Dangerous Kiss
She hesitated, fingers curling around the cold doorknob, a strange tightness blooming in her chest. It wasn’t fear, not quite—but something quieter. Unease. A feeling that something was about to change, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Slowly, she opened the door.
The street beyond their gate was silent, dimly lit by a flickering lamp that cast long shadows against the pavement. The wind was sharp, biting, but the doorstep in front of her was empty—no visitor, no sound. She blinked, confused, about to close the door again when something caught the edge of her eye.
A basket. Small. Carefully placed on the ground just outside their home.
“Honey,” she called out, her voice tight with a mix of curiosity and something heavier. “I think someone left something for us.”
Her husband appeared moments later, wiping his hands on a stained cloth, the smell of paint and turpentine trailing behind him. He crouched beside the basket, his brows pulling together as he gently lifted the thin fabric that covered whatever was inside.
And there, nestled in a bundle of soft, worn blankets, was a baby.
A newborn, sleeping soundly—so still, so unaware of the world that had already turned cruel.
“Oh my…” Her breath caught as she dropped to her knees. Her hand trembled when she reached out, brushing the infant’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. The baby stirred, a tiny smile playing on her lips, and something warm bloomed in the woman’s chest—an ache, deep and maternal.
“How could anyone…” she whispered. “How could anyone leave her out here like this?”
Before her husband could respond, a sharp sound cut through the night.
Click.
The unmistakable click of a gun.
He froze.
Both of them looked up—slowly, as if turning too fast would shatter the fragile moment—and standing just beyond the gate was a man in a black suit. The shadows swallowed his face, but his presence was unmistakable. Cold. Controlled. Dangerous.
“You will not seek out this child’s family,” the man said. His voice was calm, but it rang with steel. “You will not ask questions. You will not speak of tonight. To anyone. Ever.”
He raised the gun slightly, the barrel catching the faint glow of the streetlamp.
“If you do…” A pause. The tiniest twitch in his hand. “I don’t think I need to explain what will happen to you, and everyone you love. Do I, Son Family?”
The air thickened with fear. The woman’s breath hitched. Her husband’s jaw clenched.
But they didn’t scream. They didn’t run.
Instead, when the man turned and vanished into the darkness, the couple looked down once more at the child in the basket—so small, so fragile, so oblivious. And together, with trembling hands and silent prayers, they made a choice.
Not one born entirely out of fear.
But something else, too.
Love.
And that night, the Son family became parents to a child who wasn’t theirs—but who would become the center of their world.
They named her Mina .
Mina grew up in a house of color and light. Her father, Son Uk, was a modern artist whose hands always smelled of paint and whose work bent reality into emotion. Her mother, Son Yeon, was an architect with a quiet elegance and sharp eyes, her sketches turning into buildings that looked like dreams caught in motion.
Their home was filled with laughter, with art, with the soft scratch of pencils against canvas and the hum of ideas coming to life.
But even with all the love they gave her, Mina always felt... something.
Different.
It wasn’t something anyone ever said. It wasn’t a look or a word. It was in the spaces between moments. In the way her parents sometimes paused before answering her questions. In the unspoken rules that only seemed to apply to her.
Her younger sister, Chaeyoung, was chaos and charm wrapped into one. Loud. Reckless. Endlessly loved. When she cried, someone always came running. When she broke the rules, they bent with her.
Mina, on the other hand, was raised to carry herself with grace. With silence. With strength. Her parents never said she had to be perfect.
But she learned it anyway.
So she became what they needed her to be.
The quiet one. The disciplined one. The dependable one.
She buried herself in books, chasing perfection like it was the only thing tethering her to the world. While Chaeyoung danced through life, Mina studied. While others went out, she stayed in, losing hours to formulas and theorems, chasing a future she wasn’t even sure she wanted.
And yet, no matter how high the walls she built, Chaeyoung always found a way in.
Some mornings, Mina would open her bedroom door and find a small carton of strawberry yogurt waiting for her. Never a note. Never a word. Just the yogurt.
A quiet offering. A small reminder: you are loved .
Years later, Mina found herself at Kyoto University.
It was everything she had worked for—elite, ruthless, coldly perfect. She should’ve fit right in.
But it wasn’t the lectures or the pressure that changed her.
It was Hirai Momo.
Momo, whose name was everywhere—whispers in the halls, laughter in the dorms, her presence like a fire that everyone wanted to get close to. Her reputation wasn’t clean. She was the kind of person people warned you about. Wild. Reckless. Dangerous. A girl who kissed with no promises and touched with no heart.
Her younger sister—whom Mina never saw—was the opposite. Sharp. Distant. Beautiful in the way a snowstorm was beautiful. And everyone seemed obsessed with comparing the two.
But it was Momo who kept finding her way into Mina’s life. Relentlessly. Boldly. Without apology.
And Mina, for all her resistance—for all the coldness she tried to wear like armor—fell.
Hopelessly.
Painfully.
She fell for the girl who wasn’t even looking at her.
Because Momo was in love with someone else.
“You like my sister, don’t you?”
The words hit like a slap.
Mina looked up from her book, earbud halfway out, eyes narrowing. “What?”
Momo leaned in, her smile infuriating. “Don’t be shy. You only hang out with me so you can get closer to her, right?”
For a moment, Mina was too stunned to speak.
Was she serious?
Momo continued, her tone playful, almost mocking. “She’s smart. Gorgeous. Top of her class. I get it. Must be tough having a crush on someone like that.”
Mina wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream.
Because Momo—brilliant, calculating Momo—was so utterly clueless.
But instead of correcting her, Mina smirked.
“So what if I do?” she said. “What would you do? Tell her?”
Momo’s expression changed. Her smile dimmed, her eyes narrowing with something colder.
“No,” she said slowly. “But I have a proposal.”
Mina’s stomach sank.
“What kind of proposal?”
“Let’s play a game.”
Momo moved closer, her voice turning soft, seductive. Her fingers brushed against Mina’s cheek—barely a touch, but it made her breath catch.
“A substitute game,” Momo whispered. “We’ll pretend. I’ll be her. You’ll be Dahyun.”
Mina’s heart stopped.
So that was who Momo loved.
Dahyun.
She should have walked away.
Should’ve told Momo the truth.
But she didn’t.
Because even pretending to have Momo was better than not having her at all.
So she agreed.
And she sealed it with a kiss.
She didn’t know then what the price would be.
Her pride. Her self-respect. Her heart.
All of it.
Because one day, just like that—Momo disappeared.
No note. No goodbye. Just silence.
And Mina?
She broke.
She withdrew from Kyoto University. Packed her things. Left Japan. She ran halfway across the world, hoping distance would numb what nothing else could.
But fate was cruel.
Because in the middle of her ruins, she met Im Nayeon.
Warm. Steady. Kind.
Where Momo had been a fire, Nayeon was sunlight.
And in that quiet, unexpected moment—when Mina had nothing left to give—she found herself falling again.
Not because she wanted to.
But because love, real love, doesn’t ask permission.
It just happens.
Sana’s breath came in jagged bursts, each inhale a battle against the fire scorching her chest. Pain radiated from every corner of her body—sharp, bruising, relentless. But still, she stood. She had to. Letting herself fall now would be the same as surrendering, and she couldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Hongjin stood before her, calm and composed, as if this wasn’t a scene of cruelty but just another conversation. The dim overhead light flickered, casting shadows across his face. His gun gleamed under the glow, steady in his grip, like it belonged there. As if this moment had been rehearsed.
Beside him, a woman let out a slow, mocking laugh that cut through the air like a knife.
