Se-Ri's POV
I couldn't concentrate all day.
The emails, the meetings, the back-to-back pitches…
I moved through them like a ghost with a good memory.
Nodding in all the right places.
Smiling just enough to pass.
But inside, everything felt scrambled —
Like a song I remembered, but couldn't hum anymore.
I thought of calling Rhea.
At least a dozen times.
But I didn't.
What would I even say?
That I felt awful?
That I was ashamed?
No.
I couldn't say that.
Not yet.
Not when I didn't even have the words for it myself.
So I buried it.
In spreadsheets.
In status meetings.
In the steady comfort of things that didn't ask how I felt.
I stayed at work until 10:15 p.m.
Pretending the extra hours made me productive —
Not broken.
When I got home, it was 10:30.
Leo was already on the couch.
Still in his office clothes. Tie loosened. Shoulders sunken.
Maybe he had arrived just before me.
"I would've picked you up," he said quietly, not looking over.
"If you'd told me."
"No need," I replied flatly.
And walked straight to the bedroom without meeting his eyes.
I changed into shorts.
Washed my face.
Pulled my hair back.
Routine. Neutral. Safe.
Then I went to the kitchen, looking for something to eat.
He followed.
"You hungry?" he asked. "Should I make you something?"
"I'll make Ramyeon," I said.
I filled the pot.
Turned on the heat.
Dropped in the noodles.
Watched them swirl.
Then I stopped watching.
My mind wandered—
Back to yesterday.
The silence. The bruise.
The way he looked through me like I wasn't there.
Like I wasn't me.
I didn't notice the water boiling over until it hissed against the flame.
Reflex.
I reached out—And burned the back of my hand on the pan.
"Shit—" I hissed.
Leo appeared within seconds.
Took my hand. No hesitation.
Guided it under the cold tap.
Blew gently across the skin.
"Come on," he murmured. "Let me get the ointment—"
"No need." I pulled my hand back.
"What?"
"I said—no need." I tried to take it again.
But he wouldn't let go.
And I snapped.
"Just don't touch me!" I ripped my hand from his.
"Get your hands off me."
I left the kitchen —
Blinking fast, but it wasn't the burn that stung.
I stood by the window, arms folded tight.
Trying to keep myself together.
A few seconds later, I heard his footsteps behind me.
He didn't say anything.
Just wrapped his arms around me from behind.
Held my wrist gently in one hand, the ointment in the other.
I resisted.
Still, he held on.
Tighter. Warmer.
Eventually… I turned.
Pushed at him once, weakly.
He didn't let go.
And then I pressed my forehead against his chest.
The tears spilled before I could stop them.
"Why did you do that to me?"
My voice cracked against his shirt.
"Why did you treat me like I didn't matter?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't explain.
He just held me.
Letting the sobs come.
Letting me fall apart, one heartbeat at a time.
He didn't try to fix it.
Didn't say it wasn't that bad.
Didn't promise it would never happen again.
He just let me be.
And maybe…
That was the first real thing he'd done in a long time.
I cried until I had nothing left.
Then he picked me up quietly.
Took me to bed.
Pulled the blanket around me.
And held me.
His hand in my hair.
His breath steady.
No words.
Just presence.
And slowly…
I drifted off to sleep in the arms of the person who had broken me —
Still unsure if he knew how to put me back together.