Sherina's POV
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"Sherina, right?"
I lifted my gaze to see the man standing in front of me, his smile easy, confident.
He looked young, maybe the same age as Leon.
"Yes?" I answered, putting on my polite facade of a smile.
"Name's Prince Smith! Would you like to join us? Our new classmates are having a karaoke night. It's the perfect chance for everyone to meet. Everything's free, by the way."
He grinned wider, gesturing toward the others inside the room. A handful of faces turned toward me, waiting, all of them smiling as if my answer mattered.
This was only my second day at the university. The last time I saw Leon was the night he slept at my place. We hadn't even exchanged numbers. He must be busy, drowning in work again.
"Okay," I said at last, sighing softly before gripping the handle of my bag and forcing another smile. But deep down, unease lingered.
Will they judge me if they find out I'm just a low class among them?
The neon glow of the karaoke sign flickered against the wet pavement as we stepped inside, laughter and music spilling out to greet us. The private room was large, lined with plush leather seats and filled with trays of food and glittering bottles of alcohol. My classmates seemed so at ease here, their laughter loud, their wallets heavy, their lives untouched by the kind of worries that keep people like me awake at night.
Inside the karaoke lounge, I noticed how Prince kept stealing glances at me. His presence was warm, almost too friendly, but it only made me feel more out of place.
Everything was free, of course. Maybe this was their way of measuring each other's wealth. Well, it didn't matter to me.
"So, Sherina—do you have a boyfriend?" Lena leaned closer with a mug of beer in hand. Mikee, holding the microphone, eyed me curiously while humming into the mic.
"Err… none," I replied, shifting uncomfortably. How could I tell them I am older than most of them here?
"Why!? You look so hella gorgeous!" Mikee shouted into the microphone. Everyone flinched at the sudden burst of noise, hands clapping over their ears.
"Argh! Mikee, don't shout on the mic!" Kevin scolded, lunging to snatch it away, but Mikee darted around the room laughing.
"Stop it, guys. Sherina's getting uncomfy."
Prince's voice came from beside me. His voice was warm, protective even, and when I looked at him, his chin resting lazily on his hand, watching me with that same bright smile.
I offered him a small smile back. He slid a glass of beer toward me.
"If you need something, don't hesitate to tell me." He leaned his glass toward mine in a quiet toast.
"Thanks," I murmured, clinking lightly before taking a sip.
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The night dragged on in a blur of songs and laughter. When it ended, the others left one by one, their sleek black cars waiting outside, butlers opening doors with practiced grace. Prince lingered, insisting to drop me home.
"At least let me drop you off."
I lied, smiling politely. "I'm meeting someone at a café nearby."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But… message me when you get home, okay? I'll feel better knowing you're safe."
We exchanged numbers, and I agreed to his request with another polite smile.
Outside, the cool night air felt like a relief. My feet carried me down the street, closer to the bistro where my shift was waiting.
But my phone weighed heavy in my hand. I stared at its dark screen for a moment, the emptiness inside it reflecting something in me.
Leon,
Leon's face flickered in my mind—his quiet smirk, the way he stood too close when he whispered, the warmth of his presence in my small apartment.
I hadn't asked for his number. I didn't know if he was eating, if he was resting, if he was simply burning himself out again at work.
And the worst part?
I didn't know why I cared so much.
I hugged my bag tighter against me, lowering my head as I walked past the glowing signs of the bistro. My shift was waiting. Real life was waiting. But in the space between my heartbeats, Leon's name kept echoing, soft and uninvited.
Why him? Why now? Why me?
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End of POV
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Kang Minho's POV
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"She didn't come home."
Leon's low murmur drifted across the room as I stepped closer, a mug of fresh coffee in hand.
His chair was turned toward the glass wall, the city lights spilling in like scattered jewels across the penthouse floor. He sat slouched, a lollipop tucked at the corner of his mouth, shoulders heavy as though the world itself had draped over him.
I set the mug carefully on his desk, my eyes flicking briefly toward him before I spoke.
"Ms. Sze is already at the bistro, working. She's safe. Perhaps she had business after class—that must be why she didn't come home."
His voice came again, quiet, but not quiet enough for me to miss.
"Seems like she didn't even care to miss me."
It was sulking, but beneath it lingered a weight I'd come to recognize—restless longing mixed with an ache he refused to admit.
My gaze fell upon the surface of his desk. Almost bare. Only the mug I'd brought… and that small folded note from Ms. Sze, left days ago.
He still hadn't gone to see her.
"Would you like me to ask John for Ms. Sze's report for today?" I asked gently, choosing my words with care, as though soothing a restless lion.
Leon raised one hand lazily, his eyes never leaving the window. His fingers moved in a faint, dismissive wave.
"No. Let her breathe."
The flatness of his tone didn't fool me.
It wasn't detachment—it was restraint.
I lowered my head slightly and closed my eyes in silent understanding. "Yes, sir."
And so, I stood there for a moment longer, watching him—his reflection in the glass, the lollipop stick shifting slightly as he breathed, the city glowing far below us—
while he drowned quietly in the absence of the one person he wanted near.
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End of POV
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Sherina's POV
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The day had passed again without Leon's presence.
I was starting to get used to it—days without him. Yet even when he wasn't there, my thoughts stubbornly lingered on him, like a shadow I couldn't shake
I sighed, gathered my things, and slung my bag over my shoulder.
"Hey."
The voice made me pause.
Prince was leaning lazily against the desk beside mine, arms folded, his boyish grin softening the sharp lines of his face. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes carried a spark of intent—an energy that made it impossible not to notice him.
"Wanna grab some coffee while we work on the report?"
The reminder tugged at my memory. Our report. Right. I had nearly forgotten.
