The night was still warm when Nari opened her eyes, the sheets heavy and rumpled around her, the heat of a body pressed against her own, that familiar scent—musk, alcohol, pain—soaked into her hair and skin like a cruel reminder of what she had done, of what she had let into her bed, into her heart, into her entire soul.
Sion was still asleep, deeply, with a heavy, almost childlike breathing, an arm thrown around her waist in an instinctive, possessive gesture—almost tender despite the tension still vibrating in his muscles—and Nari didn't dare move, frozen by the violence of everything she felt.
She stared at the ceiling, unblinking, her eyes burning with insomnia, her heart beating far too fast for such a quiet morning, her chest tight, crushed, unable to understand how a single night could contain so many contradictions: a Sion drunk, vulnerable, almost broken… and her, who had wanted to run but had clung to him as if her own breath depended on his.
Her fingers brushed the line of his jaw without thinking—his stubble, the lips she had tasted again and again—and every movement sparked a guilty shiver, a sweet burn tearing through her stomach.
It was too much.
Too much for one night.
Too much for one heart.
And on the corner of the nightstand, cold and bright, the ring gleamed under the morning light like a final judgment.
A ring.
A symbol of a yes she should never have spoken.
Of a future she no longer truly wanted, yet clung to like a life raft—an excuse, a way to whisper to her heart:
"Stop beating for him."
But her heart listened to nothing.
Not even reason.
She clenched the sheets between her fingers, her breath trembling, tears rising silently as the night replayed in her mind.
She had thought she was dreaming, believed he would never come like that—vulnerable, drunk, shaking, with that muted pain in his eyes, that quiet despair vibrating through his kisses, that fragile softness that didn't belong to him.
And yet, he had come.
Into her bed.
Against her skin.
Against her mouth.
She bit her lip until it bled.
Reality crashed onto her all at once:
She had betrayed.
She had given in.
She had done it again.
She was nothing but a rope ready to snap.
— Hey… wake up… you need to leave… she whispered through a broken breath, unable to bear the heat of him any longer, yet incapable of truly pushing him away.
Sion moved, groaned a little, his breathing quickening as if he were climbing out of a heavy dream, then he opened his eyes—clouded, dark, the hangover carved into every line of his face. He sat up abruptly, almost violently, as if reality had slapped him before he was fully awake.
He said nothing.
Didn't even look at her.
He grabbed his clothes from the floor—discarded the night before—pulled them on with a trembling hand, avoided her gaze as if it burned.
Nari felt her stomach twist.
It was as if the night had never existed.
As if the broken whispers, the trembling kisses, had been nothing but an alcohol-soaked hallucination.
And as he reached for the door, his hand on the handle, Nari's heart tore open—unable to carry the silent weight, unable to keep this inside her chest.
In a tiny breath, almost smothered by the sheets, she whispered:
— I'm getting married…
The entire world seemed to hold its breath.
Time froze, clean and sharp.
Sion turned to stone.
His back locked.
His shoulders trembled—just barely.
His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.
A vein pulsed at his neck, swollen, ready to burst.
Nari had never seen a silence this dangerous.
This heavy.
This filled with something she had never imagined she would see in his body.
But he said nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He opened the door.
Slammed it so hard the walls shook.
And he left.
Just like that.
Leaving her in a bed that still smelled like him.
And Nari broke.
Completely.
Into tiny, shaking pieces.
The silence fell after he left, a silence so heavy it seemed to twist the air itself, and Nari stayed still, the sheets wrapped around her, her hair tangled, her breath uneven as if someone had ripped her heart out with bare hands.
She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle a sob, but the sound escaped anyway—shattered, trembling, no longer a human voice, but something torn from the bottom of the chest.
Loneliness struck all at once.
A total, absolute, brutal loneliness.
The night had been soft.
The morning was a massacre.
She pulled her knees to her chest, curled under the wrinkled sheets that still smelled of him—his warm, intoxicating, deep scent—and she felt as if an icy blade was lodged in her stomach with every breath.
Why did I say that… why now… why like that…
She didn't know.
Maybe she wanted honesty.
Maybe she hoped for a reaction.
A sign.
A word.
Anything.
But there had only been that slamming door—
that silent violence still ringing in the room like an echo of goodbye.
She didn't know how long she stayed there, her face buried in the pillow still warm, her body shaking, her eyes burning. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour. Maybe a thousand years.
When she finally stood up, every movement hurt.
The floor was cold.
The morning light, too white, burned her eyes.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as if trying to escape.
