Vows of Deception

The streets of Seoul passed in a blur outside the tinted windows of the car. Nayeon sat in the back seat, her fingers nervously tapping against her knee. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her chest, each passing moment making it harder to ignore the growing ache inside her. She wasn’t ready for this—not for the life waiting at that house, not for the role she was expected to play. But more than anything, she wasn’t ready to face Mina with the truth.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a familiar building, the modest apartment she shared with Mina. For a fleeting moment, Nayeon felt relief, as if just being near their sanctuary would erase the storm brewing in her mind. She climbed out, her steps quick but hesitant, her heart racing as she made her way up the stairs. Every creak of the wooden steps echoed louder in her ears, each one a reminder of how fragile this moment felt.

When she reached the door, her hand hovered over the doorknob. She let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to calm down. This wasn’t going to be easy, but Mina deserved to know. She turned the key and pushed the door open, stepping into the quiet apartment.

The faint scent of Mina’s perfume lingered in the air, a mix of jasmine and something soft that always made Nayeon feel at home. But the silence was deafening.

“Mina?” Nayeon called softly, her voice cracking. She stepped further inside, glancing around the small space. The living room was neat, as always. A book lay open on the coffee table, its pages slightly bent from use. The blanket they had shared the last time they watched a movie together was folded neatly on the couch. Everything was in place, yet something felt wrong.

Nayeon walked to the kitchen, her chest tightening with each step. The dishes were washed and stacked, the counters spotless. A sticky note was attached to the fridge. Her heart sank as she read the familiar handwriting:

Had to leave early for work. I’ll be back late tonight. Don’t skip meals, okay? -M.

Nayeon’s fingers trembled as she placed the note back where she found it. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She had planned to tell Mina everything—about the partnership, about the arrangement, about the house she was expected to live in with Sana. But now, standing in their apartment, the absence of Mina made the reality feel unbearable.

Her gaze drifted to the picture frame on the counter. It was a candid photo of the two of them, taken during one of their weekend trips to the countryside. Mina’s arm was draped around Nayeon’s shoulders, her smile bright and carefree. Nayeon’s lips quirked up in a faint, bittersweet smile as she ran her thumb over the glass.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I wish things were different.”

The ache in her chest grew, spreading like a wildfire she couldn’t contain. She wanted to wait for Mina, to hold her, to tell her everything in person. But time wasn’t on her side. The partnership—the expectations—it all loomed over her like a dark cloud, leaving no room for delay.

With a heavy heart, Nayeon turned and walked back toward the door. She paused at the threshold, looking back at the apartment one last time. It felt like she was leaving a piece of herself behind—the part of her that belonged to Mina, the part of her that felt free and loved.

The car ride to the house was suffocating. Nayeon stared out the window, her reflection a distorted version of herself. Her mind replayed memories of Mina, each one sharper and more painful than the last. The way Mina’s eyes lit up when she talked about her passions, the warmth of her laughter, the way her hand always found Nayeon’s without hesitation—all of it felt like a cruel reminder of what she was being forced to leave behind.

By the time the car pulled up in front of the house, the sun was high in the sky, its brightness doing little to ease the shadows in Nayeon’s heart. The house stood tall and pristine, its modern design a stark contrast to the warmth of the apartment she had just left. It was beautiful, sure, but it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like home.

Nayeon stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the pavement. She stared at the house, her expression unreadable. This was her new reality, the life she was expected to embrace. But as she stood there, the weight of her longing for Mina threatened to crush her.

Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to move forward. The assistant greeted her at the door, offering polite instructions about her belongings and the schedule for the day. Nayeon barely heard a word, her mind too preoccupied with the hollow ache in her chest.

She entered the house, her footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space. The walls were pristine, the furniture immaculate. Yet it all felt cold, lifeless. This wasn’t her home. It was a stage, and she was an unwilling actor in a play she didn’t believe in.

As she ascended the stairs to her room, Nayeon’s thoughts drifted back to Mina. She didn’t know how long she could keep this secret, how long she could live this double life. But for now, she had no choice. For now, all she could do was endure

The second floor had two rooms, and somehow, Nayeon felt a sliver of relief wash over her at the realization that she wouldn’t have to share a room with Sana. The thought of cohabiting such an intimate space was unbearable, and if that had been the case, she was certain she would have refused to ever step foot here again.

One of the rooms was beside the staircase, while the other was directly across from it. As she took in her surroundings, Nayeon noticed the meticulous layout of the house. Two grand staircases curled upward from the ground floor, meeting at a landing that connected them in the middle. The doors to the bedrooms faced each other at the top, with a glimmering chandelier suspended between them. Its soft, golden light illuminated both the upstairs and downstairs, casting intricate patterns on the polished floors.

She moved toward the glass railings, her gaze drifting downward. From her vantage point, she could see the kitchen below, pristine and fully equipped with every modern appliance imaginable. A medium-sized table, surrounded by six sleek white chairs, stood neatly arranged. Her eyes traveled further, landing on the living area, where a modest television was mounted on the wall. Sofas were positioned just far enough from the screen to feel balanced, with a coffee table sitting squarely at the center of the space.

