It had been seven years since I last saw that face.
Not since the night I left his house with a shirt missing a button, a bruised ego, and a heart on the verge of shattering. Since I swore I'd never accept anything from him again, not glances, not apologies, especially not work.
— Johan — my coworker called, bursting into the room like a storm. — You need to see this. — He tossed an envelope onto the desk.
There was a note attached:
"To Johan Hild, who keeps pretending I don't exist."
— They sent it to my desk. Can you believe that? You've turned them down so many times it's starting to feel personal.
I stared at the stamped seal for two seconds. My stomach twisted.
— No. — My response was dry. — Send another director. Anyone.
— They're insisting it be you, man. I'd love to take it.
They emailed me. I refused. And I'd keep refusing.
— But it's the company... — He hesitated. — The proposal's for a systems design partnership with Mingellcorp. It's a big deal. Could involve the subsidiaries. You'd make a ton. It'd boost the company's name, your company, by the way! You should think about that.
— I don't give a damn.
He looked like he was about to argue, but stopped himself and left.
And then it happened.
The door opened again. But it wasn't him coming back.
It was him.
Or close enough.
— Johan Hild, right? — The voice sliced through the air, sharp and confident. — I'm Kang Mingell.
He walked in like he already owned the place. Tall, with the body of someone who lifts weights at 3 a.m., though he'd been big since his teenage years. Perfect suit, tie loosened, like he didn't need to prove anything to anyone. But what got to me most was the look in his eyes.
Those dark eyes.
Arrogant, yet observant.
And disturbingly similar to his father's.
— Are you busy? — he asked, already pulling out the chair in front of me.
— Who let you in?
— Your friend — he replied with a crooked smile. — I'm here on behalf of Mingellcorp. But it seems like you already knew that.
I took a deep breath. Of all the sons that man could've had, of course it had to be the one who looked at me like that. Like he was peeling back my skin out of curiosity. Like he knew where I was the night everything fell apart.
— I already turned down the email, I forwarded the request, and now I'm telling you to your face: I'm refusing the offer. — I said. — Tell your father Hiddenline isn't interested in working with him. Not today, not ever.
— Is that so? — He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced.
His eyes scanned the room. Then, calmly, he picked up the envelope he'd sent me. Opened it.
— What if the offer's coming from me? — he said, showing me the contents.
A photo.
A photo of him.
— You don't have the authority for this.
— I have more than you think.
I stared him down. His confidence was no different from his father's. Just… bolder, maybe.
He looked at me like he was trying to see something under my skin. His eyes were green, but they made me uneasy. His father's were black, but held the same intensity.
I couldn't help but wonder — was he sent here just to get under my skin?
— Why are you really here? — I asked, not bothering to hide my discomfort.
— Because I want to work with you. — He tilted his head. — I've wanted to for a long time. But you're still stuck on my father. That bothers me.
I went cold. He knew. Not exactly what — but he knew something had happened.
— That's none of your business — I growled.
— Of course it is. I'm his son. — He stood, pacing slowly to the corner of the room. He looked at the windows, the paintings, the trophies. — He's a bastard. Unforgivable.
— Glad you're aware.
— But I've managed to move past him. And now I'm here — he went on. — Not to clean up his name. But because I can't stand seeing the man I once admired living like a prisoner of my father. You're brilliant, Mr. Hild. You don't need to hide from me like you still belong to him.
My heart skipped a beat. I didn't know if it was anger, pity, or some stupid desire to understand him. But it… almost felt like a confession.
I barely knew this guy. I vaguely remembered him running around the Mingell house when I used to go there.
— What do you want from me?
— A contract. Hiddenline will design the new security system for Mingellcorp. Nothing more. — He looked me in the eye. — But I insist on working with you. Personally.
— Why?
— Because I want to.
The words hung in the air like poison. A tempting offer I was foolish enough to drink.
I should've kicked him out. Should've ripped the photo up, called my lawyer, and made sure no one ever mentioned that name in this company again.
But instead, I watched him lay a document on the table.
I picked up the papers.
And he looked nervous. Like he genuinely wanted this.
The contract just stated that we'd work together on the project. That he'd come to my company and work by my side. And that if I had to go to Mingellcorp, I wouldn't have contact with any other staff.
I frowned. It was incredibly specific. And highly enticing. Honestly, I did prefer not to see anyone from that place, including him.
But… did he really have that kind of authority? Was his father really handing the company over to him?
A flood of questions hit me.
The problem I spent years avoiding had sent me his secretary.
And something in those green eyes, eyes that swore he was different, caught my attention.
I wasn't the same man anymore.
I placed the paper on the table. Picked up the pen. Signed.
Without thinking. Or maybe thinking too much.
Kang Mingell smiled. A relieved smile. Just for a second.
He stepped closer.
— Great — he said. — It's going to be a pleasure working with you, Mr. Hild.