The light filtered through unfamiliar curtains — pale, hesitant, as if unsure it was welcome.
Hye-rin blinked awake, a faint ache in her neck from the too-soft pillow. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't in her own room, not even in the resort anymore. The bed smelled faintly of citrus and cedar — clean, masculine, and expensive.
Her suitcase was neatly placed beside a low bookshelf. Her jacket, the one she'd clutched while the reporters screamed her name yesterday, was folded carefully over the chair.
Min-jae's apartment.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, exhaling shakily. The memory of yesterday's chaos came rushing back — cameras flashing, reporters shouting accusations she never imagined hearing out loud.
And then, Min-jae — stepping in front of her, shielding her with that maddening calmness of his, pulling her away before the questions could slice deeper.
She sat up, searching for her phone on the bedside table. Five missed calls from Se-hee. Of course.
