If love were a stock, Cha Haekyung had already bought it all—and locked it in a vault with her name engraved on the door.
He didn't like uncertainty. Not in business, not in people. And especially not in Ha Yoori.
So when she handed him a handwritten list titled "Monthly Spoil Budget" with glitter pen scribbles and hearts dotting the i's, he didn't blink.
"You misspelled Chanel," he said, scanning it.
"I ran out of pink ink. The 'e' disappeared. Priorities."
They sat in the greenhouse surrounded by dormant vines and glass walls fogged with condensation. Outside, snow was falling again—soft and quiet, like the world knew better than to interrupt them.
"I see you categorized this under 'emergency mental health expenses,'" he murmured, tapping one item with his finger.
Yoori leaned over, her chin practically on his shoulder. "Retail therapy is real, okay? Those earrings cure depression."
"Or cause bankruptcy."
"You can't go bankrupt, Haekyung. You're a human bank."
He paused, his gaze flicking toward her.
Yoori blinked at him, sweet and shameless. She had no pride when it came to money, not with him. Not when she'd grown up watching her mother cry over grocery receipts and rent deadlines, not when she knew exactly what hunger felt like. If Haekyung wanted to play her golden goose, she'd accept it with open arms—and a shopping cart.
But beneath the humor, there was always this tight knot in her chest. This nagging question.
Why did he keep giving?
He could've cut ties with her years ago. Their families had no reason to keep in contact anymore. Her grandfather, the one who saved his, had passed. The debt was paid.
Yet Haekyung never let her go.
"You bought me that coat last winter," she said suddenly, eyes narrowing. "The one you said was from your secretary."
"I did."
"Liar. You saw me staring at it through the window, didn't you?"
His voice remained cool. "It was cold."
"You're a walking space heater. You don't feel cold."
He gave her a look. "You do."
Her chest tightened again. Not the bad kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that made her want things she had no right to want.
"Fine," she muttered, sitting back. "Just don't think this means you can control me."
"I already do."
"You wish."
"You asked me to pick your health insurance plan last month."
"That's just smart financial planning!"
"You also put my name as your emergency contact."
"Well, who else is going to bring me snacks in the hospital?"
Haekyung said nothing, but his lips curved ever so slightly. That quiet smile of his—dangerous, rare, and always aimed at her.
The silence stretched for a moment.
Then he spoke, voice low. "I cleared your student loans last week."
Yoori froze.
"You what?"
"You were falling behind on the interest."
She stared at him. "I was strategically falling behind. I had a five-year plan."
"Now you don't need one."
"You're messing with my identity. I'm supposed to be a debt survivor. A phoenix rising from the ashes of poverty."
"You're still poor," he said evenly. "Just less in debt."
Yoori threw a glove at him.
He caught it mid-air and handed it back like nothing had happened. Calm. Steady. Rich.
"You can't just erase my suffering without telling me," she grumbled, pulling the glove back on. "Where's the drama? Where's the personal growth arc?"
"You'll get over it."
She narrowed her eyes. "One day, you'll go too far."
"That day was four years ago. You didn't seem to mind."
"I don't," she muttered.
Because she didn't. Not really. Not when it came from him.
Haekyung stood up, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeves.
"I'll have the greenhouse cleaned out by tomorrow," he said. "You can redecorate. Or grow whatever it is you're pretending to care about this week."
"I want strawberries," she said.
"I'll import them."
She grinned, stretching like a cat. "God, you're so useful."
He paused at the door, glancing back at her.
His voice was quiet. "Only for you."
And then he left, leaving behind nothing but warmth—and a list she'd absolutely be updating tonight.