The world erupted overnight.
News outlets, social media, even business analysts were suddenly obsessed with one story:
"PARK GROUP'S FUTURE IN LIMBO AS HEIR VANISHES WITH CONTROVERSIAL LOVER"
"HAN GROUP HEIRESS HUMILIATED: 'THIS ISN'T OVER' SAYS INSIDERS"
"WHO IS MIRA YOON? THE WOMAN WHO MADE A CHAIRMAN WALK AWAY FROM IT ALL"
Photos of Jae's final moments at Park Group—his polished dress shoes crunching on broken glass as he strode out, his father's furious face in the background—were everywhere. Eun-ji, ever the perfect socialite, hadn't made a statement. But hotel staff reported hearing a room service cart being overturned at the Grand Hyatt, followed by the sound of crystal shattering.
The storm was coming.
And Jae and Mira were deep in the woods when it hit.
---
CABIN
Rain lashed against the windows of the secluded cabin, the kind of downpour that made the whole world feel hushed. The kind where time didn't seem to move right.
Mira stood at the window, watching water stream down the glass. Behind her, Jae stoked the fire, the glow painting his sharp features in warm light.
"You should sit," he said. "You've been standing there an hour."
Mira didn't turn. "They're never going to stop looking for us."
The fire crackled. Jae's voice was quiet. "Let them look."
She finally faced him. "You walked away from everything."
"And?" He met her gaze, unflinching. "It was never mine to begin with."
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning.
Night deepened. The storm raged on.
Jae sat on the floor by the fire, long legs stretched out. Mira joined him, the heat of the flames licking at the chill in her bones.
For a while, there was only the sound of rain and burning wood.
Then—
"I meant what I said." Jae's voice was low.
Mira's fingers curled into the rug. "You can't just—"
"I love you."
The words weren't dramatic. They weren't whispered like a secret. Jae said them like they were simple. Inevitable. Like the sun rising or the rain falling.
Mira's breath caught.
Jae turned to her fully. "I don't care about the money. The name. The goddamn empire." His hand found hers, calloused fingers threading through hers. "I chose you. Not because you asked me to. Because I wanted to."
Mira's throat burned. "What if it's not enough?"
Jae lifted their joined hands, pressing her palm flat against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under her touch.
"Feel that?" His voice was rough. "That's been yours since we were kids. Long before I knew what it meant."
The fire popped. Somewhere outside, a branch broke under the weight of the storm.
Mira closed her eyes.
And let herself believe.
Morning came, gray and quiet.
Mira woke to find Jae already up, coffee brewing, his phone—long since turned off—discarded on the counter.
She hesitated in the doorway. "What now?"
Jae didn't look up from pouring coffee. "We live."
Simple.
Terrifying.
Mira took the mug he offered, their fingers brushing. "Just like that?"
Jae's smile was small, real. "Just like that."
---
The plane touched down at Heathrow under a blanket of gray clouds.
Mira pressed her forehead against the window, watching the rain streak across the glass. Beside her, Jae squeezed her hand.
"Welcome to our fresh start," he murmured.
She managed a small smile, but the weight of everything they'd left behind still clung to her.
---
Jae's London flat was nothing like she expected.
No penthouse. No sleek modern furniture. Just a cozy two-bedroom in Notting Hill, tucked above a quiet bookstore. The walls were lined with shelves of well-loved novels, the kitchen small but warm, the bedroom bathed in soft, muted light.
Mira ran her fingers over the spines of the books. "You've been here before."
Jae set their bags down. "I lived here during university. Bought it after graduation."
She turned to him. "You hated London."
A shrug. "I hated the life my father forced me into here. But the city?" His lips quirked. "It grows on you."
....
...
...
That first night, Mira sat cross-legged on the bed, laptop open, scrolling through job postings.
Jae leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "What are you doing?"
"Freelance work," she said without looking up. "I can't just—"
He crossed the room in three strides, gently closing the laptop. "Yes. You can."
Mira frowned. "Jae—"
"We have enough," he said simply. "Not just from my accounts—I set up investments years ago. Separate from the family." His thumb brushed her cheek. "Rest. Heal. Breathe. The work will still be there when you're ready."
She wanted to argue. But the exhaustion in her bones—the kind that had nothing to do with jet lag—won out.
---
Mornings began with tea.
Jae, it turned out, made terrible coffee but perfect Earl Grey. Mira would curl up on the window seat, watching the city wake up below them, the steam from her cup warming her face.
Her therapist's voice echoed through their weekly video sessions:
"Progress isn't linear. Healing isn't about speed—it's about showing up."
Some days, Mira believed her. Other days, the guilt crept in—guilt over leaving her job, over Jae's sacrifice, over the life they'd burned behind them.
Jae always seemed to know.
On those days, he'd appear with a new book, or drag her to a hidden café, or simply sit with her in silence until the storm passed.
It happened three weeks in.
Mira woke to an email from her old boss—We'd love to have you back on contract—remote work possible.
She sat bolt upright. "Jae."
He stirred beside her. "Hmm?"
"I got an offer." She shoved the phone at him. "Freelance. From my old team."
Jae blinked at the screen, then frowned. "You don't need to—"
"I want to." The words came out sharper than she meant. "I can't just… do nothing."
Jae sat up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "I never said—"
"You implied." Mira swung her legs out of bed. "I'm not some fragile thing that needs to be kept in a box, Jae. I need to work. To feel useful."
Silence.
Then—
Jae exhaled. "You're right."
Mira froze. "I… am?"
A wry smile. "Don't sound so surprised." He reached for her hand. "I just…" His thumb traced her knuckles. "I want you to know you have a choice. That's all."
Mira's anger deflated. "I know."
Jae tugged her back down. "So? What do you choose?"
She nestled against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. "Both. Work. And rest."
Jae kissed the top of her head. "Deal."
The next morning, Mira set up a workspace in the corner of the living room—her laptop, a notebook, a steaming cup of (terrible) coffee Jae had proudly made.
Jae, meanwhile, disappeared into the bedroom for hours, emerging only to make sandwiches or refill her tea.
Mira finally peeked in one evening to find him hunched over blueprints, sketches scattered across the bed.
She picked one up. "What's this?"
Jae didn't look up. "Designs."
"For?"
A pause. Then, quietly: "A bookstore."
Mira's breath caught.
Jae finally met her gaze. "I always wanted to open one. Never had the nerve." His lips quirked. "Till now."
Mira stared at the sketches—the cozy reading nooks, the spiral staircase, the little café in the corner.
And suddenly, for the first time in months, the future didn't seem so terrifying.