“Well, well... look at you,” she sneered, her voice like poison-coated sugar. “Not so invincible now, are you?”
Sana didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched as she fought the urge to double over. Her ribs ached with every breath, and the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, but she refused to fall. She had survived worse. Or so she thought.
Hongjin took a step closer, the rhythm of his shoes on the wooden floor slow and cruel. His smile was razor-sharp and empty, and it made something in her stomach turn.
“I warned you,” he said softly, like a father scolding a child. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you ever met with the Parks behind my back?”
Sana’s fingers curled into fists. Her nails bit into her palms, grounding her through the pain. “It wasn’t a secret,” she managed, voice thin but firm. “Jihyo knew—”
The shot came before the sentence could finish.
A quiet pop. A flash. Then pain—blinding, explosive pain that tore through her shoulder.
Sana’s legs gave out beneath her.
She didn’t fly back. She didn’t scream.
Her knees buckled, and her body crumpled to the ground—falling into a sitting position with a dull, graceless thud. Her back slumped against the edge of the couch. Her shoulder burned, blood pouring freely down her arm, soaking the fabric of her dress. Her breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps, each one slicing through her ribs like glass.
But she didn’t cry out.
The pain was unbearable, yes. But the fury? That kept her grounded.
Above her, the woman clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. “Really, Jin? We just got started.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped forward, towering over Sana like a shadow made of bone and steel. The gun hung lazily from his hand, but its weight filled the room like a threat.
He crouched in front of her, his head tilting ever so slightly.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he murmured, his voice too soft to be anything but cruel. “That’s just a taste of what’s to come.”
Sana’s lips were parted, her chest heaving, but she still looked at him—looked through him—with defiance in her bloodshot eyes. The pain was eating her alive, but the fire in her gaze hadn’t dimmed.
Not even a little.
Sana’s vision blurred, but she stared at him with a fire that refused to die. She wouldn’t look away. She wouldn’t give him that power.
Behind them, a man stood silently, barely moving. Something about him felt... strange. Familiar, even. But she couldn’t focus on that now. Not when the pain was eating her alive.
Hongjin grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Nayeon’s life was planned long before she was born,” Hongjin continued, his voice low, dangerous. “Nayeon was never meant to be safe. She was born to be sold. To those disgusting American pigs who offered us millions.”
Sana’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.
Nayeon.
The name alone was enough to shatter her composure. The girl she had sworn to protect. The one she loved—maybe more than she’d ever admitted.
“You’re disgusting,” she spat, her voice shaking with rage. “You think you own her? That she’ll let you pull her strings?”
For a brief second, his face changed. Something flickered in his eyes—rage, or maybe something worse. Then it was gone. Replaced by a smirk sharp enough to cut skin.
“I don’t need her permission. She’s still your wife, isn’t she?” he whispered. “And Takashi would never let anything happen to his precious daughter-in-law. I just need her alive long enough to make me rich.”
Without warning, his fist crashed into her stomach.
The blow knocked the wind out of her. She doubled over, gasping, the pain radiating like wildfire through her chest. Her ribs screamed. Her lungs burned. She couldn’t breathe.
And he just laughed.
“But killing you now?” he mused, brushing invisible dust off his coat. “That’d be too easy. Too fast.”
He leaned close, the barrel of the gun pressing against her temple.
“Let’s meet again, Sana-ya,” Hongjin said, his voice sickly sweet. “If you tell anyone what happened tonight, the next bullet won’t go through your shoulder.” His voice dropped even lower, as he nudged the gun against her head. “Park Jihyo, right? The Park’s eldest daughter,” he added with an evil grin.
Sana’s lips tightened, but she didn’t speak. Anger was burning through her veins, hotter than the pain in her shoulder. She could fight back. She would. Not now, but when the time came, she would make them all pay. Every last one of them. When the door clicked shut, Sana crumbled to the ground.
Her whole body felt heavy, but she didn’t let herself stay down. She closed her eyes, willing herself to breathe through the pain. It hurt so much, but she couldn’t give in.
She couldn’t give up. She forced herself to sit up, ignoring the burning sensation in her shoulder. hand shook as she reached for her phone on the couch. She wasn’t going to die like this. She wasn’t. She had to make it through.
She had to find a way to keep fighting. Sana’s fingers trembled as she clutched the phone to her ear, her breath shallow, ragged.
The sharp sting in her shoulder pulsed in time with her heartbeat, a cruel reminder of how close she had come to death.
Blood soaked through the fabric of her shirt, warm and sticky against her skin, but she forced herself to stay conscious, to keep her focus locked on the voice that finally answered on the other end of the line.
"Sana?" Hyeri’s voice was sharp with concern, but it felt distant, muffled against the roar in Sana’s ears.
She swallowed the coppery taste of blood, her grip tightening on the phone. "Unnie... I need... help." A sharp inhale.
"Where are you? What happened?" Sana squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the pain clawing at her throat. Her fingers dug into the couch for support as she forced herself to sit upright. The room spun around her, dark corners twisting and shifting as if the shadows themselves were alive, watching, waiting.
"I—" A violent tremor wracked her body, stealing the words from her lips. The weight of what had just happened crashed over her in waves, threatening to pull her under.
"I don’t have time. Please, just come." She barely heard Hyeri's frantic response before the phone slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the floor. The silence that followed was deafening. Her body screamed in protest as she pushed herself up, her vision flickering at the edges.
The air was thick, suffocating, and she could still feel Hongjin’s touch lingering on her skin, the press of the gun’s barrel against her temple burned into her memory like a brand.
She had never felt fear like that before. Not when she was younger, not when she first learned the truth about the world she was born into.
But this—this was something else entirely. It was the kind of fear that left scars, the kind that burrowed deep into the marrow of her bones, whispering that she was never truly safe. That she had never been safe to begin with. Her gaze flickered to the door, half-expecting it to burst open again, for Hongjin to return, to finish what he started. But he wouldn’t. Not yet.
He wanted her to live in fear, to suffocate under the weight of the warning he had left behind. Her stomach twisted at the thought, rage bubbling beneath the surface, fighting against the pain. He thought he could break her.
That she would crumble under the weight of his threats. He had no idea who he was dealing with. With a sharp breath, she forced herself to move, one agonizing step at a time.
The walls around her blurred, but she kept pushing forward, reaching for the nearest cabinet, her fingers curling around the cold metal of a hidden blade tucked away inside.
Her hands were still slick with blood, but she held onto the knife like a lifeline. A reminder that she wasn’t powerless. Her reflection in the window caught her attention.
She barely recognized herself. Pale. Hollow-eyed. A shadow of the woman she once was. A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat, but it came out as a ragged, broken sound.
She was so tired. So unbelievably tired. But she couldn’t stop. Not now. Not ever.
The sound of tires screeching outside snapped her back into reality. Hyeri.
Relief warred with exhaustion as she stumbled toward the door, her body screaming in protest.
The second she pulled it open, Hyeri was there, her face a mask of horror as she took in the blood, the torn fabric, the raw, unfiltered pain in Sana’s eyes.
"Oh my god," Hyeri whispered, stepping inside, her hands hovering as if afraid to touch her.
"Sana, what the hell happened?" Sana opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Her body betrayed her. The last remnants of strength bled from her limbs, and before she could stop it, darkness swallowed her whole. Hyeri’s panicked voice was the last thing she heard before everything faded to black.
“What happened?!” Jihyo’s voice echoed sharply across the quiet lounge of the ImTech building, her heels clicking fast against the floor as she stormed toward Jimin and Rosé.
