'I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you.'
Coming from a wealthy family was never the major flex in her life. To others, she might come off as a rich spoilt brat but the reality was far from what they perceived her to be.
In a world...
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The dawn had arrived not with warmth or promise, but with a chilling stillness that clung to the air like a held breath. It was meant to mark a new beginning—a quiet end to the chaos that had woven itself into their lives.
And yet, it felt nothing like peace.
Beyond the tall windows, the sky was cloaked in thick, brooding clouds, each one swollen with unfallen rain. The light was dim, filtered through a heavy shroud of grey that dulled the garden’s colors and painted the world in shadows.
The trees stood still, their leaves unmoving as if even the wind was reluctant to stir. A quiet tension gripped the air, the kind that comes just before a storm breaks—patient, watchful, inevitable.
It wasn't a new beginning. It was the silence before the sky split open. The kind of morning that warned you… the worst was yet to come.
The walls of Miyeon’s room, once lavender and comforting, now felt suffocating. She sat curled on the cold wooden floor, her back against the edge of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, the fabric of her loose t-shirt bunched in her fists.
Her room was dim—the curtains half-drawn, letting in only slivers of the overcast light that painted the space in muted blues and greys. Time had blurred. It had been hours, maybe more, since she’d locked the door and shut herself away.
She hadn’t eaten since the breakfast the day before, and even then, she barely remembered the taste. The ache in her stomach was dull now, easily ignored compared to the ache that twisted through her chest.
Dino's voice kept echoing in her ears, sharper than it had sounded in the moment, sharper now because it had come from someone who was wounded deeply by the one person he trusted the most. The look of pure betrayal. And now, maybe she’d lost him too.
She pressed her forehead to her knees, her breath uneven. Her mother, even Mirae had knocked on her door once but had just brushed them off with a smile. Their voices, their concerns, they all felt distant—as though she were listening through thick glass underwater.
