"The most lethal weapons are never made of steel or gunpowder. They are made of the words spoken by the person you love most in the world, carefully crafted to destroy the very heart that beats for them."
I woke up late the next morning. The sleep had offered me no true rest; it was only a brief, dark escape from a reality I could no longer bear to face.
The heavy, duvet was pulled up around my shoulders, but I woke to a quiet room and the devastating, familiar sense of his absence. I sat up slowly, my entire body aching from the emotional toll of the previous night. The same morning routine that had felt so impossibly sweet yesterday—the quiet apartment, the lingering scent of his cologne—now felt like a brutal, agonizing farewell ritual.
He had left early, but he hadn't left without thinking of me. I could smell the faint, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the kitchen. When I dragged myself out of the bedroom, I found a perfectly prepared breakfast waiting under a cloche on the marble island, accompanied by a small sticky note written in Woonseok's bold, cheerful script.
Its casual warmth was a painful, searing contrast to my absolute despair.
"My Forever Butterfly,
Had to run! Big meeting today—we're planning how to finance Mom's five-hundred-person wedding guest list. Breakfast is waiting for you. Don't worry about anything today, just enjoy your rest. Call me later when you decide what dress you want to wear for the engagement shoot.
Love, your devoted Mr. Idol."
I read the note, tracing his handwriting with a trembling finger, a choked sob catching violently in my throat.
Forever, I thought, a bitter, broken laugh escaping my lips. There is no forever.
I forcefully pushed the sentiment away, crumpling the note and tossing it into the trash. I had to harden my heart. I had to do my work.
An hour later, I drove to the hospital. The anxiety was a cold, raging fire in my stomach. Dr. Lee was waiting for me in the sterile white hallway, her clipboard in hand. I nodded at her, forcing my face into a mask of weary, absolute resolve.
"Ready for treatment," I confirmed, my voice completely devoid of emotion.
The radiation session was quick, sterile, and terrifying. The massive machine buzzed around my head, a mechanical monster quietly trying to kill the cancer before the cancer killed me. When it was over, I drove back to the penthouse, my mind a deafening blank.
I parked the car in the underground garage and walked up to the silent apartment, thinking only of the terrible, impossible path ahead.
What reason can I possibly give him? I thought, pacing the length of the living room, my heart hammering against my ribs. What excuse can I make for pushing him away?
I knew Woonseok. He was not naive. He was fiercely loyal, highly intelligent, and deeply, almost unnervingly perceptive when it came to me. He wouldn't believe a simple, flimsy lie. He wouldn't believe me if I suddenly woke up and said I didn't love him anymore, or that I found someone else overnight. He would see right through it. He would dig, he would fight, and he would uncover the truth.
I collapsed onto the living room carpet, the last bit of strength draining entirely from my legs. Hot, heavy tears streamed down my face, falling onto my hands.
"Oh God, what should I do?" I whispered to the empty room.
I gripped my hair tightly, pulling at the roots, the terrifying solution feeling both monstrous and absolutely necessary. I tried to dismiss the thought, physically recoiling from the sheer, unforgivable ugliness of it.
Wait a minute. I... I can't do that to him, my heart screamed, bleeding at the very thought. But I... I have to be the villain. If I give him any other reason, he will never stop fighting for me. If I break his heart, if I truly hurt him, it is the only way I can walk away.
The horrifying clarity solidified in my mind, freezing my blood.
I have to break his heart, I realized, my chest heaving with silent sobs. I have to cheat on him. I have to make him believe I betrayed him.
I fell forward onto my knees, pressing my forehead against the cold hardwood floor, the confession slipping from my lips like a broken, desperate prayer.
"Woon... I have to break your heart to make you stronger," I sobbed, the sound of my own voice tearing me apart. "Woon, I have to break you... so you can survive me."
I paced the living room for another hour, the realization of what I had to do sitting like a sickening, leaden weight in my stomach.
But the logistics of the betrayal were just as daunting as the act itself.
"Who will help me?" I whispered, my voice cracked and desperate as I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows. "How could I possibly make him believe it?"
Woonseok would see through any fabricated story about a sudden change of heart because he knew my loyalty to him was absolute. I needed proof. I needed a person. I needed someone he would believe I could fall for.
Then, a flicker of memory sparked in the darkness of my mind.
Wait. I know a guy.
