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The evening air was crisp as Sunghoon sat in his office, the hum of the city just barely reaching his window. His thoughts drifted, the silence of the room settling around him, when suddenly, his phone buzzed, breaking the stillness.

He picked it up, irritated before even seeing who it was. The moment he saw his mother's name flashing on the screen, his annoyance evaporated.

"Sunghoon, come home for dinner tonight," his mother's voice echoed from the other end, smooth and insistent as always. "We're having it at the old house."

He let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. The old house. The one he had left behind when he'd moved on, when everything had changed. He hadn't set foot in it since... well, since the marriage ended.

"Why don't you ever ask me first?" he muttered under his breath. His mother was relentless—acting without thinking, assuming he'd drop everything at her command.

There was a pause on the other side of the line, and then her voice floated back, casual as if she hadn't noticed his irritation. "You'll come, won't you?"

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, holding back the frustration bubbling up inside him. He hated that tone—like he didn't have a choice. Like he owed her something.

"Fine," he spat, finally giving in. "I'll be there."

He drove down the familiar street, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter with each passing moment. A strange pang tugged at his chest, a mix of pain and nostalgia, perhaps for a time when things were simpler—or when he had been blissfully unaware of the heartbreak that awaited him.

His eyes instinctively darted toward the window of the apartment where memories once lingered, where he had stolen moments of joy, hoping for just a glimpse of her face.

But as he stared up at the window, lost in the reverie, a voice broke through, sharp and cheerful. "Sunghoon!"

It was Iseul's mother, her voice a contrast to the storm brewing inside him. He flinched, not expecting to be snapped out of his thoughts so suddenly.

Sunghoon bowed slightly, his voice polite but laced with an edge. "Hello, Mother—oh, I mean..." His words hung awkwardly in the air, a slip of the tongue that caught both of them off guard.

Iseul's mother blinked, surprised by the unexpected familiarity, her eyebrows arching in mild confusion. But before she could process it further, she caught sight of Yejin in the distance, approaching quickly.

A sly smirk tugged at her lips as she turned a crisis into an opportunity. She straightened up, turning to Sunghoon with an exaggerated sweetness, her voice rising just loud enough for Yejin to hear.

"Oh, Sunghoon, my son, you can call me Mother, it's fine," she said, clearly aimed to provoke.

A fight broke out between the two women, their voices rising in a clash of insults that echoed down the street.

Sunghoon's mother, her eyes sharp with fury, shot back, "You old skunk! Why would he call you mom when he has a perfect mother by his side? Be a mother to your own children first! I remember your son begging in the streets, wearing torn clothes!"

The harsh words were like fuel to the fire, and the two women lunged at each other, ready to tear into one another. It wasn't long before their families rushed in, frantic to separate the bickering duo, each trying to hold back the other before it escalated further.

Amid the chaos, Iseul's footsteps grew louder as she stormed down the street. She pushed her way through, shoving the two women apart with surprising force. Her voice rang out, cutting through the tension as she stepped between them, her presence unmistakable.

Sunghoon stood on the opposite side, his jaw clenched, eyes locked with hers in a silent but fierce stare. There they were again, separated by only a few steps but miles of tension between them.

Both were glaring, their gazes sharp and unwavering, as if silently daring the other to make the first move.

Yeji,grabbed her mother's arm and yanked her away, muttering under her breath. "Come on, let's go before you make things worse."

Sunghoon stood there for a moment, his anger still simmering, but the weight of the situation settled in. He turned towards Iseul's mother, his expression softening, though the tension remained.

With a reluctant sigh, he bowed slightly. "I'm... sorry about that," he muttered, not meeting her eyes

The atmosphere in the house was anything but peaceful, despite the attempt at normalcy.

Sunghoon sat across from his mother, his expression tight with frustration. "Aunt, Yeji," he said, his voice calm but firm, "go pack everything. We're leaving."

His mother's face flushed with indignation, her eyes flashing with defiance. "No, we're not," she shot back, her voice rising. "I will never leave. After this fight, I have my pride too. You think I'm just going to pack up and walk away like nothing happened?"

The argument raged on, and as the sky outside grew darker, so did the tension inside the house. Sunghoon's patience was wearing thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he turned to face the others.

"I get it," he began, his tone sharp. "My mom is reckless, but you guys? Couldn't you have held her down for once?"

His aunt, who had been standing by, finally spoke up, her voice tinged with resignation. "You know your mom," she said, shaking her head. "If she wants to do something, there's no stopping her. She won't listen to anyone, not even her own family."

Sunghoon sighed deeply, his gaze lifting to the large, framed portrait of himself hanging on the wall. His face scrunched in disbelief, and he couldn't help but palm his face in frustration.

