Chapter Sixty-Four : The Weight of a Name
DORM ROOM – 11:47 PM
The ceiling of Sara's dorm room had more cracks than I remembered. Or maybe I just hadn't stared at it long enough before—before my life became a mafia drama, before my bed felt too empty without a possessive arm wrapped around me, before his name became a bruise on my tongue.
"You've been staring at that spot for forty minutes," Sara said, tossing a piece of popcorn at my face. It bounced off my forehead and landed in my lap. "Either you're counting ceiling tiles to cope, or you're thinking about him."
"I'm thinking about how much I hate him."
"Liar."
I turned my head, glaring. "Excuse me?"
She shrugged, crunching loudly. "You hate him, sure. That's why you've checked your phone thirty-seven times since we got here. That's why you flinch every time a car passes outside. That's why you're lying in my bed, in my dorm, wearing my shirt—but your hand keeps touching your ring finger like it's phantom-limb syndrome."
I looked down. My fingers were, indeed, tracing the spot where his ring usually sat.
"I hate you too," I muttered.
"Love you too, babes." She tossed another piece of popcorn. "Now spill. What happened after class? I saw the whole 'storming off' performance. Very dramatic. Oscar-worthy."
I told her. The car. The shove. The words I threw at him like knives.
When I finished, she was silent for a long moment. Then she whistled low.
"Damn. You really told the devil to go fuck himself."
"He deserved it."
"Did he?"
I sat up, incredulous. "Sara. He forced me into this marriage. He killed people at my wedding. He took the cubs without telling me. He—"
"He also painted your nails. Braided your hair. Stood in front of an entire assembly and dared the world to touch you." She held up a hand when I opened my mouth. "I'm not defending him. I'm just saying... maybe the anger is easier than the truth."
"What truth?"
She looked at me, really looked at me, and for once there was no teasing in her eyes. "That you're falling for him. And it terrifies you."
---
MAFIA MANSION – SAME TIME
The study was dark except for the amber glow of a single lamp. Taehyun sat motionless in his leather chair, a glass of whiskey untouched at his elbow. His phone lay face-up on the desk, screen black.
No calls. No texts.
He'd watched the GPS tracker on her ring—the one she didn't know about—ping from a dormitory five miles away. Safe. Alive. Away from him.
Junho appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "You've been sitting there for three hours."
"I'm aware."
"She'll come back."
"Will she?" Taehyun's voice was flat, hollow. "I've given her nothing but reasons to run. Lies. Secrets. A cage made of gold and good intentions."
Junho walked in, pouring himself a drink. "You also gave her safety. Protection. A love so obsessive it borders on insanity—but love nonetheless."
"That's not enough."
"It's never enough with you, hyung. That's the problem." Junho sat across from him. "You want to own her completely, but you forget—people aren't assets. You can't lock her in a vault and expect her to thrive."
Taehyun's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to protect her."
"From what? The world? Or from the truth about who she was before?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Junho leaned forward, voice dropping. "When are you going to tell her? About Venice? About him?"
Taehyun's hand curled into a fist. "When she's ready."
"She'll never be ready. And every day you wait, the lie gets bigger. Heavier." Junho stood, finishing his drink. "You're not just losing her to anger, hyung. You're losing her to the ghost of a man she doesn't even remember—a ghost who looks exactly like you."
He left.
Taehyun sat alone, the weight of his brother's words crushing down on him.
Because Junho was right.
The man in her dreams—the faceless guardian, the silent protector, the one her heart recognized—was him. Always him. From before the accident, before the amnesia, before she became "Aish" and forgot she was once someone else entirely.
Someone who loved him first.
---
DORM ROOM – 2:13 AM
I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat.
The dream again. The man. The sister. A street in a city I didn't recognize, cobblestones wet with rain, the smell of coffee and the sea. His hand in mine. Her laughter behind us.
"Don't forget me," she'd whispered, her face just out of focus. "Don't forget us."
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to slow my racing heart.
Beside me, Sara snored peacefully, oblivious.
I reached for my phone. No messages. No missed calls.
He hadn't even tried.
Part of me was relieved. Part of me was furious. And part of me—the part I hated most—was disappointed.
I typed out a message. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted.
Finally, I just wrote: I'm safe. Don't come looking.
I pressed send before I could change my mind.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then vanished. Then appeared again.
His reply was simple. Devastating.
I'll always come looking. Even when you hate me for it.