The Hirai family had spared no expense. Every detail of the house radiated luxury and precision, as though carefully curated to impress. It was the kind of place where nothing seemed out of place, where every corner whispered of wealth and perfection.

But for Nayeon, none of it mattered. The gleaming appliances, the flawless furniture, even the carefully arranged décor—it all felt alien. The space, as perfect as it was, was cold and unwelcoming. There was no warmth here, no sense of belonging. She felt like a guest in a home that wasn’t hers, like she was trespassing in a life she never asked for.

Her fingers tightened against the smooth railing, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. No matter how flawless the house appeared, it didn’t feel like home. It never would. This place wasn’t hers, nor was it ever meant to be.

A soft creak broke the stillness from across the landing. Nayeon turned her head, her features quickly shifting into a stoic mask, concealing any trace of emotion. The door across from hers swung open, revealing Sana struggling with a small box in her arms. The way her frame wavered under its weight made it clear the contents weren’t light.

Nayeon’s eyes flicked briefly to the scene before she turned away, intent on stepping inside her own room.

“Typical,” she muttered under her breath, hand on the doorknob, when she noticed something from the corner of her eye. Sana, now aware of her presence, managed a smile. It wasn’t forced or calculating; it was the kind of smile that made her seem approachable, even warm.

Nayeon doubted it entirely.

Without a word, she rolled her eyes and pushed her door open. Stepping inside, she let the weight of the encounter settle on her shoulders. The lock clicked behind her as if to solidify her retreat, shutting out the house and its unwelcome occupants.

Sana, on the other hand, stood frozen for a moment. The smile faded from her lips, replaced with a faint smirk as she exhaled sharply through her nose. “Didn’t even offer to help me. What a good woman,” she said to herself, sarcasm lacing her tone.

She clicked her tongue and adjusted her grip on the box, the strain evident in her posture. It was filled with cartons of her favorite milk—one of the small comforts she’d allowed herself to bring to this foreign place. As much as the weight annoyed her, she sighed and bent her knees to shift it more securely in her arms.

“Full strength it is, Sana,” she mumbled, steeling herself as she trudged down the hall, her movements determined but unsteady.

Her words didn’t echo past the door Nayeon had firmly shut, and even if they had, they would have gone unanswered.

Behind the door of Nayeon’s room, Nayeon leaned against the hard wooden surface, letting the tension slowly bleed from her body. Her shoulders sagged, the weight of everything easing ever so slightly. She tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment, drawing in a deep breath before releasing it in a slow exhale. The quiet wrapped around her like a blanket, soft and unintrusive. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she didn’t feel the oppressive weight of expectations bearing down on her.

The silence wasn’t lonely—it was peaceful, soothing in a way that surprised her. This room, tucked away from the rest of the world, carried a sense of seclusion she hadn’t realized she craved. Alone but not desolate. Quiet but not suffocating. The stark difference to the emptiness of her penthouse struck her. There, silence was loud, echoing with her frustrations and longings. But here, it was different. It felt… manageable.

Her legs began to ache from standing too long, and she finally pushed herself off the door, walking toward the bed. The pristine sheets were perfectly arranged, the pillows fluffed to perfection. Everything was neat, orderly, untouched—as if it had been waiting for her. She allowed herself to fall onto the bed, the plush mattress giving under her weight in the most satisfying way. It cradled her, soft yet supportive, and she found herself sinking just enough to feel cocooned.

The texture of the sheets against her skin and the faint scent of fresh linen made her inhale again, this time more deeply. For a fleeting moment, she felt a strange sense of gratitude toward whoever had prepared this space for her. It was as though they had seen into her mind and crafted the room to her liking—a small island of comfort in the storm she was braving.

Nayeon stared at the ceiling, her arms stretched out beside her, fingertips brushing the cool fabric of the blanket. Her mind wandered, thoughts swirling but never fully forming. She didn’t want to think too much—not about Mina, not about Sana, not about this absurd situation she found herself in. Here, in this room, she allowed herself to exist in the now, even if it was only for a little while.

Nayeon had barely started to feel at ease when it hit her like a lightning bolt—her luggage. She hadn’t brought it upstairs.

Her breath hitched, and the sharp jolt of realization coursed through her body. Mina’s picture. The left side of the luggage had a sticker of Mina’s picture—a candid shot of her laughing, something Nayeon cherished so much that she couldn’t bring herself to remove it.

“Shit,” she whispered, panic rising like a tidal wave. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as her mind raced with worst-case scenarios. What if Sana had seen it? What if her father found out? Her chest tightened painfully at the thought.

