THE SEVENTY-TWO-HOUR EXILE
For three agonizing days, Sana transformed herself into a ghost.
The sprawling, heavily guarded family estate, which was supposed to be her sanctuary, had mutated into a psychological minefield. The walls seemed to echo with her father's suffocating decree. Every time she stepped foot inside the grand entrance, she felt the invisible, crushing weight of his absolute authority bearing down on her chest, threatening to snap her ribs.
To survive the oppressive reality of her father's ultimatum, Sana did the only thing she knew how to do: she ran. She didn't run geographically; she ran into the relentless, grinding machinery of her duty.
She turned the local police precinct into her permanent fortress. She signed up for consecutive, grueling twenty-four-hour shifts. When the morning officers clocked out, she stayed. When the night patrol geared up, she rode out with them. She buried herself under mountains of intelligence reports, suspect interrogations, and district security planning. She deliberately exhausted her body to the point of absolute physical failure, ensuring that by the time she finally returned to her family home at dawn, she was too fatigued to think, too drained to argue, and too tired to even look at her phone. She would collapse onto her bed for three hours of dreamless sleep before dragging herself back to the station.
She was actively, desperately avoiding Woonseok.
It wasn't because her feelings had faded. It was because the sheer, blinding brightness of his love felt terrifying when juxtaposed against the dark, toxic reality of her family. How could she possibly look into his beautiful, adoring eyes through a screen and tell him the truth? How could she tell him that the man who gave her life was actively planning to ruin it? She knew with absolute certainty that if she told Woonseok about the emotional blackmail, he wouldn't hesitate. He would throw away his career, board his private jet, and tear her father's world apart to get to her.
She couldn't let him do that. She wouldn't let the toxic poison of her father's empire infect Woonseok's brilliant, shining universe.
So, she stayed silent.
It was the night of the third day. The heavy grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight as Sana finally returned to her bedroom. Her uniform felt like a suit of lead armor. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her soul felt incredibly hollow.
She sat on the edge of her mattress, staring blankly at the wall. Finally, her gaze drifted to her smartphone resting on the nightstand.
Her heart gave a painful, violent twist. She knew Woonseok must be going out of his mind. He was thousands of miles away, completely blind to her situation, and she was punishing him with silence.
With trembling fingers, she unlocked the screen. The display flooded with dozens of unread messages from him—a chaotic mix of deep worry, profound longing, and escalating panic. The sheer consistency of his care hit her like a physical blow.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Rashi forced herself to type a reply.
Sana: "Due to so much work, I am really so sorry. I'm home now."
She barely had time to put the phone back down on her lap.
Incoming Video Call: Mr. Idol
The screen instantly flashed to life, vibrating violently against her palms. Sana's breath hitched. She aggressively rubbed her tired eyes, forcefully slapped her own cheeks to bring some color back into her pale face, and plastered on the brightest, most convincing smile she could muster. She couldn't let her armor crack.
She tapped the green icon.
The screen connected, and Woonseok's striking, beautiful face instantly filled her vision. He was in his penthouse in Seoul, dressed in a soft, oversized black sweater. But the usual confident, majestic aura of the global icon was completely absent. He looked deeply stressed. His dark hair was slightly messy, as if he had been running his hands through it in frustration, and his eyes were wide with immediate, frantic relief the second he saw her face.
Sana forced a lighthearted sigh, keeping her smile pinned in place. "Hey, Woon... how are you? What are you doing? How are your shoots going on?"
Woonseok didn't smile back. He leaned closer to the camera, his dark, piercing eyes scanning every single inch of her face with the intensity of a predator assessing a wound.
"First of all, Butterfly," Woonseok began, his deep, velvety voice tight with a mixture of raw relief and deep frustration. "Why don't you pick up my calls? And why are you not seeing my messages? Are you okay?"
He let out a heavy, ragged sigh, his broad shoulders slumping as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. I know you are an officer, you have intense duty. I respect that. But seriously, Butterfly... for the past three days, I feel like you are completely avoiding me."
Sana's heart fractured. No, no, don't crack, she screamed at herself in her mind. Just smile. Keep the shield up.
"Mr. Idol, I know, I know," Sana said, her voice slightly higher than usual as she maintained her forced, cheerful facade. "I am seriously so sorry! Actually, you know, the workload is so much right now. The cases got bigger, and the district is busy. But don't worry, I promise I will see your messages from now on."
Woonseok went entirely silent.
He didn't buy a single word of it. His eyes narrowed slightly, tracing the dark, heavy circles under her eyes, the unnatural paleness of her skin, and the distinct, mechanical tightness of her smile. He had spent months studying every expression on her face; he knew when his Butterfly was flying with broken wings.
"Sana," Woonseok murmured, his voice dropping an entire octave, becoming incredibly gentle but terrifyingly serious. "Butterfly, listen to me. Are you not feeling okay? Just tell me the truth. I will pack my bags right now. I will come tomorrow, or as soon as physically possible. I can book a flight right—"
No!
