The car was sleek, black, and silent as it glided through the city's evening traffic. Inside, the air was colder than the weather outside, not from the temperature, but from the man sitting in the back seat.
He was known in quieter circles, the man in his sixties, stared out the tinted window, his reflection splitting over the glass like two men sharing one shadow.
His assistant sat beside him, posture straight, phone in hand, waiting for orders that always came too quietly to resist.
"I heard a police officer went to Hanuel Entertainment," Kang said, voice low, almost bored, like a man commenting on the weather. "I thought you took care of it."
The assistant swallowed. "Yes, sir. But the detective kept digging. He's persistent."
Kang didn't blink. "Then make him stop. Before the news reaches the President."
"Yes, sir. I'll make sure."
"Make sure," The man repeated, eyes drifting back to the window where the city lights trembled like dying stars. "Because once curiosity turns into chaos, no one survives it, not even me."
The car turned a corner and vanished into the rain-wet shadows of Seoul.
__________
Dinner at the Kang mansion was an event designed for appearances, not family.
Polished wood. Crystal light. Silverware too heavy to touch.
The Kang family sat lined up like portraits, immaculate, empty-eyed. Across the table, the Kims mirrored them, every gesture rehearsed, every smile an act of diplomacy.
At the far end sat Joon-ha, posture too still, appetite long gone.
President Kang raised his glass, voice smooth and ceremonial. "She is Kim Ara," he said, gesturing toward the elegant woman beside him. "We've set your engagement date. The thirtieth of next month."
The air fractured into silence.
Joon-ha looked up slowly. His tone was calm, almost gentle, the kind of calm that precedes a storm.
"Did I say I wanted?"
Kim Ara smiled, poised, unreadable. "It's not about want," she said softly. "It's about legacy."
President Kang didn't flinch. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"And I didn't ask for your control," Joon-ha replied.
The tension snapped, quiet, sharp, electric.
Mrs. Kim interjected quickly, her voice honeyed. "Ara is well-educated, poised, and understands the responsibilities of your position."
Joon-ha pushed his plate away, the porcelain clinking like a crack in glass. "I don't need a résumé. I need a choice."
President Kang leaned forward, eyes like tempered steel. "You were given everything. Fame. Power. Protection. Don't mistake that for freedom."
Joon-ha stood, the chair's scrape echoing through the vast room. "Then take it all back."
And without another word, he turned and left.
The heavy door closed behind him like a final verdict.
Kim Ara watched him go, her faint smile never wavering, but in her reflection on the wine glass, her fingers trembled once.
_____________
Detective Choi stood outside Joon-ha's agency, coat damp from drizzle, the night humming with traffic and tension.
He'd waited long enough.
Inside, Joon-ha sat behind a desk, his complexion pale beneath the soft light. His manager lingered nearby, silent but watchful.
Choi entered without ceremony. "Keep avoiding me," he said, "and I'll tell the world who you really are."
Joon-ha didn't flinch. "And what do you really want from me?"
Choi stepped closer, voice cutting through the quiet. "The truth."
Joon-ha's fingers curled against the desk edge. "You think I'm hiding something?"
"I know you are," Choi said. "I know you were there, the night Han Ji-woo died."
The air froze.
Joon-ha's voice dropped, steady but thin. "You don't know anything."
Choi leaned forward, eyes sharp as glass. "Then tell me, why did Kang Soo-min end her life? Why did Ji-woo's article disappear? Why are you still protected by the same man who buried them both?"
Joon-ha's gaze hardened. "You think I'm part of it?"
"I think you're the last thread holding the truth together," Choi said quietly. "And you're terrified of what happens when it unravels."
Joon-ha stood. "You want answers? Then stop threatening me and start listening."
For a moment, neither moved. The clock on the wall ticked once, too loud, too human.
Choi nodded once. "I'll be back. And next time, I won't knock."
He turned, his footsteps echoing through the corridor like a countdown.
____________
The lights in Areum's apartment glowed softly, gold against the late-night rain that streaked the windows.
Steam curled from a forgotten cup of tea. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and sleep.
Areum lay curled on the sofa, cheeks flushed, skin pale and warm with fever.
Her breath came in small, uneven sighs.
Joon-ha knelt beside her, the worry on his face too quiet to name. "You should've told me you weren't feeling well."
"I didn't want to worry you," she murmured, her voice thin.
He smiled faintly. "Too late."
She tried to sit up, but winced. He reached for her foot, gently slipping off her shoe, then the other, his movements slow, deliberate, reverent.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," he said.
Without another word, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her. She gasped, startled, her head resting against his shoulder. His heartbeat thudded against her ear, steady, but slower than it should've been.
"You're burning up," he whispered.
"I'm fine," she lied, and he smiled at the lie like it was something fragile and beautiful.
He carried her to the bed, laying her down carefully, then tucked the blanket around her. His fingers brushed hers, and lingered.
For a long time, they didn't speak.
Then she opened her eyes, glassy with fever. "Why are you so gentle with me?"
"Because you make me want to be," he said softly.
Her lips parted in a tired smile, the kind that reached her eyes even when they were too heavy to stay open.
He pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, his hand trembling almost imperceptibly.
"Rest," he whispered. "I'll stay."
She exhaled, a sound somewhere between relief and trust. "You always do."
He watched her drift into sleep, the rise and fall of her chest, the faint hum of the city outside, the weight of every unspoken word between them.
In another life, he thought, this could've been enough.
In this one, it was all he had left.
He sat beside her until the morning blurred into gray, and when he finally closed his eyes, the world outside kept spinning, unaware that two broken souls were clinging to the quiet before everything changed.