Old photos of Rebecca Armstrong and Freen Sarocha were pinned to the wall. Beneath them sat a pile of brownish, brittle papers on a wooden table beside an antique typewriter. A quill, still dipped in a nearly dried ink bottle, rested beside it. Against the far wall stood a dusty white piano, a phonograph nearby, and a fireplace clogged with dry leaves and crumpled scraps of forgotten trash.
The room, a once-beautiful French-style chamber, had long since succumbed to decay. Dry leaves blanketed the floor, cobwebs clung to every corner, and thick roots had pushed through the walls, as if nature itself was reclaiming the space. Tall grass surrounded the broken frame of a king-size bed, its mattress sagging.
On a filthy carpet near the fireplace lay a young man, his head cushioned on his right arm, his body turned toward the hearth, legs curled. In his left hand, he held an old journal, smiling softly as he read. He wore a white polo and matching trousers, with only slippers on his feet. He was deeply engrossed in the pages when a sudden phone call pulled him back to the present.
"Hello," he answered.
"Yes... I'm coming." He ended the call, brushing leaves and dust off his clothes. Slipping his phone into his right pocket, he walked to the door, but paused. He grabbed a straw hat hanging on the rack and placed it gently on his head. Then, he pulled the glasses from his chest and slid them on. A faint smile flickered on his face before he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
After hours of back-to-back interviews, photoshoots, and relentless meetings for her upcoming projects, Freen collapsed onto her hotel bed in Seoul, lying on her stomach. Her arms were sprawled above her head, her feet still hanging over the edge—Prada high heels still on.
She groaned into the pillow, curling up as she hugged herself. Rebecca hadn't left her mind all day, especially after her talk with Saint that morning.
Jetlag still lingered. She and her team had barely rested since landing, thanks to her impulsive trip to Saint's office that morning, stealing time that should've gone to sleep.
Now in Korea for a brand endorsement meeting that turned into yet another surprise photoshoot and interview, Freen was mentally and physically drained. She checked the time: 8:56 PM. Nearly twelve hours of nonstop work. The only break she had was the travel time in between. She had skipped dinner with the client—too exhausted to pretend anymore.
She had just wrapped up her Whisper album mall tours yesterday, and the fatigue showed.
Freen reached for her Chanel bag, pulling out her phone. Notifications flooded the screen—texts, tags, unread messages—but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not tonight. She was too tired, too empty.
Her eyes fluttered shut, the phone loosely held in her hand—until it buzzed.
Startled, she jolted, accidentally tapping the screen. And then she heard her voice.
"Whoa... Let's go to the beach!!!"
Becky's youthful laughter rang out, her face shining on the screen, wind in her hair as she filmed herself in a Lexus LC500 convertible.
"Hey, stop! We might get into an accident."
Freen's voice followed, not on camera, but unmistakably hers.
Becky turned the camera to a focused Freen, her brows furrowed as she drove.
"Aww, my daddy's angry," Becky teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.
"Hey, guys, look! Freen's angry! She's so cute when she's grumpy. That's my daddy. Freen is daddy, right?"
"Stop it," Freen warned, now clearly irritated.
"Delete it. Please tell me you deleted it," Freen said again, her voice sharper.
"Mmm... I'm gonna post it," Becky giggled, the screen going back to her laughing.
Freen stared at the screen, stunned. She didn't know Jim still had that video. It was the deleted clip from the last time she and Becky were truly together—the one Becky accidentally posted on Freen's account before management had it removed within minutes.
It was that day... the day Freen walked out of a press conference with Blew for their movie. The day she impulsively took her newly bought car just to bring Becky to the beach after months of neglecting her. Becky had begged her to go—begged her to just be there.
At the time, Freen's career was peaking. Blew had gone public with their relationship. Becky, still a minor and just starting out in the industry, became a risky topic. The media was cruel. Freen had pulled away to protect her—even when it broke her own heart.
Her phone buzzed again. Jim was calling.
Freen didn't answer. She knew Jim, one of her closest friends, would only tease her about her upcoming film with Becky. She regretted ever telling her about it. But Jim, persistent as ever, started a video call.
Freen sighed and answered. "What?"
"Did you get the video I sent you?" Jim grinned mischievously.
"What video?" Freen feigned ignorance.
"Don't act like you didn't see it—it's marked as seen," Jim exposed her with a laugh.
"Why do you still have that? It was deleted for a reason."
"It was cute! And I know you like it too. Right, Daddy?" Jim smirked.
"Stop it, Jim. You're annoying."
"YES, Daddy!" voices echoed in unison as the rest of their friend group joined in the call. Freen groaned, covering her face in embarrassment.
"You're all unbelievable," she muttered. On-screen, her so-called "traitor friends" were clearly drinking—and clearly making her the topic.
"We're just celebrating the upcoming FreenBecky reunion!" Jim teased.
"At least this time, you're not paying for her photogra—"
"YAHHH, Tee, you're drunk! Stop talking nonsense!" Freen quickly cut Tee off with a laugh.
"Now I really want to know what she was about to say," Kade raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, spill the tea," Jim joined in.
"Tell us, Tee. What photograph?" Kade pressed, while Tee stared daggers at Freen through the screen.
"No," Freen said firmly.
"Okay, okay," Jim relented, knowing the topic was too sensitive.