She bolted toward the door, her hand gripping the handle tightly. But before she could swing it open, she froze. No. She couldn’t just rush downstairs like a maniac and give herself away. She needed to stay composed, indifferent, like none of this mattered.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and opened the door with measured calm. She stepped into the hallway, her movements precise but brisk, as though she were simply heading somewhere on a whim. Her heart, however, was beating wildly, threatening to betray her facade.

Her descent down the stairs was quick but calculated. Each step was light, barely audible, and her eyes darted toward the living area the moment she reached the bottom.

There it was. Her luggage sat by the door, exactly where she had left it. Relief flooded her for a split second before her eyes locked onto the side of the suitcase—and Mina’s picture staring back at her, fully exposed.

Her stomach churned.

Nayeon’s eyes flickered around the room, her senses on high alert. The house was eerily silent, but that didn’t mean Sana hadn’t been here. Her mind whirled with possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Steeling herself, she crossed the room with swift, determined steps. Her hand gripped the handle of the suitcase as she tilted it slightly, hiding the picture from view. Her fingers lingered on the worn edges of the sticker, and she swallowed hard.

With one last scan of the room to ensure she was alone, she lifted the luggage and made her way back upstairs. This time, she didn’t bother to mask her urgency. Her steps were quick, and her grip on the handle was tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

Once inside her room, she shut the door behind her with a soft but firm click, immediately turning the lock. Her chest heaved as she leaned against the door, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Crouching down beside the luggage, her eyes fell on Mina’s picture. The photo was slightly worn, the edges curling slightly, but Mina’s radiant smile remained unchanged. It was a reminder of a time that felt so far away, a life she yearned to hold onto.

Her throat tightened, and her fingers brushed over the photo, tracing Mina’s face with a tenderness she couldn’t express in words. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. The ache in her chest deepened, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her.

She couldn’t let anyone see this. Wrapping her arms around the suitcase, she pulled it close before reaching for a scarf from the drawer. Carefully, she draped it over the luggage, making sure the picture was completely covered.

Once satisfied, she pushed the suitcase into the corner of the room, far enough from prying eyes.

Sitting back on the bed, Nayeon buried her face in her hands. The silence of the room was heavy, suffocating, but it was the only sanctuary she had for now.

But what Nayeon didn’t know was that behind another door, Sana had caught a fleeting glimpse of her panic-stricken state.

“Will it hurt her ego if I say I saw her?” Sana mumbled to herself, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile as she leaned against the doorframe. She had opened her door just in time to see Nayeon hurriedly dragging her luggage into her room, her usual mask of indifference momentarily shattered. It was a rare sight—a crack in the perfect, stoic facade Nayeon always wore.

Sana tilted her head, her smile fading as curiosity crept in. She wasn’t sure what had flustered Nayeon so much, but the sight lingered in her mind longer than she cared to admit.

“Whatever,” she murmured, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. It wasn’t her business. Not really.

She pulled the door closed behind her and descended the stairs at an unhurried pace, her bare feet padding softly against the cold marble. The house was still, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator coming from the kitchen.

Stepping into the kitchen, Sana made her way to the counter, opening the cupboard to grab a glass. She filled it with water from the pitcher, the cool liquid offering a momentary distraction from the unease that seemed to settle in her chest ever since moving into this house.

The silence here was unlike anything Sana had ever experienced—not the kind that cradled her in peace, but the kind that wrapped around her chest like a heavy shroud. It wasn’t comforting; it was suffocating. The house, pristine and immaculate, felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for a moment that would never come.

Sana leaned against the marble counter, the cool surface grounding her as she sipped from her glass of water. Her thoughts, unbidden and unrelenting, wandered back to Nayeon. The brief glimpses she’d caught of her today felt like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit. She couldn’t help but wonder—was it always this hard for her? Did Nayeon feel the crushing weight of this arrangement the same way Sana did?

Her gaze drifted to the living room, where faint traces of Nayeon’s hurried movements lingered. The carpet, slightly ruffled, stood as the only evidence that Nayeon had been there at all. The memory of her fleeting presence hung in the air, like a ghost of something that never had a chance to exist.

“It’s obvious,” Sana muttered softly, the words barely audible in the stillness. She swirled the water in her glass, watching the ripples as though they held answers. “She’s determined to keep her distance… to never let me in.”

The thought settled in her chest, sharp yet hollow. And yet, as quickly as it came, she forced herself to push it aside. What was the point in dwelling on it? Nayeon had made it perfectly clear—her disdain, her indifference, the lines she refused to cross.

Sana exhaled slowly, setting the glass down with a soft clink. She wasn’t one to push where she wasn’t wanted. If Nayeon had built walls, Sana wouldn’t be the one to tear them down. It wasn’t pride; it was self-preservation. Nayeon’s icy demeanor was a boundary etched in stone, and Sana wasn’t about to chip away at it, no matter how much it stung to be on the outside.

So she turned back to the silence, letting it engulf her once more. If Nayeon wanted her distance, she would grant it. After all, she had learned long ago that forcing her way into someone’s life only left her with bruises. And Sana had no intention of adding new ones.