The absolute, profound terror of him stepping into her father's crosshairs violently collided with the sheer, overwhelming realization of his love.
In her entire life, in her father's cold, transactional household, no one had ever offered her this level of unconditional, reckless emotional support. No one had ever looked at her pain and immediately offered to cross an ocean just to stand beside her. The emotional contrast was too massive.
Before she could stop them, hot, heavy tears violently spilled over her lower lashes, tracing rapid paths down her pale cheeks.
Woonseok saw the tears, and his entire demeanor shattered. Absolute panic seized his striking features.
"Butterfly!" Woonseok gasped, his voice trembling with a terrifying, protective desperation. He grabbed the phone, bringing it inches from his face. "Please, tell me what happened! Who hurt you? I'm coming. I'm literally booking my flight right now—"
"No!" Sana cut him off, her voice cracking loudly.
I quickly wiped at the tears that had instantly sprung to my eyes, furious at my lack of control. I couldn't shatter his focus; I couldn't transfer the paralyzing fear of my father's decree across continents.
I forced a thick, shaking breath, determined to keep the brutal truth locked away.
"Umm... nothing," I mumbled, trying to laugh it off, though the sound was painfully hollow. "I was just missing you, that's it. Only, only that."
I aggressively swiped the back of my hand across my eyes, managing to momentarily clear the wetness. I forced the bright, resolute look back onto my face, staring directly into the camera.
"Don't worry, Mr. Idol. I'm good," I lied, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "I was doing my work, but I was just thinking about how little sleep you got, and how big that apartment must feel right now without me, and then..."
The tears betrayed me again, another fresh cascade spilling over my cheeks, entirely impossible to stop. I cursed softly under my breath, turning my head slightly away from the camera, though I knew it was utterly futile. He saw everything.
"I just... I was just missing you, that's why I cried," I confessed. The lie sounded desperately thin even to my own ears, yet it was absolutely necessary. "The tears just fell out after seeing you. Seeing your face just made it so real that you're not here with me."
I looked back at the screen, my eyes shining with unshed emotion, focusing only on the part of the truth I was actually willing to share: the agonizing ache of our physical separation.
Woonseok watched me through the digital connection, his gaze absolutely heartbroken. He was highly intelligent; he knew the tears were about far more than just missing him. The sheer exhaustion radiating from my bones told a darker story. Yet, seeing my desperate need to hold the line, he respected the protective wall I had erected.
"Okay, Butterfly," he whispered, his deep voice thick with his own unshed tears, his dark eyes burning with a protective, helpless pain. "If it's just missing me... but i still dont like u seeing u cry when im not there to hug you.
Sana sniffled loudly, forcing a genuine, albeit watery, laugh to break the devastating tension.
"Yeah," Sana said, hastily wiping her face and grabbing her bag off the floor. "And the other reason I'm so busy is because... well, I wanted to tell you something. Look."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a heavy, ornate envelope lined with gold foil. She held it up to the camera, revealing a beautifully printed, highly traditional Indian wedding invitation.
"It's my male best friend's wedding card," Sana explained, desperately pivoting the conversation to a lighter topic. "Remember? I told you about him before."
On the screen, Woonseok's heartbroken expression instantly shifted. A dark, highly territorial, and distinctly jealous cloud passed over his sharp features.
He leaned back on his expensive leather couch, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He muttered softly under his breath, though the microphone picked it up perfectly: "How could I possibly forget your male best friend? The one the whole school shipped you with back in the day..."
Sana's eyes widened, and a genuine, bright laugh finally tore through her exhaustion.
"Yeah, that's him!" Sana said, shaking her head at his adorable, petty jealousy. "He is finally going to marry his fiancée. So that is why I have been so incredibly busy. I had to do so much shopping for the ceremonies."
Woonseok's jealous pout slowly melted into a completely smug, triumphant smirk. He uncrossed his arms, leaning back toward the camera with a look of absolute, kingly victory.
"Ah," Woonseok said smoothly, his deep voice dripping with dramatic satisfaction. "Finally. Another rival removed from the battlefield."
Sana laughed harder, shaking her head. "Hey! Don't say that to him! Why are you so jealous of him? Now he is going to marry, he will get a wife of his own!"
I'm just saying lies to him, Sana thought, her heart giving a painful squeeze even as she smiled. The wedding card is real, but the shopping... that's a complete lie. I haven't been shopping. I've been hiding.
"Oh, so that is why you were so busy," Woonseok said, his posture finally relaxing, the terrifying panic from earlier fully subsiding. The excuse made perfect sense to him. "Shopping for Indian weddings must be intense."
Before Sana could reply, a violent, terrifying sound echoed through the walls of her room.
Downstairs, the explosive, booming voice of her father suddenly erupted, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing against the marble floor. Her mother's distressed, high-pitched voice cried out in response. They were fighting again. The toxic, suffocating war of her household had resumed.
Sana froze entirely. Pure panic flooded her veins. If Woonseok heard that violence, if he heard the sheer aggression in her father's voice, his actor's intuition would piece everything together in a heartbeat.