Jimin turned to her, looking like he’d just been caught hiding a crime. His eyes were wide, lips pressed into a guilty line before he nervously bit down on his lower lip. “Jihyo... listen first—”
Jihyo didn’t listen. Her eyes flicked past him and landed on Rosé, who stood with arms crossed and an annoyed expression painted across her face.
“Your brother is a walking disaster,” Rosé said flatly. “We managed to get Mignyu out, but Jin? He’s nowhere. Poof. Vanished.”
“Jin isn’t here—” Jimin tried to explain, but his voice trailed off the second Jihyo turned to him. Her face suddenly shifted, and Jimin saw something he hadn’t seen before—panic. Real fear.
“He’s not here?” she whispered, her chest rising just a little too fast.
“Jihyo—”
But she was already gone.
She spun around, bolted through the entrance like lightning, and jumped into her car. Tires screeched a bit louder than necessary as the car sped off. Jimin and Rosé just stood there, stunned.
“What the hell?” Jimin blinked.
Rosé sighed, patting his shoulder. “Follow her, idiot.”
“Right, yeah,” Jimin scrambled after her, almost tripping over his own feet as Rosé rolled her eyes and followed with a groan.
On the other hand, Jihyo’s hands gripped the steering wheel like she might break it in half. Her heart thudded against her chest, louder than the engine roaring under her. If Hongjin was really back—and he found Sana—she didn’t even want to imagine it.
When she pulled up to the house Sana shared with Nayeon, she barely remembered parking. She jumped out before the car even finished shaking from the stop. No time. She ran to the front door and raised her fist to knock.
But the door swung open first.
Standing there was a tall man in a crisp black suit. Except his hair was sticking out weirdly in places like he’d just run through a wind tunnel, and sweat dotted his forehead like he’d been chased by ghosts.
“Miss Park,” he greeted stiffly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves like it mattered. “What brings you here?”
Jihyo blinked. “Who the hell are you?”
Just then, Jimin and Rosé’s car pulled up behind her. They both got out, Rosé squinting toward the front step.
“Hey,” she muttered to Jimin, nudging his side, “isn’t that one of the Hirai Clan’s people?”
Jimin leaned forward a bit, trying to squint without looking obvious. “Yeah... that’s the guy who never smiles. Or maybe that’s just his face.”
Jihyo, still staring at the mystery man, took a cautious step back. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours. That’s not comforting.”
The man gave a half-bow like he practiced it in a mirror. “Ah, apologies. I’m Suho—secretary to the Hirai family.”
He extended a hand for a polite shake. Jihyo looked at it like it was a trap, then shoved past him into the house.
Suho blinked and slowly lowered his hand back into his pocket with a long, defeated sigh.
Inside, the house was quiet. Spotless. Nothing was broken. No signs of struggle. It looked... peaceful. Too peaceful.
Jihyo turned around, her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Sana?”
Suho tilted his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure why she was so angry. “She went out. With Miss Hirai Momo.”
“What?!” Rosé and Jimin both shouted behind her.
“She left a message,” Suho added quickly, pulling out his phone like it was proof. “She said she’ll be gone for a few days and not to bother her.”
Jihyo blinked in disbelief. “She told you that?”
“She left it written on the fridge,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.
Rosé peeked over Suho’s shoulder toward the kitchen. “Oh my god. She actually left a Post-it.”
Jimin frowned. “What does it say?”
Rosé raised an eyebrow. “It says, and I quote, ‘Gone for a while. Don’t text. Don’t call. Don’t panic. (Suho, you better water my plants.)’”
There was a pause.
Jihyo slowly rubbed her temples. “She’s going to give me a heart attack one day.”
Suho coughed awkwardly. “About the plants... I may have already killed one.”
Rosé groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Of course you did.”
“Look,” Jihyo said, trying to steady her breathing, “if Hongjin comes near her and she’s out there without telling anyone where...”
“I’ll find her,” Suho said quietly, his voice more serious now. “If anything happens, I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
Jihyo looked at him, unsure if she should believe him—but in that moment, she didn’t have a choice.
“Fine,” she muttered, walking toward the door again. “But if she loses even a strand of hair—”
“I’ll shave my own head,” Suho replied without missing a beat.
Even Rosé chuckled at that. “Well, at least you’ve got style.”
Suho blinked. “I do?”
“No,” Jimin and Rosé said at the same time.
Jihyo didn't even smile—but deep down, she was just a little less afraid.
“Sit, sit. Good morning. What brings you here this early, Hongjin?” Takashi said, his voice calm as he gestured toward the couch across from him.
They were in Takashi’s private office inside the Hirai Estate. The air was still, the morning sun slipping through the curtains, casting soft lines of light across the polished floor. Takashi settled into the single armchair, his posture relaxed but his eyes quietly sharp. Hongjin, without hesitation, took the couch beside him.
“Alright, I’ll get to the point,” Hongjin said smoothly, flashing a half-smile that never reached his eyes. “Honeymoon. The girls haven’t gone anywhere yet, have they?”
Takashi’s face didn’t change, but something in his chest tightened. He already knew Hongjin never asked questions just for the sake of asking. Every word the man spoke had another meaning behind it—like a snake circling its prey.
“They haven’t,” Takashi replied, keeping his voice even.
“Strange for a newlywed couple, don’t you think?” Hongjin went on, his tone playful but laced with something colder underneath. “I mean, the public’s curious. Even headquarters has started asking.”
Takashi let out a small breath and leaned back, feeling the familiar curve of the leather seat press against him. He knew Hongjin was testing him—pushing.
“How about Paris?” Takashi offered casually, folding his hands together. “Send them off for two weeks. Let them rest, enjoy themselves. I’ll handle the arrangements.”
Hongjin’s lips curled slightly. The kind of smile that didn’t warm a room—it froze it. But in a blink, it melted into something more polite, more charming.
“That would be perfect,” he said. “And it would be even better if it were documented. You know—pictures, videos. The whole thing. We could share it with the media, maybe give the company a little push. Everyone’s been waiting for something sweet. The couple’s been married almost three weeks, after all.”
There it was.
Takashi’s fingers tightened just slightly around each other. He knew this wasn’t about romance or celebration. Hongjin didn’t care about the marriage. All he wanted was attention. Fame. A show to sell. And Sana—his daughter—was the centerpiece of it all.
If Takashi had it his way, Hongjin would never step foot inside this estate again.
But he couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not with what he promised Sana.
So he smiled.
A calm, measured smile. The kind that made people feel safe even when the storm was already coming.
“Yes,” Takashi said softly, “I’ll arrange everything.”
Hongjin nodded, satisfied, unaware—or perhaps too arrogant to care—that Takashi saw right through him.
As the silence settled, Takashi’s mind raced. If this trip was going to happen, then he had to make sure Sana came back safely. No matter what.
Because deep down, he knew—
This wasn't just a honeymoon.
It was a trap waiting to happen.
And he had no choice but to play along.
Two days.
That’s how long it had been since Nayeon last saw Sana.
Now, she sat on the living room sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she stared blankly at the black screen of the television. She wasn’t even sure how long she'd been sitting like that. The sun had risen and set again, and the silence in the house had started to feel too loud.
She hated this feeling—this quiet tug in her chest. The uneasiness. The way her stomach twisted every time she thought of Sana’s absence.
It was stupid. Absolutely stupid.
She treated Sana coldly. Dismissively. Like she was nothing but a contract signed in a boardroom. Sana took her freedom, after all—or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself. But lately… guilt had started to find little cracks in her walls.