I stared at the screen until it went dark.
---
NEXT MORNING – CAMPUS
I thought yesterday was bad.
Today was a warzone.
The moment I walked onto campus, the whispers hit like physical force. But they weren't just whispers anymore—they were shouts, laughs, pointed fingers. Someone had made a meme. Someone else had started a poll: Who's more likely to get divorced first?
Sara grabbed my arm, her grip like iron. "Don't. Look. At. Them."
"I'm not."
"Good. Because they're not worth it."
But then I saw her.
Hyejin. Surrounded by her little entourage, standing right in my path like a toll booth of misery.
"Well, well," she cooed, stepping forward. "If it isn't the professor's little pet. Where's your leash today? Did it get tangled in your baggy jeans?"
Her friends laughed.
Sara stepped forward, but I held her back.
"I'm not here for you," I said quietly. "Move."
"Or what? You'll call your mafia husband? Ooooh, scary." She fake-shuddered. "Everyone knows he only married you because he felt sorry for the campus stray. A girl with no past, no style, no—"
"Enough."
The voice came from behind me. Deep. Calm. Absolute.
We all turned.
Professor Namjoon stood there, a gentle giant with steel in his eyes. He wasn't loud. He didn't need to be.
"Miss Hyejin," he said, his voice carrying that quiet authority that silenced rooms. "I believe you have a paper due in my class today. Perhaps you'd like to focus on that instead of harassing a fellow student."
Her face reddened. "I wasn't—"
"You were." He stepped forward, placing himself slightly between us. "And I don't tolerate bullying in my presence. Move along. Now."
She hesitated, then scoffed, flipping her hair as she walked away, her friends trailing behind like whipped dogs.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Namjoon turned to me, his expression softening. "You don't have to thank me. You shouldn't have to face that alone."
"I'm used to it."
"That's the problem." He studied me for a moment, those kind eyes seeing too much. "You keep fighting battles by yourself. But you don't have to."
I swallowed hard. "I don't know how not to."
He smiled—that warm, spring-morning smile. "Start by letting someone stand beside you. Even if it's just for a moment."
Sara squeezed my arm. "He's wise. I like him. Can we keep him?"
Despite everything, I laughed.
---
LATER – THE LIBRARY
I found a corner, buried in books I wasn't reading, trying to disappear. The whispers had faded to background noise, but the weight of them still pressed down.
I heard footsteps. Assumed it was Sara.
"You followed me."
"Always."
My heart stopped.
Taehyun.
He stood at the end of the aisle, hands in his pockets, looking like he hadn't slept. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair slightly disheveled. The untouchable kingpin, reduced to this.
"I told you not to come looking."
"I told you I always would." He stepped closer, slow, giving me time to run. "I'm not here to drag you back. I'm not here to fight."
"Then why?"
He stopped a few feet away, close enough to touch but not touching. "Because I couldn't stay away. Because every minute you're not with me, I can't breathe. Because I'd rather have you hate me from a distance than not have you at all—but I'm too selfish to stay away."
My throat tightened. "You can't keep doing this. Showing up. Saying things that make me forget why I'm angry."
"I know." His voice was raw. "But I don't know how to be anyone else with you. I've tried. God, I've tried. But you're the only thing in my life that's ever felt real. Everything else—the power, the money, the fear—it's all noise. You're the signal."
A tear escaped, trailing down my cheek. I wiped it away angrily. "You're not supposed to make me cry."
He finally closed the distance, his hand rising to cup my face, his thumb brushing away another tear. "Then don't cry. Fight me. Scream at me. Throw things. I'll stand here and take it all. Just... don't shut me out."
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words barely audible. "I'm scared of how much I feel when I'm with you. I'm scared of the dreams, the memories I can't reach. I'm scared that if I let myself love you, I'll lose myself completely."
He leaned his forehead against mine, eyes closed, breath shaky. "Then let's be lost together. Because I'm nothing without you. I've been nothing since the day you forgot me."
I froze.
"What did you say?"
His eyes opened, and in them I saw it—the truth he'd been hiding, the weight he'd been carrying. The ghost from my dreams, wearing his face.
"Not here," he whispered. "Not like this. But soon. I promise. I'll tell you everything."
"Taehyun—"
"Please." The word was a broken plea. "Just come home. Let me hold you tonight. Tomorrow, if you still want answers, I'll give them. Every ugly, beautiful, devastating truth."