"Mom, why do you still have this?" he muttered, unable to comprehend how she could still hold onto it after all this time.

His mother beamed with pride, her eyes sparkling as she gestured to the portrait like it was a treasure. "How can I throw this away?" she said with a dramatic flair, her voice filled with pure admiration. "You're my perfect, amazing Zeus! My pride and joy! This is a masterpiece!"

Sunghoon glanced at his watch, his patience running thin. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I have to go," he muttered, already heading for the door.

His mother, however, wasn't ready to let him leave so easily. With an exaggerated gasp, she slumped against the back of her chair, pretending to faint dramatically. "My son! Come back, I'm sick!" she wailed, clutching her chest in a theatrically pitiful fashion.

Sunghoon didn't even look back as he made his way out the door, clearly immune to her dramatics. As he stepped outside and started walking toward his car, his eyes narrowed in frustration. Of course, he thought. Of course she'd pull this kind of stunt.

Just as he was about to open the door to his car, he spotted her—Iseul—walking toward him, her stride confident and unfazed. His jaw clenched, and a wave of irritation hit him. Great. Just what I needed right now, he thought, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

He could already feel his blood pressure rising. Every step she took toward him only seemed to make the situation more unbearable. He stood frozen for a moment, his irritation building as he tried to hide how much he did not want to deal with her right now.

Sunghoon stood still, his hand still resting on the car door as Iseul's words hung in the air between them. The cool night air seemed to thicken with the tension that suddenly flooded the space.

Iseul's voice broke the stillness, cool and unwavering. "Sunghoon, I have something to say."

He sighed, his voice flat with a hint of frustration. "Go on."

With a subtle shift in her posture, Iseul crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering as she met his. "I know why you don't want to hire me. Because you're afraid."

His brows furrowed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "And pray tell, what am I afraid of?"

She didn't hesitate, her words sharp and deliberate. "Of me. You're afraid you can't resist me. Of falling for me again."

The air seemed to freeze in that moment. Sunghoon's chest tightened, the words sinking in deeper than he cared to admit. His breath hitched, just barely, but it was enough. He stood there, barely able to move as the world around him seemed to slow down.

The sound of his heartbeat, loud in his ears, was the only thing that filled the quiet. Even the faint rustle of the trees in the distance seemed muffled, overshadowed by the intensity of the moment.

Iseul's gaze didn't falter, her eyes locked onto his, daring him to speak, to argue, but for a long moment, he didn't. His breath was shallow, his jaw clenched, and for a split second, he looked like he might say something, but the words never came.

Sunghoon's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with a cold intensity that could slice through steel. The smirk that had been lingering on his lips slowly faded, replaced by a look that could only be described as pure, unfiltered hatred.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten as he closed the distance between them, his gaze so sharp it could burn.

"I?" he repeated, voice dripping with venom. "Falling in love with you again?" His words were a low, mocking growl, as if the very idea disgusted him.

Iseul met his glare, unflinching. Her certainty only seemed to ignite his fury more, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"I don't want to crush your dreams, but that business is long gone," he spat, his voice cold as ice. He took another step closer, his eyes seething with loathing. "I don't feel anything for you anymore. Not a damn thing."

"I don't believe you."

"You're not inside my heart, okay?" The words came out like a growl, full of raw, cutting bitterness. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you ever were anything to me."

Iseul, however, refused to back down. Her eyes stayed locked with his, refusing to show any sign of vulnerability.

"Then prove it to me," she shot back, her voice unwavering. "If you're not in love with me, prove it. Show it."

Sunghoon's gaze held hers with a tension so thick it felt like the air itself was tight with anticipation. His eyes were sharp, cold—like a storm building on the horizon, ready to tear everything apart.

For a moment, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke.

His eyes weren't just looking at her—they were studying her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, moving slowly from her eyes to her lips, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

She could practically hear the shift in his thoughts, the cold smile playing at his lips like he was the one in control. And maybe he was.

Then, as if he'd decided it was time to let the game go, he took a deliberate step back. His smirk was cold, mocking, but his eyes... they flickered. It was almost like he was angry at himself for letting it slip, and he hid it behind the same hard mask he always wore.

"I don't have anything to prove to you," he said, his voice low and sharp. The words stung, cutting through the thick silence like a blade, as if he was daring her to challenge him further.

He turned, his footsteps echoing in the quiet, but the air between them still hummed with a thousand unsaid things.

And as he disappeared from her view, she stood there for a moment, feeling the remnants of their confrontation like a storm that hadn't quite passed.

Later that night, as the office settled into an uneasy silence, a crumpled piece of paper mysteriously made its way out of the trash bin.

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yall dont get how much i love sunghoon's mom shes an icon with her bracelets.