The apartment was a sanctuary of soft light and muted sounds, a stark contrast to the high-tension energy of the shooting location. As Joon-ho stepped through the door, the familiar scent of home—a blend of expensive candles and the faint, milky aroma of a baby—washed over him, instantly scrubbing away the residue of the day. He loosened his tie, his muscles finally relaxing as the heavy silence of the penthouse enveloped him.
In the living room, Yura was perched on the edge of the sofa, her phone pressed to her ear, her expression focused. She was in the middle of a business call, her voice a professional hum that filled the space. A few feet away, Saena was gently rocking Nari, who had fallen fast asleep in her arms. The infant's chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic cadence, her tiny face peaceful and unaware of the corporate wars and digital storms raging outside the apartment walls.