I smiled. "Sure."
His convertible purred to life as we drove to a café that looked too refined for students. The building glowed with warm lights that spilled onto the pavement. Inside, crystal chandeliers hung like frozen rain, and polished wood tables reflected the soft glow of candles.
The waiter bowed slightly as he guided us to our seats. Prince sat across from me, and even as the waiter spoke, he didn't take his eyes off me—as though the whole place could vanish and he'd still be staring just the same.
"What would you like, Sherina?" His voice carried a kind of warmth that made people lower their guard.
"Caramel frappe, please."
"Make that two," he said smoothly, handing the menu back, "and your best desserts."
When the waiter left, Prince leaned forward. "So… you don't drink coffee?"
I shook my head with a small giggle. "I love cafés, but… not the coffee."
His brows lifted in amused surprise. "Oh? Then what do you like in cafés?"
"The desserts. And the sweet drinks," I confessed with a smile.
He laughed—low and genuine—and for a moment, the café seemed to hum with that sound.
The waiter soon returned, silver tray balanced with frosted drinks and desserts that looked more like art than food. We opened our notebooks and scribbled away. Between pages of notes and shared laughter, I found the work surprisingly easy. An hour melted before I even noticed.
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When we finished, Prince insisted on driving me home. This time, I let him.
"By the way," he said casually, hands loose on the steering wheel, "my birthday is next week."
I turned to him, surprised. "Oh, that's great, happy—"
"I'm throwing a party. At one of our hotels near campus. You're invited." His interruption was smooth, deliberate, as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
I hesitated. "I don't think I can. I don't have clothes for that… and I might be busy."
He slowed the car near the narrow alley that led to my apartment, turning to me with a soft plea. "Please. It'll be the best gift if you come. Most of our classmates will be there. We're all looking forward to it."
Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a card. The name on it belonged to a stylist. "Don't worry. I'll have a dress prepared for you. Just… be there."
Something in his tone made refusal impossible. I smiled gently. "Okay."
"Good." His grin widened as I stepped out of the car. "Good night, Sherina."
"Good night."
I waited for his car to disappear down the street before glancing at the card in my hand. My sigh came unbidden.
I watched his car roll away before glancing down at the card again. The white paper seemed too bright under the dim streetlight, sharp against my palm. I sighed, tucking it into my bag as I turned into the narrow alley.
But halfway down the path, I froze.
Someone was there.
A tall silhouette leaned against the brick wall near my apartment door, half-swallowed by the shadows. The dim light from the streetlamp caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the dark fall of his hair, the rigid set of his shoulders. A plastic bag dangled loosely from his hand, while his other hand was buried deep in his pocket.
My heart stumbled in my chest. "Leon?"
He lifted his head slowly, eyes finding mine.
It was him.
Even from a distance, I could feel the heaviness in him—like the night itself clung to his figure, unwilling to let go.
"Hey…" His voice was quiet, low, and cold enough to make the word cut through the silence between us.
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As soon as we stepped inside my apartment, I tossed my bag carelessly onto the bed and carried the plastic bag Leon had given me to the desk. The smell of rich spices wafted out immediately, too luxurious for this small space, proof that it had come from one of those high-end restaurants he seemed to frequent without effort.
Behind me, I heard the faint sound of shoes being slipped off, the dull thud as they landed neatly by the door. Then the floor creaked slightly, each step measured, until I felt his presence at my back.
"Who was that?" His voice was low, clipped—too casual to be casual.
I turned, meeting his eyes. His face was unreadable, blank but edged with coldness.
"A classmate. We had a report to finish, and he insisted on dropping me home," I said simply, my tone brisk, trying not to let his stare press into me. I turned away, busying myself with setting out chopsticks and tissues, as though the movement could shield me from his scrutiny.
"Come, sit. Let's eat."
He obeyed without a word, slipping into the seat across from me. His silence felt heavier than the food between us.
"What did you guys talk about?" he asked eventually, reaching for a plump piece of shrimp with his chopsticks.
"Just the class report," I replied, eyes on my plate.
His gaze didn't waver. "And the card?"
My hand froze. So, he had seen it. There was no use pretending.
"It's… Prince's birthday next week," I said quickly, trying to sound unaffected. "He invited me to his party. Said it'll be with our classmates. That's all." I popped a piece of meat into my mouth to seal the explanation.
His eyes stayed on me, sharp, weighing every syllable.
"Are you going?" he asked, voice flat, unreadable.
"Of course," I answered, forcing myself to meet his stare this time.
Silence followed—thick, stretching, filled only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the clink of chopsticks against porcelain. He didn't argue. He didn't nod. He just… looked at me, as if searching for something I wasn't sure I wanted him to find.
Finally, he broke it. "Do you have work tonight?"
"No. Why?"
"Can I sleep here again?" he asked, tone direct, almost careless.
I straightened slightly, caught off guard. "Nope."
For a moment, the air froze. He didn't protest, didn't push, only let out a quiet sigh as he set his chopsticks down and leaned back in the chair. His eyes lowered, his expression unreadable—but his silence was louder than words.
Then something brushed against my leg. I jolted. His foot. Smoothly, deliberately, it lingered against my calf, sliding in a teasing stroke that sent an unwelcome flush up my face.
"Don't you… even miss me?" he murmured, his pout subtle but unmistakable, boyish yet weighted with something deeper. His gaze, once cold, now glimmered with sulking mischief.
I exhaled, flustered, reaching for my water to mask the heat crawling up my cheeks. The glass trembled faintly in my grip.
"Fine," I muttered after a pause, defeated by his persistence. "You can stay."
His lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, his sulk lifting ever so slightly, as though he had gotten exactly what he wanted.