A month passed.
It slipped by the way time always did when MK was exhausted—measured not in days, but in meetings, signatures, and nights spent staring at ceilings that felt too large without another presence beside her.
MK had resumed her role as CEO.
Only now, she didn't lead a company—she led M-Kent Entertainment Group.
Her name sat on documents with a finality that still startled her. The office that once felt borrowed now belonged to her, entirely. She had dismantled what remained of the old board and rebuilt it carefully, selecting only people she trusted—people who questioned her when needed and stood firm when she wavered. Even as sole owner, she knew better than to rule alone.
Power was heavy. Responsibility heavier.
Jesse had returned to the branch company as planned, though not without resistance. She'd called MK more times than MK cared to count, arguing, pleading, guilt-tripping—until MK finally agreed to transfer her back once things stabilized.
Rebecca had been promoted, her competence undeniable, her confidence growing daily. The news of her pregnancy had come quietly, almost shyly, and soon after, plans for maternity leave followed. Life, MK realized, kept moving for everyone else.
Everyone except her.
Because in all that time—
she hadn't heard a single word from Shriya.
At first, MK told herself it was space. People needed space after fights. After secrets. After pain.
Then days became weeks.
Weeks hardened into silence.
Calls went unanswered. Messages stayed unread. Even Peach and Leah—people who always knew where Shriya was, or at least how to find her—had nothing.
"She never talked about her family," Leah admitted one evening, uneasily twisting a glass in her hands.
Peach huffed. "Honestly? I thought she was an orphan or something."
MK's gaze snapped up—sharp, warning, dangerous.
Peach lifted her hands immediately. "—Bad joke. Sorry. What I mean is… we really don't know."
The truth settled heavily between them.
After a pause, Peach cleared her throat. "There is one place you could check."
MK looked up.
"That room upstairs," Peach continued. "The one she sometimes used. She was very clear—we weren't allowed in. Ever."
Leah nodded. "We tried once. Just curiosity. It was… empty. Mostly."
MK took the key without a word.
---
The room was smaller than she expected.
Not a hideout. Not a sanctuary.
Just a narrow bed, a desk, and walls that felt like they'd been built for solitude.
Then MK saw it.
The wall opposite the door was covered—entirely—with one photograph.
Her.
It was from a day she barely remembered. Sunlight. Laughter. A moment when the world hadn't been so sharp. In the picture, MK was laughing openly, head tilted back, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
She stared.
A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.
"She smiles at me here," MK murmured to herself.
Every time. Every night.
Her gaze softened, then faltered.
Why wasn't this in her apartment?
The thought stung more than she expected.
Maybe she hadn't wanted MK to feel watched. Maybe she'd been afraid it would seem obsessive.
MK exhaled shakily.
It's not weird, she thought. It's… kind of perfect.
She moved to the desk, fingers brushing over the few personal items left behind. There wasn't much. Shriya never left traces. Just a single photograph of a man in military uniform—hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid, expression unreadable.
No note. No name.
MK set it aside gently.
She searched the drawers. The bed. The corners.
Nothing.
Disappointment pressed into her chest as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. Whatever she'd hoped to find—answers, clues, reassurance—it wasn't here.
She stood to leave.
Then something caught her eye.
A glint. Small. Almost invisible.
MK froze.
Slowly, as if afraid the moment might vanish, she crouched down and crawled toward the corner near the dustbin.
There—on the floor.
A ring.
Her breath left her in a single, broken exhale.
Her hands trembled as she picked it up.
She had never seen the ring before. She'd only known the box— MK carried it everywhere, as though the promise mattered more than the object itself.
MK pulled the box from her bag with shaking fingers.
She placed the ring inside.
It fit.
Perfectly.
Her heart skipped, then stuttered.
That doesn't prove anything, her mind whispered cruelly. Any ring can fit any box.
But MK couldn't accept that—not without knowing.
She ran downstairs, her movements frantic now, raw. She stopped the first woman she saw.
"Can I—can I borrow your ring for a second?" MK asked, breathless.
Confused, the woman complied.
The ring didn't fit. Too large.
MK tried again. And again.
Each time—something was wrong.
Only this ring belonged in that box.
The truth hit her slowly, devastating in its clarity.
Shriya had taken the ring with her when she left.And she had left it here.
MK's chest tightened painfully.
Why?
Had Shriya been unsure? Had she been afraid? Or worse—had she decided MK no longer deserved it?
A month of silence suddenly felt unbearable.
"No," MK whispered, standing abruptly. "No, no—I'm not accepting this."
She pressed the box to her chest like it could anchor her.
She had searched for this ring like it was her last hope.
And now that she'd found it, the fear was worse.
Because if Shriya had left it behind…
then maybe she had already decided to leave for good.
MK swallowed hard, tears burning but refusing to fall.
"I'll find you," she said softly to the empty room.
"I don't care where you're hiding. I don't care what it costs."
Her voice broke.
"I want you. I miss you. And I'm not done fighting for us."
Losing the company had hurt.
But losing Shriya?
That was the pain she didn't know how to survive.