Chapter 7: A Seat That’s Already Taken

I hurriedly got ready and headed to the broadcasting station after seeing Jae-Ha’s message: “How about now?”

It was shortly past lunchtime on a weekday, and the station was humming with activity. On reaching the familiar floor, I found KBC Programming Headquarters.

It’s been a year… no, four years now.

After marrying Ji-Han, I took a year off as an anchor, then eventually resigned, unable to continue after our family’s tragedy.

Back then, I couldn’t have worked—even if I wanted to.

Now was different. I knocked lightly and entered. Inside, Director Kook-Hyun, head of news programming—whose office I’d visited countless times as an anchor—looked up from paperwork and welcomed me with a faint smile.

“Long time no see,” he greeted, removing his glasses.

“Nice to see you again, Director,” I replied, bowing. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by my bold visit after such a hiatus.

This person was absolutely necessary for my revenge. To be exact, the power that the director had would give me back my main anchor position.

“You must’ve walked far. As you know, I don’t have much time to go out.”

“I’m fine. It’s good to be back,” I said, sitting on the sofa. Soon, he fetched hot coffee for both of us.

“My wife is making a fuss about why Announcer Yoon isn’t on the 9 o’clock news.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen your wife.”

The director’s wife was a daughter of a subsidiary chairman in W Group—my distant cousin. So we were familiar with each other and often had meals together.

Since we had no chance to meet after my leave, it had been a long time since we last contacted each other.

“Anchoring must feel good, right?”

“It does.” I smiled, taking a thoughtful sip. He nodded, his expression sharp.

“So that’s why I wanted to see you.”

“…Huh?”

“Director. I want to return to work.”

Reinstatement—this was the sole reason I’d come to this uncomfortable meeting, and it wouldn’t be wrong to say so.

Maybe he had tossed that bait out casually.

But when I took it without hesitation, the director looked at me, startled, his eyes going wide.

“Would you reinstate me?”

Instead of answering my question right away, the director took a sip from his cup, quietly observing me.

Though it had been publicly announced as a leave of absence, my status was practically that of a resignation.

Knowing the truth behind my marriage, he seemed busy trying to grasp my true intention in asking for reinstatement.

Then he set the half-full cup back down on the table.

“Reinstatement, huh… Come to think of it, it’s been nearly a year since you went on leave, hasn’t it, Announcer Yoon?”

“…….”

“Isn’t it about time you returned?”

He tilted his chin as if unsure of my intentions, then gently asked, “Planning to go back as an announcer?”

The director was someone who had enough influence to appoint an anchor.

That’s why I came here—but instead of talking about the anchor position, he mentioned returning as an announcer.

As if he never even considered the anchor role.

“Oh, come to think of it, we’ve been looking to fill a reporter position for our newly revamped program.”

“…….”

“Now that I think about it, that program suits your image well, Announcer Yoon.”

He continued describing the program at length, but I didn’t respond, only stared blankly. His eyes widened slowly.

“You’re not talking about the anchor position, are you?”

“I am talking about the anchor position. I want to work on News 9 again.”

When I subtly expressed my desire to return as anchor, the director recoiled with a look of distress.

“If it were as an announcer, maybe—but that slot doesn’t exist. You know that, right?”

He looked genuinely troubled.

“There’s a position; it’s not that they’re withholding it. I, too, want to work with you again, Announcer Yoon.”

Then he offered the customary courteous remark, his face full of regret.

“……I heard that the current anchor of News 9 is retiring soon.”

I’d heard from a fellow announcer that the current anchor of News 9 was retiring urgently for health reasons.

And Seo-Rin was likely lined up for that position.

“How did you know that? That position’s already filled.”

The director looked surprised that I knew but shook his head firmly, as if he wouldn’t reconsider.

His stubbornness meant it was likely decided by their superiors.

A preordained candidate—that’s what it means.

I never expected to get it by asking—Seo Ji-Han must’ve arranged everything meticulously, in his own crafty way.

Moreover, KBC’s largest shareholder was Hojin Group, and Seo Ji-Han, as the next heir, was effectively a top stakeholder. To shift that, one needed an ally as strong as his influence.

Just as I was thinking about how to persuade the director…

Knock knock.

Suddenly, a knock sounded, and moments later, the office door opened.

“Who’s barging in without permission—”

“It’s been a while.”

The director, who had been about to scold whoever entered, suddenly fell silent upon seeing him.

I also looked toward the door, startled.

Seo Ji-Han—it’s you? Why are you here?

I never expected him, in his sharp suit, to show up at KBC Broadcasting Headquarters.

“Mr. President… What brings you here?”

