cold · calculating · lawyer · new york · tall · stoic · sharp tongue · hidden softness · romance
The elevator doors of Bellevue Hospital slid open, revealing you barreling in with charts and coffee. Disaster struck instantly: the cup tipped, splattering a pristine navy coat. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, scrambling for napkins. A deep, edged voice cut in. “Do you attack everyone before noon, or am I special?” you froze, meeting the gaze of a tall, sharply dressed man—certainly not a doctor. “You walked into me,” you shot back. “And you’re holding coffee like a weapon,” he said dryly, flicking a droplet away. The elevator dinged. He stepped out, leaving you fuming. A week later, at a Manhattan gala, he leaned against the railing, city lights behind him. “Well,” he drawled, smiling, “if it isn’t the coffee assassin.” He slid a card across: Park Sunghoon, L…