One year later
"Mirae Cosmetics opens its first flagship store in New York, America."
The headline flashed boldly across the television screen, bright and celebratory.
"The head of Mirae Cosmetics, Kim Suho, announced in yesterday's press release that the brand, one of South Korea's leading cosmetic companies, is officially entering the international market," the news anchor continued, voice polished and proud.
"Netizens praise Kim Suho as one of the greatest young businessmen of this generation, applauding him for making the country proud by building Mirae into a global name in such a short span of time, despite the hardships and personal challenges he has faced—"
The television went black.
Bora lowered the remote slowly, her expression unreadable. She did not wait to hear the rest. She picked up a neatly arranged tray and walked down the hallway toward the private gym, her steps quiet, practiced.
She knocked once.
"Come in." The voice that answered was deep, firm, and carried authority but lacked warmth.
Bora entered.
"Your morning diet, sir," she said softly, placing the tray on the side table. She bowed slightly and turned to leave without lingering.
Suho did not look at her.
He was still running on the treadmill, pace relentless. Sweat rolled down his temples, dampening his hair until dark strands clung to his forehead. His tank top was soaked through, outlining a broad chest and powerful shoulders, muscles flexing with every stride. His body looked carved from discipline and exhaustion.
His face glowed with health.
His eyes did not.
After a few moments, he slowed, then stopped. He grabbed the towel, wiping his face and neck, breathing steady, controlled. He picked up the protein shake, drank it in long gulps, then finished the rest of the meal without pause.
Routine. Precision. No space for thought. He headed to the bedroom, and within thirty minutes, he was dressed, composed, and ready to leave.
As he reached for his car keys, a cheerful voice broke the quiet.
"Hey, baby!"
Suho turned. Yerin stood near the doorway, dressed neatly, her smile bright and hopeful. Recognition crossed his face, and he offered her a small, polite smile. It did not reach his eyes.
"What are you doing here so early?" he asked.
"I just wanted to see you," she replied lightly. "And have breakfast together."
He exhaled slowly. "I'm already done," he said. "I'm heading to the office."
He glanced toward the kitchen. "Bora, serve Yerin breakfast."
With that, he picked up his things.
Yerin's smile faltered. "At least stay with me until I eat something," she said, trying to sound casual, though disappointment crept into her voice.
"I'm sorry, Yerin," he replied, already moving toward the door. "I'm running late. There are important things to handle today."
Before she could respond, the door closed behind him.
Yerin stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space he left behind. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. Something about this morning felt wrong. Lately, everything did.
She sat at the dining table as Bora placed the breakfast tray in front of her without a word and turned to leave.
"Bora," Yerin called, irritation slipping through. "How many times do I have to tell you not to add chili oil to my food? Don't you know I'm intolerant to spicy things?"
Bora stopped and turned back. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said calmly. "I forgot."
Yerin frowned. "Every time you say the same thing. Where is your attention these days?" She paused, then added sharply, "Do you even serve the same food to Suho?"
Bora remained silent for a brief moment. "Yes, ma'am," she replied at last. "Because sir asks me to cook his food spicy. Especially ramen."
Her voice was quiet, almost distant. She bowed slightly and walked away.
Yerin watched her go, unsettled. After a moment, she looked down at her plate, then reached for the sweet sauce, adding it carefully before taking a bite.
The house was calm. Too calm. And somewhere within its polished walls, something unspoken continued to ache.
...
That night, Suho returned to the penthouse late.
Almost ten.
The house greeted him with silence polished to perfection. He loosened his tie the moment he stepped in, the knot falling apart like his restraint, and dropped onto the couch with a tired exhale. His body sank into the cushions, exhaustion clinging to him heavier than the tailored suit on his shoulders.
Then came the sound of dishes. A faint clink from the kitchen.
He glanced at his watch and spoke without lifting his head. "I had dinner on the way, Bora. No need to cook for me."
Footsteps answered instead. "Suho…"
He looked up. Yerin stood there, framed by the soft kitchen lights, holding a bowl carefully in her hands. "I prepared your favorite ramen," she said, trying to smile. "Sweet and sour. And you're saying you already ate?"
Suho scanned her face for a few seconds, eyes just distant.
"What are you doing here, Yerin?" he asked quietly. "It's late. You should be at your home."
The words sounded like concern, but the warmth that once wrapped them was missing.
She walked closer and sat beside him on the couch. "Why are you acting as if we've never spent nights together?" she asked softly. "Hmm?"
He looked at her. Then away.
Yerin reached out, cupping his face, gently forcing him to look at her. Her fingers trembled. Her eyes shimmered with something unspoken, heavy. "Why are you acting like this, Suho?" Her voice cracked. "It's been a year. I've been trying… trying to build us back."
Her thumb brushed his cheek, slow, familiar. "I'm trying to make you feel loved, but you don't even respond. Not even with words. Every time I come here, you disappear in the name of work." Her breath shook. "Why are you running from me, Suho?"
Silence.
"We loved each other for nine years, Baby," she whispered, tears threatening to fall. "And now you look at me like I'm a stranger. Like you never loved me at all."
His eyes stayed empty. But his heart ached. Not for her. But for someone else.
He looked away again, blinking repeatedly, jaw tightening as if holding himself together by sheer will.
Yerin slid her hands down to his, lacing her fingers with his, caressing them slowly. "I know I made a mistake," she said, voice softer now. "Leaving you during the hardest time of your life… I regret it every day." She swallowed. "But now? Now I'm here. I'm trying everything I can. And it's been a year, Suho."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And I can't even see a glimpse of my Suho anymore."
She leaned closer. "Why are you acting like this, baby? Please… give our relationship another chance. I promise you. This time, I'll never leave your side. No matter what."
He said nothing. Just stared at the floor, listening.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then, abruptly, he stood up. "It's late," he said, voice-controlled. "You should rest. Sleep in my room. I'll sleep in the guest room."
"Good night." He didn't even wait, just walked away without looking back.
Yerin sat there, unmoving, watching his retreating figure disappear. Her eyes burned as tears finally formed. Her chest tightened with disappointment so sharp it hurt to breathe.
She stayed there, staring at the space he had left behind.
...
It was past midnight. Around 1:30 a.m.
Suho stepped out of the guest room, hair messy, eyes tired. He walked to the kitchen, drank water straight from the glass, then grabbed a couple of bottles to take back with him.
As he turned to walk back to the room—
He froze. His eyes landed on the locked room nearby and stopped in front of the door.
The air shifted. His heart raced violently, pain clawing its way back to the surface. His breath grew uneven, chest tightening as memories surged without permission.
"Teddy…"
"Mention not, husband…"
"I love you, teddy bear."
A hot tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
Then a hand touched his shoulder. He flinched, pulled back into the present, and quickly wiped his face.
"What happened, baby?" Yerin asked, concern written all over her face.
"Nothing," he replied immediately, voice firm. "Just came for some water."
He turned away. "Good night."
And escaped again, footsteps hurried, retreating into the darkness of the house.
Yerin stood there, watching him disappear.
Then her gaze shifted back to the closed, locked door. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides.
But she controlled herself. And the house returned to silence, heavy with everything that remained unsaid.