With a small sigh, she rinsed her glass and placed it back on the drying rack. Her gaze flickered toward the staircase, where the faint sound of movement from Nayeon’s room reminded her that she wasn’t truly alone here.

But it sure felt like it.

Grabbing a small carton of her favorite milk from the box she had struggled to carry earlier, Sana returned to the living room. She curled up on the corner of the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her as she sipped slowly.

If this was how things were going to be, then so be it. She didn’t expect companionship, nor did she seek it. But as the quiet stretched on, she couldn’t help but wonder how long they could both keep up this charade of indifference.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime of a notification. Sana paused mid-sip, setting the milk carton carefully on the coffee table. Reaching into the pocket of her pajamas, she pulled out her phone, its screen glowing faintly in the dim light of the living room.

Momo’s name flashed at the top of the message, and Sana’s brows furrowed slightly as she tapped to open it.

“Yoooo Miss Im Sana, father wants to see us now.”

Her eyebrow arched, not at the content of the message but at the title. “Miss Im Sana?” she muttered under her breath, a faint hint of amusement flickering across her face.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at Momo’s antics. The nickname wasn’t new—Momo often found ways to tease her, especially about her new last name. But today, it hit differently. Not in a painful way, but more like a sharp nudge, reminding her of the reality she was now a part of.

Sana’s fingers moved swiftly across the screen as she typed back a reply.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” she sent, her lips pressing into a thin line as she added, “They can wait.”

Setting the phone down beside her milk, she leaned back against the sofa, her arms crossing over her chest. Her father and Momo probably expected her to drop everything and rush over like she used to. But that was before. Things were different now, and if she was being honest, she wanted to hold onto the quiet for a little longer.

Her gaze flickered to the staircase again, wondering briefly if Nayeon had heard her phone’s chime or her muffled voice. Not that it mattered. They were strangers living under the same roof, nothing more.

Sana let out a soft sigh, rubbing her temples as she tried to gather her thoughts. Whatever her father wanted to discuss was unlikely to be pleasant. It rarely was these days.

Still, she wasn’t about to let them dictate her every move. If they wanted to summon her, they could wait. For now, she was content to sip her milk and enjoy this fleeting moment of peace.

Tilting her head back, she let her eyes wander to the chandelier above, its intricate crystals casting fragmented patterns across the ceiling. It was beautiful, almost too much so for a house that felt so empty.

“Miss Im Sana,” she repeated to herself, her voice dripping with sarcasm, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else entirely.

Later that day, Nayeon didn’t realize when sleep had claimed her. The plush comfort of her new room had lulled her into an unintended slumber. It was a peculiar stillness that enveloped her, a quietness almost too thick to escape. As her eyes fluttered open, a dull ache radiated through her body, a reminder of her awkward position. Her upper body lay sprawled across the bed, while her legs remained awkwardly grounded, feet planted firmly on the floor. The sensation was jarring—half asleep, half alert, and now entirely unforgiving.

“Ugh,” Nayeon groaned softly, her hands pressing into the mattress as she pushed herself upright. A sharp stiffness shot through her calves and lower back, and she winced, trying to stretch out the tension. She rubbed her thighs in an attempt to bring some feeling back into them, the sharp, tingling sensation like a thousand needles poking at her skin all at once.

“How did I even manage to sleep like that?” she mumbled to herself, her voice rough from the unintended nap. Her gaze drifted around the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long, uncertain shadows on the walls. It wasn’t home, not by a long shot, but in this moment, it offered a quiet solace, a small refuge from the world outside these walls.

She looked toward the window, the curtains gently swaying with the night breeze that seeped through the cracks. The city lights twinkled faintly in the distance, their glow like soft whispers from another world, while the stillness of the room enveloped her like a heavy blanket. The air felt thick with the weight of the day’s events, but for now, in this silence, there was peace—a rare, fleeting moment of calm.

Running a hand through her disheveled hair, Nayeon let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. She didn’t want to face it—not yet. For just a second, she wished she could remain cocooned in this quiet comfort, trapped in this temporary haven forever.

But reality was persistent. Her body, though weary, demanded movement. Slowly, she stood, each muscle in her legs protesting the shift as she winced with each step. Her feet dragged as she made her way to the bedside table, reaching for the glass of water she had left untouched earlier. The cool liquid slid down her throat, refreshing, but doing little to wash away the lingering heaviness that hung around her heart.

Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, back to Mina. She wondered what her girlfriend was doing at that exact moment—likely working late, surrounded by the familiar hum of her office, unaware of the turmoil twisting inside Nayeon. The ache in her legs felt like nothing compared to the quiet pang in her chest.

A low growl from her stomach snapped her fully awake, the ache of hunger making itself known with a sudden urgency. She glanced at the small clock hanging on the wall. It was already six in the evening. She hadn’t eaten a single thing all day, and her body wasted no time reminding her of the oversight. The growl came again, this time sharper, and Nayeon hissed under her breath, pushing herself upright with a resigned sigh.

