Chapter 145 : Side Story 2: Jealousy #6

Doyoon’s sulky face turned crimson in a split second.

“That’s not it…”

Before he could overthink, I opened my arms wide on the sofa.

He hesitated for half a second, then shuffled over and folded his huge frame into my lap, burying his face in my chest like a kicked puppy.

So he wasn’t actually mad—just wanted to be babied.

This giant kept wriggling deeper into my arms.

I stroked his back.

So easy. Too easy.

He can weaponize puppy eyes whenever he wants; I’ve memorized exactly which words make him melt.

After a while of petting his hair and back, he mumbled into my stomach,

“You think I’m an idiot who melts the second you’re nice to me.”

“…No?”

Caught.

He looked up, still pouting.

“I’m only easy with you. I’m difficult with everyone else.”

“Who said otherwise?”

Silence.

I pinched his ear lightly.

“…Are you implying I look easy to other people?”

He didn’t answer—just pushed me flat on the sofa and climbed on top.

“But… if I want to live with someone so popular, I have to deal with it. That’s my burden.”

So dramatic…

Annoyed, I attacked his sides with tickles.

He burst out laughing, twisting, but unlike when we were kids, he didn’t end up underneath. Instead he retaliated, fingers everywhere.

We wrestled, clothes half-off, panting and giggling like idiots.

When I finally looked up, his eyes were dark and hungry again.

Thank god for those tonics.

Predictably, within days the company rumor mill went full makjang drama:

Choi Doyoon’s girlfriend is the only daughter of an insanely rich American film producer. They met as children, reunited while he was studying abroad, but were tragically torn apart because Grandfather opposed the foreign match. After countless tearful reunions and separations, she finally naturalized as Korean and they’re now looking at wedding venues.

Even our team whispered it around me—meaning literally the entire company believed it.

The soap-opera effect was perfect: no one cared that I was supposedly dating someone seven years younger.

Even Seunghee texted: “Choi Doyoon really dating a foreigner?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Doyoon had gone above and beyond what I asked.

He was now getting bombarded with curious stares. I felt a little bad.

To make it up to him, I thought: first fancy date in forever.

While getting ready for work, I asked,

“Doyoon-ah, want to go to A Restaurant tonight? The one you kept saying you wanted to try. I’m free from overtime for a while, and you said your urgent stuff is done, right?”

I fixed his shirt collar.

He looked… flustered.

“Ah, actually… tonight I have plans.”

“Hm? What plans?”

“A friend is coming over… It won’t take long.”

“Oh.”

I nodded, a little disappointed.

“Yunseok? Hyungjun? I’m fine with all three of us.”

“No, just… someone I met in the States. You’ve never met them.”

He trailed off, unusually evasive.

He didn’t want me to pry.

I felt a tiny sting but smiled anyway.

“Then have fun. We’ll go next time.”

“Sorry. Rain check on the restaurant.”

“No need to be sorry.”

I kept the smile, but my brain was spinning.

Doyoon’s circle is tiny. There’s no friend I don’t know about.

He already said “met in the States”—asking more would make me look clingy.

If he wanted me to know, he’d have told me.

I shook my head, trying to drop it.

But my mood sank anyway.

That very evening, on the way home, Ah-young suddenly pointed across the street.

“Isn’t that Director Choi?”

Sure enough—big café window, dark navy suit, ivory shirt. The outfit I picked this morning.

Ah-young whispered, “Is that the girlfriend?”

My head snapped around.

There really was a woman sitting opposite him—small build, mostly hidden by a huge plant.

When I shifted, I saw her clearly: beige T-shirt, white pants.

Ah-young’s eyes sparkled. “Wrong route and we get this show.”

This area was far enough from the office that people rarely came.

Privacy is good, but my stomach still dropped.

She craned her neck. “Doesn’t look American… maybe a Korean-American? Shame we can’t see her face. You said you’ve never met her, right?”

I almost snapped: I see her every day. In the mirror.

Instead I muttered, “No, he said he’s meeting a friend tonight.”

“Ah.”

Her phone rang; she turned to dig for it.

Now I was the only one staring like a creep.

Inside, Doyoon was laughing—bright, open, happy.

He looked… different.

I thought he only smiled like that for me…

I shocked myself with the thought and shook my head.

People smile. Get a grip, Choi Seunghyun.

Then the woman moved her chair—face finally visible.

Short, sharp bob. Looked around Doyoon’s age or younger. Bright, pretty, confident smile.

I hated admitting it, but they looked good together.

No wonder Ah-young assumed girlfriend.

I stood frozen, staring like a ghost possessed me.

He was originally the male lead of a romance novel. Of course he looks perfect with a cute girl his age…

“Seunghyun-ssi, coming?”

Ah-young was done with her call.

I startled. “Ah—yeah. You go ahead. I… I know someone there too. Gonna say hi.”

The lie slipped out on its own.

She nodded easily and left.

The crosswalk turned green.

I took a huge breath, marched across like a stiff robot, and barged into the café.

Went straight to the counter and ordered the most awkward thing ever.

“…One iced Americano.”

Then—chair scraping.

“Hyung?”

Almost empty café; my voice carried.

I’d been hiding my face in the menu.

I turned casually. “Oh?”

Doyoon shot up, beaming, and walked over.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t even on the way home.”

You tell me.

“Just finished an external meeting… You?”

I pretended to look past him at the table.

The woman was watching us.

A flicker of panic crossed Doyoon’s face—just for a split second.

He glanced back and forth between us, then reluctantly introduced.

“This is a friend from when I studied in the States. She’s a doctor… here to visit her mom for a bit.”

“Ah…”

First time I’ve seen him this careful with an introduction.

The woman stood and walked over.

She bowed politely.

“Hi, are you Doyoon’s Hyung-nim?”

“Yes, hello.”

“I heard so much about you back in school.”

Even in heels she barely reached my shoulder. Up close—sharp eyes, clear voice, strong presence. More “cool” than “cute.”

She met my gaze without flinching, openly curious.

“Nice to finally meet you.”

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