"But at least let us celebrate Becky's comeback in your life," Jim added.
"Whatever," Freen mumbled, trying to hide a blush.
"We should visit her sometime. Did they move back into the old house?" Tee asked.
"Yeah," Freen replied absently.
"Huh?" Kade blinked. "You mean they're back?"
"I mean... yes. They're back home."
"YAAHH!" everyone screamed in excitement.
"You went to see her?" Tee asked, hopeful.
"Saint did."
Their energy slumped.
"What's wrong with you? You always used to go when they weren't there. Now they're back and you won't even show up?" Tee scolded.
"She hates me," Freen said quietly.
"Then tell her the truth," Tee suggested.
"She won't believe me," Freen sighed. "It's better this way."
Silence fell.
Then Freen's phone buzzed again. An unregistered number flashed on her screen.
Her brows furrowed.
"Is that Saint?" Jim asked.
"No," she replied honestly.
"You and Blew back together?" Kade pushed.
"No! I'm not doing that again," Freen snapped, annoyed.
"Okay, okay—who is it, then?" Tee asked.
"I don't know. Probably a stalker." Freen laughed it off, ignoring the call.
But it rang again. Same number.
"I think you should answer," Tee said. "Might be important."
"Alright, I'll put you all back on the laptop." Freen finally gave in. She missed them. Missed being part of their chaotic little circle. She wanted to make up for all the time she'd been too busy or too distant.
Despite her fame—the highest-paid actress in her country, now slowly rising internationally—Freen never saw herself above them. Even as the heiress to the entertainment company that had betrayed her family, she stayed humble. But inside, she was still fighting to reclaim what was stolen from her parents, what was stolen from her as a child and as a girl.
They all took advantage of her...
And now, she was slowly, carefully, taking it back.
"We'll wait for you here when you get back, bye, Freen!" Kade said, then ended the call.
Freen pulled her laptop out from her bag and set it up. She opened her messenger and accepted the incoming video call.
"Who was that?" Kade immediately asked as soon as the call connected.
"Hasn't called yet. It's probably just a prank," Freen replied, sounding uninterested and bored.
"Put it on speaker, then, so we can hear," Jim suggested.
"Yeah, good idea! Let's prank them back. It'll be so much fun!" Tee and Kade said excitedly.
Just then, her phone buzzed again. Freen hesitated, unsure whether to answer. But seeing her friends' eager faces on the screen, she finally decided to pick it up.
"Mr. Saint, I'm ready to start the workshop with Freen," came the voice on the other end.
Freen froze, unable to move at the sound of the caller's voice. She looked at her friends on the screen, her face a mix of shock and confusion, making the three of them glance at each other in confusion.
She realized they couldn't hear Becky's voice because she hadn't put it on speaker, still too stunned to do so.
Freen was breathing heavily, overwhelmed by a wave of emotions as she just stared at her phone. The call was still going, indicated by the timer on the screen.
"Hello?" Becky's voice came again.
Freen quickly grabbed her phone, standing up in a daze, but in her clumsiness, she stubbed her baby toe against the bed frame. She gasped in pain and accidentally let her phone slip under the center table. Wincing, she crawled to retrieve it and put it to her ear, still feeling the sharp pain in her toe.
"H-hello?" she managed to say, voice trembling from the pain.
"Becky?" she tried again, making sure Becky was still there. Then, she heard a sudden thud, like something had fallen. Freen wasn't sure if it was the phone or something else.
"Hello? Are you okay? What happened?" Freen asked, now in full panic.
She could hear Becky cursing on the other side and groaning. Freen's heart raced as she worried about what was happening on the other end.
"Hello?" Freen repeated.
"I'm sorry, it's a wrong number," Becky said, before abruptly ending the call, leaving Freen completely dumbfounded.
Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. She collapsed back onto her bed, tossing her phone aside, and buried her face in a pillow, groaning in frustration.
"Hey, what happened? Who was that?" Tee asked from the screen.
Freen sat up, crossing her legs Indian-style on the bed, looking stressed and overwhelmed.
"Freen?" Jim and Kade asked, concerned.
"It's a ghost," Freen muttered absentmindedly.
"Huh?" they all replied in confusion.
Freen grabbed her phone from the bed and dialed a number without saying a word.
Her three friends watched in confusion, still sipping their drinks.
"What's going on, Freen?" Tee asked, but Freen ignored her.
"Hello?" came a voice on the other end.
"I want to talk to you tomorrow when I get back to my unit," Freen said with a hint of frustration.
"Yes, I'm coming," Saint replied.
Freen ended the call quickly, then her phone buzzed again. She answered, her expression turning blank.
"Where have you been? Why did you leave our client at dinner? You're really worthless. After I took you in and adopted you, this is how you repay me? It's because of me that you're living a decent life now. Remember that, and stamp it into your brain," the old man scolded on the other side.
Tears welled up in Freen's eyes, but she fought to keep them back. She had to stay strong; it was just a little longer, and she'd finally be free from this nightmare.
With forced composure, Freen managed to respond respectfully, but she didn't let her friends hear the conversation. When it was finally over, she hung up, feeling completely drained.
She looked at the screen again and saw her friends staring at her, their concern palpable. Without hesitation, she ended the call and buried her face in the pillow once more.
"Ughhhhm!" she groaned loudly into the pillow, overwhelmed by everything.