Krish. My college friend. He lived in Busan, but he traveled to Seoul frequently for his corporate job. He was handsome, successful, and he had always been kind to me. More importantly, Woonseok had never met him.
I scrambled for my phone, scrolling frantically through my contacts until I found his number. My hand was shaking so badly I almost dropped the device on the floor.
He answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Krish?" I breathed, my voice trembling.
"Sana? Hey!" Arjun's voice was warm and surprised. "Sorry, I was in a meeting at the office. It's been a while. How are you?"
"Hi, Krish... um..." I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing heart. "Actually, can you come meet me? I have some really urgent work... I need to talk to you."
Krish paused. He was sharp; he instantly heard the heavy, serious tone in my voice, completely devoid of my usual cheerfulness.
"Okay, Sana," Krish said, his tone shifting to immediate concern. "Are you alright? I'm wrapping up here. I can be wherever you are in an hour."
"Thank you, Arjun," I whispered. "I'll text you the address."
We met at a quiet, anonymous, dimly lit café on the outskirts of the city, far away from Woonseok's usual routes and the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
I sat across from him in a secluded booth, nervously sipping an untouched cup of green tea. For the first twenty minutes, I couldn't even speak. But as Krish watched me with patient, concerned eyes, the dam finally broke.
I poured out the entire, unbelievable story. I told him about the secret relationship with Korea's biggest idol. I told him about the wedding plans. And then, with tears streaming down my face, I told him about the Stage Four Glioblastoma, the twelve-month prognosis, and my terrible, necessary plan.
"Krish," I pleaded, reaching across the table to grip his sleeve, fresh tears threatening to spill over my eyelashes. "I can't tell him. I can't let him ruin his life, drop his career, and spend his youth watching a slow, terrible goodbye. He has to hate me to survive this. He has to think I was never worth it."
Krish listened in absolute, stunned silence. His expression morphed from mild confusion to utter shock, and finally, to deep, agonizing distress. He set his coffee cup down, his dark eyes earnest and completely overwhelmed.
"Sana... this is not right," Krish said gently, leaning forward. "You should tell him the truth about your health. If he loves you as much as you say he does, he deserves to know. He deserves to fight this with you."
I shook my head violently, my grip on his sleeve tightening. "No! Please, Krish. I can't! You don't know him. If he knows, he will abandon everything he has worked for. He will destroy himself trying to save me, and when he can't... the grief will kill him too. I have to save him this way."
Krish looked at my tear-stained, desperate face, and then down at his hands. He rubbed his temples, letting out a heavy, incredibly resigned breath.
"Fine. If you insist on doing this," Krish sighed, looking back up at me, his eyes full of reluctant pity. "But Sana, I can see that your health is getting worse just by looking at you. I will help you stage this... but on one condition. I will tell him the truth the second I feel your life is in immediate danger. I won't let you die completely alone."
"I understand," I whispered, a wave of profound relief mixing with the crushing guilt in my chest. "Sure. But please... just help me with the first step."
Krish nodded slowly, the reluctant agreement etched deeply onto his kind face. "Okay. What do you need me to do?"
I took a deep, fortifying breath, officially embracing the role of the villain.
"Let's start tomorrow," I said, my voice hardening with false resolve. "I will meet you after my radiation treatment. We need to plan exactly how to make this betrayal look undeniably real."
The next day, after Woonseok had left for his early morning shoot, my schedule was brutal.
First came the clinic—the sterile room, the cold reality of the massive radiation machine, the sickening nausea that followed. But this time, when I walked out into the lobby, I wasn't alone. Krish, my unwilling accomplice, was waiting for me.
We had meticulously planned the location for our first staged scene: a small, high-end, incredibly exclusive coffee shop in Cheongdam-dong. It was a place heavily favored by the wealthy matriarchs of Woonseok's neighborhood.
We sat at a small table near the large front window. We were sitting unnervingly close. Krish's posture suggested a deep, private intimacy, leaning in to whisper to me, while I forced myself to feign a relaxed, affectionate body language that I absolutely did not feel.
We were in the middle of discussing how to stage the final "catch"—the moment Woonseok would supposedly find us—when I casually looked up toward the door.
My heart completely stopped.
It was his mother. Mrs. Jang was standing right inside the entrance of the café, a large shopping bag looped elegantly over her forearm.
She wasn't looking at the menu. She was looking directly at our table.
