Two days later, Mirae stood outside the glass doors of Ma Belle, the oldest chocolatier in Seoul. Unlike Chocolat Paradise's modern design, Ma Belle looked like a European time capsule — wrought iron signs, stained-glass windows, and an air of something untouchable.
The inside smelled of vanilla, sugar, and legacy.
She had expected a receptionist or an assistant. But as soon as she stepped in, a voice called from the inner salon:
"You must be the journalist."
Yoon Haeryung.
She appeared from the back — poised, composed, stunning. Her long dark hair was swept into a clean knot, her silk blouse uncreased despite the humid air. She was every bit the heiress Mirae imagined: graceful, elegant, unreadable.
"I don't usually entertain interviews," Haeryung said, offering no handshake. "But Doekyom asked. That alone is… interesting."
Mirae offered a polite bow. "Thank you for agreeing. I'm not here to take sides. I just want the truth."
Haeryung gestured to a velvet chair. "Then you'd better sit. The truth tastes better when you're not on your feet."
They settled in over tea — not chocolate. Mirae noticed that carefully.
For a long moment, the silence stretched, thick with history neither had spoken.
Finally, Haeryung began, her tone cool but not cruel.
"We were engaged for convenience. That's what most people miss. It wasn't love — not at first. It was family strategy. He was the son of Seowon Group. I was the heir to Ma Belle. A merger made sense."
Mirae nodded slowly. "But something changed?"
"Yes. He did."
Haeryung's eyes flickered.
"He began sneaking into kitchens. Skipping board meetings. Asking questions about flavor, not finance. His father hated it. Mine thought it was childish. But I..." She paused, a wistful curve to her lips. "I encouraged him. I believed it was a phase."
"It wasn't?"
She shook her head. "One day, he showed me a chocolate he'd made himself. It was clumsy, too sweet — but the look in his eyes... he was free. And I knew then: he would never come back to our world."
"Why did you break it off?"
Haeryung's expression darkened slightly.
"Because he left without a word. One day, he simply vanished. No call. No explanation. He took a few experimental molds from our lab. Some samples. He said they were his. I said they weren't. Our families went to war behind velvet curtains. The media never got the full story."
"So... you weren't angry about the end of the relationship," Mirae said carefully.
"I was angry about the betrayal. Not of love, but of trust. He didn't just leave me — he left the empire we were building. And now he's building his own... with pieces of mine."
Mirae absorbed every word.
"You still care for him."
Haeryung didn't answer. But her silence said everything.
As Mirae stood to leave, Haeryung followed her to the door.
"One piece of advice," she said softly. "Doekyom is like dark chocolate. Rich, intense — but if you hold it too long, it melts. And then you're left trying to reshape something that was never meant to be molded."
Mirae left Ma Belle with more questions than answers.
But one thing was clear.
Lee Doekyom's past wasn't just complicated.
It was dangerous.
That evening, Mirae found herself walking through the narrow alleys of Ikseon-dong, where tradition clashed with modernity. The district buzzed with neon cafés and hidden tea houses, but Mirae barely noticed. Her thoughts were stuck on Yoon Haeryung's words — about trust, betrayal, and a man who walked away from everything.
By the time she reached her apartment, the sky had turned indigo. Rain threatened again.
Her phone buzzed.
Doekyom:
> "Are you free now?"
Mirae hesitated.
After a moment, she typed:
> "Yes. But I just came from Ma Belle."
There was a pause.
Then:
> "Then come to me. You should hear the other half."
---
Chocolat Paradise after-hours was a different world.
The shutters were drawn, the lights dimmed. Mirae was led to a back room — one she hadn't seen before. It wasn't a kitchen or a showroom.
It was a lab.
Polished steel counters. Temperature-controlled drawers. Rows of labeled ingredients. And in the middle — Doekyom, sleeves rolled up, tempering chocolate like it was a martial art.
"I thought you worked alone," Mirae said, stepping inside.
"I do," he replied, not looking up. "This room is mine. No assistants. No distractions."
She watched as he folded in roasted Korean buckwheat, his movements precise.
"So?" he said after a beat. "What did she tell you?"
"She said you left. Took her ideas. And never looked back."
Doekyom nodded slowly. "That's mostly true."
Mirae blinked. "You're not denying it?"
"I walked out. I took molds I made — not hers. Ideas we debated, argued over. The truth is, Ma Belle didn't see me as a partner. I was a tool. A name with power. My dreams didn't fit in their recipe."
