Stupid Cupid
The Generations of the Hirai and Minatozaki families had always been… weirdly close. Not in the “we share matching sweaters at family reunions” way—but in the “we’ve got a dark, possibly cursed secret that nobody else knows” kind of way. Their bond went all the way back to their mysterious ancestors, who, for some reason, decided it would be a fantastic idea to intertwine their fates forever.
To the public, they were untouchable. Both families dominated the political scene in Japan—champions of justice, fairness, and all that heartwarming nonsense. People admired them. Worshipped them, even. But like every perfect picture, there was a big, ugly crack running right through the middle of it.
And that crack? Well, it was the Minatozaki curse.
At first, no one questioned the constant vanishing of Minatozaki family members. People assumed they were just unlucky, like maybe they broke too many mirrors or walked under too many ladders. But when every new generation started dropping like flies, people began whispering. Were they cursed? Haunted? Secretly terrible at life? The truth, however, was much worse—and only the Minatozakis knew it.
In 1987, a man named Minatozaki Hiro discovered the horrifying reason behind his family’s bizarre deaths. Hidden within the bloodline was a cruel, invisible illness—one that quietly weakened its victims over the years until their bodies simply… gave up. But here’s the kicker: the illness only activated when their hearts started beating faster.
That’s right. Love could literally kill them. Stupid Right?
Cupid? Public enemy number one.
At first, Hiro wasn’t worried—he had no plans to fall head-over-heels for anyone. That is… until he met Myoui Aira, the youngest daughter of the Myoui family—a family known for producing some of Japan’s best and most terrifyingly brilliant doctors.
Now, the Myoui sisters—Aira and her older sister, Myoui Yimai—weren’t exactly normal themselves. They were practically glued at the hip, partners-in-crime who did everything together. If one robbed a candy store, the other carried the getaway bag. If one fell in love, the other had to do the same. And because they were dramatic like that, they even got married on the same day.
But here’s the twist—the Myoui family had one unshakable rule: No man could erase their last name. When Myoui Yimai married her husband, she kept her surname and made sure their future kids carried the Myoui legacy. But Aira? She did the unthinkable. She took her husband’s name—and worse, she insisted that their child do the same.
The Myouis were horrified. Disappointed. But at the end of the day? They loved their two daughters more than silly rules. So, they let it slide.
What they didn’t know—what no one knew—was that marrying Aira sealed Hiro’s fate. The moment he fell for her, the curse latched onto him like a bloodthirsty leech. Slowly but surely, he started to weaken. But he didn’t care about his own life—no, his biggest fear was for the child they were about to have.
That child? Minatozaki Sana.
Hiro prayed—begged, even—that Sana would never fall in love. Because if she did, she wouldn’t just get her heart broken. It would literally stop beating.
And as if fate wasn’t done being cruel, the Myoui sisters went into labor at the same time—Aira giving birth to Sana, and Yimai delivering Myoui Mina, the future heir of the Myoui family.
Now, you’d think things couldn’t get any worse, right?
Wrong.
That night, in a bizarre twist of cosmic incompetence, Myoui Mina vanished from the hospital nursery. Security footage showed a mysterious figure sneaking in, checking baby name tags like they were shopping for groceries. And thanks to a clueless nurse who accidentally swapped Sana and Mina’s name tags, the thief took the wrong baby.
The Myoui family was shattered. Their heir—their pride and joy—was gone. And all because someone had apparently kidnapped the wrong kid. Was it? Well that's what they believed.
And the tragedy wasn’t finished yet.
Barely a week after Sana’s birth, Hiro’s body finally gave out. His heart—already fragile—simply couldn’t take it anymore. He died quietly, leaving Aira utterly broken. Some said she stopped living the moment he did. And the day after his death, she followed him to the grave.
It was the kind of heartbreak no amount of medical brilliance could cure.
The Myoui family, once so proud and unyielding, was left in ruins—mourning not just their missing heir, but the loss of their youngest daughter. They searched everywhere for Mina. They prayed. They bargained. But there was no miracle. Only silence.
And that’s when Hirai Takashi stepped in.
Now, if you know anything about Hirai Takashi, it’s that he never missed an opportunity. With both Minatozaki parents gone and a grieving Myoui family too shattered to object, he swooped in and adopted Sana before anyone could blink. And just to keep things neat and tidy, he erased her old identity, giving her a brand-new name:
Hirai Sana.
Did the Myoui family object? Maybe. But Takashi was a man you wouldn't want to argue with. He raised Sana as his own—showering her with love, gifts, and enough distractions to ensure she never suspected the truth. After all, who would question the reality they grew up with?
Sana became the cherished youngest daughter of the Hirai Clan—oblivious to the bloodline curse lurking beneath her skin.
And as for the Myouis?
They never stopped searching for the heir they lost.
Sana’s twelfth birthday was supposed to be fun. Supposed to be.
She had been running through the halls, looking for a decent hiding spot during a game of hide-and-seek. But just as she was about to slip into a random room, her ears caught… something. A rhythmic sound. Panting. Muffled voices. And then—moaning.
Sana stopped dead in her tracks.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. She didn’t know who was inside, and she didn’t want to know. Rich people had too much free time, apparently.
Disgusted, she moved further down the hallway. That was when she noticed another room at the very end, its door slightly ajar, a faint yellow light glowing from within. It looked… old. Forgotten. Creepy.
Naturally, her curiosity got the best of her.
She slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. The room smelled ancient, dust swirling in the dim light. The shelves were packed with books so thick she swore they could kill someone if thrown hard enough. Cobwebs draped over the furniture like someone had decorated the place for Halloween and then abandoned it. But what caught her eye the most was the massive wooden desk in the center. A nameplate gleamed faintly on its surface, covered in dust.
‘Minatozaki Hiro – Heir of Minatozaki Clan’
Sana frowned. That name again. She had heard it before but couldn’t quite remember where. The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew, whispering for her to leave.
And she would have—if she hadn’t tripped on something.
She barely managed to catch herself before her face met the floor. Annoyed, she looked down to see what had nearly sent her to an early grave. A thick brown envelope lay at her feet, its surface aged, corners slightly torn.
Her name was written across the front in bold, inked letters:
‘Minatozaki Sana’
She froze.
What the hell?
