That afternoon, Chiaki sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen. The blinking cursor felt like a silent reminder of how little she'd done. Charts, numbers, and emails all blurred together, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting—back to the elegant woman who had walked into the office that morning and instantly turned heads.
Karina.
Just the name made Chiaki's chest tighten. She couldn't forget the way Karina had smiled—calm, confident, every move graceful. The way her voice carried softly as she greeted people, and how her eyes had rested a little too long on Hayato.
The office buzzed with whispers soon after. "She's the Matsuda Group chairman's daughter," someone said in a low voice. "They studied together in London," another added. But it was one quiet comment that stuck with Chiaki: "They look perfect together."
With every passing hour, the rumors grew harder to ignore. Had Hayato moved on long ago, while she had stayed stuck in the past, holding on to memories he'd already let go of?
A dull ache spread through her chest. She had told herself, again and again, that it didn't matter. That her feelings were buried. But seeing Karina next to Hayato—so polished, so perfect—shattered that illusion.
It hurt. More than she thought it would.
Chiaki's hands trembled as she reached for her mouse, pretending to scroll through emails. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. The office felt too small, too loud, too harsh. Without thinking, she got up from her seat and walked out, her steps carrying her down the hall and up the familiar stairs to the rooftop.
The moment she stepped outside, a cool breeze brushed her cheeks, stinging against the heat of held-back tears. She made her way to the bench and sat down, breathing shakily. Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through her contacts—names she hadn't touched in months, even years. There was no one to call. No one who would truly understand.
No one like Hayato.
Once, he had been the first person she turned to—the one who made everything feel a little lighter. He had been her comfort, her constant. Her home. But now, he belonged to a world she no longer fit into.
Tears filled her eyes again, and this time, she let them fall. Quiet and steady, they slipped down her cheeks as she bowed her head, finally letting herself break. The strength she had held onto for so long slipped away, leaving only the pain of a love that never really left.
Almost without thinking, she pressed a contact—Call. The phone rang once, twice—then a familiar voice answered.
"Chiaki?" her mother said, surprised. "It's rare for you to call now. Aren't you at work?"
Chiaki opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Her lip quivered as she fought back the sobs building in her chest. The silence that followed was thick with everything she couldn't say.
Then, her mother's voice softened. "Chiaki… are you crying?"
That was all it took.
"Mom…" Chiaki whispered, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face and her shoulders shook.
Her mother inhaled sharply, her voice calm but full of worry. "Chiaki, listen. If it's too much—if it hurts that badly—come home. Let me take care of you."
Those simple words broke what little strength Chiaki had left. She covered her mouth, but the sobs came anyway, raw and uncontrollable, as her heart poured out everything she had tried so hard to keep inside.
She had spent years convincing herself she was fine—that she was strong enough to handle everything alone. But now, she felt small again. Like the girl Hayato had left behind. The one who had stared at her phone night after night, waiting for a message that never came. The silence, the unanswered questions, the loneliness she had buried for so long—it all came crashing down, leaving her raw and exposed.
What she didn't know was that someone was watching.
Hayato stood just beyond the doorway, hidden in the shadows. His face unreadable, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had come to the rooftop to clear his mind, to escape the pressure of everything piling on him. Instead, he found her—crying, her pain laid bare beneath the open sky. And he knew the truth: her tears were because of him.
Guilt twisted in his chest, breaking through his usual calm. He had hurt her. He had always known things would change when he left, that they might never be the same again. But he hadn't realized just how deeply he had wounded her. Seeing her like this—so vulnerable, so broken—felt like a blow to the gut. A painful reminder of what his choices had cost her.
That evening, Hayato stormed into Sohei's office, his usual calm gone, replaced by frustration.
"You never told me what Chiaki's been through all these years," he said, voice low but urgent, eyes locked on his brother.
Sohei didn't even look up. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" he said plainly.
Hayato's jaw tightened. Of course, that was the obvious answer. But how could he ask her—when he was the reason she'd suffered? When he had stood in silence while she cried, doing nothing?
Without another word, he turned and left, his thoughts spinning.
Back in his office, he slammed his fist onto his desk. The sound echoed, and his knuckles turned white. For the first time in ten years, he truly saw how much he had hurt her. And he didn't know if he could fix it.
The guilt, the regret, the feelings he had buried for so long—all of it came crashing down. He had spent years pretending he had moved on, hiding behind walls he built to protect himself. But now, he couldn't deny the truth: Chiaki had always mattered to him. And the pain she felt was a reflection of what he'd never faced in himself.
Now the question was—did he have the courage to face her, to try to make things right?
As he stood there in silence, one fear lingered in his mind.
Maybe it was already too late.