Tears welled up in Alia's eyes.
A single drop rolled down her cheek.
She could no longer hold herself together.
Outside the countless complexities and restrictions of the world, in that one moment—they slowly came closer to each other.
---
Morning.
Gentle sunlight slips through the window blinds. Birds chirp in the distance. Alia slowly opens her eyes.
She finds herself on the bed, sleeping in Anashia's arms.
Anashia is in deep sleep, one arm draped around Alia's waist.
Alia looks down at herself—she is wearing only a thin chiffon dress, pulled up to cover her neck.
She doesn't move. Just stares quietly at the ceiling.
Victor's face flashes before her eyes, and her voice echoes in her mind—
"I'm a wife. I live with the weight of this world's responsibilities… but am I truly free?"
Tears silently stream down again.
---
In Alia's room, the faint light of dusk.
Alia is lying quietly, her head on Anashia's lap. The air is thick with unspoken emotions and incomplete thoughts.
Suddenly, the phone rings.
On the screen—Victor - Assistant Calling
Alia picks it up.
— "Yes?"
From the other side, Victor's assistant sounds rushed:
— "Ma'am, Sir urgently needs you. Please come quickly."
Alia exhales, saying calmly:
— "Alright. I'm coming."
She stands up.
Before Anashia can speak, Alia firmly says:
— "I have to return to Russia. Right now."
Anashia holds her hand gently after a pause:
— "I knew this moment wouldn't last…
But you brought a peace into my life that no one else could."
Alia lowers her gaze, tears forming.
Just then, there's a knock on the door.
Margaret enters, holding a small package.
— "For you."
Alia accepts the gift. Margaret kisses her on the cheek and says:
— "Come back. For all of us."
Alia slowly walks toward the door.
Anashia pulls her back gently, locking eyes:
— "다시 만날 거야... 널 위해 이 문은 항상 열려 있을 거야."
(We will meet again… This door will always be open for you.)
Alia responds with a bittersweet smile:
— "I know."
The door slowly closes. Alia's shadow stretches long behind her.
Scene cut.
---
Inside the Korean Airbus private jet.
The door closes slowly, and the roar of the engine shakes the surroundings.
Alia sits by the window, eyes lost in silence.
Beside her, Yash sits quietly—no questions, only understanding.
The aircraft rises into the sky.
Destination: Moscow.
---
Moscow. Airport.
Snow has blanketed the roads like a soft bed.
A sleek black limousine stops beside the runway.
As the door opens, icy wind lifts Alia's hair.
She steps out slowly, and suddenly—a shadow rushes toward her.
Victor.
He embraces her in a rush of emotion, lifting her off the ground.
— "Welcome back, moya printsessa..."
His voice trembles, but his grip is firm.
Alia is about to speak, but Victor gently kisses her forehead—
Then a soft, unforgettable kiss on her lips—a language of silent love.
Victor whispers:
— "You've come back… I knew you would."
Alia pauses, gazing into his eyes.
Then slowly says:
— "You're still as crazy as ever…"
Victor smiles faintly, brushing her hair:
— "I'm only alive because of you."
---
Inside the limousine.
Alia reaches for the door, but Victor steps ahead and opens it for her.
He sits quietly beside her, then pulls out a small chocolate packet.
— "Tabs. Remember?"
— "I don't eat these," Alia smirks.
— "But today you will. It's for couples… who share sweet moments together."
They lock eyes.
Together, they open the packet and put the chocolate in their mouths.
A quiet joy spreads through the car—an unspoken celebration of emotion.
---
Night. In a royal-like mansion.
Alia lies in one corner of the large bed.
Eyes closed, her face slack from exhaustion, with traces of tears still in her eyes.
Victor slowly sits beside her.
He gently takes her hand—his touch soft, yet deep. A silent exchange of words never spoken, but deeply understood.
Alia opens her eyes and looks at him. There's a flash of understanding in her gaze.
Victor says nothing, only squeezes her hand tighter, as if to say—"I'm here, always by your side."
In the silence, it's as if a melody plays—a song of unseen love, heard only by the two of them.
That touch, that silent conversation, binds them together—
"I know what you're thinking… because I feel it too."
Alia holds his hand in return—
A soft, but firm grip, as if her soul speaks through it.
She closes her eyes tightly—hiding her weakness from the world.
Victor entwines their fingers—two hands, speaking a thousand words without saying a thing.
Dawn light flickers through the window blinds.
The breeze flutters the curtains gently, whispering silently:
"The night is over, but some feelings are still awake."
Alia and Victor are asleep, together.
Their bodies still carry the weariness, peace, and trust of last night's touch.
Alia rests her head on Victor's bare chest—like shelter in a safe world.
They don't move, but their breaths remain wrapped in one another's—
A silent vow to stay together.
On the wall—
A framed photo.
Simple outfits, but eyes glowing with contentment and intense love—
A wedding photo.
No grand stage, no glittering display—
Yet the picture says:
"These two were made for each other."
Below the photo, a small handwritten line:
"Love, the kind that speaks without words."
Alia slowly opens her eyes.
The air still smells of sleep and love.
Victor remains still, in deep slumber.
Alia quietly gets up and freshens herself.
Then she steps out onto the balcony.
The city still sleeps—
Though the lights are on, there's a silent calm everywhere.
She stares into the distance.
Suddenly, her phone rings.
On the screen—"Anashia calling…"
Alia pauses.
Then answers, her voice soft:
— "Yes, Anashia… It's still early. Is something wrong?"
On the other side, Anashia's voice sounds tense, worried, and secretly urgent:
— "Are you okay? Is Victor with you right now?"
Alia's brows furrow.
— "Yes… Why are you asking?"
Anashia says in one breath:
— "Then you don't know… But you need to. Victor is hiding something from you. I'm sending all the proof right now."
Alia stands frozen.
She grips her phone tightly.
In the background, sunlight slowly grows brighter—
And shadows start deepening in Alia's eyes…
---
Alia quietly responds:
— "Let's see it… send me the pic, Anashia."
A moment later, her phone vibrates.
A picture appears on the screen.
Alia's eyes slowly widen.
— "This is…!"
Her chest pounds.
In the picture, Victor is seated beside a young man—
Blonde hair, sweet Korean face.
And between them, a connection… clear and undeniable.
— "That's Margaret's son!
I clearly remember seeing him at the gallery that evening!"
Alia's face turns pale with an unnamed fear.
She whispers to herself—
— "So… Victor knows Margaret and her son?
Victor knows everything?
Or is this just coincidence?"
A fierce inner war begins.
Trust and doubt now face each other.
From behind, Victor's voice breaks the silence:
— "Alia… everything alright?"
Alia jumps.
She quickly pockets her phone and turns.
Her arms cross over her chest.
A strange silence lingers on her face.