Her expression was a masterclass in subtle, high-society shock. It was a mix of immediate recognition and icy, profound confusion. She clearly recognized me from our warm dinner just two nights ago, but the handsome, unfamiliar man sitting so intimately close to me was a glaring, alarming question mark.
I saw her, and my stomach plummeted to the floor. The panic instantly fired my brain into action. This is it, I thought. Showtime.
I forcefully reached across the small table and grabbed Krish's arm, squeezing it affectionately. I leaned in incredibly close to his face, acting as if he had just shared a delightful, intimate secret, letting out a bright, tinkling laugh that sounded incredibly brittle and unnatural even to my own ears.
Krish tensed slightly, realizing what I was doing, but he played along, offering me a soft, handsome smile.
Mrs. Jang held my gaze for a fraction of a second, her perfectly sculpted brow subtly furrowing. She didn't approach our table. She didn't cause a scene. She simply turned on her heel and walked elegantly out the door, the seed of suspicion now firmly, irreversibly planted in the Jang family.
I came back home an hour later, the weight of the staged betrayal already crushing my chest so hard I could barely breathe.
I dropped my bag on the console and checked my phone. There were two missed calls.
I stared at the bright screen, the names "Mom" and "Mrs. Jang" mocking me with their previous warmth and acceptance. I knew exactly why she was calling. She wanted an explanation. She wanted me to tell her that the man she saw was just a cousin, or a colleague.
I turned the phone over. I didn't call her back.
Tears streamed silently down my face as I stood in the dark hallway, the true cost of my lie becoming immediate and painfully real. I was burning my bridges. I was destroying the only family I had ever known.
It was official: from that moment forward, I started to ignore him.
When Woonseok came home that evening, tired but smiling, his first instinct, as always, was to find me. He walked into the living room, loosening his tie, looking to pull me into a hug and unload the stress of his day.
But as he approached, I quickly stood up.
"I'm busy," I muttered coldly, grabbing my laptop.
I turned my back to him, furiously typing absolute nonsense onto the keyboard, refusing to meet his eyes. Later, when he tried to talk to me in the kitchen, I picked up my phone and pretended to be on an intense, private call, walking out onto the balcony and shutting the glass door in his face.
Woonseok noticed the shift immediately.
He stood in the center of the living room, watching me through the glass door, his initial exhaustion giving way to a restless, buzzing concern.
She's acting a little distant, he thought to himself, his internal voice warring between his usual confidence and a sudden, sharp spike of self-doubt. Is she angry? Why is she always busy or on a phone call suddenly?
He frowned deeply, watching me deliberately turn my back to him every single time he entered a room.
Then, he forced himself to physically shake his head, dismissing the worry with a heavy exhale. Oh, shut up, Woon! You are thinking way too much, he mentally scolded himself. She is happy! She just had an amazing dinner with Mom and Dad! She's probably just stressed about picking out the wedding venue!
He decided he just needed to break through this sudden, inexplicable barrier with affection.
He walked purposefully out onto the balcony, stepping up right behind me. Ignoring my stiff, busy posture, he wrapped his massive arms securely around my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck, pulling me back flush against his broad, warm chest.
I froze completely.
The incredible warmth of his embrace, the familiar, intoxicating scent of his cedarwood cologne, the heavy, safe weight of his arms—it was absolute agony. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to lean back into him, to cry into his chest, and to let him save me.
But I couldn't break now.
I forcefully pushed against his chest, breaking his grip. I stepped away sharply, turning to face him with an expression I desperately hoped conveyed only pure irritation and coldness.
I forced the cruel words out of my mouth, my voice laced with a fabricated, icy anger that perfectly masked my genuine, bleeding heartbreak.
"Woonseok, why are you being so touchy?" I snapped, glaring at him. "Give me some space! Can't you see I'm doing something?"
Woonseok instantly let his arms fall to his sides.
He looked completely, utterly blindsided. He stood there as if I had just reached out and physically slapped him across the face. The sudden, raw venom in my voice was unlike anything he had ever heard from me in the entire time we had known each other.
His handsome face, usually so expressive and full of love, went utterly blank with shock. And then, slowly, it crumpled into a look of profound, devastating hurt.
"Touchy?" Woonseok repeated, the single word coming out hoarse, broken, and entirely incredulous. He took a staggering half-step back, his dark eyes wide. "Sana, what... what are you talking about? It's me. I'm just trying to hug my fiancée. You haven't looked at me all evening."
