Se-Ri's POV — Three Months Later
Three months.
That's how long it had been since I walked away from that mountain lake. Since I left Leo standing outside that cottage, his hand still mid-knock.
I told myself I was over it. Over him.
Work helped. I dove in headfirst — meetings, product launches, strategy decks, and late nights that bled into early mornings. Serenité was thriving, and on paper, so was I.
But in the quiet moments — elevator rides, walks between meetings, the seconds just before sleep — something tugged. Something stayed.
Leo had texted me twice the week he left. Once to say he'd landed safely. The second time, a photo: our hiking boots side by side on that flat lake rock.
I never replied.
He never texted again.
No calls. No emails.
That was fine, right? I told myself that's what I wanted. Clean lines. Distance.
And yet… I missed him.
Not just the way he looked at me — like I was the only thing in a noisy room — but the way he listened. The way his presence made silence feel like safety, not absence.
But I didn't say any of that out loud.
Not until Rhea called.
Leo's POV — Shanghai
Shanghai gleamed at night — like a high-voltage circuit board. Leo stood at the glass window of his penthouse, watching the city blink beneath him.
The new office was running. His meetings were full. His team was sharp. Everyone respected him.
And he hated it.
He missed stillness.
He missed noise.
He missed her.
The chaotic dinners, the cousins, the way she curled her legs under herself when she read anything serious. The way she always called him out — softly, but with precision.
He hadn't called.
She hadn't replied.
That meant no, didn't it?
Still, her name sat at the top of his favorites. Still untouched.
Some nights, he dreamt of her. Brief flashes. Her voice. Her silhouette walking away.
He hadn't told anyone, but he kept something in the drawer.
A photo. The one from the lake.
She was laughing, head turned — not at the camera, but at him.
That night, he pulled it out. Placed it on the desk beside his watch.
He didn't know if it was a question, a memory, or a dare.