Dragging her feet, she made her way to the door, twisting the knob lazily. As soon as she opened it, a profound silence greeted her—thick, almost tangible. Her gaze flicked toward the room across from hers, where the door stood closed, its polished surface reflecting the soft, muted glow of the chandelier above.

She assumed Sana had gone out. The thought carried an unexpected weight, a peculiar emptiness filling the air. The house, for a moment, seemed colder—lonelier somehow—as if its lifeless luxury had expanded in the absence of her presence.

Nayeon frowned, scolding herself internally for the stray thought. Why did it matter if she was here or not? she wondered, shaking her head as if to dismiss the notion. She needed food, not introspection.

Steeling herself, she descended the grand staircase, the polished wood creaking slightly under her feet, and turned toward the kitchen. The moment she stepped inside, the warm, savory aroma of something cooking stopped her in her tracks. It was a scent she hadn't expected—comforting, homely—and for a moment, it made her hesitate. Her eyes darted to the table at the center of the room, where several dishes were neatly arranged, each covered with clear plastic wrap.

Curious, Nayeon approached the table, her fingers brushing the edge of a note taped to its surface. She peeled it off, unfolding it slowly. The words, scrawled in neat, deliberate handwriting, caught her attention:

"You haven’t gotten out from your room, so I assumed you must be sleeping. This will be your dinner and lunch at the same time. If you need something else, just call me. I’ll be out for today."

Nayeon’s gaze lingered on the phone number written on the back of the note. The faintest crease appeared between her brows as she looked back at the meticulously prepared food.

The dishes weren’t extravagant—steamed rice, miso soup, grilled mackerel, and sautéed vegetables. Simple, homely, and untouched—but there was a quiet care in the arrangement, in the effort that had gone into preparing it. It was something Nayeon hadn’t expected from Sana. For someone she had pegged as insincere, as manufactured even, this gesture was… considerate.

Her chest tightened as conflicting thoughts swirled through her mind. Maybe, just maybe, Sana wasn’t the shallow figure Nayeon had imagined. Or maybe this was all part of some calculated move to win her over, a performance meant to soften her resolve.

She set the note down, her lips pressing into a thin line. Without another word, she reached for the utensils beside the plates and began uncovering the food. The aroma intensified, filling the space with its warmth.

As she seated herself at the table, her first bite was met with a quiet sigh of approval. It was good—comforting, familiar in a way that made her heart ache just a little less. Whether this was a genuine gesture or another calculated move didn’t matter, not for now. For now, the food was enough. And for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Sana than she had first assumed.

“Wow, an hour, huh? More like two hours, Sana,” Momo teased, her voice thick with sarcasm as she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. A playful smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, her brow arched in mock disapproval. She looked at Sana, who had just entered the room, her gaze sharp but betraying the faintest flicker of guilt before quickly hiding it behind an air of nonchalance.

Sana rolled her eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Shut up. The ride from there to here takes half an hour,” she shot back, her tone dismissive as she passed Momo, making her way to the head of the table where their father sat. His posture was impeccable, a perfect display of authority, but the coldness in his gaze was unmistakable—like a silent reminder that any misstep could be noticed.

She plastered on a smile, small and polite, bowing slightly toward him. Her father reciprocated the gesture, though his smile was hardly more than a brief curve of his lips. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Momo wasn’t done, though. She leaned forward slightly, her grin widening as she continued. “And the other hour and thirty minutes?” Her voice was light, almost mocking, as she sprawled lazily in her seat, clearly enjoying the way her sister hesitated, eyes darting nervously.

Sana’s patience thinned, and she shot back without missing a beat, her words sharp. “I was in my pajamas when you texted. Had to take a shower and get ready. Like, duh.”

Momo’s grin only deepened, relishing the discomfort she had stirred. “Okay, if you say so.” She leaned back again, her posture relaxed, as though nothing in the world could faze her. Her voice oozed with mock surrender, and the teasing undercurrent was unmistakable.

Before Sana could retort, their father cleared his throat—a sound both deliberate and commanding—that silenced the room immediately. The air seemed to thicken with expectation, and both daughters instinctively straightened in their chairs, turning their attention to him.

“Good,” their father began, his deep voice rich with authority. “To catch you up, your sister and I have been discussing helping the Myoui Clan with their son’s upcoming wedding. It will be a grand event, as he is their only child—”

“Does this have anything to do with us?” Sana interrupted, confusion lacing her voice, the question slipping out before she could think better of it.

Her father’s eyes narrowed, the shift almost imperceptible, but he maintained his calm demeanor. “Let me finish, darling.” He allowed the brief reprimand to hang in the air before continuing, his voice smooth as ever. “No, it doesn’t directly involve us. However, they’ve extended an invitation. They are part of the family, after all.”

Sana, ever the skeptic, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest as she processed his words. Her brows furrowed slightly, the weight of her thoughts pulling her deeper into silence.

