Junpyo pov:
Junpyo stepped out of Minho's apartment building and into the night, the door shutting behind him with a dull finality.
The street was quiet, almost mockingly so.
He didn't move at first. His phone was already in his hand.
He dialed Mrs. Lee's number
Ring.
He began pacing, long strides up and down the sidewalk, his free hand running through his hair. His thoughts were loud, chaotic, refusing to settle.
Ring.
"Please," he muttered. "Just answer."
The call ended.
Junpyo stopped and stared at the screen, his chest tightening. Mrs. Lee never ignored his calls. Never.
He tried again.
Ring.
Nothing.
His jaw clenched as he paced faster now, breath uneven. He pressed the call button a third time, hope thinning with every second.
Ring.
No answer.
"She always picks up," he said aloud, anger slipping into his voice. "Always."
The phone dropped back into his pocket as fear began to crawl up his spine. Something was wrong. He could feel it—sharp and undeniable.
Junpyo turned abruptly and headed for his car. He unlocked it, slid inside, and slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life, too loud in the stillness.
He pulled out onto the road without hesitation.
The city blurred past him as he drove too fast, too recklessly. Streetlights streaked overhead like warnings he refused to heed. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
Where are you? Bobae.
The Jejjuk estate was close now.
Then—
Red.
The traffic light glowed above him, harsh and unforgiving.
Junpyo slammed the brakes. The car jerked to a stop, his body lurching forward as his heart raced violently. He stared up at the light, breath sharp, pulse roaring in his ears.
The street was empty.
No cars. No reason to stop.
The red light felt personal.
An insult.
"You've got to be kidding me," he snapped, voice low and bitter.
His fingers trembled as they tightened around the wheel. Every second the light stayed red felt like another reminder—of waiting, of obeying, of being told not yet.
"I don't have time for this," he whispered. "Not now."
For a dangerous moment, he thought about driving through it—about breaking the rule the way he wanted to break everything else.
Then the light changed.
Green.
Junpyo hit the accelerator immediately, the car surging forward as he tore through the intersection, leaving the red light—and his patience—behind.
Bobae pov:
Bobae stood up and went to sit on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing.
The room was quiet, but her mind wasn't.
Clara's voice echoed again and again—soft, sweet, and poisonous.
Stay away from Jinho… or else I'll make sure you leave this world.
Bobae swallowed hard and hugged her arms around herself. Her heart still hadn't slowed. Her skin felt tight, like it didn't quite fit anymore.
"She's obsessed," Bobae whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her gaze drifted to the door, then to the wall where Clara had caged her moments earlier. The memory made her stomach twist.
But… why?
Bobae frowned, confusion creeping in beneath the fear.
"It's Jinho," she murmured to herself. "He's the one who has feelings for me."
She pressed her fingers to her temple, trying to think clearly. Clara's threat didn't make sense—not fully. Bobae had never encouraged Jinho. Never crossed a line. She didn't even know jinho likes her, Not until he told her that night. She never wanted what Clara was so desperately clinging to.
"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered.
Stay silent?
Stay obedient?
Disappear?
Her chest tightened.
"I just want to pay my father's debt," she said quietly. "That's all."
She leaned back against the wall and slid down slowly until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn close. The house felt too big, too dangerous. Every sound made her tense.
Bobae closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.
I have to be careful, she thought. If not for myself—then for my father.
But deep down, beneath the fear and confusion, one truth settled heavy in her chest—
This wasn't just about debt anymore.
And whatever came next would change everything.
---
Junpyo's car came to a sharp stop at the Jejjuk estate.
He got out before the engine had fully died, the gates looming ahead like a silent judgment. The mansion lights were still on—too many of them. The house never slept when secrets were awake.
He walked fast, shoes striking the stone path with purpose. No hesitation now. No second thoughts.
Inside, the corridors stretched long and quiet. Portraits watched him pass. Generations of expectation lining the walls, daring him to defy them.