Her hands trembled as she picked it up, peeling off the tape with shaky fingers. Slowly, she pulled out the first thing inside.
It was a picture.
Of her.
A newborn, wrapped snugly in blankets. The same picture that Takashi had shown her before. Identical.
A shiver ran down her spine, but she swallowed hard and reached for the next item inside the envelope. This time, it was a set of documents. Old papers, edges yellowed with time. Sana’s eyes darted across the text, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Minatozaki Clan. Lineage. Death records.
Her gaze traveled downward, tracing the names of people she had never met—never even heard of—until she saw something that made her stomach drop.
Her name. Written at the bottom.
‘Minatozaki Sana – Fate Sealed’
Her breath hitched. Fate? Sealed? What the hell does that mean?
Then, the voices started.
Faint whispers at first. Crawling, echoing.
Then louder.
Sana’s entire body went stiff. The walls of the room seemed to darken, the faint yellow light flickering like it was gasping for air. She clutched the paper in her hands, but the voices only grew, overlapping, colliding, turning into an unbearable cacophony. Some were whispering, some were laughing, and others—
Others were screaming.
Sana clamped her hands over her ears, heart hammering, breath coming in sharp gasps. The voices weren’t just inside the room. They were inside her.
She wasn’t scared of death. No.
But the voices?
The voices would drive her insane.
Nayeon carefully laid Sana down on her bed, adjusting her position so she wouldn’t wake. With slow movements, she reached for a pillow, slipping it beneath Sana’s head before letting it rest gently against the soft fabric. She hesitated for a second, her fingers lingering just above Sana’s cheek as she watched the way her lashes fluttered ever so slightly, as if lost in the depths of her dreams. The sound of rain battered against the windows, filling the silence of the dimly lit room.
She reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed, pulling it over Sana’s frame, tucking her in as if the warmth alone could protect her from whatever demons haunted her even in sleep. As an afterthought, she turned toward the thermostat, increasing the temperature just a little. The last thing Sana needed was to wake up shivering in the middle of the night.
With a quiet sigh, Nayeon sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her lap.
It was her first time seeing Sana’s room. The place was neat—almost meticulously arranged—everything in its rightful place, not a single thing out of order. There was a strange stillness to it, something so eerily perfect that it felt like a carefully constructed image, something meant to convince outsiders that everything was fine. But even in its order, the room carried an unmistakable emptiness, the kind that pressed down on her chest without reason.
Her gaze fell to the bedside table, where an open drawer sat slightly ajar. Instinctively, she reached out to close it, but something caught her eye just as her fingers brushed the handle.
A pause.
And then—curiosity.
Nayeon fully opened the drawer, her breath catching when she saw what was inside.
Stacks of medicine bottles. Painkillers. Sleeping pills. Some names she recognized, others she didn’t. Some bottles were nearly full, others almost empty. And then—her fingers ghosted over a handful of receipts, some of them so old that the ink had started to fade.
She swallowed.
The realization sank in like a heavy stone thrown into deep water.
Sana had been taking these for years.
The text Momo sent her before the Myoui wedding suddenly resurfaced in her mind. Sana never really sleeps well. She had brushed it off back then, assuming it was nothing out of the ordinary. But now, as she sat here, staring at the physical proof of it, she realized just how wrong she had been. This wasn’t just occasional sleepless nights. This was something that Sana had been fighting for a long time. And no one had ever noticed.
A quiet hum broke through the stillness.
Nayeon’s head snapped up, her fingers immediately moving to close the drawer as quietly as possible. She turned back toward the bed, eyes softening when she saw Sana shift slightly under the covers. Even in sleep, her brows were furrowed, her expression twisted with something unreadable.
Nayeon hesitated before moving closer.
She didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against the crease between Sana’s brows.
She traced the tension gently, smoothing out the furrowed lines as if she could erase whatever troubled thoughts were haunting her.
And then—like magic—Sana’s expression softened.
Her face, always so pale and tired, looked different now. Calm. At peace. As if for the first time in a long time, she had found a moment of rest.
Nayeon found herself unable to look away.
She placed her hands on the bed beside Sana, steadying herself so she wouldn’t collapse forward. From this close, she could see the way the strands of Sana’s hair spread out against the pillow, the way her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
It was peaceful. The kind of peaceful that felt human-made, like someone had carefully built this moment just for it to be experienced. And Nayeon, for the first time, allowed herself to simply be in it.
But the peace didn't last.
Her mind was cruel like that.
It dragged her back—to a conversation she wished she could forget.
“And after three months?”
“I’ll call off the marriage,” he murmured, each word deliberate. “And then, I’ll make sure the world knows that their precious daughter was the villain. I’ll tell them she abused you, molested you, threatened you—every single lie that will take them down. And once their reputation crumbles, all that public trust will shift to us.”
Nayeon had agreed.
Cruel as it was, she had agreed.
She bit her lower lip, forcing herself to lean back, to put distance between them. She ran a hand through her hair, frustration bubbling up from deep within her chest.
Why?
Why did she have to see Sana like this? Why did she have to witness this moment of vulnerability, to feel something stir in her chest that she shouldn’t?
It made everything so much harder.
She had a plan.
She had an agreement.
But now?
Now, she wasn’t even sure if she could go through with it.
And the worst part?
She didn’t know why.
Because as she looked at Sana now—calm, relaxed, peaceful in a way she had never seen before—she realized something unsettling.
She liked it.
She liked seeing Sana like this.
And that terrified her.
The cold air from the convenience store's air conditioner wrapped around them like a quiet embrace, a stark contrast to the heavy downpour outside. The rain drummed against the glass window beside them, each drop racing down like tiny rivers, blurring the neon lights of the city beyond. Inside, the world felt still, safe, as if the walls of this small space had managed to shield them from everything waiting beyond.
Jeongyeon took a slow sip of her soda, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on the can. She sighed, her voice quiet, almost hesitant, as she broke the silence. “Do you think they’ll be okay? I mean, Hongjin is unpredictable. I’m afraid he’ll do something bad to them, especially to your sister.”
