*jinho pov:
After jinho left the estate, it was raining, he drove straight to Minho's apartment above the noodle shop in Itaewon — because rage doesn't think. Rage just _moves_. And Jinho's rage had a name: *Minho*. And a face: *Minho*. And a voice: _"You're the reason she's gone."
The puppy in Minho was whining when he went to carry her and cuddled her.
suddenly the door kicked open — wood splintering around the lock — and he stormed inside, the smell of cheap instant noodles and stale beer hitting him like a slap.
Minho was lounging on the couch, barefoot, hoodie half‑zipped, with his puppy beside him, scrolling on his phone like the world wasn't ending. He didn't flinch when Jinho grabbed his collar and yanked him halfway off the cushion.
> "You're the reason she's gone," Jinho growled, voice low, guttural.
"Who?" Minho asked, feigning innocence — but his eyes flickered. Just for a second.
"Bobae. You let Jun‑pyo take her. You let him—"
> "I didn't let him do anything," Minho cut in, voice suddenly sharp. you chased her with your cruel character.
Jinho's fist clenched.
He didn't think. He just swung — hard, fast, right into Minho's jaw. The impact cracked through the apartment, Minho's head snapping sideways, blood spraying from his lip. He stumbled back, catching himself on the coffee table, sending the glass ashtray crashing to the floor.
> "You think this is a game?" Jinho spat, stepping forward, fists raised.
"I think you're too late," Minho shot back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek. He grinned — a bloody, broken thing. "She's already chosen him. Or maybe… she chose to survive. Either way — you're the one who scared her away.
Jinho lunged again — this time catching Minho in the gut, driving him backward into the wall. The plaster cracked. A framed photo of Minho and Clara from years ago tumbled to the floor, glass shattering.
Minho shoved him off — hard — sending Jinho stumbling into the centre table.
Jinho's chest heaved. He stared at Minho — really stared — and saw the bruises under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from restraint.
"You're a liar," Jinho said, voice quiet now — colder than before.
"Yeah? Maybe." Minho spat blood onto the floor. "But at least I'm not the guy who ran away while his brother stole the girl he claimed to own, I told you. it's not possible for you to own her she's not an object. thanks for letting her gets into the right hands.
I don't care about her, she's just a maid, she's nobody that's why she's mine.
"She didn't choose him," You let it happen."
Minho didn't answer.
He just stared — eyes dark, unreadable — as Jinho let go, stepping back, breathing hard, fists still clenched.
he made his way out of the house furious.
He just got in his car, Toward oblivion.
He didn't see Clara until he was already unlocking the driver's door — a flash of red hair, sweat glingening on her collarbone, her breath coming in short gasps as she sprinted across the street, calling his name.
> "Jinho!"
He froze — hand on the door, keys dangling from his fingers — but didn't turn.
> "Jinho, wait!"
He didn't answer.
Didn't look at her.
because he knew if he looked at her, he'd break.
And he couldn't break.
Not now.
Not in front of her.
He yanked the door open, slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut — but the car didn't move.
Because Clara was already in the passenger seat — breathing hard, eyes blazing — her hand pressed against the window like she could hold him there by sheer will.
He just stared straight ahead, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
> "Jinho," she said, softer now. "Talk to me."
> "No," he said, voice rough. "I don't have time, so get out."
I'm not going anywhere, listen." She shifted in her seat, turning toward him, her knee brushing his thigh. "You don't get to shut me out. Not after everything."
He didn't look at her.
> "Everything?" he laughed — a bitter, broken sound. "You mean the way you disappeared?
Clara flinched.
Jinho's jaw clenched.
> "Don't pretend you care."
> "I've always cared," she whispered. "Even when you didn't see me. Even when you looked right through me. I was there. I'm still here."
As he was looking at her he was seeing bobae.
Jinho closed his eyes.
He didn't want to hear this.
Didn't want to feel this.
Didn't want to remember the way she used to laugh, the way she used to steal fries off the other maids plate, the way she used to look at him terrified.
> "Get out," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
> "No."
> "Get. Out."
> "Make me."
Jinho's eyes snapped open.
He turned — slow, deliberate — and stared at her.
She stared back — unflinching, unafraid, her green eyes dark and stormy, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
And then — without thinking — he leaned forward, his hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her toward him — and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't tender.
