𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞

Boston in winter was sharp, elegant, and cold—just like the courtroom where Cho Miyeon found herself, day after day, wielding words like weapons.

She had made it. Partner at the firm.

The morning she found out, she stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in her office, coffee forgotten in her hand, staring out at the city she had fought so hard to conquer. Ten years of exhaustion, late nights, and soul-chipping compromises—all for this. All for the title, the seat at the table.

But fate, in its infinite cruelty or humor, had a final twist waiting for her.

Because the first case she was assigned as partner wasn’t just any case. It was the case—the one splashed across every headline, whispered about in cafés, dissected in podcasts and newsrooms. A brutal murder. A prominent victim. A city demanding answers.

And the lead prosecutor? Minnie Nicha Yontararak.

Of course.

Of course it had to be her.

---

They’d met a handful of times before—briefings, legal mixers, one particularly messy debate over criminal reform on a panel. Miyeon remembered her as sharp-tongued and infuriatingly radiant. Minnie had a way of leaning into a conversation, arms crossed, eyes lit with conviction, like every word she said was something she believed in with her entire soul.

Miyeon hated that about her.

She also couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So when they locked eyes again across the courtroom, something electric passed between them. Not dramatic, not cinematic—just quietly seismic. As if the ground shifted a little.

“Congratulations on the promotion,” Minnie said, walking past her with a file in hand and a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Miyeon didn’t respond right away. She was too busy convincing herself not to stare. Not to fall.

“Let’s just see if you’re still smiling after cross-examination,” Miyeon finally replied, cool and crisp as ever.

Minnie looked back over her shoulder. “Challenge accepted.”

---

In private, Miyeon worked like a machine.

Long nights blurred into mornings. Her desk was a maze of handwritten notes, crime scene photos, witness statements. She pushed herself harder than ever, because she had to. Because she needed distance from the pull in her chest every time she saw Minnie walk into the courtroom—confident, relentless, beautiful.

Their interactions were sharp-edged, professional—but beneath them? Fire. A tug-of-war neither of them dared acknowledge.

They’d linger too long at the end of hearings, catching each other in the hallway, trading barbs with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.