"Woon!" Sana interrupted suddenly, her voice pitching up in artificial urgency as she quickly moved her hand toward the end-call button. "Actually, I just got an emergency call from my senior officer on the other line! I have to take this. I will call you later, okay? I'm so sorry! Love you, bye!"
She didn't even wait for him to reply. She aggressively slammed her thumb against the red button.
The screen instantly went black.
The sudden silence in her room was immediately replaced by the muffled, terrifying sounds of her parents' argument echoing up the stairwell.
Sana didn't go out to intervene this time. Her energy was completely, absolutely decimated. She dropped the phone onto the floor, pulled her knees tightly up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She buried her face into her knees, and finally, the dam completely broke.
Deep, agonizing sobs ripped through her chest, shaking her entire frame. She cried for the beautiful life she was forced to hide, and for the toxic prison she was trapped inside.
"I'm so sorry," Sana sobbed into the dark, empty room, her voice breaking under the crushing weight of her reality. "How can I possibly let you come here? How can I drag you into this toxic world where there is absolutely no hope of love, Mr. Idol?"
On the completely opposite side of the world, Woonseok sat on his luxurious leather couch, staring blankly at the dark screen of his phone.
The abrupt end to the call left a sudden, quiet void in his massive penthouse. He slowly lowered the phone, his mind replaying the image of her deeply tired, tear-stained face.
She's pushing herself too hard, Woonseok thought, completely oblivious to the domestic nightmare happening across the ocean. He assumed her tears were a combination of intense physical fatigue from her police work, the stress of preparing for her friend's elaborate wedding, and the heavy emotional toll of their long-distance relationship.
"Oh, Butterfly," Woonseok murmured into the quiet room, his chest aching with a profound, heavy longing. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at his ceiling. "I wish I could be there with you. Seeing you look so tired... I just want to fly there, pull you into my arms, hug you so incredibly tight, and take all your worries away."
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. Since he couldn't physically be there to help her carry her shopping bags or massage her tired shoulders, he decided to do the next best thing to feel connected to her world.
He reached over to his glass coffee table, picked up his sleek silver laptop, and flipped it open. The bright screen illuminated his sharp features in the dim room.
"She mentioned an Indian wedding," Woonseok muttered to himself, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "I honestly know very little about them. Let me search it. Let me see exactly what my Butterfly is so busy preparing for."
He typed 'Traditional Indian Wedding Ceremonies' into the search engine and hit enter.
Instantly, his screen exploded with a breathtaking, overwhelming mosaic of absolute vibrancy.
Woonseok's dark eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated awe. He clicked on an image gallery, his jaw slowly dropping as he scrolled through the photographs. He saw massive, palatial venues dripping in thousands of bright marigold flowers. He saw the Haldi ceremony, with beautiful people laughing as bright yellow turmeric was painted onto their skin. He saw the intricate, staggering detail of bridal henna covering a woman's hands and arms, looking like ancient, magical script.
"Whoa..." Woonseok breathed out, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his face.
He clicked on a video showcasing the food—massive, steaming pots of rich curries, towering trays of colorful sweets, and flatbreads cooking over open flames. The sheer scale and communal joy of the event were unlike anything he had ever seen in the quiet, highly structured corporate weddings of Seoul.
As he continued scrolling through images of grooms arriving on majestic white horses and brides walking down aisles under canopies of roses, Woonseok's mind instantly began to drift away from his laptop and into the future.
The images on the screen slowly morphed into his own imagination.
He leaned closer to the screen, his dark eyes sparkling with an intense, deeply romantic excitement. He wasn't just looking at cultural traditions anymore; he was actively, meticulously planning his own future.
"Oh, we are definitely doing this," Woonseok declared to his empty apartment, his voice thick with absolute certainty and boyish excitement. He pointed at a picture of a magnificent floral Mandap. "No, no... not like this one. This decor is beautiful, but my Butterfly deserves something even grander. We will use red roses. Thousands of them."
He clicked on a picture of a groom wearing an intricately embroidered Sherwani and a jeweled turban. Woonseok tilted his head, visualizing his own broad shoulders in the regal attire. A smug smirk touched his lips. I would look incredibly handsome in that. She won't be able to take her eyes off me.
"But the food..." Woonseok continued murmuring to himself, scrolling to the catering section. "We will definitely have all of this. But I'll make sure there's also a massive section of Korean food for my family. A perfect mix of both our worlds."
He closed the laptop softly, resting his hands on the cool metal casing. He looked out of his panoramic windows at the glittering skyline of Seoul, his heart swelling with an impossible, beautiful hope.
Completely unaware of the toxic storms raging around Sana in India, Woonseok sat alone in his penthouse, smiling brilliantly into the night.
"We will decide everything together, my beautiful commander," Woonseok whispered to the stars, his soul permanently anchored to the woman across the sea. "When the time is right, I will come to your world, and we will build the most beautiful wedding this earth has ever seen. Just wait for me."