He didn't slow down.
He stopped only when he reached Bobae's door.
For a brief moment, his hand hovered in the air.
Then he knocked.
Silence.
He pushed the door open.
Bobae stood near the bed, her back to him, shoulders trembling. Her hands were clenched at her sides, breath uneven. She hadn't heard him enter.
"Bobae," Junpyo said softly.
She startled and turned.
Her eyes were red. Tear tracks still clung to her cheeks.
Before he could take another step, she wiped her face quickly, furiously—like being seen this way was a mistake she needed to erase.
"I told you to stay away from me," she said, her voice tight.
Junpyo crossed the room in two strides. "I was worried.
"Stop," Bobae said sharply, holding up a hand.
He froze.
"You shouldn't be here," she continued, voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. "You need to stay away from me."
"Bobae—"
"No," she said again, firmer now. "I don't want to be the one who breaks your family."
The words hit him harder than anger ever could.
"I'll handle everything," Junpyo said quickly. "You don't have to worry about my parents, or Clara, or the marriage. I'll take care of it."
She shook her head.
"You say that like it's simple," Bobae replied. "Like lives don't get destroyed in the process."
He stepped closer. "I don't care about that."
"I do," she whispered.
Junpyo's chest tightened. "Why are you pushing me away?"
She looked down at the floor. "Because I don't want to be your guilt. Or your rebellion."
He swallowed, then asked the question he had been avoiding since the moment he walked in.
"Do you… have feelings for me?"
The room went still.
Bobae didn't answer.
She turned her face away, eyes fixed on the window, jaw clenched as if holding back something dangerous.
The silence stretched.
Junpyo's heart pounded painfully. "Bobae," he said softly.
She finally spoke—but not the words he wanted.
"Please leave my room."
He stared at her, disbelief and hurt flashing across his face. "Is that really what you want?"
She didn't look at him.
"Yes."
The answer was quiet.
Junpyo stood there for a moment longer, memorizing the curve of her profile, the distance she had placed between them without ever stepping back.
Then he nodded once.
"I won't force you," he said hoarsely. "But this isn't over."
Bobae didn't respond.
Junpyo turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.
Bobae stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the space where Junpyo had been. The room felt different now—emptier, heavier, like the air itself had settled into her chest.
She took one step forward.
Then another.
Her knees gave way.
Bobae sank to the floor beside the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The moment she was alone, the strength she had forced into her voice dissolved.
Her breath hitched.
Then broke.
She pressed her palm to her mouth, trying to silence the sound, but the sob tore through anyway—sharp, painful, unstoppable. Tears spilled freely now, blurring her vision, soaking into her sleeves.
"I didn't mean it like that," she whispered, voice shaking. "I didn't…"
Her chest hurt. Not the dramatic kind of pain—something dull and constant, like pressure that wouldn't lift. She leaned her forehead against her knees, shoulders trembling.
If I let myself want him, she thought, everything falls apart.
His face replayed in her mind—the way he had looked at her, hopeful and hurt all at once. The way his voice had softened when he said her name.
Bobae squeezed her eyes shut.
"I can't be the reason," she said quietly. "I can't be the one who destroys your family."
Another sob escaped her, deeper this time. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her clothes like she needed something solid to hold onto.
"I don't get to choose," she whispered. "I never did."
Love had never been part of the agreement.
She wiped at her face angrily, frustrated with herself for still crying, for still wanting. For being human when the world demanded obedience.
"I'm sorry," she murmured—whether to Junpyo, to herself, or to the life she wished she could have, she didn't know.
The room stayed silent.
Eventually, the sobs softened into quiet, exhausted breaths. Bobae remained on the floor, staring blankly ahead, tears drying on her skin.
Somewhere deep inside her, something settled—not peace, but resolve.
If she was going to endure this, she would do it on her own terms.
Even if it meant breaking her own heart first.