His eyes searched mine desperately, scanning my cold expression, trying to find the warm, loving Butterfly he knew—the girl who used to run to the door and jump into his arms the second he came home.
"Why are you shouting at me?" he asked, his voice dropping into a soft, wounded whisper. "What did I do? You've been acting... so strange since this afternoon. Are you okay? Is it the pressure of the wedding? Did Mom say something to upset you?"
He didn't get angry. He didn't yell back. He just looked utterly wounded, confusion mingling violently with the dawning, terrifying awareness that something was terribly wrong.
"Talk to me," Woonseok pleaded, taking a small step forward, his voice soft, wounded, and utterly crushed. "Please, Butterfly. Just tell me what's wrong. Let me fix it."
I saw the deep, bleeding hurt in his dark eyes, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to fall to my knees and apologize. But I couldn't stop. I had to make the cut clean, deep, and fast.
"Oh gosh, you are being so irritating right now, Woon!" I exclaimed, letting my voice ring with harsh, dismissive frustration. My heart was completely shattering inside my ribs, but I forced the cruel words out, glaring at him. "Just step away. I said I'm busy!"
I turned on my heel and walked back into the penthouse, slamming the balcony door shut behind me, leaving him standing alone in the cold night air.
Woonseok stared through the glass at my retreating back, my harsh tone hitting him like a physical, suffocating shockwave. He slowly retracted his hands, his mind spinning completely out of control.
Irritated? he thought, confusion giving way to a sickening, heavy dread in the pit of his stomach. This isn't wedding stress. She's pushing me away. She never snaps at me like that. She's been cold, distant, secretive...
He walked back into the living room, his heart pounding a frantic, terrifying rhythm against his ribs. Is she unhappy? Did I do something wrong? No, she was just with my parents, she was smiling...
He tried desperately to rationalize it, but the fear was a cold, rising tide in his chest. It's been a tough month, maybe she just needs space, he lied to himself. But this feels different. This doesn't feel like stress. This feels like... rejection.
He stood alone in the dark living room, entirely unable to reconcile the woman who was enthusiastically planning their forever with the woman who suddenly couldn't even stand his touch.
The next day, I woke up, completed my exhausting, agonizing radiation treatment, and came back home feeling completely drained.
But I had no time to rest. It was time for Phase Two of my plan: pick a fight over something trivial to widen the gap between us.
I knew Woonseok was currently shooting a high-profile romantic K-drama with one of the industry's most famous, beautiful actresses. There were already behind-the-scenes clips of them looking incredibly intense circulating online. I decided to use that as my weapon.
I knew Woonseok's character. He was incredibly professional. He never crossed his boundaries with other female co-stars, and the only woman he truly, deeply loved was me. Normally, I would never doubt him. If I ever felt a twinge of jealousy, it was always a cute, playful banter—a little fake pout that ended with him kissing me and laughing. I respected his acting career entirely.
But tonight, I was going to use it to draw blood.
When he came back that evening, I was in the kitchen, pretending to make dinner. As usual, I ignored him when he walked in.
Woonseok, desperate to bridge the gap from yesterday, walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
"Go change," I said immediately, my tone absolutely freezing.
Woonseok sighed softly, tightening his grip slightly, refusing to let me push him away again. "Butterfly... did I do something wrong? You aren't even looking at me."
He tried to turn me around for a proper hug, his eyes pleading. "You aren't even giving me a kiss hello. I feel like you are loving your boyfriend less and less these days."
I snapped my head around, glaring at him with fabricated, absolute fury.
"Shut up!" I hissed in a harsh, venomous tone. "Don't touch me! Don't try your cheap tricks on me. If you want to hug someone so badly, go do your romance with your actress on set!"
Woonseok's eyes went incredibly wide. He stepped back, entirely stunned.
I had never spoken to him like that. Even when I was jealous in the past, it was always with a pout, never with this cold, vicious accusation.
"Sana... what?" Woonseok stammered, entirely thrown off guard by the sudden attack. He looked at me, trying to figure out if this was a joke that had landed poorly. "What are you talking about? Are you... are you actually jealous of the shoot?"