Momo exhaled through her nose, resting her chin on her palm, her elbow propped against the table. Her gaze followed the rain outside, the way it hit the pavement, forming puddles that would eventually overflow. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. “I don’t even know why Sana got involved with the Ims in the first place. She doesn’t even know them. Yeah, I get it—she’s a woman herself, and she couldn’t just sit there and watch another woman get sold off like some property, but… just why? I don’t know.” She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. It hurt. Whatever Sana was planning, it felt like she was walking straight into danger. And Momo knew, sooner or later, that trouble would come knocking.
Jeongyeon tapped her fingers against her can absentmindedly. “Maybe she’s planning something,” she murmured, more to herself than to Momo. “Something more for herself.”
Momo turned to her, her throat tightening at the thought. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jeongyeon kept her gaze outside, watching the rain, her expression unreadable. “Have you seen the way Sana looks at Nayeon?” she finally asked. “That day, at the wedding, I saw it.” She took a slow breath, her voice steady, but there was something behind it—something Momo couldn’t quite place. “When Nayeon walked out of her dressing room, Sana smiled. Just for a second, but I saw it. It was the kind of smile that’s been waiting for a moment to happen.”
Jeongyeon paused, running a hand through her hair before she scoffed softly. “But then I noticed something else. She’s been getting thinner. Weaker. Every day since then. It’s like she’s been fighting something inside her, something no one else can see. But when Nayeon’s beside her…” Jeongyeon stopped, her lips pressing together as if debating whether to continue. And then she did. “Like that time Nayeon hugged her during Myoui’s wedding celebration. I saw it. I saw the way Sana was about to cry, but she didn’t. She held it back. Not for herself. For Nayeon.”
Momo felt her stomach tighten. “Why?” she asked, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
Jeongyeon finally turned to look at her. Her eyes, usually sharp and unwavering, softened just slightly. “Sana is in love with Nayeon,” she said, her voice quiet. “And it’s killing her.”
The words hung in the air between them, thick and heavy, seeping into the cracks of everything Momo thought she understood. And suddenly, she felt like she was looking at Sana all over again, but through a different lens. A lens she never even knew existed.
She swallowed hard, trying to process it. But Jeongyeon wasn’t finished.
“Somehow,” Jeongyeon continued, “I want to thank Sana for protecting Nayeon.” Her voice was softer now, carrying something that felt a lot like guilt. “Nayeon grew up in a world that never let her breathe. Everything was controlled. Everything had to be perfect. And she’s been in danger more times than I can count. But someone was always there to help her. We thought it was her dad, we thought it was his people watching out for her, but then…” Jeongyeon let out a quiet, almost humorless chuckle, shaking her head slightly. “We found out he had no idea. Even when we were in New York, even when Nayeon almost got kidnapped, someone was still protecting her. And we have no idea who it was.”
Momo leaned back in her chair, the weight of it all sinking in. The rain outside didn’t let up. It kept falling, steady and relentless, much like the thoughts racing through her mind. She exhaled sharply, tilting her head back. “Seems like Nayeon’s lucky,” she muttered, her voice laced with something she couldn’t quite name. “She’s got people protecting her while my sister has no one.”
Jeongyeon turned to look at her, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The truth was already there between them, raw and unspoken. And for the first time, Jeongyeon wondered—really wondered—how much Momo actually knew about her so-called younger sister.
Because at the end of the day, Sana wasn’t just Sana. She is a Minatozaki, after all.
And there were things about Sana that even Momo didn’t know.
Mina stood by the glass door of the balcony, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched the rain cascade down in endless sheets. The city was drenched in gray, the sky heavy with sorrow, as if mourning something unseen. The droplets raced down the glass, their paths unpredictable, much like the emotions swirling inside her.
She turned her gaze away, her eyes settling on the small table she had carefully set earlier. The food remained untouched, the steam long since faded, leaving behind only the remnants of warmth that once filled the room. It was a quiet reminder of her patience—her hope. But hope could only sustain a person for so long. With a sigh, she pulled away from the balcony and walked toward the sofa, her movements slow, deliberate, as though any sudden motion might shatter the fragile composure she struggled to maintain.
Sinking into the cushions, she let herself be swallowed by their embrace. The exhaustion settled deep into her bones, not just from waiting, but from everything—every moment spent pretending, every effort to conceal the ache within her. She knew this routine all too well. So silent , the unanswered questions, the lingering loneliness. Waiting for Nayeon was no longer new to her.
It shouldn't hurt anymore. That was what she told herself. But the hollow space in her chest suggested otherwise. She blinked slowly, her vision blurring at the edges as sleep began to creep in.
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracing a slow, lonely path down her cheek. It landed soundlessly on the cushion beneath her, vanishing into the fabric as if it had never existed.
Just like everything else she kept buried within her heart.
Nayeon stood in front of the open refrigerator, the cold air brushing against her skin as she scanned the neatly arranged ingredients inside. The sight amazed her. Vegetables crisp and fresh, fruits vibrant in color, and cuts of meat packed with precision—everything looked high-quality, almost as if someone had carefully selected each item with great care. It filled the entire space, leaving no room for emptiness, a stark contrast to the quiet void lingering in the back of her mind.
She leaned against the fridge door, her thoughts circling around what to cook for Sana. Something warm, something comforting, something that might help bring some color back to her pale face. Nayeon had never found herself caring about things like this before especially about Sana, but now, standing here, she was actually thinking of what Sana would want, what would make her feel better. It was an unfamiliar feeling, unsettling yet... not entirely unwelcome.
Her thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted by the sharp chime of the doorbell. The sound echoed through the quiet house, pulling her out of her trance. She closed the fridge gently and straightened her posture before making her way to the door. As she reached for the handle, she felt an odd sense of anticipation settle in her chest.
The moment she pulled the door open, a lone figure stood outside, shrouded in the gloom of the rain. A black umbrella obscured the person’s face, droplets of water sliding off its edges, the rhythm matching the steady drumming of the downpour.
Nayeon furrowed her brows, her grip on the door tightening slightly. And then, the umbrella tilted upwards, revealing a woman—one she had never seen before.
The stranger had sleek black hair, wide, sharp eyes that carried an air of authority, and full lips pressed together in a firm line. Her skin was tanned, smooth, and unbothered by the dampness of the weather. She was dressed in an expensive cardigan, a white shirt neatly tucked underneath, and a matching skirt that completed her refined, polished look. Everything about her screamed expensiveness.
