Page 5

"You punched him."

"Yes."

"You punched him in front of twenty witnesses."

"Yes."

"Including three managers from partner companies."

"Is there a point to this?" Dennis stretches his legs out under his father's desk in the chilly downtown office, the leather sole of his Oxford scraping against imported marble flooring like nails on a chalkboard.

"The point is that you've embarrassed this company. Again." His father's voice cuts like ice. "First the sustainable nonsense, now this."

Dennis sulks internally, poker face blank as he counts down the seconds to when this meeting will be over. What’s Dad even doing in this hastily put-together office? Clearly flying back and forth from LA to keep an eye on him .

Dennis stifles a sigh.

His father notices, of course. That makes him sigh in that way that means Dennis is about to get lectured in Korean. Sure enough, the familiar sounds of disappointment follow, hitting like a well-worn belt—strangely comfortable yet hurting like a bitch, all at once.

"This is why I wanted you to start in the office," says his father, switching languages. "Site work doesn’t suit you.”

"Everything doesn’t suit me according to you." Dennis slouches halfway down into the chair, hands stuffed in his pockets, just to spite him.

“Your mother's coddling has made you soft,” his father continues, unfazed. “All that you can be anything you want to be rubbish seems to have made you think you can indulge these…” Mr. Kim narrows his eyes, “...unusual ideas."

Dennis stares out of the window as his father’s clipped voice turns into an indistinct drone. His knuckles throb.

Good.

Every ache is worth it for the look on Chris's face when Dennis’s fist hit home. The edge of Dennis’s lip twitches up at the memory as he relives it over and over again in his head. Delicious .

“...good mind to shut this whole operation down.” Mr. Kim’s voice comes back into focus at those words, slicing through Dennis’s thoughts and dragging him back into the room.

Dennis slips a hand out of his pocket to point to the window next to him. He tilts his head to peer out of it because something pink and pretty has caught his eye.

Ooh, are those sakura blooming already? Spring is absolutely gorgeous here.

“Do that and I’m jumping out of this window, right here, right now, right in front of you,” he says flatly without missing a beat. He stuffs his hand back into his pocket and lets his head loll to the side as his eyes roll from dark to white to follow suit.

This is so boring.

"Don't be dramatic." His father pushes a stack of papers across the desk, stonefaced. "Sign these. And you will apologize to the site manager. Formally. Unless you want him to pursue legal action."

Dennis raises his eyebrows as he scans the sheet on the top of the stack. "What are they?"

"Your transfer papers. You're moving to design."

"What? No!" Dennis jolts up. The chair squeaks in protest, matching his indignation. "The Environmental Research project is mine. I created those plans. I—"

"Punched a construction worker and cost us a week of delays." His father's voice could freeze lava. "The project goes to Jason."

"Jason doesn't even care about sustainability! He thinks bamboo is just for pandas! He'll gut all the eco features!"

"Then you shouldn't have punched someone."

Dennis grabs the papers. Shuffles through them and reads them properly.

Design department.

Downtown office.

Effective immediately.

"This is bullshit!" He throws the papers down, scattering them across the mahogany desk. Some flutter to the floor like dead leaves.

He glares at his dad, pissed as anything. He is not budging.

His father leans back, fingers steepled, expression as unchanging as ever.

"Chris started it.” Dennis protests, arms gesturing in the air. “He's been provoking me for weeks!”

Dennis’s father blinks once, slow and unimpressed.

Dennis’s hand gestures get wilder. “He sent me an unsolicited dick pic!"

His father's eyebrows shoot up.

Hah! Dennis feels a flicker of triumph at finally cracking his composure, in that teensy, tiny corner of his secret heart where he stores all his small victories.

"Anyway, not the point," Dennis mutters, remembering he's supposed to be an adult. "The point is,” he says, steeling his voice, eye contact in full force, “I am not leaving my project."

"The point is,” his father says, raising his voice, the palm of his hand banging the tabletop with a thump , “you're the son of Kim Industries' CEO.” He points at Dennis with an index finger, eyes trained on his. “Start acting like it."

Dennis winces. Ouch. That sounded a bit pointed. He tries to ignore reading between the lines, but his father's disapproval stings more than he wants to admit.

"I am acting like it,” Dennis argues, irate if slightly more subdued. “I'm trying to change how we build. Make it better . More, well, sustainable ."

He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, wondering when they became strangers. It was probably when things fell apart with his dad’s best friend's only daughter last year.

Gorgeous girl and a fantastic time—no complaints there—but Dennis just wasn't into it at the end of the day. Even with both families practically drafting papers for their empire's union already. Especially that.

"Then do it from design." His father slides a pen across the desk. "Where you belong."

Dennis stares at the pen. At his father's stern face. At the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Everything pristine.

Everything proper.

Everything perfectly controlled.

Like his life is supposed to be. Like the future that was mapped out for him since birth.

His hands curl into fists.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." Dennis stands up. "I'm not signing. Fire me if you want, but I won't quit."

His father's face darkens, eyebrows diagonal enough that a younger Dennis might have flinched. "You're being childish."

"Maybe,” Dennis declares, a bit louder than he had intended to. “But I'd rather be childish than be you ."

He stands up, then stalks out to the sound of his father muttering about how he never should have let his mother overindulge him to the point of Dennis acting like he knows what’s best for himself.

Dennis shuts the door a little too hard, cutting the words off mid-sentence.

Finally. Reprieve from judgment.

He somehow keeps walking until he reaches the elevator. Until he's in the lobby. Until he's outside in air that doesn't feel like it's crushing his lungs.