Jace didn't usually notice birthdays, especially his own. He preferred to let the day pass like any other, unmarked, untouched. But somehow, Maya found out. And somehow, that made it different.
It was a small gesture, a box of sesame mochi, his favorite, placed neatly on his drafting table at the office. No note. Just the box. But he knew it was her.
He picked it up, turned it over once, then smiled to himself before tucking it into his bag like something sacred.
Later that evening, they sat on the rooftop of the building, high above the noise of Seoul. The sky was wide and dark, the lights below shimmering like fallen stars. Maya handed him a paper cup of warm soju, and he accepted it without a word.
"Your father didn't call?" she asked, her voice gentle.
Jace didn't flinch. "He hasn't in ten years."
She nodded slowly, sipping her own drink. "Mine calls too much. But never to ask how I am."
He looked over, curious. "What does he say?"
"Deadlines. Numbers. Progress. Not feelings." She gave a small, dry laugh. "But I guess I'm the same."
"No," Jace said. "You ask things that matter."
The silence that followed was soft, almost comfortable. Until Maya spoke again.
"My mother died hating me," she said, eyes focused on the skyline. "She blamed me for Daniel's death."
Jace turned to her. "Was it your fault?"
"No," she whispered. "But it didn't matter."
Jace didn't say, I'm sorry. He didn't reach for her hand or offer false comfort. He just sat beside her, like a quiet wall she could lean against if she needed to.
That night, something shifted. Not a declaration. Not even a touch. But a recognition, that they had both survived fault lines that cracked their foundations young. And that maybe, somehow, they still wanted to build.
The next day brought news neither of them expected.
Victor Morgan, Jace's father, had just been announced as the new chair of the national redevelopment committee. Which meant Jace would have to present the hotel's expansion to him personally.
Jace stood frozen in the hallway when he saw the email. The screen blurred for a second, rage rising in his throat like bile.
Maya found him there. She didn't ask what was wrong. She read his expression, the clenched fists, and understood.
"You don't have to face him alone," she said.
But he didn't answer. He walked past her, eyes locked on something invisible. A memory, maybe. Or a voice he'd tried to erase.
Maya didn't follow, but she didn't walk away either.
Later, he returned to her office. He stood in the doorway, soaked in rain, eyes haunted but steady.
"When I was sixteen," he said, "he tore apart my acceptance letter to design school. Said I wasn't man enough for the family business."
Maya stood slowly, meeting him eye to eye.
"Then show him what you've built," she said. "Not for him. For you."
And for the first time, Jace didn't argue.