The bell above the door jingled softly as Kang Mirae stepped into Chocolat Paradise, the warmth of the boutique wrapping around her like a silken ribbon. The scent hit her first — rich dark chocolate, sweet praline, and a hint of bitter espresso. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, echoing beneath the crystal chandelier that hung like a crown above the room.
She had never seen a chocolate shop so lavish. Glass displays lined the walls like treasure cases, each filled with perfectly molded truffles and hand-crafted pralines, their glossy surfaces reflecting the soft golden lighting. But Mirae wasn't here to be dazzled. She had a job to do — a secret food critic assignment from Gourmet Seoul Weekly. The editor promised that if she handled this one discreetly, she'd be up for a regular column. That meant prestige, and more importantly, independence.
Still, she couldn't help but be curious. Who in the world would turn a chocolate shop into a palace?
"Welcome to Chocolat Paradise. May I help you?"
The voice was deep, smooth — with the faintest lilt of amusement. Mirae turned, and for a second, her breath caught.
He stood behind the counter, dressed in a tailored navy suit that hugged his tall frame. His dark hair was swept back in soft waves, his features sharp yet elegant. There was something aristocratic about him, like he belonged in a glossy magazine — or perhaps, ruled one.
"I'm just… browsing," she replied, masking her surprise with a polite smile.
"Of course. But do allow me to recommend our signature dark truffle." He stepped around the counter and held out a delicate piece of chocolate on a silver tray. "Hand-molded. Seventy-two percent cacao. Infused with Jeju tangerine zest."
Mirae hesitated, then took it with practiced grace. She popped it into her mouth — and paused.
The flavor exploded: rich and velvety at first, then a bright citrus zing that danced on her tongue. It was complex. Unexpected.
Just like him.
He watched her with a calm intensity. "I take it you approve?"
She narrowed her eyes. "It's... decent."
He arched a brow, clearly amused. "Decent? That's a first."
"Perfection is an illusion," she said coolly. "Especially in chocolate."
"Is that your professional opinion?" he asked, folding his arms.
She stiffened slightly. Was he testing her?
Before she could respond, a younger staff member appeared beside him. "President Lee, the supplier from Belgium is on the line."
"Thank you, Minjun," the man said, then turned back to Mirae with a knowing smile. "Enjoy your visit. And do let me know if anything else tastes merely... decent."
With that, he walked away, leaving her stunned.
President Lee? That meant he wasn't just a face — he owned this place?
Lee Doekyom. She'd heard the name. The youngest son of the Seowon Group, turned culinary rebel. Rumors swirled about him: that he had walked away from the business world to pursue chocolate, that he turned heartbreak into recipes, that his creations were addictive.
Mirae's lips curled into a smirk.
This just got interesting.
Mirae settled into one of the boutique's velvet-lined lounge chairs near the corner, pretending to scroll through her phone while her eyes scanned the room. From the way the staff moved — efficient, silent, respectful — it was clear this place ran like a well-oiled machine. Every truffle, every detail, even the background music seemed curated for elegance.
But her focus kept drifting back to Lee Doekyom.
His name wasn't just for show — he had a presence. The kind of presence that made people pause and watch without even realizing it. As he discussed something with a staff member near the counter, his brows furrowed slightly, his tone quiet but firm. Confident. Precise.
This isn't just a vanity project, Mirae thought. He knows what he's doing.
Pulling out her notebook, she jotted down impressions: flavor balance, ingredient quality, pricing, ambience…owner's flair. She chewed the end of her pen thoughtfully, then added a line: Man is either a genius or a showoff.
She glanced up — and caught him looking directly at her.
Their eyes met. The air between them shifted.
Doekyom walked over again, slower this time, like a man used to approaching with purpose.
"I have a proposal," he said, stopping at her table.
Mirae blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You seem… analytical. You didn't just come here to satisfy a sweet tooth." His gaze flicked to her open notebook, then back to her. "Critic? Blogger? Competitor?"
Her heartbeat ticked faster, but she held her composure. "Just a curious customer."