He turned to her, his eyes calm but heavy.
"She loved me. But she loved the legacy more. I chose freedom. She saw it as betrayal."
Mirae crossed her arms. "Why not explain? Why disappear?"
"Because there's no graceful way to destroy an arrangement designed to control you."
Silence stretched between them, warm and uncomfortable.
Then Doekyom walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a tray. On it sat four chocolates, each shaped like a small cube, each topped with a different colored shimmer: silver, amber, ruby, emerald.
He held the tray out.
"Try them."
Mirae hesitated, then picked the silver one.
It dissolved like silk — delicate floral notes, lemon balm, and something nostalgic.
"What's in this?" she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "That one's called Memory."
She took the amber next. Rich. Smoky. A burn of chili at the end.
"Anger," he said, answering her raised brow.
The ruby cube tasted like first love — rose petal and lychee with a bitter snap.
"Regret."
Finally, the green one — Emerald. Her mouth exploded with flavor: sharp green tea, sea salt, and something wild.
She gasped.
"Truth," he said quietly. "Uncomfortable, isn't it?"
Mirae nodded slowly. "That's what you've been doing. Not just desserts. You're telling emotions in layers."
He met her gaze.
"I don't need the world to understand me. But I need you to — if you're going to write this story."
Mirae felt her heartbeat shift, the lines between journalist and subject blurring.
She stood there, unsure whether to take notes… or take a risk.
---
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall again — soft and cold, the kind that linger long after they've touched you.
Inside, something else was beginning to melt.
And neither of them was ready for what it would become.
The rain turned into a steady downpour by the time Mirae stepped out of Chocolat Paradise. Her coat was too thin, but she barely noticed the cold. Her mind spun like sugar in a hot pan — sticky, fast, and impossible to stop.
Every word Doekyom had said echoed in her ears.
Truth is uncomfortable.
If you're going to write this story, you need to understand me.
Back in her apartment, Mirae tried to write. She opened her notes, stared at the screen, and began typing.
> "To taste his creations is to walk through a broken heart, not yours — his. Each piece is not just chocolate. It is memory, anger, regret, truth. A map of a man trying to rebuild himself from the inside out."
She stopped.
Deleted it.
Rewrote it.
Deleted again.
The lines between observation and feeling were gone. She was no longer a detached journalist. She was becoming part of the story.
And that scared her.
---
The next morning, Mirae received an unexpected visitor.
Her doorbell rang at 9:12 AM.
She opened it and nearly gasped.
Yoon Haeryung stood in the hallway, holding a pristine white box wrapped in satin ribbon.
"Can we talk?" Haeryung asked.
Mirae stepped aside, stunned. "Of course…"
They sat at the small kitchen table, the untouched box between them.
"I shouldn't have said what I did," Haeryung began. "At least, not all of it the way I did."
Mirae blinked. "You regret it?"
"No," Haeryung said honestly. "But I realized something after I saw you. You're not just writing about Doekyom. You're feeling him."
Mirae flinched at the precision of her words.
Haeryung smiled faintly. "I used to be that close to him. I could tell what he was thinking from how he stirred ganache."
She gently slid the box across the table.
"Try it."
Mirae opened it slowly. Inside were twelve chocolates, arranged in an elegant spiral. Their surfaces gleamed with perfect polish — professional, distant, exquisite.
She tasted the first.
It was perfect. Technically flawless. But... it lacked something.
A soul.
"Do you know why Ma Belle has survived for a century?" Haeryung asked softly. "Because we don't take risks. We honor tradition. We repeat perfection."
Mirae nodded, tasting a second chocolate. Again — beautiful. But controlled.
"You love him," Haeryung said suddenly.
Mirae looked up, startled.
"That's what scares you. And that's why you're hesitating. Not because of the article. Because if you choose him, you'll never be able to write neutrally again."
Mirae swallowed hard.
"I didn't come here to fight you," Haeryung added. "I came to remind you: Doekyom is chaos. Emotion. Fire. He will challenge everything you've built to feel safe."
Mirae was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "And you?"
Haeryung's gaze softened.
"I'm ice. Precision. Silence. We were opposites. And in the end… the flame always melts the snow."
She stood to leave, pausing at the door.
"When you write this story, don't write it for the world. Write it for the person it changed the most."
Mirae sat there long after she left, staring at the box of chocolates.
She didn't need to taste the rest.
She knew now:
Ma Belle was flawless.
Doekyom was flawed.
And she was standing at the edge of both.