[ COMPLETED ]
" Tell me you don't love me, and I won't ever show you my face. Push me away so hard that I'd stumble to even look at you. " He leaned closer to my face. " Push me before I kiss you, before I cherish every inch of you. " His palm trace...
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VESTA'S POV
I stared blankly at my laptop screen. The numbers and charts blurred together, refusing to take shape in my mind. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the quarterly report in front of me, my thoughts kept drifting back to last night—Taehyung’s kiss, his warm embrace, and then the abrupt shift when his brother appeared.
I twirled a pen absently between my fingers, replaying the scene for what felt like the hundredth time. The coldness in Taehyung’s voice, the tension in his body, the hurt in his brother’s eyes—it all felt so at odds with the man I thought I knew.
“Vesta?!”
I snapped my attention looking up to see Sana , my colleague leaning over the cubicle wall.
“Sorry, what?” I blinked, trying to shake off the haze clouding my mind.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like a full minute. You okay? You seem a million miles away today.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah, just didn’t sleep well last night. What’s up?”
She rattled off something about client data, I nodded along, pretending to listen. But my mind was already drifting again, back to Taehyung. I couldn’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes when I suggested he might have misunderstood his family.
Had I overstepped? But how could I understand if he wouldn’t explain?
" So if you could get that to me by the end of the day, that’d be great.” She finished.
“Of course, no problem.” I replied automatically, hoping I’d absorbed enough of what she said to follow through.
As she walked away, I turned back to my laptop, determined to concentrate. But within minutes, I was reaching for my phone, pulling up my messages with Taehyung. Our last exchange was from yesterday afternoon, sharing pictures that we took. It felt like a lifetime ago.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should I text him? Apologize? Ask if he was okay? But what would I even say?
With a frustrated sigh, I set my phone aside. This was ridiculous. I had work to do, responsibilities to focus on.
And yet, as I tried once again to lose myself in spreadsheets and profit margins, I couldn’t shake the memory of Taehyung’s face—the warmth and tenderness in the karaoke booth, contrasted sharply with the cold mask that slipped into place when his brother appeared.
The rational part of my brain knew that people were complex, that everyone had different sides to their personality.
My phone buzzed, and my heart leapt, only to drop when I saw it was just a work email. I felt a mix of relief and disappointment. Part of me desperately wanted to hear from Taehyung.