The woman’s gaze was sharp as it swept over Nayeon, scanning her from head to toe as if assessing every inch of her. And then, in a tone laced with ice, she spoke.
“Where’s Sana?”
There was no warmth, no courtesy—just a direct demand. Nayeon stiffened slightly, taken aback by the bluntness. She had never seen this woman before, yet the way she spoke, the way her eyes held such familiarity when she said Sana’s name, made something inside Nayeon bristle.
Her expression hardened as she stood taller, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Who are you?” she asked flatly.
The woman let out a small scoff, raising a brow. “Do I really need to introduce myself to you? What a waste of time.”
Nayeon let out a sharp breath, a sarcastic smirk tugging at her lips. “Then I’m not letting a stranger see her.” She shifted slightly, stepping in front of the doorway, completely blocking the entrance.
The woman clicked her tongue, clearly unimpressed. “This bitch,” she muttered under her breath before straightening her posture. “Are you her wife or something?”
Nayeon opened her mouth to respond, but the woman didn’t give her the chance.
“Don’t even try to tell me you are,” she cut in with a pointed glare. “Because I know damn well about your contract. So, again—where is she?”
A flicker of something cold crept up Nayeon’s spine, but she didn’t let it show. She stood her ground, arms still crossed, refusing to budge. “I don’t owe you an answer.”
The woman let out an irritated exhale, preparing to say something else, but before she could, a weak voice broke through the tense air.
“Jihyo.”
Nayeon immediately turned around, her sharp defenses momentarily dropping. Sana stood there, leaning against the staircase railing. Her figure was fragile, her skin even paler under the dim lighting of the house. She looked exhausted, as if merely standing there took too much of her strength.
The name lingered in Nayeon’s head. Jihyo.
She looked back at the woman, who had suddenly shifted. The coldness in Jihyo’s tone vanished, replaced with something softer, something edged with worry. Her sharp eyes widened ever so slightly as she stepped past Nayeon without hesitation, completely ignoring Nayeon.
Nayeon’s brows pulled together as she watched the exchange. Jihyo placed both hands firmly on Sana’s shoulders, scanning her with obvious concern. It wasn’t the fact that she was touching Sana that bothered Nayeon. It was the way Sana had called Jihyo’s name earlier, as if she had been expecting her. As if this wasn’t the first time.
Do they know each other? Have they known each other for a long time?
The thought struck Nayeon without warning, and she found herself staring, her mind grasping for answers she wasn’t sure she even wanted. She shook her head subtly, pushing the thought away. What does it matter to me?
Her attention snapped back when she heard Jihyo speak again.
“Are you okay? That goddamn Jin—”
Sana immediately shot her a sharp look, a silent warning passing between them. Jihyo pressed her lips together, cutting herself off. Whatever she was about to say, it was something Nayeon wasn’t meant to hear.
Nayeon noticed it. The brief glance Sana gave her before reaching for Jihyo’s arm and pulling her upstairs, leaving without another word.
And just like that, Nayeon was left standing there, speechless.
She remained at the door, watching as the two disappeared down the hall. The faint sound of a door closing echoed through the house, and an unfamiliar weight settled in her chest.
A small pout unknowingly formed on her lips, a bitter smirk following shortly after. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at herself, at the situation, at everything she couldn’t quite place a name to.
“She didn’t even tell me she was awake,” she muttered under her breath, the bitterness laced in her tone far more evident than she would ever care to admit.
Jihyo’s gaze hardened as she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands tightening into fists. Sana, on the other hand, remained calm—eerily so. She leaned against the headboard, her face unreadable, eyes staring at something distant, something only she could see. There was a heaviness in the air between them, thick with the unspoken weight of what was about to come.
“Are you really okay? You don’t look well—” Jihyo’s voice carried a trace of concern, but it was cut short by Sana’s voice, steady and chillingly indifferent.
“Hongjin will make his move anytime soon,” she said, as if stating the weather forecast. “And I know sooner or later, he’ll put a bullet in my head.”
Jihyo’s breath caught, eyes widening at Sana’s bluntness. But Sana didn’t flinch, didn’t react to the shock that flickered across her friend’s face. Instead, she reached toward the bedside table, pulling out a sleek tablet. The glow of the screen reflected in her eyes as she unlocked it with ease, her fingers moving with familiarity. Without a word, she handed it over.
Jihyo took it hesitantly, her fingers brushing against the cold metal as she peered at the screen. The first message was business-like, professional even. “You had a meeting with the Park, I see…” she muttered, her eyebrows pulling together. Her eyes flickered to the sender’s name, and all the warmth in her expression was drained the moment she saw it—Hongjin.
Her grip on the tablet tightened as she scrolled to the last message.
‘Nayeon doesn’t care if you die. She agreed with me—she’ll destroy you when your contract ends. Doesn’t that hurt? The one you’re protecting is the one who will break you more than you could ever imagine. Don’t leave the house… or you better watch your surroundings.’
A sharp inhale filled the room. Jihyo’s knuckles turned white as she clenched the device, her fury barely contained. It was as if she could see Hongjin standing before her, taunting, his voice dripping with amusement. She wanted to scream, to destroy something, to demand answers from Sana. But what shook her the most wasn’t the message itself—it was Sana’s reaction to it.
Sana looked completely… unbothered.
“Why do you look so calm?” Jihyo demanded, her voice rising. “Aren’t you afraid that he might actually kill you?”
“I’ve expected it,” Sana replied, cutting through her words with ease. “In fact, I’ve spent years imagining how I will die.”
She rose from the bed, moving as if she carried no fear, no doubt, only the acceptance of a fate she had long made peace with. She settled into the wooden rocking chair beside a small table, its surface stacked with human-made books—old, worn, filled with words that had once mattered to her. She leaned back, the slow creak of the chair filling the silence as she closed her eyes briefly, as if she could already hear death knocking on her door.
Jihyo felt something tighten in her chest. Anger. Helplessness. Maybe even heartbreak.
She stepped closer, her voice sharper this time. “And what about the fact that Nayeon made a deal with him? That she agreed to destroy you?”
For the first time, Sana hesitated. Her fingers gripped the armrest of the chair, just slightly, before she let out a breath—long and controlled.
“I don’t care about that,” she whispered. “As long as she’s—”
“As long as she’s safe,” Jihyo finished for her, her voice trembling with restrained frustration. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Silence.
