Morning: A Hospital Room
White lights. Cold sheets. Calculators of beeping noises measuring her every breath. It all felt unreal.
Hana opened her eyes and saw the ceiling—blank, sterile. A dull pop came from her throat; each swallow burned. Gently, she tried to move an arm, but a sharp pain surged through her shoulder.
As expected, no one visited her. Not a single call, not a single message. The world moved on, and Hana was left behind like yesterday's news.
The hospital room was cold—not just in temperature but in spirit. Her body still ached from the welts Jin left on her back, though the painkillers dulled the sharpest edges.
She hadn't spoken much since waking up. The nurses came and went. She barely ate. The silence became her companion.
And then she saw it.
The news played on the small mounted TV in the corner. Yuna's radiant smile lit up the screen as flashes from paparazzi cameras sparkled like stars around her.
She was announced as the new brand ambassador for Alouette—a luxury French brand known for its exclusivity.
Cheers erupted from the crowd. Confetti rained from above. Yuna was perfect, poised, breathtaking.
Flowers surrounded her. And gifts. Lavish ones. An anonymous donor sent a handcrafted diamond choker said to be worth millions. But Hana didn't need to guess who it was.
It was Mr. Ahn. Again.
The camera panned to the side—and there he was. Jin. Dressed in a chauffeur's uniform, standing quietly at the edge of the crowd.
But Hana recognized that gaze. The soft smile on his lips. The one he used to give her.
He wasn't even pretending anymore.
Even her father was there, standing behind Yuna, his face glowing with pride. No one had called Hana. Not a word. It was as if she didn't exist.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, so dry it scratched her throat. That was it. She was done.
For the next few days, she said nothing. She didn't attend any more parties or forced public appearances. She didn't pick up her phone or look at the press clippings stacked on the nightstand.
She let the world forget her—because she was going to leave it behind.
Then the envelope came.
Her passport. Her papers. The last string tying her here had been cut.
She packed lightly. Just one shoulder bag. No designer bags or showy outfits. Just the essentials. Just enough to start over.
All her important things were already in England.
For once, no one tried to stop her. Not the maids. Not her stepmother. Not her father. Not Yuna. No one even noticed she was gone.
Until she reached the driveway.
There he was.
Jin.
Dressed in a sharp suit, hair slicked back as if he were about to attend another of Yuna's events. He stopped mid-step when he saw her, his expression stunned—then complicated. Guilt. Regret. And something deeper.
Fear.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Hana didn't flinch. Didn't stop. She walked past him with even steps, her heels scraping softly over the stone.
"Where are you going?" he finally asked, voice low.
"Away," she answered without looking back.
Her hand reached for the car door.
Jin hesitated, took a few steps forward. "I'll take you. Wherever that 'away' is. Just say the word."
That stopped her.
Slowly, Hana turned to him. The look she gave him was unreadable. Not warm. Not angry. Not pleading.
Just tired.
"Don't bother," she said. "Looks like you're going somewhere with Yuna."
Jin flinched. "I can take you—"
"Don't bother."
She opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine. Jin stood there like a statue, lips parted, heart thudding. A strange panic rose in his chest.
Why?
Jin didn't understand the emotion clawing its way through his chest. This—this silence, this distance—was what he always wanted from Hana. For her to stay away. To stop interfering. To leave him and Yuna alone.
So why now . . . why did he feel like he couldn't breathe?
Why was there a hollowness gnawing at the pit of his stomach, tightening like a vice the farther Hana walked away?
"Hana, wait—"
She drove off.
He stood frozen on the driveway, staring at the fading red glow of her car's taillights, swallowed by the night.
Something didn't feel right. Not at all.
This wasn't like before.
She always came back—always found some excuse to orbit their lives again. A stubborn presence, full of heart and misplaced loyalty, always clinging to hope even when none was offered to her.
But not this time.
There had been no fight, no last desperate plea. No tears. No lingering glance over the shoulder. Just silence. A cold, exhausted silence that hit harder than any scream ever could.
Jin's hands trembled slightly at his sides. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he stop her?
Because deep down, he knew. This wasn't a tantrum or some manipulative act to gain sympathy. Hana was done. She was finally getting over him.
And the worst part?
He didn't know if he wanted her to.
That single thought twisted through his mind like barbed wire. He had convinced himself for years that she was a nuisance. That the bruises she endured were justified. That protecting Yuna was all that mattered.
But now, with Hana disappearing into the night, something primal stirred in him—fear.
A raw, visceral fear that he'd just watched the last piece of his conscience slip through his fingers.
He took a step forward, then stopped.
She would come back . . . wouldn't she?
No. This time felt different. Too final. Too quiet. Like the closing of a door that would never open again.
And still, he didn't chase after her, because he thought that this was only temporary.
The taillights glowed red against the dusk. He took a step forward, then stopped himself. There was no justification.
Not anymore. He couldn't undo what he did. The marks on her back would fade—but the wound in her heart never would.
In the car, Hana didn't look back. Not once. Her hands trembled slightly on the wheel, but her eyes remained forward.
This was the end.
No more second chances. No more begging for love that was never hers.
She didn't cry until she crossed the city limits.
Alone on the highway, with nothing but the sound of wind and tires humming beneath her, Hana finally let herself break.
Tears streaked down her face, quiet and endless. Not because she wanted Jin. Not because of Yuna. But because she had tried so hard. She had fought and bled and loved and begged. And still—she was never enough.
But now, she didn't have to be.
In the distance, the airport lights twinkled. She wiped her face clean, squared her shoulders, and pressed her foot harder on the gas.
She was going to start over.
Not for revenge. Not to prove anything.
Just for herself.
And this time, she would find a love that didn't hurt.