What's worse: losing the one you chose to spend your life with, or discovering he was killed by someone you love?
Dear reader,
Abandon all notions of affection and sweet romantic sentiments, for this story will shatter them if you dare to continue.
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Hyunjin's POV:
"You're not sleeping with me?" The question escaped me, a last attempt to understand his sudden withdrawal, but he continued as if he hadn't heard. With a few quick adjustments to his attire, he left the room, leaving me alone amidst the tangled sheets that still held the warmth of our encounter.
As the door closed behind him, tears welled up in my eyes. My naked body curled up on the bed, and I couldn't hold back the sobs that wracked my frame. Why is all this happening to me? Just moments ago, he made me feel like I was on top of the world, only to snatch that feeling away in an instant.
He should have held me, stayed with me through the night. Instead, his departure made me feel discarded, as if he regretted everything that had just transpired between us.
Did he only want to conquer me? Now that he had, was he retreating back into his anger and resentment? Was he still furious about what happened to his father, unable to see past my mistake?
I forgave him for hiding the truth about Seungmin, for his lies and manipulations. How could he not forgive a mistake that was never meant to harm anyone?
My sobs intensified, shaking my entire body until I was exhausted. Eventually, the weight of my grief and the sheer physical exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into a restless sleep, the tears still drying on my cheeks.
I woke to the soft sounds of the maid tidying the room, her movements careful and efficient. She was cleaning the mirror, which still bore the smudges and traces of last night's intensity.
I glanced at the mirror, and memories of the previous night flooded back. I could see in my mind's eye the way Minho and I had been entwined, my hand pressed firmly against the glass as our bodies moved together. The raw, visceral memory of our shared passion brought a flush to my cheeks, contrasting sharply with the cold, empty reality of the morning.
The maid noticed my movement and turned to face me. "I apologize if I woke you, Mr. Hyunjin," she said, her tone respectful yet impersonal. "Mr. Minho ordered the room to be cleaned and breakfast to be brought up for you." She gestured toward the side table where a breakfast tray was neatly arranged.
As I stirred and pulled the blanket closer, I glanced down at my body, surprised to find that I was no longer naked. Who had dressed me? The question gnawed at me. Could it have been Minho?.
Sitting up, I reached for the breakfast tray on the side table. As I lifted it, a small piece of paper slipped out from under the plates. Curiosity piqued, I picked it up and unfolded it. Written in Minho's familiar, precise handwriting, the note read: "This is Seungmin's number. You can call him but don't think about meeting him."