Jihyo let out a bitter laugh, stepping away, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. “Have you ever even cared about yourself? For once?”
Sana’s eyes lifted, meeting Jihyo’s gaze, but there was no answer in them. No hesitation, no change of heart. Just a deep, hollow understanding of what had to be done.
“What is there to care about?” Sana murmured. “I learned a long time ago that there’s nothing left to save in me.”
Jihyo’s breathing turned uneven as she saw the truth in those words, saw the weight of years that had worn down the girl she once knew.
Sana’s voice softened, almost too quiet to be heard. “Nayeon helped me once… but she doesn’t seem to remember it. That doesn’t matter anymore. Her safety is my priority.”
Jihyo clenched her fists again, her heart aching as she realized the truth—Sana had already accepted that she wouldn’t survive this.
And there was nothing she could do to change her mind.
Nayeon had been standing at the base of the stairs for longer than she realized, her gaze fixed on the closed door of Sana’s room. Her fingers unconsciously tightened around the dish towel she had used to wipe her hands after cooking, her mind restless. It had been too long since Sana and Jihyo disappeared behind that door, and yet, neither of them had come out. The soft murmur of their voices was completely muffled by the thick walls, leaving Nayeon with nothing but her thoughts—and she despised that.
With a deep sigh, she turned on her heels and made her way to the living area, throwing herself onto the couch with a little more force than necessary. The television flickered to life in front of her, but her mind remained stuck on something else entirely.
Mina.
The message she had received from Mina earlier flashed in her memory, and Nayeon instinctively reached for her phone, unlocking it to stare at their conversation. She exhaled sharply when she realized she had left Mina on read. Again. She ran a hand through her hair, silently cursing herself for the neglect. It wasn’t intentional—not really—but she knew better than anyone how much Mina hated being ignored.
Shoving the phone into her pocket, Nayeon stood up and grabbed an umbrella from the stainless steel rack near the entrance. As she reached for the doorknob, her head turned back once more, her eyes drawn to Sana’s closed door without her meaning to. It was frustrating, how her mind kept looping back to the same thought—what the hell were they still doing in there? She wanted to believe it was something harmless, something insignificant. But the longer she stood there, the more irrational her thoughts became. She shook her head, rolling her eyes at herself.
"Like I even care," she muttered under her breath, but the way her fingers clenched around the umbrella said otherwise.
Without another glance, she stepped out of the house and into the rain. The soft patter of raindrops against her umbrella filled the silence as she made her way to her car. Once inside, she started the engine and drove off, her mind still buzzing with thoughts she couldn’t shake off.
By the time she arrived at her apartment building, the rain had yet to let up. Parking her car, she unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out, quickly shielding herself with the umbrella as she made her way inside. The elevator ride felt longer than usual, her mind occupied with more questions than answers. She knew she was being irrational, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Sana and Jihyo. It wasn’t her business—it really wasn’t—but the nagging feeling in her chest refused to die down.
"They wouldn’t... do anything, right?" she whispered to herself, biting her lower lip. The thought was ridiculous. Sana wasn’t that kind of person. But the woman Jihyo.....She wasn't really sure why it kept bothering her mind.
The elevator dinged, pulling her back to reality as the doors slid open. She stepped out and made her way to the apartment she shared with Mina, hesitating for only a second before swiping her keycard against the scanner. The door unlocked with a soft click, and as she slowly pushed it open, a wave of silence greeted her.
The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. Her eyes immediately landed on the coffee table, where several dishes sat untouched. The closer she stepped, the more she realized—these weren’t just any meals. They were her favorites.
A pang of guilt settled deep in her chest.
Her gaze shifted to the figure curled up on the sofa. Mina. Even in sleep, she looked effortlessly elegant, her features soft and peaceful under the dim light. Nayeon felt something stir in her chest, something unspoken yet undeniable. Carefully, she knelt down beside the couch, leveling her face with Mina’s. Her fingers hesitated before reaching forward, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind Mina’s ear.
Mina stirred, her eyelashes fluttering as she slowly woke up. For a moment, she looked confused, her sleepy eyes locking onto Nayeon’s. And then, she smiled.
Without thinking, without questioning herself, Nayeon leaned in and pressed her lips to Mina’s.
It was simple. Innocent. She didn’t move, didn’t deepen it—she just stayed there, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Mina, still half-asleep, smiled against her lips, letting the warmth of the kiss lull her fully into wakefulness.
When Nayeon finally pulled away, Mina pushed herself up, her gaze settling on the woman now seated on the carpeted floor.
"Have you eaten?" Mina’s voice was soft, still laced with sleep.
Nayeon shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I was waiting. I love your cooking, so I didn’t want to eat without you."
Mina chuckled, motioning for Nayeon to sit beside her. "You say that like you don’t ignore my messages all the time."
Nayeon winced but said nothing. Instead, she quickly stood up to grab utensils from the kitchen before returning to Mina’s side. She scooped rice into a bowl, handing it to Mina before preparing her own. Mina watched her in silence, a fond smile playing on her lips.
Just as Nayeon was about to take her first bite, Mina suddenly spoke. "You know, after all these years of being together, you’re still a bad kisser. My lips hurt."
Nayeon choked on her own saliva, coughing as she turned to glare at Mina. "Isn’t that too offensive?"
Mina only giggled, covering her mouth as she tried to contain her laughter. "Who would’ve thought you haven’t learned anything yet?"
Nayeon pouted, looking down at her food. She didn’t realize Mina had stopped laughing until she felt an intense gaze on her. When she looked up, Mina was staring at her with something unreadable in her eyes.
Then, before Nayeon could say anything, Mina leaned in and whispered, "Let’s practice again."
And just like that, she closed the distance between them, her lips molding perfectly against Nayeon’s. This time, she moved slowly, deliberately, guiding Nayeon in a way that made her breath hitch. Nayeon, caught off guard but willing, followed along, letting herself get lost in the moment.
When Mina finally pulled away, she smirked, looking all too satisfied with herself. "That was much better," she teased, winking as she picked up her chopsticks. "But you better keep practicing."
Nayeon stared at her, speechless, before a soft chuckle escaped her lips. Shaking her head, she turned back to her food, a smile she couldn’t suppress lingering on her face.