She leaned against the wall, a hand over her mouth, as the sentence replayed again and again:
I'm getting married.
She hated herself for saying it.
She hated herself for hurting.
She hated herself for hoping.
She told herself that Sion was nothing, that he had never been anything more than chaos, a wildfire, a sweet poison that burned everything it touched.
She told herself she needed to forget him.
She told herself she had a fiancé—a good man, a steady man—who wanted to marry her, who loved her, who offered her a simple life.
A life without pain.
Without temptation.
Without him.
But every sentence rang false, as if someone had changed the soundtrack of her life and she was now hearing lies she couldn't stop.
She dragged herself into the bathroom, turned on the light.
Her reflection hit her like a punch.
Her lips were swollen, bitten.
Her neck still bore the marks of his mouth.
Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained with dried tears.
Her skin kept the imprint of his hands, his caresses, his body.
She ran her fingers shakily over her own throat.
She closed her eyes.
The image returned instantly:
Sion leaning over her, his hands on her waist, his breath—hot and alcoholic—against her neck, his rough voice whispering against her skin like a confession he had never dared to say out loud.
She jolted back, as if touching herself awakened a memory that hurt too much.
— Stop… she whispered to no one, her voice breaking.
She tried to breathe.
To extinguish the fire still burning inside her.
To anchor herself in the present.
In reality.
But reality was also the ring.
She went back to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and took the ring in her hand. She turned it between her fingers. The light reflected on it like a cold blade.
A commitment.
A promise.
A mapped-out future.
She clenched her jaw.
Why can't I be happy?
Because her heart was somewhere else.
Because the place where she actually breathed was no longer in this simple life.
Because Sion had burned an imprint into her skin she could no longer erase.
Her tears fell onto the ring.
And she knew.
She knew she was going to suffer.
That he would destroy her.
That she would lose everything.
But she also knew she would never forget him.
Never.
She set the ring on the table.
Slowly.
As if she were placing a bomb.
Then she folded the sheets, gathered her things, and took a deep breath.
The world kept turning.
Her life kept moving.
But something inside her had died when that door slammed.
A small, silent death that warned of the storm to come.
The next day, she walked through her own life like a shadow.
Every gesture felt distant, blurred, as if there was a cold pane of glass between her and the world.
She ate breakfast without tasting anything, staring at the ring on the coffee table.
She replied to her fiancé's messages with vague, automatic phrases—yes, don't worry, we'll talk tonight… each one sounding like a lie she no longer had the strength to think.
Her phone vibrated several times throughout the day, and every time it buzzed, she felt her heart stop for one second—a stupid hope, an absurd reflex.
What if it was him…?
What if—
But no.
Always her fiancé.
Never Sion.
And that absence now hurt a thousand times more than before.
She tried going out.
To breathe in the icy early-winter air whipping through Seoul.
The streets were alive, loud, bright.
She wasn't.
At every corner, every storefront reflection, she thought she saw him—his shadow, his scent, his abrupt movements, his golden stare.
As if her mind were torturing her on purpose.
She nearly collapsed on the sidewalk several times.
She eventually returned home, heart heavy, hands freezing despite her gloves, mind exhausted from the constant inner war she had been fighting for days.
When she pushed the door open, she heard her fiancé singing in the bathroom.
Off-key.
Happy.
Loving.
Carefree.
His carefree joy hurt her—it was too sharp a contrast to the chaos inside her.
He came out in a towel, hair wet, a big smile on his face:
— Baby… where were you? I tried calling you at lunch!
She tried to smile, but her face trembled.
— Sorry. I needed air.
He kissed her forehead—gentle, tender, normal.
A normality that strangled her.
— Want me to make you dinner? I bought kimchi from your favorite place! he said proudly.
Nari nodded.
She wanted to cry.
Not from sadness.
Not from anger.
From shame.
She sat on a chair, watching him chop vegetables with adorable seriousness.
He talked about everything and nothing—his job, the match, weekend plans, the date they should choose to announce the engagement to his mother.
Nari felt like she was watching from a parallel world.
This man loves you.
He treats you well.
He doesn't hurt you.
He respects you.
You're going to marry him.
You should be happy.
But she felt…
nothing.
Or rather—she felt too much, but none of what she was supposed to feel.
Her breathing quickened, a wave of anxiety rising in her throat, a hard knot she couldn't swallow.
She stood up abruptly.
— I'm going to get some air… just a minute, she whispered.
— What? But… are you okay? You're shaking…
— I'm fine. I'll be right back.