Her father glanced over both of his daughters, his eyes sharp, knowing exactly what each of them would do next. Momo, ever the easygoing one, would accept whatever was asked without much thought. Sana, on the other hand, was far more calculating, always dissecting every detail, evaluating every angle before making any move.

He sighed, a small, almost imperceptible sound that suggested a battle he had anticipated. “Think of it as a small favor in return for your recent request,” he added, his voice attempting lightness, though the words felt like they were meant to placate rather than inform. “Though your request had quite the impact on all of us.”

The tone in his voice was intended to be playful, but it landed with the usual disconnection. Momo barely stifled a yawn, while Sana’s lips tightened, the corners of her mouth pulling downward in faint disapproval. The attempt at humor only highlighted the distance between them—between his public persona and the father they all knew behind closed doors.

Sana glanced at Momo, whose curiosity was piqued, but who was too relaxed to truly care about the underlying tensions. Then, her gaze returned to their father, the ever-present reminder of how easily he could command respect in public, yet how out of touch he was with the intricacies of his daughters' lives.

"Wait, the Myouis only have one child? I thought they had two?" Momo’s voice cut through the air, her curiosity genuine as she tilted her head, clearly seeking confirmation.

Sana, however, didn’t lift her gaze. She twirled a finger absentmindedly along the rim of the glass in front of her, eyes unfocused, feigning disinterest. But her mind was sharp, listening intently even when she appeared detached.

Their father’s expression shifted for the briefest of moments—a flicker of unease, before he masked it with practiced calm. His voice, when he spoke, was measured. “Darling, don’t ever bring that up to them. Not to anyone in their family. They might shut you out entirely,” he warned, his tone soft, yet carrying an undeniable weight.

Momo’s brow furrowed in confusion, her curiosity only growing stronger. “So, it’s true?”

Her father pinched the bridge of his nose, the weariness in his posture suddenly evident. He muttered something under his breath, as though resigned to the inevitability of Momo’s persistence. When she set her sights on something, there was no stopping her.

Across the table, Sana’s expression remained unchanged, her boredom so tangible it seemed almost deliberate. She sighed quietly, and without waiting for a response, stood up. She pushed her chair back with the faintest of squeaks and bowed slightly toward her father. “I’ll be heading back now,” she said, her voice detached, as though the conversation had lost all significance to her.

Her father smiled, but it was automatic, as though he had already moved on to the next task. “Take care, darling,” he responded, his tone warm but distracted.

Sana had already turned toward the door when her father’s voice stopped her in her tracks, just before she reached the threshold.

“They did have a daughter,” he added, almost as an afterthought, his voice quieter now, as though he was sharing something private. “But she went missing a year after she was born.”

Sana froze for just a moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob, the revelation heavy in the air.

Momo’s gasp was sharp, a sound of pure shock. “What? Missing? What happened to her?”

Her father didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched out, pregnant with unspoken words. Sana’s fingers tightened on the knob, but she didn’t turn back.

“Details are scarce,” their father finally replied, his voice carrying a weariness that matched his expression. “The Myouis don’t speak of her. She disappeared without a trace, but they are still trying to find her. It’s… a sensitive topic. Best we leave it at that.”

Momo’s usual enthusiasm dimmed, her voice dropping into a quieter, more somber tone. “That’s… awful,” she murmured, her words hanging in the air, uncharacteristically serious.

Sana didn’t wait for more. She turned the doorknob and stepped out, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her as her steps echoed down the hallway. Her mind was already racing, the revelation about the Myouis' missing daughter pulling at her thoughts, but she quickly pushed it aside. It wasn’t her concern. Whatever the Myouis had lost, it wasn’t her place to dwell on it.

The hum of the car’s engine gradually faded into the background, leaving a heavy silence that seemed to wrap itself around Sana like a cloak. Her eyes were fixed on the house outside the window, the dim moonlight casting long shadows across its clean lines. The house stood there, simple but imposing, like a reminder of everything she couldn’t control. The exterior gleamed, almost mocking the turmoil that churned quietly within her. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the strap of her bag, the motion mechanical, as if it could somehow steady the restlessness inside her.

"Eunha-shi," she murmured, her voice soft, almost lost beneath the weight of the night. "Tell me, do you think I made the right choice?"

Her gaze never shifted, still locked on the house as if it held the answers she sought, but the question hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. She waited for a response, even though she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for.

Beside her, Eunha shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze following Sana’s line of sight to the house, her expression unreadable. "I believe you did, Miss Hirai," she said, her voice steady, grounded. "You’ve always been someone who knows what’s best, even if it doesn’t feel that way right now."

Sana let the words settle around her, drawing a quiet comfort from them, though the doubt still gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, more to herself than to Eunha, and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thank you," she said, the words feeling lighter than they should.

Without waiting for the driver to open the door, she slid it open herself, stepping out into the cool night air. The chill against her skin felt sharp, almost jarring, as she paused and turned back to the car. She bowed briefly, her movements graceful but mechanical, before straightening and facing the house again.