She never realized how much she had missed this. How much she had missed Mina.
And yet, somehow, she couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling within her mind.
Sana stood in the dim glow of her room, her voice steady yet laced with an unshakable finality. “I’ll kill Hongjin. Not in the way of murder, but by tearing down everything he has built. I will dismantle his power piece by piece until there is nothing left of him, until he no longer has control over Nayeon. And when that is done, at least I can die peacefully.”
She reached for the door, her fingers curling around the knob, ready to step out. But before she could, a firm grip caught her arm, pulling her back inside.
Jihyo, her face contorted with frustration, stared at her with an intensity that burned through the air between them. “Sana, stop it.”
Sana turned, startled by the sudden contact, her brows knitting together. Jihyo rarely touched her, let alone held her back like this. “Let go,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth.
Jihyo didn’t budge. Her fingers tightened slightly, as if afraid Sana would slip away the moment she loosened her grip. “Wasn’t the whole point of meeting me in the first place to use me?” Jihyo asked, her eyes searching Sana's face for an answer she already knew. “To manipulate me because of my family’s power?”
Sana let out a heavy sigh, her grip faltering just slightly. “Yes. But you knew before I even had the chance to start. So what’s the point of bringing it up now?”
Jihyo scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “Then what do you want from me?”
Jihyo’s next words were soft but unwavering. “Use me.”
Sana blinked. “What?”
Jihyo stepped closer, determination solidifying in her gaze. “Use me. No matter what it is. No matter how much it takes. I am willing to give everything—my strength, my resources, my power.” She exhaled, her chest rising and falling as though she had been holding this in for too long. “I will help you. Not just in destroying him, but in everything. Whenever you need me, whenever you call, I will be there.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. Jihyo’s fingers slowly slid away from Sana’s arm, but the warmth of her touch lingered. For the first time in a long while, Sana didn’t know what to say. Because Jihyo wasn’t offering her power out of obligation. She was offering it because, perhaps, she cared more than she ever intended to.
After their conversation, Sana remained silent, still struggling to process Jihyo’s words. The thought of someone willingly offering themselves to be used was absurd. Why would Jihyo, of all people, say something like that? Was she serious? Maybe. Maybe not. But the sincerity in Jihyo’s eyes, the quiet intensity behind her words—it made Sana hesitate. There was something deeper beneath the surface, something she couldn’t quite grasp, and it left her with more questions than answers.
As they made their way downstairs, Sana’s gaze wandered through the house, searching for the one person who unknowingly tore her apart with every passing second. She didn't even know why she was looking—maybe out of habit, maybe out of hope. But when she found no sign of Nayeon, her shoulders slumped slightly, a bitter sigh escaping her lips before she wordlessly continued toward the dining area, Jihyo trailing close behind.
The moment Sana stepped into the dining room, her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she took in the sight before her. The table was filled with various soups and side dishes, each one carefully prepared and covered to retain its warmth. She recognized most of them instantly. Medicinal soups—ones meant to heal, to ease stress, to calm the mind. They weren’t just ordinary meals. They were made with thought, with care. With intention.
Jihyo let out a small scoff as she followed Sana’s gaze, arms crossing over her chest. “Lowkey, Nayeon really does care about you,” she remarked, watching Sana’s reaction closely. “Maybe that’s why you love her, isn’t it?”
Sana shot her a glare, but Jihyo only grinned, taking a seat at the table without another word. Sana exhaled sharply, shaking off the feeling in her chest before moving to grab utensils. When she returned, she handed Jihyo a spoon and fork before carefully removing the covers from the dishes. Steam rose from the bowls, curling into the air, carrying with it the rich, familiar scent of home-cooked comfort.
For a moment, Sana simply stared, her grip tightening slightly on the spoon in her hand. Her chest ached in a way she hadn’t expected. The effort, the silent gesture—it felt so overwhelming, so painfully intimate that she could hardly breathe. The soup sitting in front of her was something she had taken for years. A remedy for exhaustion, for stress, for the weight of everything she carried on her shoulders. And Nayeon had made it for her.
Why?
Jihyo’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you just going to stare at it? Because if you’re not eating, I will. I didn’t even get to eat last night.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her chopsticks and took a large bite of ramen, slurping loudly as she ate.
Sana let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she finally gathered the courage to lift the spoon to her lips. The moment the warm broth touched her tongue, a wave of emotion crashed over her so suddenly that her hands trembled. A single tear slipped down her cheek, then another, until she could no longer hold them back. Silent, uncontrollable sobs wracked her frame as she continued to take slow, careful sips, her fingers gripping the spoon like it was the only thing grounding her.
Jihyo’s chewing slowed as she watched, setting her chopsticks down. She leaned back against her chair, expression unreadable, but her eyes softened. She didn’t say anything—didn’t offer false comfort or meaningless words. She simply let Sana feel. Let her break.
Because even the strongest people—especially the strongest people—needed moments like this. And for someone like Sana, who had spent her entire life building walls too high for anyone to climb, this was a rare sight. A moment of vulnerability, raw and unfiltered.
Jihyo understood it all too well.
And somehow, she also knew—Sana’s greatest strength was Nayeon.
But the cruelest part? Nayeon was also the one slowly, unknowingly, breaking her apart piece by piece, day by day, moment by moment.
The rain had finally ceased, leaving the streets glistening under the dim glow of the city lights. The air smelled of damp pavement, fresh yet heavy, as Momo and Jeongyeon stepped out of the convenience store, each holding a small plastic bag. The silence between them was thick, but Momo was the first to break it.
"Nayeon has a lover, hasn't she?" Momo asked, her voice calm, almost indifferent, yet the weight of her words hung heavily between them.
Jeongyeon stopped in her tracks, her grip on the bag tightening as she turned to face Momo. The directness of the question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she hesitated. But what unsettled her more was the way Momo looked at her—not accusingly, not with malice, but with an unsettling neutrality, as if she had already accepted the truth.
"Of course, Sana—"
"Son Mina, that's her name, right?" Momo interrupted, her voice carrying the faintest trace of a bitter smile. Without waiting for a response, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small pile of photographs, handing them to Jeongyeon.
Jeongyeon's breath hitched as she sifted through them. Each photo captured moments of intimacy between Nayeon and Mina—familiar gestures and lingering touches, mostly from way back in New York. Proof, undeniable and raw, laid bare in her hands.
