Timeless | rorasa

Chapter 26: The Betrayal and The Bloodline

Rora barely had a moment to breathe. The whirlwind of promoting her album kept her on her feet, and the blur of interviews, performances, and photoshoots left her little time to process anything beyond the next commitment. Everywhere she turned, people praised her, showering her with compliments for her raw, emotional songwriting. Her album had struck a chord with fans and critics alike, debuting at the top of the charts. The media couldn't get enough of the story behind her success: a love turned into music.

But the more people celebrated her, the emptier Rora felt.

Each song she performed felt like a slice of her soul, bleeding out in front of an audience that would never truly understand the depths of her loss. She wore a smile for the cameras, spoke graciously in interviews, and nodded along as people praised her vulnerability. Yet every lyric she sang reminded her of Asa—of the love she had lost and the ghost that now haunted her every thought.

Days turned into nights as Rora pushed herself harder, diving into the promotion of her album as a way to escape the crushing weight of her grief. If she kept moving, if she kept working, maybe she could outrun the memories. Maybe she could fill the gaping hole in her heart.

Her team noticed the strain, though no one said anything. Mr. Yang, her manager, and even Suhyun, her producer, hovered around her, concerned but unsure how to help. They praised her professionalism, her ability to carry the weight of the album's success on her shoulders, but Rora could sense the hesitation in their voices when they mentioned Asa.

"We all miss Asa," Suhyun said during one late-night studio session, glancing at Rora as she reviewed some last-minute edits to her upcoming performance.

Rora clenched her jaw, forcing herself to nod. "I miss her too."

But the pain never lessened. Every time someone brought up Asa, it was as if a dagger twisted deeper into her heart. She missed her so much it was hard to breathe sometimes, and yet, the world kept spinning, expecting her to keep up.

Amidst all the chaos, there was still the issue of Eisa. Minju had told her a week ago that Eisa was still unconscious, trapped in a strange limbo that Rora couldn’t even begin to understand. But Rora couldn’t bring herself to visit. The thought of seeing Eisa—so much like Asa, but not her—was too overwhelming. It felt like a betrayal to both Asa and Eisa. She didn’t know how to face it.

So, she buried herself deeper into her work, refusing to confront the looming reality of Eisa’s condition. Minju had been busy with her own commitments, and they hadn’t spoken in days.

On the day of another live performance, Rora was backstage, going through her final vocal warm-ups. The weight of exhaustion clung to her, but she had learned to hide it well. No one could know how much she was crumbling inside. Not tonight, not in front of an audience eager to see her at her best.

As she stood waiting for her cue to go on stage, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Rora frowned, pulling it out to see Julie’s name flashing on the screen. Julie was the last person she expected to call during such a crucial moment.

Rora hesitated for a moment before answering, her voice low. "Julie, I’m about to go on stage. Can this wait?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end, and when Julie spoke, her voice cracked with emotion. "Rora... it’s Eisa. She’s dead."

The world stopped. Rora froze, her mind struggling to process the words. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Rora, Eisa is gone." Julie’s voice trembled, thick with tears.

Rora’s heart clenched, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. The room spun around her, and the distant sound of the stage manager calling her name felt like it was coming from another world. Her hands shook as she gripped her phone tighter, the words sinking in, crushing her under their weight.

"No..." Rora’s voice broke. "No, this can’t be happening. Not Eisa too."

But it was real. She could hear the pain in Julie’s voice, feel the truth of it in the pit of her stomach. The air around her felt thick, suffocating, as if the grief that had haunted her for weeks had finally swallowed her whole.

As the stage lights brightened and the crowd outside chanted her name, Rora stood paralyzed, her world collapsing around her.

---

Hyein moved swiftly around her kitchen, preparing dinner with a meticulousness that mirrored her calm yet calculating nature. The soft hum of the stove, the rhythmic slicing of vegetables, and the scent of a slow-cooked stew filled her home. She wiped her hands on a towel, glancing at the clock. Soon, her father would arrive, and she felt a twinge of excitement. Tonight would be a special night.

She had been waiting for this moment after what had happened.

When the doorbell rang, a smile broke across her face. Hyein rushed to the door, barely containing her eagerness. Opening it wide, she saw her father standing there, his presence as imposing as ever. His sharp eyes surveyed her warmly before he stepped inside.

"Father..." Hyein grinned, stepping aside to let him in. "Come in."

Her father gave a nod of approval as he entered, taking in the cozy, inviting atmosphere. Everything seemed perfect, but he knew better. There was always something more behind Hyein’s surface—something darker.

Once they were seated at the dining table, sipping the wine Hyein had poured, her father leaned back, his gaze steady on her. "So, how is she?" he asked casually, though there was an edge to his voice.

Hyein couldn’t suppress the devilish laugh that bubbled up from deep within her. The sweetness she had worn all evening vanished, replaced by something far more sinister. "She's in there," she replied, pointing toward the guest room down the hall. "And she will never escape alive."

Her father’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "Good."

They exchanged a look of mutual understanding. Hyein had orchestrated this plan perfectly, with every detail falling into place. No one suspected a thing. She had been watching from afar ever since that day. And even though it took a little longer, it was all worth it.

But here, behind the closed doors of Hyein's home, something far more dangerous was unfolding. Hyein had waited, bided her time, and now everything was coming together.

"She’s been there for days," Hyein continued, her voice cold. "She doesn’t even know what's happening. Not yet."

Her father raised his glass as if toasting her triumph. "You’ve done well."

Hyein’s eyes gleamed. She had always sought her father’s approval, and now, with her plan nearly complete, she felt that familiar surge of pride. "Soon," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper, "soon, she'll wish she had never crossed me. Thank you, Father, for helping me."

The conversation shifted to other matters as they ate, but the tension in the air never fully disappeared. They both knew what lay ahead, and Hyein reveled in it. This was her game, and she was in control.

As the night wore on, the house remained eerily quiet, save for the occasional clink of silverware. But in the guest room, something—or someone—was waiting. The evening was far from over, and Hyein wasn’t done yet.

Not by a long shot.