She studied it for a moment longer, her eyes tracing the neatness of its exterior, the simplicity of its structure. "Simple, organized, neat, and firm," she murmured under her breath. "Yet fragile, weak... the only place to hide."

The words barely left her lips before she began walking toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. The silence that enveloped her seemed to press down on her, as if the house itself was watching, waiting. She wondered, as she approached the door, whether this house would ever feel like a sanctuary, or if it would remain as it was now—a cold space, more suffocating than sheltering.

With a soft push, the door opened, and she stepped inside. The silence was immediate, all-encompassing, and it pressed against her like a living thing. Her gaze instinctively lifted, traveling up the stairs, and there it was: Nayeon’s door, slightly ajar, the faintest sliver of light spilling out.

Sana hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. Had Nayeon forgotten to close it, or had she left it open on purpose? A thread of curiosity tugged at her, urging her to see, to check. It wasn’t wrong to make sure Nayeon was okay, was it?

Her fingers hovered over the doorknob, the cool metal brushing against her skin as she twisted it gently, widening the gap just enough to peek inside.

Empty.

The room lay still and untouched, the bed neatly made, the quietness almost too much to bear. It hit her harder than she expected, the emptiness of it all, the hollow ache that spread through her chest as she stood there, momentarily frozen. She took a step back, closing the door gently behind her, the soft click of the latch sounding too loud in the silence.

Sana’s breath was shallow as she descended the stairs, the weight of the emptiness hanging heavy in her chest. Each step seemed to take longer than the last, and by the time she reached the kitchen, she could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her, threatening to crush her.

It was then that she noticed the table. It was cleared, the dishes she had left for Nayeon now gone. Her eyes were drawn to the fridge, where a small note had been taped. Her steps quickened, and she pulled the paper off, unfolding it gently.

"Thanks."

The word was simple, unadorned, and yet it felt like a small stone dropped into a vast, empty space. She stared at it for a moment, the simplicity of it, the quiet finality of it. There was no warmth, no connection in the way it was written, but still, it was something. A small acknowledgment. A fragile thread.

With a soft sigh, Sana set the note back down, her fingers lingering on its edge for just a moment before she stepped away, her gaze falling to the glass of milk she had left earlier. She poured herself another, the cold liquid grounding her as she took a sip, her eyes closing briefly as she leaned against the counter. For now, this would have to be enough.

One word, one step, one fragile thread.

Even if it barely held, it was still there.

Momo sat alone at the table, the neon lights above casting an unnatural glow that made the world outside the small bubble of the bar feel distant, almost unreal. Her phone buzzed sporadically in her hand, the screen lighting up only to be met with her indifferent gaze. She tapped at the screen absently, sending a string of emojis to Sana—heart, flower, sun—an attempt at bridging the silence, though she had long stopped expecting any real response. It was a distraction, nothing more, a futile effort to fill the void that seemed to expand within her every day.

The bar was alive with noise, the bass from the music vibrating through her bones, drowning out the thoughts she tried so hard to ignore. The people around her were too loud, their laughter too sharp, their glances lingering a little too long, as though they could see something in her she wasn’t sure she even knew. Momo didn’t belong here, she knew that much. She had never felt comfortable in places like this, where eyes felt predatory, and every moment was tainted with a quiet desperation that hung thick in the air. Yet, there she was, seated next to Jennie, who was in her element, laughing freely with her friends. Friends Momo didn’t know, and frankly, had no interest in knowing.

Her eyes roamed the room, avoiding the invasive gazes of those who passed by, the noise growing louder with every beat of the song that thudded against her skull. She felt like a spectator, watching life unfold around her without ever truly being part of it. This was a place for people seeking fleeting thrills, looking for something to numb the emptiness inside. Momo couldn’t decide if she pitied them or envied them. Maybe both.

It was then that her gaze landed on something—or rather, someone—that caught her attention. Across the room, by the far corner, stood a woman with short black hair, her posture standing apart from the crowd. There was a deliberate, almost calculated way her eyes scanned the room, the look of someone who knew exactly what they were doing here but didn’t belong to it. Something about that presence struck a chord deep within Momo.

Without thinking, she stood up, her feet moving with a quiet determination. Jennie didn’t even notice, too caught up in the conversation with her friends, her laughter echoing in the background. Momo barely spared her a glance as she made her way through the crowd, her steps purposeful, her heart beating a little faster as she neared the woman in the corner.

When she finally stopped in front of her, the recognition hit her like a bolt. She smirked, her voice teasing as she addressed the woman before her. "Well, well. Didn’t peg you for the type to hang around a place like this, Yoo Jeongyeon."

The name slipped from her lips with a certain playfulness, and she watched as Jeongyeon’s eyes flickered with surprise before softening into something neutral, a small shift that was almost imperceptible.

