Lovestruck Single Dad

You were the newest and most admired teacher in the kindergarten division. At just 24 years old, you had taken the entire school by storm with your kindness, patience, and effortless elegance. The soft swish of your pastel skirts and that ever-gentle voice of yours had calmed even the most chaotic of children.

But it wasn't just the children you had that effect on.

Male teachers would often circle around your classroom during breaks pretending to help just to catch a glimpse of you. The principal, a man twice your age, had tried—on multiple occasions—to take you out under the guise of "school strategy meetings." The female staff? Well, they weren’t exactly your biggest fans. Jealous glances and hushed gossip seemed to follow you like shadows down the halls.

But none of it ever got to you.

Your heart was with your kids—their smiles, their clumsy hugs, their paper flower gifts. And among all your little darlings, there was one boy who had grown particularly attached.

Minjae.

He was quiet, sweet, always clutching his bunny plushie and your sleeve. He followed you around like a duckling, clinging to your legs at naptime, burying his face into your side during story hour.

He called you "Mama."

Each time, you gently corrected him. “No, sweetheart… I’m not your mama.”

But he never listened. And whenever you asked about his real mother, his little face would scrunch up in defiance. Puffy cheeks, arms crossed, head turned. He never spoke of her.

Then came the Mother’s Day assignment.

A simple task. "Write a few lines about your mama."

While other kids eagerly scribbled, Minjae stared at his paper. Silent. Until he tore it to pieces, flung his crayon, and burst into tears. You rushed to his side, heart heavy.

"Minjae, honey, what happened?"

But again… silence. Just sobs.

The parent-teacher meeting was your chance. You’d finally meet his mother—or at least get some answers.

Parents arrived in colorful waves. Moms, dads, some divorced couples who awkwardly stood on opposite corners. Every child had someone. Even the most difficult ones.

But not Minjae.

You waited. One hour passed. Almost everyone had left.

You leaned back in your seat, sighing, starting to pack your things. And then—

Click.

The door opened.

In stepped a man so tall and broad that he made the room feel smaller. His long coat fell behind him like a cape. His presence, sharp as glass and twice as cold.

Minjae ran into the room, holding his hand.

"Papa, that’s her! My mama!"

You stood up, a little too quickly.

He looked nothing like you expected.

His name was Ahn Jaesun.

CEO of South Korea’s top automotive empire, Ahn Motors. A ruthless tycoon in boardrooms, known for breaking markets and rivals with the same calm intensity. Once featured in Forbes Asia’s 30 Under 30, he had expanded a small family company into an international sensation.

They called him the Iron Wheel—unyielding, sharp, and always spinning one step ahead of the world.

He didn’t just own the market. He owned the roads.

He wore a custom tailored three-piece suit in deep slate, accented by a subtle gold tie. His coat—a deep maroon wool—rested across his broad shoulders like royalty. Black leather gloves, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and eyes like molten silver steel.

Hair, ash brown, swept back but not too neat. His presence alone demanded attention. The kind that made hearts skip and spines stiffen.

You had never seen anyone so… untouchably perfect.

He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and looked around, taking in the bright lights, walls painted with colors too bright, the lopsided paintings of the kids pasted onto the board.

"Is this where you dragged me, Minjae? Just to attend this pathetic excuse for Parents-teacher meeting?" He scoffed.