"How did you—?"
"I was curious," Momo admitted, exhaling as she shoved her hands back into her pockets. "Curious how Nayeon managed to make Mina fall for her when Mina was never interested in anyone before—not once. Back in college, she had this… mysterious crush. She never told anyone who it was." Momo's lips curled into a small, wistful pout, but her eyes were distant, lost in the past.
Jeongyeon studied her carefully. There was something in Momo’s voice, something unspoken that Jeongyeon couldn't quite put her finger on.
"You knew Mina?" she asked cautiously.
"Yeah," Momo murmured, nodding. "It’s been eight years since I last saw her. We used to be friends." Her gaze drifted to the bustling street—the flashing headlights, the muffled sounds of people moving past them, as if the world was oblivious to the weight pressing down on her chest. "I saw her again recently. I was with my nanny that time, and there she was, sitting alone on a bench with her groceries. She looked just like she did back then—except lonelier."
Jeongyeon hesitated before speaking. "Mina never mentioned you."
Momo let out a small, dry chuckle. "I’m not that special to be mentioned, Jeongyeon-na," she said, her voice softer now, almost fragile. "Besides, she probably thinks I abandoned her. Eight years is a long time." She paused, pressing her lips together as if holding something back. "Long enough to become a stranger."
Jeongyeon didn't miss the way Momo's voice wavered at the end, nor the way her fingers clenched slightly in her pockets. There was a sadness there, not loud or demanding, but deep—one that had settled in her bones over the years. And in that moment, Jeongyeon realized something.
Momo wasn’t just talking about Mina. She was mourning her own past, the connections she lost, the people she let slip away. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t ready to let Mina go entirely—not yet.
The heavy door to the HR operations room slammed open with a deafening bang, causing heads to snap in its direction. The force of it sent a tremor through the walls, and every single employee in the room stilled, but no one looked particularly surprised. This wasn’t the first time Rosé had stormed in with fire in her eyes, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
"Yah! Park Jimin!" she roared, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.
Across the room, Jimin's head jerked up from his computer screen. His eyes widened in sheer panic, but the moment he spotted Rosé stomping toward him like a vengeful storm, he quickly ducked behind the head of the HR department as if that would shield him from her wrath.
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" Rosé’s voice boomed, and the employees barely flinched, too accustomed to their frequent arguments to react.
Jimin groaned, peeking out from behind his unwilling human shield. "What do you want from me?!" he shot back, clearly exasperated, though his voice wavered slightly in fear.
Rosé was relentless, her eyes burning with frustration. She threw a file onto the nearest desk with such force that papers scattered across the surface. "WHAT'S THIS?! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?! THAT FUCKING HONGJIN IS GOING TO KILL MINGYU BECAUSE OF YOUR CARELESSNESS! THEY FOUND OUT SOMEONE ACCESSED IMTECH'S FILES THROUGH MINGYU—AND THAT SOMEONE IS OBVIOUSLY YOU!"
Jimin’s heart plummeted. "What?! Oh no, no, no, no!" he stammered, scrambling for his phone. His fingers shook as he snatched it from the desk, pressing it to his ear as he darted out of the room without a second thought.
"Yah!" Rosé shouted after him before chasing him down the hallway.
Jimin’s breathing was ragged as he sprinted across the Park building, desperately dialing Mingyu's number. Each ring felt like an eternity. Then, the call abruptly disconnected.
He tried again. And again. But each time, the line refused to go through.
"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed under his breath, his pace quickening. He reached the exit doors and pushed through them, scanning the parking lot for his car. The moment his eyes landed on it, he bolted, unlocking it in one swift motion. But before he could even process it, the passenger door swung open, and Rosé slid in beside him with a murderous glare.
"You are dead meat if anything happens to our cousin," she seethed, her voice dripping with rage.
Jimin barely spared her a glance as he revved the engine, tires screeching against the pavement. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. "I didn't mean for this to happen!" he shouted over the roar of the engine.
Rosé crossed her arms, glaring at him. "Just why the hell did you drag him into this?! You could've hacked Hongjin’s files instead!"
Jimin grit his teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface. "We tried! But there was nothing! Jin isn’t stupid—he doesn’t keep records in company databases. Everything important is stored separately, only accessible by a select few. And Mingyu—Mingyu is his goddamn secretary. We didn’t have a choice."
Rosé's scowl deepened. "We? Wait… don’t tell me Jihyo’s involved in this too?"
"Not her." Jimin hesitated. "The Myoui family."
Rosé frowned, her mind racing. "The Myouis? What do they have to do with this?"
Jimin kept his eyes on the road but his jaw tightened. "They've been suspicious of Hongjin ever since their heir was taken. Think about it. Our grandparents told us before—the Im family has always held resentment toward the Minatozakis. And remember what happened all those years ago? The night the Minatozaki heir’s and Myoui heir’s nametags were accidentally swapped? The Myouis believe that the kidnapper was actually after the Minatozaki heir."
Rosé felt the blood drain from her face. The weight of those words settled in her chest like a stone.
Jimin glanced at her briefly before focusing back on the road, his voice grim. "They suspect it was someone working for the Ims. And honestly? I don’t blame them. I’ve been working for them for six years now. I know how Jin operates."
Rosé clenched her fists, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past them. The pit in her stomach grew deeper with every word he spoke.
Hongjin wasn’t just dangerous.
He was a monster.
And if they weren’t careful, he’d devour them all.
Jimin gritted his teeth as he pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through the crowded streets with reckless urgency. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. Every second that passed felt like a countdown to something irreversible, something he couldn't afford to let happen.
"Call Jihyo," he muttered, his voice strained, his breath uneven. He didn't look at Rosé, didn't need to—his entire focus was on getting to Mingyu in time, on stopping whatever horror Hongjin had planned.
Rosé hesitated for a second, watching the way Jimin's jaw clenched, his brows drawn together in a mix of frustration and dread. "Does she even know—"
"Just fucking call her!" Jimin snapped, his voice cracking with desperation, with fear he refused to acknowledge. "Tell her that Mingyu is in danger."
That was all he could say. Because right now, there were no guarantees, no certainties—just the cold, suffocating weight of the unknown. And for the first time in years, Jimin felt powerless.
