socialite goddess of every gala from south to east, was being dismissed like a strolling stray cat. Her pride screamed.
Shin's eyes sharpened. "We're on a first-name basis now? You must not value your tongue."
He gestured lazily to the door. "If that 'relic' outside told you we were engaged, feel free to sue her and ask for adoption. Has nothing to do with me."
That was the final slap.
Calin's fists clenched so tightly her diamond ring almost shattered. She had faced critics, scandals, and even a drunken parrot on live TV—but never this level of cold, surgical rejection.
Perhaps her strategy had backfired. She had tried every persona—soft, sharp, independent—and now contract bride. None of it interested him.
Which left one untested theory…
Was Shin Keir… gay?
Just as she spiraled into existential despair, the door creaked open.
"Young Master, did you call for security?" Butler Hong stepped in, pausing at the sight of Calin.
The timing could not have been worse.
Shin offered nothing more than a faint exhale. The look in his eyes screamed: Take out the trash, please.
Butler Hong, ever the diplomat, coughed lightly. "It's not a crime to admire someone, Miss Ricci. But it is unwise to invade their personal space."
Calin's cheeks burned. He actually called security. For her.
Still, years in the spotlight had taught her the sacred art of 'smiling while dying inside'. She dipped a graceful nod and turned to leave—her heels clicking like gunshots on the marble floor.
Then she heard it, right as the door nearly shut:
"Young Master, the customized gift for the young lady has arrived…"
Calin froze.
What young lady?
---
Later that afternoon, Yeri was discharged from the hospital. Her final stop? A medical consultation with the famed Doctor Zahn Neri.
She clutched her forehead, calculating the probable fees. VIP ward, renowned doctor, imported sheets? She might have to sell her internal organs at the black market.
That damned Shin Keir had to admit her to a VIP ward.
To avoid worrying her parents or indebting herself to Shin Keir, she called her perpetually good brother, Jj Zhi.
Jj arrived looking like a prosecutor mid-trial. "Yz, how many lives do you think you have? Getting involved with Shin Keir—do you want to be buried early? And you said he is a friend yet he chased us the other night? What did you do, rob his house?"
Yeri sighed. "In case you care, no one was bullied. No one was blackmailed. I'm fine. Just… an unlucky day."
Jj crossed his arms. "You said over the phone you fell, so did he push you into that pond or did you dive in for fun?"
"Jj," she said patiently, "do I look like someone who lies?"
"Then swear that you never lied."
Yeri "..."
They parted ways—Yeri heading to her doctor's appointment, Jj to settle hospital fees and mutter curses at the vending machine.
At the elevator, Yeri was blocked by two women—one clearly a celebrity, the other clearly tired of her boss.
What is going on with people lately? Even competing for an elevator.
"That girl's so pretty," the manager whispered as Yeri disappeared into another lift. "Good fashion sense too. That floral dress? Subtle elegance!"
"Shut it," Calin snapped. "Want to scout her? Then quit your job and prepare to get sued."
The manager sighed. And there goes another compliment biting the dust.
Calin was still haunted by what she'd overheard earlier. A gift for a young lady? Shin didn't even like women in the family. Who was this mysterious recipient?
Even imagining Shin dating someone else made her soul short-circuit.
Honestly, it would be less offensive if he were gay!
"Be careful with that gift," she hissed as her manager fumbled the bag against the wall.
Manager Lyn flinched. "Sorry! I'll pay if it broke."
"You? Pay?" Calin scoffed. "Your salary couldn't even cover the cork."
They passed a nurse, and Calin's judgemental expression instantly transformed into angelic serenity.
Manager Lyn rolled her eyes so hard she saw glitters.
---
Inside Doctor Neri's office, Calin barged in like it was her cocktail party.
"Hello, Doctor Neri! I'm Calin Ricci. My father heard you're back in the country and asked me to deliver a thoughtful gift."
Zahn looked up, unamused. "You have no appointment. Leave."
Calin flinched.
This morning: brutally humiliated and rejected.
This afternoon: second-degree rejection.
At this rate, she'd be a burned marshmallow by dinner.
In fact, Calin completely missed the memo that these men weren't in the business of being friendly or considerate—they didn't need to play nice, and they certainly weren't about to start for her benefit.
"I heard of your medical missions," she tried, "and thought you'd be interested in a charity foundation for rare disease patients…"
"Email it."
Calin nearly gagged. Email? What was she, a telemarketer?
Her manager handed over the wine bottle, just as another figure appeared at the door.
Yeri knocked lightly. "Doctor Neri? I'm here for my consultation."
Calin whipped around. Her eyes narrowed.
The girl from earlier.
She discreetly scanned Yeri—fresh-faced, petite, dressed in a knee-length floral number with zero signs of designer brand logos.
Flat shoes.
Minimal makeup.
Wait.
A sudden thought crossed her mind, what is Shin Keir's beauty standard?
In his eyes, she wasn't beautiful enough so how about this girl? Even her dumb manager praised her face.