“Just passing by and stopped in—but I didn’t expect to see her.”

The director—as if remembering his earlier rudeness—stood abruptly and greeted him formally.

Seo Ji-Han, guided in, sat down and turned his gaze to me.

His eyes—once shaking at first sight—settled into calm composure.

“What’s going on here?”

“And you, what are you doing at the station?”

He asked me directly.

He wasn’t the type to come to a broadcasting station, and even less to visit the director. His presence in the office was highly suspicious.

Then I recalled the day at the department store, meeting Seo-Rin.

Could it be…

That thought hit me, and my heart pounded violently.

Did you come all the way here just for Cha Seo-Rin?

I didn’t want to believe it, but no one else motivated him like that.

Watching Seo Ji-Han speak casually with the director made my chest burn.

You’re insane. You’re crazy.

My gaze toward him grew cold.

Only voices filled the office between Seo Ji-Han and the director.

“With crisp spring air arriving, expect tomorrow’s temperature to rise above today’s.”

“Most of tomorrow, daytime highs will be above 16 degrees Celsius.”

The female voice of the weather report echoed on the TV as if interrupting mundane investment talk.

Seo Ji-Han’s gaze drifted to the television behind the director.

On-screen, I saw Seo-Rin delivering the weather.

“My mind is elsewhere, sorry, President. I forgot to turn it off.”

“It’s fine. It’s not too distracting.”

“Good—I was worried. You guys know Seo-Rin, the weathercaster, right? She and Announcer Yoon have been close.”

The director smiled, noting Seo Ji-Han’s attention to the TV as he continued.

“Yeo-Jin, too—but Seo-Rin is truly talented.”

“A rising star in programming, I suppose. You’re lucky to have so many talents.”

“Ha ha, indeed.”

He tried to appear poised, but emotions lingered beneath his polite tone.

Not a single betrayal—I felt suffocated by it again.

A thousand emotions washed over me.

That man, once my husband, loved my closest junior—not me.

How far will he push my misery?

Deep affection for Seo-Rin spread in Seo Ji-Han’s gaze.

The director may not know, but I saw it clearly.

I clenched and unclenched my fists to steady my mind.

Even though this wasn’t new, it felt like my insides were on fire.

“By the way, your wife mentioned reinstatement.”

“Reinstatement?”

Seo Ji-Han furrowed his brow when the director mentioned my return.

His eyes sharpened as he lifted his glass, and the director, taken aback, whispered to me again.

“You didn’t know? I thought it was prearranged with you… Announcer Yoon, was this a secret?”

He asked me quietly, clearly uneasy.

Seo Ji-Han slammed his glass onto the table.

“She’s from the Hojin family and an anchor? That won’t happen.”

“I thought the same. Ha ha. How did this turn out?”

The director said with a strained smile.

“And isn’t that anchor position already filled?”

He stopped smiling as realization set in.

As Seo Ji-Han said, the successor to the current anchor had already been decided by higher-ups.

“Anchor is a glamorous title, but it comes with slander, malicious rumors—terrible side effects.”

As he spoke, Seo Ji-Han’s gaze remained fixed on me.

His heavy eyes pressed into me deeper.

“I don’t want anyone I care about suffering.”

“…….”

“I want you to stay peacefully under my protection.”

I barely suppressed a sigh, my seething hatred for his smooth lies roaring inside.

The director, ignorant of the hidden layers, admired Seo Ji-Han’s words warmly.

Only I knew what was truly beneath them.

“As you know, she’s passionate about her work and often pushes too hard.”

“Of course. I know how much Announcer Yoon loves her job.”

The director readily agreed, trying to smooth things over.

“But what’s not possible remains impossible.”

The director shrank under Seo Ji-Han’s fierce gaze—his sharp calm silenced even this veteran.

“If she overexerts herself from now on, Director—you’ll stop her.”

“Ha ha ha, of course! I treasure Announcer Yoon so much—I definitely will.”

Seo Ji-Han, as if moved, relaxed his stern expression.

His faint smile showed satisfaction at the director’s firm answer.

After a long, detailed conversation, we exited the office.

Once the door closed behind us, Seo Ji-Han’s expression changed noticeably.

“Follow me.”

Without turning back, he said coldly.

Through the silent walk down the hallway to the elevator, he remained resentfully silent.

Once outside the main entrance, a cool breeze hit us.

The fresh air made me feel alive again.

He had stayed silent all the way out of the station, then suddenly turned to face me.

His piercing gaze was sharp—probably angered by hearing through others that I wanted to return.

When I showed no reaction, he frowned.

His deep eyes bore into me as he spoke softly, “Do you have nothing to say to me?”