"What are you staring at me for?!" I yelled, grabbing my phone off the counter and aggressively shoving the screen into his chest. It displayed a leaked clip of him and the actress leaning in for a tense, romantic scene. "Does this look like acting to you?! Does this look like a fake romance? Because to me, it looks pretty real!"
Woonseok looked down at the phone, and then back up at my furious face. His brow furrowed, his patience thinning slightly, but his tone remained remarkably calm and pleading.
"Sana, it's an off-set clip from rehearsal," Woonseok explained gently, reaching out to take the phone from my hand. "You know how this works, Butterfly. I was just talking to her about the blocking. I didn't even talk to her much . It's just my job..."
"Shut up!" I screamed, cutting him off, my voice echoing violently in the quiet kitchen. "I don't want to listen to your excuses! I don't want to hear it! Just get out of my sight and go change!"
Woonseok stood there in absolute silence.
The gentle, pleading look in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a deep, hollow realization. He looked at my phone, and then he looked at me—at my cold, furious, unyielding expression. He realized, in that moment, that this wasn't about the actress. This wasn't about the shoot.
Something was fundamentally, terrifyingly broken between us.
He didn't yell. He didn't argue. He just stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, his jaw clenching as he swallowed the massive lump of rejection in his throat.
"Fine," Woonseok said, his voice completely void of emotion, hollow and defeated. "I'll give you space."
He turned around and walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom, his broad shoulders slumped, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing like a final, tragic gunshot in the quiet apartment.
I stood alone in the kitchen, staring at the empty hallway. The second he was out of sight, my cruel mask completely shattered. I clamped a hand over my mouth, sliding down the kitchen cabinets until I hit the floor, sobbing violently into my knees, breaking my own heart right alongside his.
"The greatest tragedy of a breaking heart is that it makes no sound. You can lie mere inches away from the person who is your entire world, close enough to feel the warmth of their skin, while an invisible, uncrossable ocean violently tears you both apart in the dark."
Five agonizing minutes later, Woonseok emerged from the master bedroom.
He had stripped off his expensive designer clothes and changed into a pair of soft, grey sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. With his hair slightly messy and his broad shoulders stripped of his sharp blazers, he didn't look like Korea's invincible top star anymore. He just looked like Woon—my Woon. Vulnerable, exhausted, and desperately trying to find his footing in a home that had suddenly turned into a war zone.
I was already sitting at the dining table. I had plated the food, but I was staring blankly at my phone screen, furiously scrolling through articles I wasn't even reading.
Woonseok slowly pulled out his chair and sat across from me.
The silence in the dining room was absolute, deafening, and completely suffocating. The only sound was the sharp, metallic clinking of our chopsticks against the porcelain bowls.
Woonseok kept glancing up at me, his dark eyes heavy with unspoken questions. He ate slowly, clearly trying to gauge my mood. Several times, he opened his mouth, drawing in a breath to speak, but the sheer, icy wall of my posture made him swallow his words along with his food.
He couldn't take it anymore.
"Butterfly..." Woonseok started gently, his deep voice cautious, testing the waters. "The food is really good tonight. Did you make the sauce differently?"
I didn't even look up from my phone. I kept my face entirely blank, my eyes glued to the glowing screen.
"It's the same," I muttered coldly, taking a tiny bite of rice.
Woonseok sighed softly, setting his chopsticks down. He reached across the table, his long fingers gently trying to pull the phone out of my hand.
"Sana, please look at me," he urged softly. "Can we talk?"
I instantly snatched my phone away from his reach, standing up so abruptly that my wooden chair scraped violently against the floorboards.
"I'm done," I announced, my voice devoid of any warmth. I didn't even look at his face. I just stared at the wall behind him. "If you need anything else, get it yourself. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."
I turned on my heel and began walking swiftly toward the hallway.
"Sana, wait—"
The scrape of his chair was much louder than mine. Before I could even take three steps down the hall, Woonseok was there. His massive hand wrapped securely around my wrist, halting my escape in an instant. His grip wasn't painful, but it was incredibly firm, anchored in absolute desperation.
"Butterfly, please," Woonseok pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. "Just listen to me. Please... just one time. Don't walk away from me like this."
Inside, my soul was completely shattering.
Every fiber of my being wanted to collapse into his arms, to bury my face in his neck and apologize until my throat bled. I wanted to tell him about the cancer, about the fear, about the terrifying radiation I had endured just hours ago.
