The café smelled like cinnamon and espresso, a place built on warmth and familiarity. It had always been their safe haven, their quiet corner of the world where they could be themselves without the weight of corporate expectations pressing down on their shoulders. But today, it felt smaller. Constricting.
Nabi sat across from Kenji and Hyeri, hands wrapped tightly around her untouched coffee cup. The heat from it had long since faded, much like the illusion that everything in her life was still intact.
She should've told them sooner. Two days had passed since Namjoo dropped the news like a bomb at her feet, since she stood at her mother's grave with Hansol and tried to pretend that grief wasn't suffocating her from the inside out. Two days of holding onto the truth like a live wire, burning her from the inside.
Her voice felt stuck in her throat.
She was never the one who faltered first.
"Nabi?"
Hyeri's voice was soft but firm, her brows knitting together in concern. She and Kenji had been chatting a second ago, but now both of them were watching her carefully, sensing—knowing—that something was off.
Nabi exhaled slowly, forcing herself to lift her gaze. "I lost my job."
The words left her lips with more force than she intended, landing between them like a gut punch.
Silence.
The kind that stretches just a little too long, turning heavy.
Hyeri blinked, as if she had misheard. "What?"
Kenji's grip on his coffee tightened, knuckles whitening. "Come again?"
Nabi clenched her hands into fists beneath the table, trying to steady the tremor in her fingers. "I got fired," she said again, and this time the words felt raw. Like admitting them out loud would somehow make them more real.
Hyeri's lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then, after a beat: "What the hell do you mean you got fired?"
Nabi let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Exactly what it sounds like."
Kenji swore under his breath, shaking his head. "You're one of the best damn creative directors in the company, how does that make any sense?"
"It doesn't," she admitted. "It never did. But my father doesn't care about sense."
She looked down, voice quieter now. "Not anymore."
Hyeri inhaled sharply, leaning forward, her hands flat on the table like she was trying to ground herself. "Did he—he actually just cut you out? No warning?"
Nabi nodded stiffly, pressing her lips together. "Sent Namjoo to do it, like the coward he is."
Kenji scoffed, his face darkening with something close to fury. "Of course he did. He never does his own dirty work."
Hyeri's expression twisted, somewhere between rage and heartbreak. "That's—Nabi, that's insane."
And for the first time since she had been handed that envelope, since the world tilted beneath her feet—Nabi felt something close to relief.
Because at least they got it. At least she didn't have to pretend she was fine.
Her throat tightened, something sharp and unbearable pressing against her ribs. She swallowed, staring at the table as she forced the next part out. "And then he gave me this."
She pulled out the envelope with careful precision, placing it between them as though it might combust on impact.
The number stared back at them, bold and unapologetic.
Hyeri and Kenji's reactions were almost identical—eyes widening, breath catching, bodies going eerily still.
"Wait." Kenji leaned in, his voice quieter, more dangerous now. "This came from him?"
Nabi nodded, unable to speak.
Hyeri's fingers hovered just above the check, like touching it might somehow stain her. "₩1,500,000,000," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kenji let out a low, humorless laugh, running a hand down his face. "I—holy shit."
Nabi let out a sharp breath. "Yeah."
Hyeri finally tore her gaze away from the money and looked at Nabi, her eyes shining with something raw. "Did he say anything? About why?"
Nabi hesitated.
She thought about what Namjoo had said, about their father finally being free of their mother's influence, about how he was filling the company with people she despised and cutting Nabi loose without a second thought.
How it had never really been about her.
How she had been disposable all along.
Something inside her cracked.
"It was never about me," she said, her voice breaking on the last word.
Kenji and Hyeri stilled.
Nabi swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep going.
"My mom," she whispered. "He only kept me there because of her. And now that she's gone, he—he doesn't need me anymore."
The truth hurt more than she thought it would.
Hyeri's expression twisted, pain flashing across her face before she reached across the table and grabbed Nabi's hand. Her fingers were warm, steady, grounding. "He's wrong," she said fiercely. "He's so wrong, Nabi."
Kenji exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might break something. "You gave your life to that company. And he just—he just threw you away?"
Nabi pressed her lips together, staring at the table. "I was never going to be enough for him."
The words tasted bitter on her tongue.
Kenji shook his head, still reeling, still furious. "What the hell are you supposed to do now?"
And that's when it happened.
That's when the thought she had been pushing away, the reckless, impossible idea that had been clawing at the edges of her mind, spilled out.
"We could start our own brand."
The words left her in a rush, like if she didn't say them now, she never would.
Silence slammed down between them.
Kenji blinked. "I—what?"
Hyeri's brows furrowed. "Nabi..."
But Nabi pressed forward, unable to stop now. "We could. We know this industry inside and out. We have the experience, the connections—we've already been doing the work for years. Why not do it for ourselves?"
Hyeri opened her mouth, then hesitated.
Kenji let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That's insane."
"I know," Nabi admitted. "It's reckless and terrifying and a million different kinds of stupid—"
She exhaled, gripping her coffee cup like a lifeline.
"But it's the only thing that makes sense to me right now."
She hadn't realized how badly she wanted it until this moment.
Until she saw their faces, and the possibility settled into her bones.
Hyeri studied her for a long, tense moment. And then—slowly, carefully—she smiled.
"Nabi," she murmured. "Let's do it."
Nabi's heart nearly stopped.
She turned to Kenji, who was rubbing his temples like he couldn't believe what was happening.
He groaned. "Oh my God. This is going to ruin my life."
Then he looked at her, something shining in his eyes.
"But I'm in."
Nabi's breath hitched.
They had no plan. No roadmap. No guarantees.
But they had each other.