It was raw — desperate — a collision of lips and teeth and breath and rage and grief and longing.
She kissed him back — just as fiercely, just as desperately — her fingers tangling in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp, her body pressing against his like she wanted to crawl inside him and never let go.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
> "You shouldn't be driving."
> "I shouldn't be kissing you."
> "Too bad." She kissed him again — softer this time, sweeter — then pulled back, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
Jinho didn't argue.
He didn't fight.
He just let kicked the car and drive — the rain still falling, the windshield wipers slashing back and forth like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
He took her to a small pub tucked away in a quiet alley.
They sat at the bar — side by side, not touching — and ordered whiskey. Neat. No ice.
> "When did you come back to Korea?" he asked, voice low.
> "Two weeks ago," she said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "With your brother. He said I'd be safe at the estate. That I'd be protected."
> "And you didn't go."
> "No." She took a sip, then set the glass down. "I went to my brother's place. Minho's."
Jinho's jaw clenched.
"Why?"
"Because I'm tired of work I want to rest, eyes locked on his. "I wanted to be _yours_. Even if you didn't know it. Even if i never said it. I've been wanting to come back — not because I missed you, but because I missed _us_." I didn't disappear I swear, it's because I don't have any other choice than to go abroad. You know who my father is, you know he can kill for money.
Jinho swallowed hard.
He didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Just stared at the glass in his hand like it held the answer to everything.
She reached across the bar, her fingers brushing his wrist — light, warm, electric.
> "Jinho… what happened? You're not okay."
He exhaled — a shaky, broken sound — and set the glass down.
> "Noona… don't worry. I'll be fine."
> "Bullshit." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not fine. You're _breaking!.
He tried to stand — to walk away — but his legs wouldn't cooperate.
The whiskey hit him harder than he thought — the room tilting, the lights blurring, the world spinning.
He staggered — once, twice — and would've crashed to the floor if Clara hadn't caught him, her arm sliding around his waist, her shoulder under his arm, holding him steady.
> "Jinho, you're drunk," she murmured, voice soft but firm. "Let me take you home."
> "No," he mumbled, trying to push her away — but his hands were weak, his fingers trembling. "I'll… I'll drive my self.
> "No you won't." She tightened her grip. "You're coming with me. Now."
He didn't fight her. he didn't have the strength.
he just let her guide him out of the pub, past the startled bartender, into the rain — cold, clean, relentless — that washed away the last of his resistance.
She opened the passenger door of his car and gently eased him inside.
Then she slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb without a word.
—
The drive was silent.
Long and heavy.
Rain drummed the roof like a heartbeat.
The city blurred past — neon signs, empty streets, ghostly reflections in puddles.
Jinho leaned his head against the window, eyes half‑closed, thoughts tangled like twisted rope.
He didn't speak.
Didn't ask where they were going.
Just let the silence swallow him whole.
—
When they arrived at the estate — his family's sprawling estate tucked behind iron gates and manicured hedges — his house was dark.
No lights in the windows.
No cars in the driveway.
Not even a sounds of living thing.
Just the sound of the rain hitting the gravel, the distant hum of the city, the weight of absence pressing down on everything.
Clara killed the engine.
Turned to him.
"You're home," she said, voice quiet.
He didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Just stared at the front door — the one he'd walked through a thousand times, the one that had never felt like home until now. since bobae was another person's
Clara got out first.
Came around to his side.
Opened the door.
Helped him out — one arm around his waist, the other supporting his elbow — and walked him up the steps, through the rain, into the house.
The maid — Mrs. lee — was waiting in the foyer, eyes wide, mouth pursed in disapproval.
> "Master Jinho… you're… wet."
> "He's fine," Clara said, voice firm. "Just tired. And drunk. And in need of a bed."
Mrs. Kim nodded — slow, reluctant — and led them upstairs, down the long hallway, to Jinho's room.
Clara helped him out of his jacket.
Unbuttoned his shirt.
Pulled off his shoes.
Then she laid him down on the bed — gently, carefully — like he was something fragile, something precious, something worth saving.
She stood over him for a moment — watching him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, watching the tension melt from his face as sleep claimed him.
Then she leaned down — slow, deliberate — and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
> "I'm here," she whispered. "Don't carry the burden alone."
She straightened, turned and walked to the door.
she slipped out — quietly, gracefully — leaving the door ajar.