But you can't, my mind commanded brutally. You are the villain now. Break his heart.
I forced my spine to straighten. I turned my head slowly, looking at him with eyes as cold and unforgiving as winter ice.
"What did I say to you?" I demanded in a low, venomous tone, pulling my wrist, though he refused to let go. "I don't need any explanation, Woon. I don't care."
"I care!" Woonseok shot back, his voice thick with raw emotion.
Suddenly, he pulled on my wrist, using his immense strength to yank me forward. I gasped in surprise as my body crashed against his broad, solid chest. Before I could step back, his large arms wrapped completely around me, locking me in a tight, desperate embrace.
My cheek was pressed directly over his heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
My eyes went incredibly wide. I froze, completely paralyzed by the sheer force of his heartbeat. It was racing—beating wildly, frantically against his ribs, driven by his pure, unadulterated fear of losing me. The warmth of his body seeped through my thin clothes, melting the edges of the ice I had so carefully built around myself. For a single, terrifying second, I closed my eyes, a tear threatening to slip out. I love him so much, I thought, my heart violently breaking in two. I am trying so hard.
"Listen to me, Butterfly," Woonseok whispered into my hair, his voice sad, emotional, and entirely genuine. "I am so sorry. If you are jealous, or if you are angry, or if I did anything to make you feel insecure today... I am so, so sorry. But please believe me. That clip... it was strictly professional. I didn't do anything with bad intentions. You know you are the only woman I see. You are my entire world."
His apology was so pure, so incredibly perfect, that it felt like a knife twisting directly into my cancer-ridden brain.
No. Stop being so good to me! I screamed internally. Hate me! Please, just hate me!
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the agonizing tears back. I drew in a sharp, ragged breath, summoned every ounce of adrenaline in my failing body, and shoved him.
I pushed against his chest with both hands, hitting him hard enough to make him stumble half a step backward in shock.
"Shut up!" I yelled, my voice echoing violently down the quiet hallway.
Woonseok looked at me, completely stunned by the physical push.
"I told you I don't need your explanation!" I screamed, letting the fake fury completely possess me, glaring at him with a fabricated hatred that made my own stomach turn. "Can't you hear me?! I told you I don't want to hear it! Stop making me shout at you again and again!"
"Sana—"
"I am tired of you!" I cut him off mercilessly, throwing my hands in the air. "I am so exhausted! Do you get that?! Just stop talking! Stop giving me a headache!"
The word headache hung in the air like a dropped grenade.
It was the cruelest thing I could have possibly said. Woonseok had spent the last two months terrified of my headaches, constantly asking if I was in pain, wanting to take me to the hospital. And here I was, weaponizing his deepest fear and blaming him for it.
The desperate sadness in Woonseok's eyes suddenly shifted.
The sheer unfairness of my attack finally broke through his infinite patience. A flash of dark, raw irritation and deeply wounded anger swept across his handsome face. His jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek.
"What is happening between us, Sana?" Woonseok demanded, his deep voice rising, thick with frustration and absolute disbelief. "Why are you getting this angry over nothing?! I explained myself! I apologized! Can't you just trust me?! What did I actually do to deserve this?"
I stared at him, my chest heaving, refusing to give him a single word of comfort. I completely blanked my expression, offering him absolutely nothing.
Without answering his question, I spun around on my heel and walked straight into the master bedroom.
Woonseok stepped forward instinctively, reaching a hand out to stop the door. "Butterfly, listen, I didn't mean to yell—"
SLAM.
I shut the heavy oak door directly in his face, turning the metal lock with a sharp, definitive click.
I stood with my back pressed flat against the locked door, clapping both hands tightly over my mouth to muffle the violent, tearing sobs that erupted from my chest. I sank slowly to the floor, my knees giving out completely.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I chanted silently in my mind, drowning in my own tears.
On the other side of the wood, I heard Woonseok let out a heavy, shaky exhale. He didn't knock. He didn't yell. I heard the faint rustle of his clothes as he leaned his forehead against the door frame for a long, agonizing moment.
Then, I heard his footsteps slowly walking away, retreating down the hallway toward his study.
I crawled into the massive, empty bed, pulling the duvet over my shaking shoulders. I closed my eyes tightly, but sleep was an absolute impossibility. The sheer, terrifying reality of what I was actively doing—destroying the love of my life with my own two hands—was eating me alive from the inside out.