"It’s not, really," Jeongyeon said, her voice rising slightly above the music. "My friend dragged me here. She’s the type to get into trouble, and someone has to keep an eye on her."

Momo arched an eyebrow, her arms crossing loosely over her chest, the faintest smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Same here, but my friend is the trouble. No need to keep an eye on her—she thrives on it."

A soft laugh escaped Jeongyeon before she could stop herself, a sound that surprised Momo. It wasn’t just polite or restrained; it was real. Unfiltered. Genuine. The kind of laugh that caught Momo off guard, making her chest tighten, her breath hitching for just a moment. It was unexpected, raw, and it made Momo forget for a brief second where she was, who she was, and why she was there.

Jeongyeon’s laughter faded as she seemed to catch the look in Momo’s eyes, her expression shifting, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her features. She straightened, the easy warmth of her smile quickly masked by something more guarded.

"Sorry," Jeongyeon said, the corners of her mouth twitching as though suppressing another laugh. "I don’t usually laugh like that. I—"

"I liked it," Momo blurted out, her words slipping out before she had a chance to think. The heat of her own audacity flooded her cheeks, and for a split second, she froze, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

Jeongyeon blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, and Momo’s stomach dropped. She had said it. She had actually said it.

And just like that, her instincts kicked in. Fight or flight, and flight was winning.

"I—uh, gotta go," she muttered quickly, her voice small as she turned on her heel and walked away before Jeongyeon could respond. Her steps were hurried, her heart racing as she maneuvered through the crowd, ignoring the whispers and protests of people she passed by.

Outside, the cool night air hit her like a breath of reality. Momo started pacing along the sidewalk, her hands tugging at her hair as she muttered to herself, unable to escape the self-inflicted embarrassment. "Stupid, stupid," she chastised herself, the words tumbling out in frustration. "What were you thinking? You barely know her. You can’t just—ugh!"

But no matter how much she scolded herself, the sound of Jeongyeon’s laugh lingered in her mind, bright and warm, like a song that wouldn’t fade. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake, no matter how much she tried. And deep down, a part of Momo knew she didn’t want to forget it.

Mina’s heart ached as she looked down at Nayeon, curled in her arms, her body trembling with the weight of the fears that clawed at her insides. Nayeon, so peaceful in her sleep, unaware of the torrent of emotions surging through Mina. The soft rise and fall of Nayeon’s chest against her own, the warmth that radiated between them, was the only thing grounding Mina in the fragile moment. Nayeon’s arms were wrapped around her, as if she, too, were clinging to this time together, holding on to the last remnants of something they both feared would slip away.

Mina’s hand traced the smooth curve of Nayeon’s head, her fingers threading through her hair with the gentleness of someone desperate to hold on. The sensation of Nayeon’s body pressed so close to hers, the quiet intimacy of their shared silence, only heightened the ache in her chest. She tightened her hold on Nayeon, her other arm pulling the woman closer, as though she could somehow shield them from the world, from the impending weight of the decisions that loomed over them like a storm cloud.

She had never imagined she would be in this position—laying here, clinging to the love of her life, terrified of losing her. Mina had lived a life without the heavy burdens of responsibility. Becoming a flight attendant, the job she had always dreamed of, was an easy choice, one her parents had always supported. The simplicity of her life had made it easy to understand Nayeon’s struggles on the surface, but now, the deeper she saw into Nayeon’s world, the more she realized how little she truly understood the weight Nayeon carried. The lies, the promises, the chains of a life she was forced into—Mina had never been in her shoes.

Yet here she was, holding Nayeon, doing everything she could to keep her close, to keep this moment alive. Mina’s tears fell silently, the warm drops streaking down her face as they fell, leaving their mark on her skin. They were tears of loss, of grief she could not yet name. Nayeon’s words about the marriage to Sana still echoed in her mind, the first crack in the foundation of everything they had built. It felt as though the world was quietly taking Nayeon away from her, piece by piece, and Mina was powerless to stop it.

Nayeon stirred slightly in her arms, her breathing deepening as she pretended to remain asleep. Mina’s heart clenched at the thought that Nayeon, too, was carrying a weight she could never share with her. Nayeon’s quiet fear mirrored her own, a mutual understanding of the fragile state of their relationship. Mina’s grip tightened, desperately trying to hold on to her, to this fleeting moment that felt like it could shatter at any time.

Nayeon’s eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, the two of them were locked in the silence of unspoken understanding. Neither one of them needed to say a word; they both knew that this moment, as precious as it was, was all they could have. Nayeon could not tell Mina the truth. She couldn’t tell her that she was already living a life that no longer had room for them, that she had been bound to another. But Nayeon didn’t want to hurt her further. Mina was already breaking, and the last thing Nayeon wanted was to shatter the fragile thread that connected them, even if it was just for a moment longer.

Nayeon closed her eyes again, letting the warmth of Mina’s embrace be the only thing that mattered, and in the stillness of the night, they held each other, silently mourning the love they both knew was slipping away.