And now, with Sana suddenly gone, her absence felt heavier than expected.
She tried to brush it off. Tried to blame it on curiosity, maybe even habit. But it wasn’t just that.
She remembered the medications—the ones she spotted accidentally in the drawer. Rows of pills with names she couldn’t pronounce, and yet, their presence haunted her ever since.
Before she knew it, her car was pulling up in front of the Park Corporation building. She hadn’t called Jimin or Jeongyeon. God forbid her father found out she’d visited the Parks—she’d be six feet under a mountain of lectures and threats. But whatever. At this point, she didn’t care.
Just as she leaned against her car, arms crossed, trying to figure out what she was even doing here, the building’s front doors opened—and she froze.
Out walked two very familiar faces: Jimin and Mingyu.
What the hell?
She watched as they squinted against the sun—clearly not expecting to see anyone. Especially not her. They both paused, looking at each other like scared cats caught knocking over a vase.
Nayeon raised a brow, unimpressed, and stayed leaning against the car, waiting for them to realize they were in trouble.
Jimin nudged Mingyu. Mingyu nudged him back. They were whispering something, maybe debating who should take the first blow.
Suddenly, Jeongyeon appeared from behind them like a lightning bolt, grabbing both their collars by the back of the neck and dragging them toward Nayeon.
Nayeon blinked. “Seriously?”
She straightened up and stepped forward, arms no longer crossed, lips forming a sarcastic smile. “Wow. Jimin. Mingyu. Jeongyeon. The holy trinity of ImTech’s most trusted employees—at Park Corp, of all places. What a lovely surprise.”
Jimin laughed nervously, stepping backward—only for Jeongyeon to give him a light shove forward like a mother forcing her kids to apologize.
“Ms. Im, I can explain—”
Smack.
Mingyu slapped the back of Jimin’s head so fast it echoed slightly. The two exchanged a look, whispering something that sounded suspiciously like a childhood argument about who broke Mom’s vase.
Nayeon narrowed her eyes. She had known Mingyu for years, and he was always the composed, serious type. Seeing him act like a kid caught stealing candy was… unsettling.
Jeongyeon sighed and crossed her arms, clearly tired of the drama. “Okay. Ms. Im, just to save us all some time—these two? They're cousins. And Jimin, well… he’s the youngest Park.”
Jimin and Mingyu both turned sharply to glare at her, as if she’d just exposed their entire backstory on national television.
Nayeon stared at them. Processing.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
And yet, instead of unleashing the storm they expected…
“Have you seen Sana?” she asked.
Silence. Complete silence.
The air shifted. Jimin and Mingyu looked up at her, stunned, like they’d misheard. Even Jeongyeon’s mouth dropped open a little.
“I’m looking for Jihyo,” Nayeon added. “I need to talk to her.”
The three of them exchanged glances, silently debating if this was a trap. Was Nayeon finally cracking?
A voice interrupted their thoughts.
“Sana’s been gone for two days. I thought you knew that.”
Nayeon turned.
There she was—Park Jihyo. Arms crossed, expression unreadable, tone sharp. The kind of presence that made people stand straighter.
But Nayeon didn’t flinch. She walked right past the others and toward her.
“You were the last person seen with her. You must know something,” Nayeon said. Her voice wasn’t angry—but it carried weight. Real worry that even she didn’t realize had rooted itself in her words.
Jihyo studied her. Nayeon wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t cold. She looked… lost. Bothered. Like someone who’d just realized they cared a little too late.
“I don’t know,” Jihyo replied simply and began walking away.
Nayeon stood still, unsure of what to do—until Jihyo paused again and said over her shoulder, “Why don’t you ask your perfect father?”
That made Nayeon blink. Her brows furrowed, confused.
Then Jihyo added under her breath, “As if you even know what kind of man he is.”
Nayeon’s eyes widened.
She darted forward, grabbing Jihyo’s arm and yanking her to face her. Her grip was firm, but not painful.
“What do you mean?” she demanded, her voice tight, trying to stay calm even though her chest was heaving slightly. Her left hand curled into a trembling fist at her side.
Jihyo glanced at it, then locked eyes with her.
“What do I mean?” she repeated, eyebrows raised. “You really forgot, huh? The deal. Your father. Crushing the Hirais. Or do I need to remind you—”
“I never planned to!” Nayeon snapped, her voice cracking at the edge. “I… I didn’t want that.”
Jihyo blinked, taken aback by the fire in her voice.
Nayeon’s breaths came faster now. Her shoulders rose and fell as she stared at Jihyo, desperate.
“Now tell me. What do you mean I should ask my father?”
Jihyo looked at her for a long second.
And for the first time, she saw it—Nayeon’s walls, shaking. Crumbling.
Because this isn’t just about Sana.
Slowly, this is about the truth.
And it is starting to hurt.
When Sana woke up, the world felt dim, like the light itself was tired.
The air clung to her skin, thick with that sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic. Machines hummed steadily around her, each beep a quiet but constant reminder that she was still here.
Still alive.
She blinked, her eyelids heavy, her body aching as though it had been stitched back together by sheer force. It took a moment before her blurred vision cleared enough to make out the figure slouched beside her bed.
Hyeri.
She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her usually neat hair was pulled into a messy low ponytail, strands falling over her face. Shadows lingered under her eyes, and her fingers were clenched tight around the edge of the chair—as if letting go might break her.
“You’re awake,” Hyeri breathed, her voice breaking through the silence like glass hitting the floor. There was relief there, clear and raw. But it was short-lived.
Just as quickly, her expression shifted, like a storm rolling in.
“What the hell were you thinking, Sana?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm. Fierce. “You should’ve called me the second you knew something was wrong. Do you even understand how close it was?”
Sana didn’t flinch. She just stared.
Hyeri had been there for the last ten years. Always in the background. Never loud, never demanding, but always... there. She had cleaned Sana’s wounds, handed her pills with shaking hands, watched over her in silence when no one else did. More than a doctor. More than a friend.
She had become something like a lifeline.
Hyeri’s strength had never come from words—it came from her presence. The way she stood steady when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
Sana swallowed hard, her throat dry, the taste of blood still ghosting the back of her tongue. “I didn’t have time.”
“Bullshit,” Hyeri snapped before she could say anything else. “You always have time to stay alive, Sana.”
Sana looked away.
Hyeri let out a sharp breath and stood, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “You could’ve died. I walked into that house and—” her voice cracked, just slightly. “God, Sana. Who did this to you?”
Sana’s fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. The memory was still fresh. Too fresh. She could still hear Hongjin’s voice echoing in her mind like a warning carved into her bones.
If you tell anyone what happened tonight, the next bullet won’t go through your shoulder.
“I fell,” she said, flatly.
Hyeri narrowed her eyes, her voice cold now. “Don’t lie to me.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sana didn’t respond. She turned her head toward the window, eyes locked on something far beyond it.
“I can handle it,” she muttered.
“Handle it?” Hyeri scoffed, the bitterness in her laugh surprising even her. “You were shot , Sana. This isn’t like one of your bruises or the time you stitched yourself up in the damn bathroom. You can’t just patch this up and keep walking like nothing happened.”
Still, Sana stayed quiet.
Hyeri stared at her for a long time, her jaw tight, voice trembling just beneath the surface. “Is it about Nayeon?”
The name felt like a spark against exposed skin.
Sana didn’t answer—but she didn’t have to.
Something in her eyes cracked, just enough for Hyeri to see.
