Se-Ri's POV
I had started watching him the way you watch a clock that might stop ticking.
Leo had grown quieter.
Colder.
Not cruel — never cruel — but so completely... elsewhere.
We no longer had fights.
We no longer had conversations, either.
We just existed beside each other, living parallel lives that barely touched.
And I was scared.
Not of him.
Of losing him.
Bit by bit.
Of waking up one day and realizing he had already left — months ago — just not physically.
It was at an investor conference that I saw his father.
Mr. Wu was on a panel. I was there to pitch.
During the tea break, we somehow ended up in the same quiet corner.
"He's not okay," Mr. Wu said softly, eyes on the floor.
I didn't ask who.
He continued anyway.
"Leo. He doesn't delegate. Doesn't sleep. Won't even let me help. He's been working like he's trying to outrun something."
That word — outrun — stuck in my chest like a thorn.
Not chasing a dream.
Not moving forward.
Running.
From what?
From me?
That night, I didn't sleep.
I waited.
Poured a single glass of wine. Lit a candle in the kitchen. Set one plate.
Not as romance.
As a signal.
I needed it to feel like a conversation — not an ambush.
He came home around 11:40 p.m.
Jacket still on. Hair damp from the rain.
Tired in a way that looked… permanent.
"I need to leave early tomorrow," he said. "Big presentation in Vancouver—"
"Sit down," I said quietly. "Please."
He hesitated.
But sat.
Across from me like a stranger.
"What's the problem, Leo?"
He blinked. "Nothing's wrong."
"Don't lie to me while looking directly at me."
"I'm not lying."
"Then what are you doing?"
I felt my pulse spike.
"You're behaving like a polite roommate. Just doing your chores and disappearing."
"You barely touch me. You barely see me. You're slipping away and I don't know why."
He leaned back. "I've just been busy. Work is—"
"No," I cut in. "No more of that excuse."
I stood suddenly. My hand knocked the wine glass.
It shattered.
He flinched.
I didn't care.
I walked toward him.
"You think if you ignore this long enough, it'll go away?"
"Se-Ri—"
"Say something!" I grabbed his arm.
He stood, tried to move past me.
"Say something!" I blocked him.
Pushed his shoulder.
Again.
And again.
"SAY SOMETHING!"
And then —
he snapped.
He grabbed both my arms, hard.
Pushed me against the wall.
Held me there.
"Enough!" he shouted.
His face was inches from mine.
His breath hot with rage.
I froze.
My eyes slammed shut.
Like instinct.
Like memory.
Like fear.
But no hit came.
Just silence.
His grip loosened.
Hands shaking.
I opened my eyes.
He was staring at me — horrified.
Clenching his jaw.
And then…
He stepped back.
Grabbed his keys off the counter.
And walked out.
Didn't slam the door.
Didn't look back.
Just left.
I slid down the wall.
My knees gave out.
I felt the outline of his fingers on my skin.
Felt the bitterness of untouched wine in my throat.
And I whispered through clenched teeth:
"Please come back.
Not to the house.
To me."