When he returned from campus, Luca stopped outside the 12-story apartment building, staring up at the window on the eightfloor—the place they had shared for the last three months. Seo-in was in there. Waiting. Probably humming faintly as she folded laundry or watered the small basil plant she liked so much.
His throat tightened.
He rubbed his eyes hard, but they only grew redder. Get it together. He slapped both cheeks, the sting sharp enough to ground him. He couldn't let Seo-in lose her family because of him. She had a home—a real one. A father who loved her in his own cold, rigid way. A future he could never give her no matter how many jobs he worked.
No matter how much he loved her.
Luca finally stepped inside the building and took the elevator. Each floor passing was a countdown he wasn't ready for. His stomach churned, his mind cycling through awful ideas of how he could possibly make her hate him. None of them felt doable. None of them felt survivable.
The elevator chimed at the eighth floor.
His feet carried him down the hallway automatically, though every step felt heavier, like his body was trying to keep him from reaching the door.
This was the beginning of the end.
He opened the apartment door, pretending everything was normal—pretending he only needed to grab a change of clothes for a quick trip to Stuttgart. A meeting with my professor, he'd said, like it was nothing. Like it wasn't a coward's way of saying goodbye.
Seo-in believed him instantly, her trusting eyes softening as she walked to him. And when he pulled her into a hug, his ribs felt like they were being crushed. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing her in—warm, familiar, sweet. The thought that this might be the last time nearly broke him right there.
She hugged him back just as tightly, her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed against his neck. Her breath warmed his skin. God, how could he ever hurt someone who held him like this?
When she pulled away, her gaze met his—open, gentle, unguarded. She didn't doubt him. Not even a little.
He forced a smile he didn't feel and hoped she wouldn't notice his hands shaking.
Then he turned away before he lost the nerve.
The door clicked shut behind him.
A soft sound—yet it felt like a gunshot.
***
That night, Luca stayed at a cheap guesthouse, intending to leave for Stuttgart the next day after tomorrow morning.
But on the day of his departure to Stuttgart, before he even made it to the platform, his phone buzzed with a call from Aileen Harrison.
He stared at her name on the screen, a flicker of annoyance surfacing despite how numb he felt. Her voice came sharp and direct the moment he answered.
"Rousseau, I need you in Berlin. Today. It's about the methodology you submitted."
No greeting. No explanation. Just urgency wrapped in arrogance.
He should've ignored her.
He almost did.
But avoiding home meant taking any excuse to stay away.
So he turned around and boarded the next train to Berlin.
By the time Luca stepped off the train, exhaustion dragged at every part of him. His shoulders felt heavy, his mind fogged from a night of almost no sleep. His eyes were swollen from holding back tears, and his hair looked slightly disheveled as if he'd been running his fingers through it nonstop.
He scanned the station until he spotted her—leaning against a column near the exit, coffee in one hand, scrolling her phone with the other.
Aileen's eyes flicked up the moment she saw him. Her gaze swept over his face—lingering on the redness around his eyes, the way his hair stuck out unevenly, the pale, worn-out look that made him seem almost sick.
She smirked.
"Wow. You look like hell."
Luca exhaled, too drained to be irritated.
"Rough night."
Aileen took a slow sip of her coffee, unapologetically scrutinizing him before jerking her chin toward an empty bench.
"Sit. We'll talk here. My time's limited."
He followed her, dropping onto the bench with a weary slump. Her perfume drifted toward him—soft, expensive, disorienting. He forced himself to ignore it.
Aileen crossed one leg over the other, posture confident, predatory.
"So," she said, eyes narrowing, "you have something I want."
His jaw tightened.
"That depends."
"On what?" Her eyebrow arched, tone flat and challenging.
"On whether you have anything I want."
Annoyance flickered over her expression before settling into a crooked smirk.
"Cute. Don't get cocky."
She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, giving him a view of her deliberately low neckline. Luca looked away, irritation spiking.
"I'm not in the mood, Aileen. Just tell me what you want."
She studied him for a moment, then finally reached into her bag and pulled out a folder.
His folder.
His methodology notes.
"This," she said plainly. "Your method is cleaner than mine. I need it."
No please.
No negotiation.
Just an entitled demand.
Before he could respond, she tossed the folder onto the bench between them, like bait.
"And I know you didn't come here just for this project."
Luca stared at her, a dull pulse of anger pushing through the exhaustion.
"What are you talking about?"
Aileen tapped her nail against the folder.
"People don't look like that—" she gestured dismissively at his face, at the bruises, the sleeplessness "—unless they're running from something. Or someone."
Her eyes glinted with accusation.
"Which is why I'm going to need more than just your method."
A pause.
"I want your application sample too."
Luca's hands curled into fists.
This wasn't about collaboration anymore.
This was theft—dressed up as confidence.
And he was too tired, too broken from leaving Seo-in, to hide the anger rising in his chest.
Luca scoffed before he could stop himself.
"And why should I just hand it over?"
Aileen's smile sharpened—predatory, self-satisfied.
"Because I know you didn't come here just for this project."
She tapped the file against her palm, once, like she was testing his patience, then tossed it onto the bench between them like a piece of bait.
"You look like someone running from something … or someone."
And damn if that didn't hit too close to home.
Luca's shoulders tensed—barely—but enough for her to notice. Anger flickered in his chest, hot and raw. He forced his voice to stay flat, steady.
"And what makes you think that?"
It wasn't an admission.
But she'd touched a nerve—and of course, she smirked at that.
"Please," Aileen drawled, crossing her long legs with practiced elegance.
"You think I don't pay attention? You've been walking around campus looking like a kicked puppy since the first semester."
Luca stiffened.
So she had heard the rumors.
About the girl he'd almost dated in high school. About the long-distance "almost relationship" that fell apart when she returned to her home country. Everyone had assumed she dumped him.
And Aileen loved assumptions.
She examined her nails—perfectly glossy with intricate nail art—and added:
"Professor Andy must've asked you to help me, right? So why didn't you do what he asked?"
Luca gritted his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache.
The mention of their professor made his hand curl around the edge of the bench—a small, involuntary tell he hated.
She knows nothing, he told himself.
Nothing about now. Nothing about Seo-in.
But that didn't stop irritation from simmering under his skin.
"It's none of your business."
His voice came out clipped, strained.
Aileen didn't even flinch. Her smirk only deepened.
"Oh, I think it is my business—since you're supposed to help me, but instead you're moping around over some girl."
That one hit like a cheap shot straight to the ribs.
Luca stood abruptly. The bench screeched against the station floor, loud and jarring.
"We're done here."
He turned to leave.
Aileen laughed behind him—sharp, mocking, cruel in a way that made strangers turn their heads.
"Running away again?" she called out.
"No wonder your little high-school girl ditched you."
She didn't know.
She was talking about the past.
About gossip.
About things she had no right to touch.
But to Luca—right now—those words were a lit match on gasoline.
He stopped mid-step, every muscle going rigid.
He turned his head just enough for her to see the fury blazing in his eyes.
His voice was low, trembling with the effort to keep control.
"Don't. Mention. Her."
Aileen's smirk froze—just a fraction—like she hadn't expected him to snap.