“I don’t know what this is,” Hyeri said softly, sitting back down. “I don’t know who’s after you, or how deep you are in this—but you can’t do this alone anymore.”
Sana forced a breath through her lungs, trying to keep her voice light as she shifted on the bed. “Should I do this then with you?” she asked, managing a weak smile. “Tag you in?”
Hyeri raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. She knew when Sana needed an escape. And right now, she needed one badly.
“How are you and Subin?” Sana asked, clearly trying to change the topic.
Hyeri let out a sigh so dramatic it could’ve won an award. “I don’t know,” she muttered, folding her arms across her chest like a sulking teenager. “She has the temper of a volcano, I swear.”
That got a small laugh out of Sana.
“She always has,” Sana said, settling more comfortably against the pillows. “You’re still putting up with her?”
“What choice do I have?” Hyeri grumbled, though the fondness in her voice was impossible to miss. “She’s stubborn as hell, always trying to do everything on her own. Remind you of anyone?”
Sana gave her a pointed look. “I’m way more charming than Subin.”
Hyeri snorted. “Barely.”
The tension in the room slowly eased, the weight of earlier softening into something lighter. For a moment, it was just two women teasing each other like nothing had happened. Like there wasn’t still blood in the cracks between their words.
“You have the patience of a saint,” Sana said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Seriously, how do you even handle her?”
“Lots of deep breaths,” Hyeri deadpanned. “And chocolate. So much chocolate. After every shift, after every conversation, after every time she yells at me for breathing too loud.”
Sana laughed, a full-bodied laugh that made her chest ache.
Hyeri smiled, softer now. She leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees. “I care about her,” she said, quieter this time. “Even when she drives me crazy. That’s how it works, right?”
Sana nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”
There was something in her voice that made Hyeri pause.
“Sana,” she said gently, “how are you really?”
Sana hesitated.
She wanted to say she was okay. That she was fine. That she could handle it.
But instead, she just looked at Hyeri, her voice quieter than before.
“I’m just… glad I’m not alone.”
Hyeri didn’t say anything right away. She just reached over and placed a hand gently on Sana’s arm.
“You never are,” she whispered.
And that truth—quiet, steady, and unshakeable—was enough to pull Sana back from the edge she’d been teetering on.
Hyeri stood then, brushing invisible wrinkles from her jacket. “I should probably check on Subin before she sets something on fire out of sheer frustration.”
Sana raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re always running? Fire control duty?”
“Exactly,” Hyeri replied with a wink. “It’s not easy being the sane one in this duo.”
Sana chuckled, her first real smile of the day. “You really are a saint.”
Hyeri stepped toward the door, but before leaving, she looked over her shoulder—her expression soft, serious.
“I mean it, Sana. If you need me, I’m here. Always.”
And with that, she was gone.
The walls of the hospital were too white, too quiet. The sterile air and steady hum of machines had started to get under Sana’s skin, each hour feeling heavier than the last. Laying in bed all day didn’t help either. She needed air, movement, anything but the ceiling and the slow drip of an IV.
With her hospital robe wrapped tightly around her and her hands tucked into the sleeves, she quietly slipped out of her room and began wandering through the hallway. The nurses didn’t stop her—maybe they were used to patients needing a break from the confines of their rooms. Or maybe they understood the kind of restlessness that crept in when the mind refused to settle.
She turned a corner, her gaze trailing across the floor tiles rather than where she was heading, lost in her thoughts—until her shoulder suddenly bumped hard into someone else.
“Ouch, I'm sorry,” a small voice squeaked, gentle and apologetic.
Sana stumbled a step back and instinctively looked up.
“Oh no, no—I should be the one apologizing,” she said quickly, waving her hands in a flurry of panic. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
The woman across from her bowed her head again, flustered, but before Sana could do the same, the woman reached out and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, stopping her mid-bow.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
The touch was soft, barely there, but it made Sana freeze.
And then, as if time paused for a moment, she looked up—really looked.
The woman’s features came into focus slowly, like a puzzle snapping into place. Doe eyes, soft skin, the kind of presence that felt distant and delicate at the same time.
Sana’s heart skipped.
She knew that face.
The woman, however, looked utterly stunned. Her eyes widened, her lips slightly parted—as if she had just seen a ghost.
And yet, Sana was the one whose breath caught in her throat.
Her lips parted, a name escaping before she could stop it.
“Mina?”
Sana gently placed a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of Mina before taking the seat across from her. The stall's soft yellow light flickered faintly above them, the only source of warmth in the cool evening. Around them, the world had gone quiet, save for the soft hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. The moon hung overhead, casting a pale glow that made everything feel a little too real, a little too close.
Mina wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the heat but unsure what to do with the silence. She hadn’t expected this—Sana, in front of her. They had never spoken before, never even passed by each other. Yet here they were, like characters forced into the same scene with too much shared history and not enough understanding.
What made everything worse was the strange knot inside Mina’s chest. Sana is part of the two names that left a permanent mark on her life—Momo, her first love, and Nayeon, the woman she is still in love with. The woman Sana is now married to.
Mina forced a small, polite smile and brought the cup to her lips, but her eyes lingered on the woman sitting across her. Seeing Sana in person stirred something old and distant inside her. Something she didn’t expect to resurface.
Sana gave a small chuckle, her voice soft, almost careful. “Momo used to talk about you all the time back then,” she said, fingers nervously brushing against her cup. “She only showed me a photo once, so I recognized you right away… though I never thought I’d meet you like this. Unexpected, huh?”
Mina’s gaze stayed steady, but her lips parted slightly at the mention of her name through Momo’s mouth—through Sana’s mouth. It was strange. Intimate. And yet, distant.
Then Sana added, “So… you’re the woman she kept visiting in New York, right?”
Mina blinked, a flicker of confusion passing through her eyes. “New York?” she repeated, her voice quiet. “I—Momo never visited me in New York. Not even once.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Sana shifted in her seat, caught off guard. “Wait… seriously?” she tilted her head, as if doubting herself. “But I thought—Momo said she was flying back and forth there. I just assumed… Aren’t you Son Mina? From Kyoto University?”
Mina nodded slowly, now more confused than before. “I am.”
“But…” Sana leaned back slightly, brows furrowing. “Then… that doesn’t make sense. You’re the same woman in that photo. I remember it clearly, the only woman she dated back then. Momo kept it in her wallet for years. I always thought you were the reason she kept pushing to go back to New York, even when it was hard for her.”
Mina's fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
She’d always wondered. Why Momo left so suddenly without saying goodbye. Why she disappeared when everything between them was still unfolding. Why it hurt for so long.
Sana looked at her cautiously. “You… didn’t know?”
“We never officially dated,” Mina said slowly, the words heavier than she expected. “But there was something. And then, one day, she just left. No reason. No goodbye. I never understood why.”
Sana’s expression softened, and for a moment, she looked younger. Smaller. “She never told you?” she asked again, voice gentler this time.
Mina shook her head.
The silence returned—but this time, it was shared. Heavy. Introspective.
“I’m sorry,” Sana murmured, looking down at her drink. “I thought… I know one day she’ll tell you once she finally have the courage. Momo’s never really been good with goodbyes.”
Mina studied her. This woman—Momo’s sister. Nayeon’s wife. She should have hated her. She should’ve been uncomfortable. And yet, there was something genuine in Sana’s eyes. Something that didn’t feel like rivalry or pride. It felt… comfortable. Is this even right?
Sana glanced back up and offered a small smile, like she knew she had no right to offer comfort but was trying anyway. “For what it’s worth… I think she never stopped thinking about you.”
