Chapter 92 92
Andrew’s POV
The first meeting wrapped up past eleven at night in Seoul. The conference room clock read 23:17, but my body was still trapped in the other time zone. My eyes felt dry and heavy, like someone had rubbed sand under my lids, and my head throbbed with that dull pressure jet lag leaves when you’ve been running on coffee and adrenaline for too many hours. Still, the day’s tension coursed through my veins.
We’d closed the preliminary deal with the Koreans: a strategic alliance that, if everything progressed as projected, would multiply the Asian branch’s revenue in under two years. It was the kind of move a board remembers for decades, the kind of decision that turns an executive into an untouchable man inside his company. The directors congratulated each other with back slaps, wide smiles, quick comments about celebrations, dinners, future golf trips.
Kate came to mind.
The baby.
I slipped discreetly away from the group and walked to the conference room window. From there the city stretched like an ocean of artificial light, rivers of neon snaking between skyscrapers that never seemed to sleep. Seoul was relentless, brilliant, immense. I pulled my phone from my suit pocket and turned it on almost automatically. I wanted to call her. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to know if the baby had already been born, if everything had gone well, if Kate was okay. I checked the time on the screen. 23:20 in Seoul. That meant it was already early morning there, almost dawn.
I knew nothing because Kate hadn’t answered any of my messages. I called her again and again before leaving, but it went straight to voicemail.
The last thing I knew… was that he was born.
I dialed her number anyway.
The tone didn’t even ring.
Voicemail picked up with her recorded message. I hung up without listening and dialed again. Same result. Part of me tried to calm down with the most logical explanation: she was asleep. Exhausted. Holding the baby. Maybe someone at the hospital had asked phones be turned off. Maybe she was simply too tired to answer. But another part of my mind wouldn’t shut up, because I missed the birth of our son.
I stared at the screen.
Thumb hovering over her name.
Our son was born. And I wasn’t there.
The thought hit me with unexpected force, like a dull blow to the stomach. I hadn’t been in the delivery room. I hadn’t held her hand when the pain became unbearable. I hadn’t heard the first cry. I hadn’t seen the moment the doctor lifted the child and placed him on her chest. I hadn’t watched Kate break apart on that bed and then rebuild herself with the baby in her arms.
I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to think about that. Not now. I couldn’t afford that kind of distraction. The deal with the Koreans was closed. The CEO position was no longer a distant possibility—it was mine. The life I’d worked toward for years was beginning exactly as I’d imagined. When I got back, everything would be in place. Kate would understand. She always did. The baby would be healthy. And I would be the father he needed—not the one who arrived late.
“Mr. Ellis.”
I opened my eyes. One of the Korean directors had approached with a wide smile and a bottle of soju in his hand.
“Are you coming with us? We’re going to celebrate. There’s a great place nearby. Good music… pretty girls.”
I looked around the room. My colleagues were already loosening up, jackets off, laughing with that overflowing energy that always appears after a successful negotiation. That corporate euphoria that almost always ends in excess. I was tired. Too tired. But I also felt a strange hollow in my chest, an unease I didn’t know how to fill. Kate would be recovering for weeks after the birth. Weeks without touching her. The idea of that physical distance felt more desperate than I wanted to admit. We’d barely had quick, mechanical sex that morning before I left—I’d practically had to convince her, beg her. It would be even harder now that she’d given birth.
And now I was here, in a city where no one knew me, with power, money, and complete discretion.
No one would find out.
No one at the company.
No one at home.
“Okay,” I answered finally. “Let’s go.”
The night unraveled from that moment. My colleagues chose a noisy club full of lights and loud music, but I didn’t want noise. I didn’t want witnesses. One of the Koreans recommended a private agency with the discretion of someone sharing a secret. Two girls. Young. Beautiful. Silent. I’d never been with a Korean woman before. I told myself it was simple curiosity.
The hotel was fifteen minutes away.
We went up to the suite with few words.
The girls did exactly what was expected of them. Nothing more, nothing less. They knew when to touch, when to pull back, when to move slowly and when to speed up to keep interest always on the edge. No questions, no names, no unnecessary conversation. Just bodies moving in a silent choreography they had clearly repeated hundreds of times with men like me. I let myself be carried away by the situation without thinking too much. It was simple, direct, clean. No emotions, no complications, no expectations.
The brunette was the first to approach. Her skin was soft and cool as she settled over me, moving with a confidence that made it clear she knew exactly how to handle the situation. The blonde stayed to the side at first, running her hands over my chest while her mouth sought my neck with calculated slowness. There was no shyness in them, nor curiosity. This was work, and they did it well. I closed my eyes for a moment and focused only on the sensations, letting the day’s fatigue and accumulated tension from the negotiations dissipate little by little.
During those minutes I thought of nothing else. Only the heat of the room, the weight of their bodies moving with me, the feeling of control that always appeared when everything was on my terms. That was the good thing about money: it eliminated awkward questions and simplified everything.
When it was over, silence returned to the suite with an almost absurd naturalness. They got up first, as if an invisible switch had changed the atmosphere. They moved through the room with professional calm, picking up their clothes, fixing their hair in front of the mirror, showing no real interest in me beyond the payment they knew they would receive.
I sat up slowly on the bed, forearms resting on my knees as I caught my breath. The day’s exhaustion crashed back all at once, mixed with that strange feeling that remains after releasing all accumulated tension.
I took the money from the envelope I carried in my jacket and left it on the table. One of them picked it up with a quick gesture, bowing her head in thanks. The other gave me a brief smile before putting on her shoes.
The door closed behind them and the suite fell silent again.
I stood slowly and walked to the bathroom. Steam began filling the space and the constant sound of water drowned out any other thought. After a full day of meetings, negotiations, and diplomatic smiles, this was all I needed: silence.
When I came out of the shower I finally looked at myself in the mirror. I dressed calmly, took my phone, and left the suite. The taxi crossed avenues still full of lights and night traffic. Seoul never seemed to sleep.
In the morning I would call Kate again, a video call to meet our son.
I couldn’t feel guilty about this—after all, it was good for Kate, for both of us.
Waiting a month or more to have sex again, with all the workload I now had, would only increase my stress. This release lightened things considerably.
And thinking about my recent infidelity… made me think about Kate’s. I had tried not to think about that man she had been with… But now that I had committed the same act, I wondered who he was.
It didn’t matter.
We were together again and this was nothing more than a… necessary slip.
I couldn’t start getting angry about her past infidelity when I was doing the same thing again.