He smirked. "Then how about this, curious customer: a private tasting. One hour. My latest unreleased collection. You tell me exactly what you think — no filters, no flattery."
Mirae raised a brow. "And in return?"
"You get an exclusive. A story no other critic has. Unless, of course…" He leaned slightly closer, his voice a velvet challenge. "…you're afraid you won't have anything intelligent to say."
That did it.
"I'll take that challenge," she said, standing with smooth grace. "But if I'm honest — and I will be — don't expect praise just because you wear a suit well."
His lips curved slightly. "I'd expect nothing less."
He turned and gestured for her to follow him toward a private room in the back of the boutique, hidden behind an ornate glass partition. As she walked behind him, Mirae felt the tension rise — not just the excitement of a scoop, but something else.
An undercurrent of intrigue. Danger, even.
What am I walking into? she wondered.
But she didn't stop.
Because Kang Mirae never turned down a challenge.
And Lee Doekyom had just become the most fascinating one yet.
The tasting room was nothing like the boutique outside. It was darker, quieter — intimate. Warm amber lights glowed above a sleek wooden table, already set with crystal water glasses, linen napkins, and a single silver tray at the center. On it, six handcrafted chocolates gleamed like jewels, each nestled in a tiny glass dome.
Mirae's eyes widened despite herself.
"This feels more like a wine tasting than a chocolate one," she muttered.
Doekyom pulled out a chair for her. "Chocolate, like wine, deserves reverence. Especially when it speaks."
Mirae sat, lifting a brow. "You talk like a poet."
"No," he replied, taking the seat across from her. "I talk like a man who's poured ten years of his life into something people dismissed as 'cute' or 'trendy.'"
There was a flicker in his eyes — a brief shadow of something old and sharp. But it was gone in a blink, replaced by calm confidence.
He removed the first dome with deliberate care.
"This is 'First Rain.' Dark chocolate shell, infused with roasted green tea and a drop of plum vinegar," he said.
Mirae's curiosity was piqued. She took the piece, placed it on her tongue — and closed her eyes.
The bitterness of the dark chocolate melted into the earthy depth of green tea, followed by a surprising zing of plum that lingered on her palate like mist after rain.
Her eyes opened slowly. "That was... unexpected."
"But not unpleasant," he guessed.
"Not at all," she admitted, reluctantly impressed.
They continued — each piece more daring than the last. A white chocolate bonbon with black garlic. A milk chocolate ganache infused with yuzu and sea salt. One that tasted oddly like a memory of childhood: creamy, warm, and fleeting.
Mirae scribbled notes after each one, trying to stay objective, but Doekyom's gaze never left her. It was like he was studying her reactions more closely than she was analyzing the chocolate.
By the fifth piece, she paused, setting her pen down.
"Why are you really doing this?" she asked. "You don't need critics. You already have an empire."
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. "Because I need honesty. Not social media trends, not paid reviews. I need to know if the stories I'm trying to tell... are actually being heard."
Mirae stared at him. "Stories?"
He nodded, then picked up the sixth dome. "This last one is called 'Regret.' Bitterest chocolate I've ever made. No sugar. Infused with burnt caramel and espresso. People hate it — or they understand it."
She hesitated, then bit into it.
It was sharp. Harsh. Almost painful in its intensity — and yet, there was beauty in its boldness. The kind of flavor that left a mark long after it was gone.
She swallowed, slowly. "That... tasted like heartbreak."
Doekyom's eyes met hers, and for the first time, his mask cracked — just a little.
"I'm glad you understood."
They sat in silence for a moment, something fragile forming between them.
Then Mirae stood, tucking her notebook away.
"I'll write what I feel. No promises," she said.
"I expect nothing less," he replied.
As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her at the door.
"Mirae."
She looked back.
He gave her a small, unreadable smile. "Come back anytime. Next time... maybe I'll make something just for you."
And just like that, Kang Mirae stepped out of the tasting room — her heart unsteady, her thoughts scattered.
She came for chocolate.
But something far more dangerous had just begun to melt.