That struck a little deeper than Mina expected. She looked away, trying to hide the way her chest tightened at the thought.
And for a while, neither of them spoke.
But somehow, in the quiet tension, the bitterness didn’t settle.
Just the weight of things left unsaid. And the slow realization that maybe… none of this was ever as simple as it seemed.
“But now that I see you in person,” Sana said with a soft hum, leaning forward, elbows on the table, “you really do look like someone I know.”
Mina’s shoulders stiffened as Sana's gaze lingered on her face—careful but curious, like she was trying to memorize every line, every detail. It made Mina instinctively lean back, heart thudding louder than it should. There was something intense in the way Sana looked at her. Not inappropriate—but unsettling in its sincerity.
“Are you… somehow…” Sana trailed off as she slowly stood up from her chair, closing the small distance between them. Mina’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened around her cup, but her eyes stayed locked on Sana’s, unsure of what was happening.
And then—Sana reached out.
Her fingertips brushed against Mina’s skin as she gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Mina’s ear, the gesture delicate… almost too intimate for strangers.
Mina jolted up from her seat like she’d been burned. “You—You shouldn’t do things like that, Sana. You’re married. People might—”
Sana leaned back with a laugh that was light, amused. “You called me by my name,” she said, lips curling into a playful smile. “That means I can be friends with you now, right?”
Mina blinked, caught completely off guard. She stared at Sana, dumbfounded. For someone who was technically part of a contract marriage, she sure had a way of disarming people without even trying. And that smile… it wasn’t teasing. It was genuine. Too genuine. And it pulled something tight inside Mina’s chest.
Guilt.
But before Mina could say anything, the smile faded. Sana’s face turned quiet, eyes gazing off to the side. The moonlight caught the reflection in her eyes, and it almost looked like the beginning of tears.
“You know about the marriage?” she asked softly. “Guess the headlines did their job… made sure everyone knew.”
She sat back down, and Mina followed, the air between them heavier now. A weight had settled—unspoken, but deeply felt.
“Not all the news is true,” Sana said, her voice low, thoughtful. “Just like this marriage.”
Mina’s breath hitched slightly. She listened.
“I won’t lie… there’s a part of me that hopes this marriage becomes real,” Sana admitted, fiddling with the sleeve of her hospital uniform. “But I’m afraid. Afraid that if I let these feelings grow… I’ll end up leaving. And I won’t be able to protect her. Or give her the life she really wants.”
Her voice cracked, just a little.
Mina stared, unable to look away. Is she talking about Nayeon? Why? What does she mean—feelings? Protect her?
Mina’s thoughts were spinning, questions forming on the tip of her tongue—but she kept them in. Because as much as she wanted to understand, she was also afraid. Afraid that Sana might realize who she really was to Nayeon.
But Sana’s face under the moonlight told her enough.
She looked like someone who carried everything alone. Someone who had learned how to hide pain so well that even those closest to her wouldn’t notice. Someone who cared deeply—but never about herself.
Just as Mina opened her mouth to say something, Sana beat her to it—snapping back into her earlier playfulness like nothing had happened.
“Ah! Anyway,” she grinned, brushing her hands together, “where were you headed? Sorry I ate up your time, Mina-ya.”
Mina blinked. Mina-ya. That soft way she said her name made her want to smack Sana’s head—and maybe hug her too.
“I was just heading home,” Mina replied, standing from her seat again.
Sana rose as well, brushing imaginary dust off her pants before falling in step behind Mina. They walked quietly toward the exit of the small yard, the silence now no longer awkward—but lingering.
When they reached the edge of the path, Mina turned to face her.
Sana was still smiling. Still watching her.
And something inside Mina softened.
She lifted her hand in a small wave, and Sana did the same. Mina was about to turn when something tugged at her. She turned back around.
“We can be friends, Sana-ya,” she said.
Sana’s eyes lit up.
“And…” Mina hesitated for a beat, her voice quieter now. “I hope you start thinking about yourself too. It’s okay to care for others, but… don’t forget yourself. Even if you think there’s nothing left to care for—there always is. You’re a good person, Sana-yah.”
Sana didn’t say anything at first. She just stared at her, the kind of stare that saw straight through, as if nobody had ever said those words to her before. Mina gave her one last smile and turned away, walking into the night with a strange ache in her chest.
Sana didn’t move.
She stood there until Mina was completely gone from sight. Only then did her knees give out beneath her. She dropped down to the ground, arms hugging her knees, and cried.
She cried like she hadn’t in years—loud, raw, unfiltered.
Because no one had ever told her she mattered. No one had ever reminded her to care about herself. Not even herself.
The quiet sound of her sobs filled the stillness.
And then—
A coat fell gently over her shoulders.
Sana froze.
She looked up.
Nayeon.
Standing beside her, silent, her face unreadable under the dim light. She didn’t say a word. Just stood there, close, unmoving, watching over her.
Sana clutched the coat around her like a shield, the scent familiar. Safe.
Nayeon didn’t crouch. Didn’t reach out.
But her presence said enough.
It was the first time Nayeon had seen Sana cry like this—no masks, no pride. Just a girl who had held on for too long, now finally breaking.
And for the first time, Nayeon wondered… Just how much had this woman been carrying all alone?
Nayeon set her glass down gently on the cold porcelain counter, the deep red wine barely touched. Her phone buzzed once, a small sound in the stillness of the penthouse. She didn’t expect much—she rarely did these days—but her fingers reached for it anyway.
“Just visited my mother at H Medical Center. Heading back now.”
The name of the hospital hit her like a whisper too loud.
Her breath caught. H Medical Center.
Without a second thought, she reached for her coat, the one hanging by the door, barely noticing how her hands trembled. She didn’t bother to turn off the lights as she left her private room, her steps swift and sharp as they echoed through the empty hallways. The elevator ride down felt longer than usual, her reflection in the metal walls too quiet, too pensive.
When she reached the parking area, she threw the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. Her fingers fumbled only slightly with the keys before the engine came alive, and the tires screeched softly as she pulled out into the road. Her heart was already far ahead of her body, chasing something she didn’t name. Something she didn’t let herself name.
It was a long drive— too long , especially with the restless storm brewing quietly inside her chest—but when the hospital finally came into view, her foot eased off the gas. Her pulse didn’t. She parked in a rush, stepped out, and stood still for a moment under the hospital’s lights.
Is she here?
Her eyes scanned the glass doors of the entrance—bright, sterile, full of people who had no idea the weight pressing down on her shoulders. She was about to move, to walk in, to ask something she hadn’t dared ask anywhere else, when she heard it.
A cry.
Not loud. But raw. Real. Enough to pull her in like gravity.
Nayeon turned her head slowly, then followed the sound. Around the side of the hospital, toward the dim yard shrouded in the softness of night, the gentle rustle of leaves, the quiet song of distant crickets.
And there she was.
Sana . Finally found you.
Hunched down, knees drawn to her chest, trembling under the sky. Crying like the world had finally allowed her to fall apart.
Nayeon stood still for a second. Her chest tightened. She swallowed. Then she walked.
Her steps were slow, like if she moved too fast, the moment would vanish.
When she reached her, she didn’t say anything. She just pulled her coat off and gently draped it over Sana’s small frame. The woman looked up, eyes wide with surprise— shock , even—but there was no question in them. No fear. Only sorrow.
And then Sana reached for the coat and clutched it tightly, burying her face in its warmth as the tears didn’t stop. Nayeon didn’t bend down. She just stood there, tall beside her, hands clenched at her sides—not out of anger, but out of restraint.