A sharp chime from Jihyo’s phone broke the quiet hum of the kitchen. She barely glanced at the screen before returning to the dishes, her hands submerged in warm, soapy water. The soft flicker of the television painted dim colors across the room, but Sana wasn’t really watching—it was clear in the way her eyes stayed fixed, unmoving, as if lost in thoughts she couldn't escape.
Jihyo finished rinsing the last plate, pulling off her gloves in one swift motion before grabbing her phone from the dining table. The moment her eyes scanned the message, her pulse spiked. Urgency slammed into her, and without wasting another second, she turned sharply toward the door.
Sana blinked at her sudden movement, confusion flickering in her gaze as she tore her attention away from the screen. "Jihyo?"
Jihyo barely spared her a glance as she yanked the door open. "Lock the door. Don't go outside. Wait for Nayeon to come back," she ordered, her voice firm, edged with something Sana couldn't quite place. And then, just like that, she was gone—disappearing into the night, leaving Sana in stunned silence.
The air felt heavier in her absence.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Sana pushed herself off the couch, dragging her feet toward the door before twisting the lock into place. Her hand lingered on the knob as she turned, and again, the house felt too quiet. Too still.
She exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the unease creeping up her spine. But just as she took a step away from the door—
A knock.
She froze.
It was soft, almost hesitant. But something about it sent a shiver through her bones.
Sana swallowed, trying to steady her breath. Maybe Jihyo forgot something. Maybe she changed her mind.
Then, a voice—familiar, warm.
"Sana? Are you home? I forgot my keys. Can you open the door?"
Relief rushed through her in a single breath. "Nayeon," she murmured under her breath, reaching for the knob. But just as her fingers grazed the metal, something in the back of her mind whispered—wait.
Her body stiffened, the air suddenly feeling too cold.
Something was wrong.
Nayeon never came home this late. She never needed anything urgently enough to stop by at this hour—if she did, she’d wait until morning. And her voice—something about it was… off. Too soft. Too careful.
Sana’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. It was well past midnight.
Her grip on the knob faltered, and instinct kicked in. Slowly, carefully, she backed away, her heart pounding against her ribs.
"Hey," the voice came again, this time sharper, irritation creeping into the tone. "I know you're there. Can you open the door now?"
The doorknob rattled.
Sana’s breath hitched.
Someone was trying to get in.
Her fingers clenched into tight fists, pressing against her sides to stop them from shaking. She held her breath, stepping back, her bare feet soundless against the cold floor.
"It’s me! Don’t you recognize my voice?"
The rattling grew more forceful, turning into a full-fledged attempt to open the door.
But Sana knew.
Whoever was outside—
It wasn’t Nayeon.
Mina stepped out of the bathroom, her damp hair falling over her shoulders, the scent of soap and warmth lingering in the air. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows along the walls. Her eyes immediately landed on Nayeon, who was sitting on the couch, legs tucked comfortably beneath her, a book resting open on her lap.
Mina didn’t need to take a closer look to recognize it. She knew that book—every crease, every worn-out corner. Their photo book. The one where they had carefully tucked away stolen moments, photographs filled with laughter, soft gazes, and promises whispered between the pages. A collection of memories, a quiet proof of love.
“What are you doing?” Mina asked softly, tilting her head as she walked closer.
Nayeon barely looked up, her fingers gently flipping through the pages as a small, genuine smile played on her lips. “Nothing,” she murmured. “I just wanted to see if there’s been any changes.”
Mina watched as Nayeon’s eyes softened, lingering on an old photograph. It was from a day long ago—one that should have faded with time, but here it was, still alive in the pages, untouched, just like the love Mina had for her.
A quiet warmth filled her chest. She wished—silently, desperately—that moments like this could last forever. That Nayeon would always come home to her. That no matter how much time passed, how many storms threatened to pull them apart, they could always find their way back to this. To each other.
Without hesitation, Mina crossed the room and eased down beside Nayeon, her body fitting into place as if she belonged there—because she did. Leaning into her, she rested her head against Nayeon’s shoulder, letting out a quiet, content breath.
She knew this feeling all too well.
Whenever Nayeon was away, the world felt like it was slowly caving in. The silence stretched too long, the walls felt colder, the air too heavy. Everything became dull, lifeless. Just like a few hours ago, when she sat alone, drowning in the kind of emptiness that only Nayeon’s absence could bring.
But now—Nayeon was home again.
And that was all she needed.
The door burst open with a force that sent Sana sprawling onto the cold, unforgiving floor. The impact rattled through her bones, stealing the breath from her lungs. A sharp sting shot up her arms as she tried to catch herself, palms scraping against the porcelain surface. The shock paralyzed her for a moment, leaving her trembling on the ground, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
But fear was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Swallowing back the pain, she forced herself to move, to fight against the weakness threatening to drag her down. With shaky hands, she pushed herself up, her breath uneven as she lifted her gaze.
And there they were.
Three figures stood before her, their presence suffocating, their shadows stretching long under the dim light.
Her eyes flickered to the woman first—the one standing slightly to the side, her lips curled into something sinister. The realization hit Sana like ice water. She was the one who had mimicked Nayeon’s voice, luring her into a moment of false security. A trick so cruel, so calculated, that it made Sana’s stomach churn.
Next, her gaze landed on the tall man positioned behind them. His towering figure was draped in black, a mask concealing half of his face, his stance rigid and imposing. A silent threat. His mere presence screamed danger, and Sana knew he was here for more than just intimidation.
But it was the man in the center who sent a slow, suffocating dread creeping up her spine.
He stood there as if he belonged, as if this moment had been orchestrated just for him. His grip was steady, unwavering, and at the end of his outstretched hand was the gleaming barrel of a gun—pointed directly at her.
Sana’s blood ran cold.
The very man she had spent years hating, the one she had vowed to destroy. The man who she goddamn well, killed her mother. The very man who will also kill Nayeon, and she could afford that to a happen, never again.
Hongjin.
Her breath hitched, her mind racing for a way out, for something—anything—that could shift the odds in her favor. But all she had was her own trembling body and the deafening sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She had always known this day would come.
But not like this. Not when she was alone. Not when the person she had been waiting for wasn’t here to save her.
And certainly not when she was the one with no weapon in hand.