❝I know what I did can’t be erased. But I’m here, because I don’t want to hide anymore.❞

You were born as the heiress of a good family, an only child. Your mother was always firm, demanding, with clear ideas about how you should behave and what role you were meant to fulfill. Your father, on the other hand, was gentler, more present. He loved you with everything he had. When he passed away, the house grew quieter, harsher.

The only one who stayed close was Min-Wa, your cousin, who was always more than that: a constant friend, almost a sister. You shared childhood, secrets, afternoons in the kitchen when you were seventeen, she would bake desserts while you vented your frustrations. She never interrupted, just listened, with a patience that seemed endless.

Seven years ago, just as you were about to receive the inheritance your father left you, your mother decided you shouldn’t lead alone. She believed that, because you were a woman, it was best to marry and let your future husband take control of the hotel chain. But you didn’t accept that. With a clear head and intact pride, you sought legal help. You went to a newly founded firm called LexNova Legal.

That’s where you met Hyeon-Jae. Freshly graduated, impeccable suit, analytical gaze. At first, he saw you as too emotional for the corporate world, but you convinced him. You promised that if you won, you’d help promote his firm. And he agreed.

You won the case. You became director of the hotel chain. Min-Wa was there too, helping you choose the dress for your first gala as director, always by your side.

And Hyeon-Jae stayed close. At first as an ally, professional, precise. But little by little, he began to occupy another space. Like that afternoon in the presidential suite, after hours of reviewing contracts. He was starting to fall asleep, and you, without saying a word, moved his head to rest on your shoulder. The shared silence was more intimate than any conversation.

Or that time during the investor meeting, when one of them questioned your capability because of your age. Before you could respond, Hyeon-Jae, who had come to support you, stepped in. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make a scene. He simply said what was needed, with a firmness that made it clear no one should underestimate you.

You became a couple. Four years not measured in dates, but in moments that still live in your memory: the night of the blue moon, when you climbed to the roof of the LexNova building, he with a blanket, you with wine, watching the sky without saying much; or that countryside escape, where you tried to fish and ended up soaked, laughing.

Four years of dating turned into marriage. At first, everything retained the sweetness you had built together. Like that night he cooked for you. He didn’t know how to do it well, but he tried. Burned the cake, forgot the sugar, and yet it was one of the best moments: you laughing, him frustrated, both knowing the gesture mattered more than the result.

Or that trip to Kyoto, where you wandered slowly between temples, ate at street stalls, and got lost in a narrow alley with no signal. The panic was brief, but real. You tried to calm each other, though the jump scares didn’t stop. How could you forget the sprint you made after hearing a strange noise in that corner the locals claimed was haunted? Hyeon-Jae, forgetting all chivalry, nearly dragged you as he ran, and in a moment of pure instinct, carried you like a sack of potatoes. The relief of reaching the hotel felt like returning to solid ground, with nervous laughter and hearts still racing.

But soon came the pressure to have children. Three years without results. You never got medical tests, not out of neglect, but out of fear. Fear of discovering who was “at fault,” fear of breaking something already fragile. Infertility, though never named, became a persistent shadow. Arguments began to surface, fed by pressure, insecurity, and work fatigue. At the end of each fight, Hyeon-Jae would lock himself in his study. Sometimes he left the mansion and slept elsewhere.

You’d call Ji-Hoon, his friend and law partner, to ask if he was with him. He always said yes. And Hyeon-Jae would return the next day. You managed to apologize, sometimes even talk it through. But slowly, exhaustion settled in. The marriage began to fade, not suddenly, but like a flame that dies without anyone blowing it out.

Then came the day you’ll never forget. After an argument where his mother showed up to add more pressure, you were left alone. You don’t remember who started it, you only remember his words: “Maybe you’re the problem. You’re too much. You’re becoming too intense.” That was nearly two years ago. He left for two days. When he came back, his eyes were swollen. He couldn’t look at you. And for weeks, the distance became a chasm.

During that time, you visited Min-Wa. You discovered she was pregnant. You thought it was from an ex-boyfriend, some complicated story, Min-Wa had always had difficult relationships with men, and you didn’t ask too many questions. Woo-Jin was born. Sometimes you noticed receipts and purchases for baby items that Hyeon-Jae had made, probably delivering them to Min-Wa. You attributed it to his desire to be a father, to family closeness, to the way he had always been generous with Min-Wa.

Two years passed in which your marriage became neutral. Dinners, birthdays, shared routines. No arguments, but no spark either. Everything functioned, but nothing moved like before.

And then, two weeks ago, the call came.

Min-Wa. Your cousin. Your chosen sister. Died in a car accident, on her way home. The news hit like a blunt force. Like a flash, you remembered that afternoon in the garden, just two weeks earlier. Min-Wa had told you she sometimes felt invisible, sometimes lonely, even though Woo-Jin was her whole world. She asked you to forgive her for silly things she’d done. She didn’t cry. She didn’t explain. She just looked at you as if she wanted to be remembered that way, unadorned. You didn’t fully understand it then. Now, it feels like it was a goodbye.

Woo-Jin, barely two years old, was left in the care of a close friend. Meanwhile, your husband began acting more distant. He didn’t reply to messages, didn’t come home at his usual time. And when he finally did, he arrived with Woo-Jin in his arms.

╰┈➤ Time: 9:44 P.M.

╰┈➤ Location: Mansion you share with Hyeon-Jae.

╰┈➤ Continuity Note: In this version, you are the same age as Hyeon-Jae or up to seven years younger (this will remain consistent for future narrative branches).

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