There were a hundred things she wanted to ask, a thousand things she didn’t know how to say.
But for now, she just stood there. And let Sana cry.
It was the first time she saw her like this. Not the woman of stubborn smiles or quiet bravery. Not the wife she never wanted. But a person—fragile, breaking, human.
And for the first time, Nayeon didn’t look away.
"Did you got fired or something? You’ve been coming here since yesterday." Momo quipped as she slid a glass of wine across the counter toward Jeongyeon, her tone light but teasing. They were back at that bar—the same place where they first met, and where Momo had once humiliated herself trying to flirt with Jeongyeon, only to end up nearly choking on her drink. The memory still haunted her at night… in the most awkward of dreams.
Jeongyeon took the wine and raised an eyebrow. "You never told me you owned this place. And yes—still hate the noise." She gestured around at the pulsing lights and thumping bass with a slight grimace before settling onto the barstool like it had wronged her.
Momo grinned, already half enjoying this banter. "My friend Jenny and I co-own this. She’s the wild one—keeps asking me why we don’t have fire dancers or something ridiculous like that." She rolled her eyes with a soft chuckle and then sat beside Jeongyeon, propping her elbow on the counter.
There was a short pause. Then Jeongyeon cut straight to it.
"All this time, you knew where your sister was. Why didn’t you tell Nayeon?"
Momo’s grin faded slowly. She leaned back on the stool, arms crossing over her chest. Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling as if the answer might be scribbled up there, then dropped them back on Jeongyeon with an unreadable smirk. "Why? She cares about my sister now ?"
The shift in Momo’s voice was subtle, but it hit sharp. Sarcasm coated her words, but the hurt hiding underneath didn’t go unnoticed.
"I mean…" Momo scoffed, reaching for a handful of the peanuts in the bowl between them. "My guts telling me that Jin shot my sisterr. And no one’s even suspected him. He's still walking around like it’s just another Tuesday. Meanwhile, Sana’s finally getting rest—flat out in a hospital bed. So hey, silver lining, right?" She popped the snack into her mouth with forced nonchalance.
Jeongyeon exhaled slowly, watching her carefully. "Did you know Nayeon’s been visiting every medical center in the city, looking for her?"
Momo didn’t respond at first. Her fingers paused over the bowl.
"I don’t know what Jihyo said to her," Jeongyeon added, "but Nayeon’s been—different. Desperate. It’s seems she’s starting to know or she already knew about her father."
Momo turned to face her fully now, her jaw tightening. "So what—you’re telling me Nayeon cares just because Jihyo said a few words? After everything? After treating Sana like some unwanted ornament in her perfect little life?"
Her voice was rising now, and people at nearby tables were starting to glance over.
"And now , just now, she decides to look for her? When Sana's already broken, already bleeding out under the goddamn moonlight?"
Jeongyeon reached across and gently placed her hand over Momo’s clenched fist. "Momo-yah, I’m not saying it fixes anything. I’m not even saying Nayeon deserves her back. Nayeon has no clue back then, she is a victim too. We can’t blame her, neighter of them. But I saw in her eyes that she’s worried."
Momo slowly looked down at their hands, then back at Jeongyeon’s eyes, reading them like a language she hadn’t spoken in a long time.
"You're getting soft on me, detective." She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "Next thing I know, you'll be writing poetry about redemption arcs."
Jeongyeon chuckled, relieved at the slight change in atmosphere. But she didn’t let go of Momo’s hand. Instead, she gripped it tighter.
"The Park family is digging into ImTech’s past. And since I’ve agreed to work with your father, I’m working with the park’s now too so consider me as hard-working person. This time, we’re not letting anything slip through the cracks. Hongjin’s not getting away with it. Not again."
Her voice softened as she looked at Momo—really looked. Past the snark, past the armor.
"Sooner or later, we’ll put him down. And when that happens... Sana and Nayeon can finally live. Choose whatever they want, without fear. And you—you won’t have to carry this alone anymore."
Momo bit her lip, looking away quickly. She hated how those words made her chest tighten.
"Stop saying things like that. You sound like a drama lead."
"Only if you're my love interest," Jeongyeon said with a smug smirk.
Momo nearly choked on her wine. "Ugh, Yoo Jeongyeon!"
They both burst out laughing again—maybe too loudly. But for a moment, the weight lifted. Just enough to breathe. But even as they laughed, there was something simmering under the surface.
Silent. That was the only word to describe the room.
Sana sat quietly on her hospital bed, while Nayeon remained seated on the couch against the wall. The gap between them wasn’t just physical—it felt like a sea. Still, Sana couldn’t help but glance at the quiet woman whose head was hanging low, her face hidden behind strands of hair.
Nayeon had seen her earlier—broken and crying—and now, Sana didn’t know what to say or do. She shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the blanket wrapped around her lap.
When Nayeon finally moved and began to lift her head, Sana quickly looked away, pretending to be focused on something else. The silence between them remained, but strangely, it wasn’t heavy or painful. It was awkward—but in a warm, oddly comfortable way.
“Medicine,” Nayeon spoke first, her voice low but gentle. “Have you drunk your medicine?”
Sana blinked, surprised. Of all the things Nayeon could’ve said, she didn’t expect that. She turned her gaze toward her, unsure how to respond.
“I-… What do you mean?” she asked, voice uncertain. No one knew about the medications she’d been quietly taking—not even Momo. She had never told anyone.
Nayeon didn’t answer the question directly.
“Food,” she asked instead. “Have you eaten?”
Sana stared at her, speechless. Nayeon is… different. Her tone, her expression, even the way she looked at her—it wasn’t the cold, distant version of her anymore. It felt like something shifted. Something cracked open.
Before she could reply, her stomach answered for her, growling at just the right moment.
Sana’s lips pressed into a thin line, embarrassed, but Nayeon only smiled gently.
“Wait here,” she said softly, then stood and walked out of the room without another word.
Sana stared at the door long after it closed behind her. Is that really Nayeon? Did something happen while I was asleep? She tried to piece things together but came up blank.
She didn’t even realize how long she had been lost in thought when the door finally opened again. Nayeon came in, carrying a white plastic bag in her hands.
“They said apples are good for your health,” she said casually, placing one of the plastic bags on the bedside table. “Especially for the heart.”
Sana said nothing as she watched Nayeon move around, quietly pulling the hospital table toward the bed and setting it up in front of her. It all felt unreal, like watching someone else play the role of Im Nayeon.
From the bag, Nayeon pulled out a large plastic bowl with a steaming lid. Then she reached in again and took out a can of milk, a bottle of water, a can of soda, and even a small coffee.
“I didn’t know what you wanted to drink,” she murmured, not quite meeting Sana’s eyes. “So… I got one of each.”
She paused, fidgeting slightly. “They also said hot ramen helps warm the body. Thought it’d be good since it’s been cold lately.”
Sana couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.
Nayeon finally pulled out a pair of utensils, glanced at them, then walked toward the bathroom with the spoon and fork in hand.
Sana’s gaze followed her until she disappeared. When she looked back at the food and drinks, her chest tightened. Nayeon did all of this. For her. Quietly. Without a single word of complaint.
A few minutes later, Nayeon returned and placed the now-wet, freshly washed utensils on the table.
“Can you eat by yourself?” she asked.
Sana’s eyes widened slightly, heart thudding in her chest. She looked at Nayeon, dumbfounded.
“N-Nayeon… I can,” she stammered, hands reaching for the utensils. “Thank you. I can handle it.”