She shut the door behind her.
The cold bit her face.
She leaned against the hallway wall, eyes closed, head tilted back, skin burning despite the icy air.
One minute.
One minute to breathe.
To survive.
To keep from collapsing on the kitchen floor in front of a man who didn't deserve this.
Her phone vibrated.
Again.
She jumped, pulled it out, hoping—
without admitting it.
fiancé: Do you want me to come get you?
She inhaled deeply.
Too long.
Way too long.
Why do I feel like I'm dying?
Why can't I breathe?
Why does it feel like everything is collapsing?
And then she realized.
Because she had spent the night in another man's arms.
Because that man lit an uncontrollable fire in her.
Because something had happened that night that wasn't sex, nor passion, nor even pain.
Something else.
A tenderness that broke her in half.
A vulnerability in him she had never seen.
A bond she refused to name, but that consumed her.
She fell to her knees in the hallway, hands over her mouth.
— Why am I doing this… why can't I forget him… why him…
Her tears slipped silently down her face.
Because even absent, even destructive, even forbidden…
Sion was everywhere.
In her mind.
In her body.
And now… in her heart.
She stayed like that for a long time—unable to move, unable to go back inside, unable to continue her life as if nothing had happened.
She was suspended between two worlds—
one safe, sweet, stable…
the other dangerous, burning, impossible.
And for the first time, she understood the pain she felt wasn't just longing.
It was the truth she didn't dare say out loud:
I think… I'm falling in love with Sion.
And I think it's going to destroy me.
The return to "normal life"
She tried on wedding dresses.
Smiled at her future mother-in-law.
Was congratulated by her fiancé's friends.
Prepared the invitations.
Tasted the wedding cake.
Simple tasks.
Ordinary rituals.
A "perfect" life.
One evening, her fiancé took her in his arms and rocked her gently, his heart full of sincere love.
— I'm so happy you're going to be my wife… really… you have no idea.
She closed her eyes, her throat tight.
She wanted to believe it.
She wanted to be that woman.
The one who chooses softness, stability, light.
It had been a month since he had disappeared again.
A month during which the last night they shared kept crashing back into her memory with the force of a tidal wave.
Sometimes, late at night, when her fiancé slept, she locked herself in the bathroom, stared at her own reflection and whispered:
— Forget him… forget him… forget him…
Sion's absence was physical.
In her skin.
In her bones.
In her breath.
She hated herself for it.
She despised herself for still being attached to a man who had broken her as much as he had awakened her.
Meanwhile…
Sion was drowning too.
On the other side of Seoul, in a hospital room where machines beeped like a countdown, Sion watched over his mother—grey-skinned, fragile-handed, her gaze lost in a fractured world.
Sometimes she called him by another name.
Sometimes she screamed that he was dead.
Sometimes she begged him not to leave her.
Sometimes she hit him, mistaking him for someone else.
And he stayed.
Still.
Silent.
Jaw clenched.
Heart crushed.
No matter the chaos screaming inside him, he didn't move.
He had learned since childhood to stay upright while the world collapsed.
But the second he stepped out of the clinic…
…it was her.
Always her.
Nari.
He thought of nothing else:
her skin,
her tears,
her warmth,
her voice,
the way she had whispered I'm getting married as if each syllable were a knife.
He saw her again in those sheets that night.
Broken.
Shaking.
Beautiful like a wound.
He saw himself too—drunk, fragile, vulnerable—collapsing into her arms like a drowning man clinging to his last breath.
Everything he had buried for years—longing, fear, pain—had surged back all at once.
And he had run.
Because feeling…
was forbidden.
He returned to alcohol.
To dark bars.
To bottles too strong.
To endless nights.
He drank to forget.
To sleep.
To stop thinking.
To stop feeling.
But nothing worked.
She was a burn that wouldn't heal.
He was sinking.
Fast.
Hard.
Uncontrolled.
Then one night…
Drunk out of his mind, rage in his stomach, jealousy in his veins…
He collapsed in his apartment.
Breaking everything.
Screaming.
Blood smeared on the walls.
Breath cut by pain and panic.
He thought of her through all of it.
Of her in another man's arms.
Of her saying vows to someone else.
Of her smiling at someone else.
It tore him apart.
Skinned him alive.
Devoured him.
He ended up on his knees in the middle of his wrecked living room, hands trembling, breath erratic:
— I can't let her go… I can't…
And he understood then, in a shattered whisper, in a burst of violent clarity:
I think I love her.
And I think it's going to destroy her.