Meanwhile, in his study, Woonseok sat in the dark.
Only the small desk lamp was illuminated. He had a stack of scripts in front of him, high-profile projects waiting for his approval. He held a highlighter in his hand, staring at the pages.
He read the same paragraph five times. He couldn't comprehend a single word.
He threw the highlighter across the desk. He dragged both hands roughly through his dark hair, gripping the strands in sheer, helpless frustration. His mind was a chaotic, spinning vortex of my cold words, my furious eyes, and the terrifying, unbridgeable distance that had suddenly appeared between us out of thin air.
Stop giving me a headache, my voice echoed in his mind.
He rested his elbows on the desk, burying his face in his hands, letting out a ragged, trembling sigh. He couldn't work. He couldn't think. All he wanted, with every fiber of his being, was to go back into that bedroom, pull me into his arms, and make whatever was broken whole again.
An hour later, the bedroom door handle clicked.
I heard it immediately, but I didn't move an inch. I kept my breathing slow, deep, and perfectly rhythmic. I lay on my side, facing the large floor-to-ceiling windows, pretending to be deeply asleep.
The door opened softly. Woonseok stepped into the room, the dim light from the hallway casting a long, sad shadow across the carpet.
He closed the door silently behind him. He stood near the edge of the bed for a long moment, simply looking at my still form. I could feel the intense, heavy weight of his gaze burning into my back.
Slowly, carefully, he crawled onto the mattress.
The bed dipped under his massive weight. He slid under the covers, shifting closer to me. The familiar, intoxicating heat of his body radiated against my freezing skin.
He didn't speak. He just slowly, tentatively reached out his hand in the dark.
His warm fingers brushed against my waist, sliding forward to gently grasp my hand that rested on the mattress. It was a silent plea. An olive branch. He just wanted to pull me backward, to mold my back against his chest, to hold me while we slept, just like we always did.
The second his fingers wrapped around mine, my heart shattered into a million tiny, irreparable pieces.
Hate me, I told myself, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. You have to make him hate you.
I moved.
With deliberate, icy precision, I yanked my hand away from his grip. I shifted my body an inch further away toward the edge of the bed, pulling the duvet tighter around my shoulders, rejecting his touch entirely.
The silence that followed was the loudest sound I had ever heard in my life.
Behind me, Woonseok's breath hitched. I felt the mattress shift as his body went completely rigid.
The rejection hit him harder than any slap, harder than any screamed word in the hallway. It was absolute, final, and completely devoid of love.
I heard a low, broken sigh escape his lips—a sound of pure, unadulterated defeat.
Slowly, heavily, Woonseok turned around. I felt the covers pull as he shifted his massive frame, turning his back to me completely, creating a massive, terrifying physical chasm in the exact center of our bed.
I turned my head just a fraction of an inch, looking over my shoulder in the dark.
I could see the broad, tense line of his back facing away from me. He was lying completely still, but I knew he was awake. I knew he was hurting in a way I had never hurt him before.
I wanted to reach out. I wanted to trace the line of his spine, to wrap my arms around his waist, to press my face into his shoulder and tell him I was dying. The urge was so violent, so overpowering, that my hand actually twitched on the mattress.
But I pulled it back. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the silent, agonizing tears stream hot and fast onto my pillow.
We were lying in the exact same bed, inches away from each other. But we were separated by an ocean of lies, terminal illness, and a manufactured betrayal.
Neither of us slept a single second that night.
We just lay there in the dark, acting like we were asleep, while our hearts violently bled out in silence. The destruction of our beautiful, perfect relationship had officially begun, and as I stared at the back of the man I loved more than life itself, I knew... there was no going back.
"Hate me. You have to make him hate you." 😭💔
I am officially apologizing for the emotional damage Chapters 108 just caused. Writing the scene where Woonseok was just trying to hold her hand in the dark, and she yanked it away to protect him... it completely shattered my heart.
Sana is doing the unthinkable: she is actively destroying the love of her life so that he can survive her death. Woonseok is so confused, so hurt, and trying so hard to fix a crack he didn't even cause.
Let's talk in the comments: Which moment hurt you the most? Was it her yelling at him about the headache, or the silent rejection in bed?
💎 Webnovel Readers: Support our heartbroken couple with your Power Stones and Golden Tickets! We need all the strength we can get for what's coming next. 🕊️✨