Nayeon gave a small nod, then quietly returned to the couch, curling up on one side with her eyes slowly closing. Sana watched her, unsure of what to feel.
“Are you… going to sleep here?” she asked softly.
Nayeon opened her eyes and looked at her. That stare—sharp, unreadable—sent a wave of heat down Sana’s neck. Her breath hitched.
“No,” Nayeon finally replied. “I’ll go home after you eat.”
She looked away, leaning back into the couch again, eyes shut.
Sana felt something drop in her chest. A strange, childish pout formed on her lips before she quickly shook it off. She should be grateful Nayeon even came at all. She forced herself to focus on the food, finishing quietly while glancing at the woman who seemed far and near at the same time.
When she was done, she moved slightly to reach for the container, planning to clean it up herself—but Nayeon stood up first.
Wordlessly, she took the bowl and drink containers, cleaned them, and returned with a small bottle of alcohol and tissue.
Sana took them quietly, pouring the alcohol on her hands and wiping them dry.
Then Nayeon gently set the table aside and pressed the button on the bed to help Sana lie down. One hand supported the back of her head, the other resting softly on her shoulder as she helped ease her down slowly.
Sana felt her breath catch.
Nayeon’s face was close. Too close.
The scent of her filled Sana’s lungs. Her fingers clenched into the blanket, and she shut her eyes tightly, trying to calm her racing heart.
She remembered the last time Nayeon helped her like this. The night it rained so hard. The night that felt just like any other night, a nightmare.
And now here they were again.
Nayeon lingered—just for a second. Then she slowly pulled away, fixed the blanket over Sana’s body, and turned off the light.
She left without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Sana’s eyes opened again, blinking into the darkness above.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Her hand slowly reached for her chest, right above her heart.
It was getting weaker. Day by day.
Just like her father’s.
And yet here she was—still feeling.
Still hoping.
"Is it wrong… to love?" she whispered into the quiet.
Takashi had called for a meeting that afternoon. Nayeon arrived first, with Jimin and Jeongyeon. The car pulled smoothly into the parking lot inside the Hirai estate.
From the backseat, Nayeon looked outside the window. A few people were walking around the front grounds—some in black-and-white maid uniforms, others in white suits. Guards, most likely. It was quiet, as always in this part of the estate. Too quiet for someone like her.
Jimin was the first to get out. He walked around and stood beside Nayeon’s door, waiting. He didn’t say a word, just stood still, hands behind his back.
Inside, Jeongyeon stayed glued to her tablet. She sat beside Nayeon but didn’t say anything either. Just scrolling.
Nayeon leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, head lowered. Her eyes closed for a second. She could feel the weight of the past few days sinking into her body all at once. Like everything she had been holding in was finally catching up.
Jeongyeon paused, hearing the small sigh Nayeon let out. She turned her head slightly.
“You okay?” she asked softly. “You’ve been running around non-stop looking for Sana… Did you find her?”
Nayeon didn’t move. “She’s at H Medical Center,” she answered quietly, eyes still closed.
Jeongyeon didn’t say anything after that. She knew when not to press. She just sighed, turned her head back, and looked out the window.
A car was pulling into the estate. The guards and maids had already lined up near the entrance. Formal as ever.
Jeongyeon’s eyes followed the vehicle until it stopped a few meters away. The driver stepped out first—Suho, in his usual black suit. He walked to the backseat and opened the door.
Momo stepped out first. A small smile tugged at Jeongyeon’s lips.
Then Suho moved to the other side, opened the second door.
Sana stepped out.
“They’re here,” Jeongyeon said, just loud enough for Nayeon to hear.
Nayeon opened her eyes. She turned to the window.
There she was—Sana—standing beside Momo, saying something quietly. Her posture looked better than last night, but there was still a trace of weakness in how she stood. She was holding onto something. Or someone.
Nayeon watched her in silence.
On the other hand, Sana leaned in closer to Momo, her voice barely a whisper. “I met Mina last night,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement.
Momo took a step back, eyes widening in surprise. She hadn’t expected this. “What? How? You met her already?”
Sana nodded. “Yeah, and not gonna lie, she’s really pretty. But... something about her features reminds me of someone.”
“Who?” Momo asked, now more curious than ever.
Sana thought for a second, then said, “Auntie Myoui Yimai.” She stared off ahead, imagining the two women side by side. “They really look alike.”
“No way,” Momo said, shaking her head. “Mina’s a Son, not a Myoui…” She trailed off, the thought lingering. Something clicked in her mind, though, but she quickly brushed it aside. “Still... nah, can’t be.”
Sana looked at Momo, her gaze searching for something—uncertainty, maybe. And she found it, a flicker in Momo's expression that made her smile a little. “You have her contact? I want to get close to her,” she asked, her voice cheerful, almost playful, as she pouted.
The memory of what Mina said to her last night still warmed Sana’s heart. Mina was the first person who told her it was okay to care for herself, even when Sana felt like there was nothing left to care about. And now, just after Mina had left, Nayeon had appeared, and for some reason, Sana felt happy.
Momo was still looking at her, confused. “Why do you want to get close to her so badly? You’re married, Sana...” she trailed off, still not fully understanding.
Sana giggled. “Wow, even Mina said the same thing! You two really match, you know?” She chuckled, eyes twinkling as she looked at Momo’s dumbfounded face. “But why not? Mina’s so calming. I know you felt it too. She just... makes you feel at peace.”
Momo didn’t know how to respond. It was true—Mina’s presence is calming, and whenever she was around, everything just felt quieter, easier.
Meanwhile, Nayeon had given Jimin a small signal to open the door, noticing that Sana and Momo had finally entered. Jeongyeon slid out from the other side of the car, leaving her tablet behind, the door closing with a soft thud.
Inside the Hirai dining area, Momo’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. A long table was covered in food—plates, bowls, dishes in every direction. It is a feast, and she couldn’t stop staring, especially at the ones she knew are her favorites. Her mouth watered just looking at them.
Takashi came down the stairs, greeting his daughters with a warm smile. They returned the gesture, sitting across from him.
“Take a seat, my beautiful ladies,” he said, settling into his own chair. “Your mother won’t be able to join us today—she’s tied up with a trial.”
Momo tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “What’s with all the food, Dad? You planning a party or something?”
Takashi chuckled. “Not exactly. It's because your sister’s going to be gone for a while. Gotta make sure she’s full up so she doesn’t get sick on the trip.”
Sana blinked, confused. “What do you mean, Father?”
Just as Takashi was about to answer, his eyes caught sight of Nayeon entering the room. His smile widened, and he greeted her warmly. Nayeon returned the smile, gesturing to an empty seat beside Sana.
Sana felt a small pang in her chest. The warmth Nayeon had shown last night seemed to have disappeared, replaced with the cold, distant version she had become familiar with. It was like the nice Nayeon had expired, and now she was back to being guarded and uncomfortable. Sana clicked her tongue in frustration, unable to understand why Nayeon kept changing.
Takashi clapped his hands together, getting their attention. “Well, Hongjin and I decided to send you two to Paris for your honeymoon,” he announced, his tone light but with a little suspense hanging in the air. “But here’s the catch. Your honeymoon will be documented.”
Sana and Nayeon exchanged a glance, both startled, waiting for him to elaborate. Takashi continued, his voice lowering slightly for dramatic effect.
“Ever since the Myoui wedding, people are dying to see more of you two. They’re curious about your relationship. So,” he leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself, “we’ll be giving them exactly what they want.”
There was a pause, the tension building, before Takashi smiled widely. “Get ready for your public honeymoon!”