"Why are you here?" Minho asks.
Not Harin, what happened?
Not Are you okay?
Just irritation.
Like I ruined a private moment.
My voice barely forms. "Minho… what is this?"
He steps slightly away from Sujin, hands sliding into his pockets as if distancing himself is an act of politeness he's forcing himself to do.
"What does it look like?" he replies flatly.
Sujin leans against him, tilting her head onto his shoulder like she owns him.
"It looks," she says sweetly, "like you interrupted something."
Pain stabs deep in my chest.
"I trusted you," I whisper. "I believed in you. I stood by you. Even now, after everything, I came here to find the truth from you."
Minho laughs. "Harin, wake up. You're not the victim here."
My legs wobble. "I didn't plagiarize anything," I choke out. "You know that. You know that."
His eyes narrow. "Do I?"
Sujin plays with the cuff of his sleeve like this is all amusing.
"You always said you hated nepotism," I spit out. "You mocked people born with privilege. You said real success comes from hard work."
He crosses his arms, bored. "So?"
"So?" My voice cracks. "Look at you! Helping a nepo baby, stealing my designs, using your company to uplift her—" I laugh, a broken, shaking sound. "Where's your hard work now, Minho? Where's your high moral ground?"
His jaw twitches.
"You're a hypocrite," I say, louder. "You judge the rich but you crawl into their laps the second it benefits you."
"You think you understand me?" he sneers. "Harin, wake up. Hard work isn't everything. Connections matter. Power matters. Bloodline matters."
He gestures lazily at Sujin. "She has what you don't, real backing. Real potential."
A tear slips down my cheek. "So you let her steal from me?"
"I let her," he says, "win."
"Even if," I continue, voice trembling, "I owed you something… I repaid that debt years ago, multiple times over. "
"You," he says slowly, letting every word cut, "are nothing. A nobody. A girl from nowhere who thought she could latch onto someone like me."
I flinch.
He continues, voice dripping with contempt. "You were lucky, Harin. Lucky I ever looked at you. Lucky I let you into my life. Lucky I didn't throw you out sooner."
Something inside me snaps. My palm collides with his cheek before I realize I've moved.
A crack echoes through the office. Silence follows.
Minho's head turns with the impact. He freezes.
Sujin gasps dramatically. "Minho! She hit you!"
He lifts his hand—For a split second, I see the man I once loved replaced by something violent, ugly.
Then his hand stops in mid-air.
Something flickers behind his eyes. Maybe a memory, maybe a warning, maybe His grandmother's voice. He lowers his arm.
"You're not worth it," he breathes. Then he presses a button on his desk.
"Security," he says calmly. "Remove the unwanted presence."
Sujin steps forward, fury gleaming in her eyes. "You're letting her walk away after she disrespected you?!"
Minho doesn't look at her. "She's filthy."
Sujin takes two swift steps toward me. "This," she says, "is for daring to raise your hand at my Minho."
Her hand swings. I'm too shocked, too weak, too broken to move. The slap sends me crashing to the floor. Pain blooms across my cheek, sharp and immediate.
Sujin wipes her palm with a silk tissue, lips curling.
"I'm not like him," she murmurs. "I punish disobedience."
I push myself up on shaking arms. My voice is raw. "Trust me… so do I."
She smirks. Minho steps to her side and gently blows across her palm to comfort her.
"You shouldn't dirty yourself with things like that," he murmurs. "My men will clean up the mess."
The doors burst open. Four security guards. Big. Expressionless. Efficient.
"No—wait—" I stumble backward.
They grab my arms. "Let me go! Minho—!"
He doesn't look at me. Not once. Not even as I'm dragged across the marble floor, heels scraping, breath breaking.
Sujin's voice floats after me, "Goodbye, Harin. Oh, don't cry. You were never in his league."
The elevator doors close.
I collapse inside, held upright only by the guards gripping my arms.
No tears yet.
Just numbness.
Just shock.
By the time they shove me out of the building, the mist in the air has thickened, cold droplets that cling to my skin like the world is trying to wash me clean. The guards release me, uninterested and unbothered.
I stumble onto the pavement.
I fall to my knees, palms slapping the wet ground. My breath shudders. The mist turns to light rain, soaking into my hair, my dress, my skin.
Finally, I cry. Not quietly.
But like someone whose world just ended.
Like someone who has nothing left.
Like someone dying.