I don't remember running.
I only remember the breath tearing at my ribs.
The slap of my sneakers on wet concrete.
The shouting behind me.
The flashbulbs turning the night into a jagged strobe.
I ducked through the alley behind the motel, lungs burning, chest hollow, mind screaming her name even when my mouth couldn't.
Ji-eun.
Ji-eun.
Ji-eun.
The streets blurred into a mess of neon and concrete and faces I didn't recognize.
I scanned every figure.
Every hoodie.
Every bowed head.
None of them were her.
I shoved past a man smoking outside a 7-Eleven.
He cursed at me.
I didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew it was already too late.
But my feet kept moving.
Because if I stopped—
If I let the fear catch up—
I would break.
And I couldn't break.
Not yet.
Not while she was still out there, scared and alone, thinking she had to do this without me.
Thinking she had to leave me to save me.
I turned another corner.
Another alley.
Another dead end.
Slumped against the graffiti-stained wall, I pressed my hands to my face.
Tried to think.
Tried to breathe.
Tried to find her.
Where would she go?
Not home. Too obvious.
Not her agency. They'd eat her alive now that the scandal was public.
Not friends. She didn't have many she trusted anymore.
I thought about her habits.
The places she liked when she wanted to disappear.
Coffee shops that stayed open past midnight.
Tiny bookstores with no cameras.
Piers where the city lights faded into the black water.
I cursed under my breath.
Pushed off the wall.
Started walking again.
Faster.
Aimless.
The phone in my pocket buzzed again and again.
I ignored it.
If it wasn't her, it didn't matter.
If it was her—
God, if it was her—
I couldn't afford to miss it.
I ducked into the shadows of an abandoned bus stop, pulled out the phone, heart hammering.
One missed call.
Unknown number.
No voicemail.
I clenched the phone so hard it creaked in my hand.
Where are you? I thought.
Where are you, Ji-eun?
The night stretched on.
Each step heavier.
Each street colder.
I stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for a light that would never change because the button was broken, the wires frayed.
It felt fitting.
Everything broken.
Everything frayed.
I thought about the first time we met.
The way she didn't smile when she shook my hand.
The way she didn't flinch when she told me exactly how transactional she needed our arrangement to be.
Cold.
Efficient.
Safe.
I should've known better.
I should've known she wasn't cold.
She was scared.
And now she was running from the only thing scarier than exposure.
Me.
Because I didn't just see her.
I knew her.
The ugly parts.
The terrified parts.
The selfish, beautiful, desperate parts she tried to drown under glitter and headlines.
And no matter how much she tried to hide—
No matter how much she ran—
I still wanted her.
I still loved her.
Even if she never asked for it.
Even if she never deserved it.
I jammed the phone back in my pocket and started moving again.
This time, I wasn't chasing a ghost.
This time, I was going where I knew she would go.
The Han River.
The place she used to talk about like it was holy ground.
Where she said the city noise finally faded just enough to hear her own thoughts.
Where she once told me she'd go if she ever needed to remember who she was before all this.
Before the lies.
Before me.
Before the world started pulling her apart for sport.
The river wasn't far.
Not if I ran.
And so I did.
Head down.
Breath ragged.
Heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted out.
The city blurred past me.
Drunks shouting at each other.
A group of teenagers laughing too loud.
A woman dragging her crying child across a crosswalk.
Life, uncaring, oblivious, moving on without us.
Without her.
Without me.
I reached the riverbank twenty minutes later.
Sweating.
Breathless.
Raw.
The water stretched out in front of me, black and endless, swallowing the city lights without apology.
I stumbled down the path.
Scanning.
Searching.
Praying.
There.
A figure.
Sitting alone on the cold concrete ledge.
Knees drawn up.
Head bowed.
Small.
Still.
Fragile.
My heart stuttered.
I moved closer.
Step by aching step.
The figure didn't move.
Didn't turn.
Didn't run.
I knew it was her even before I saw her face.
Even before I saw the curve of her shoulders, the trembling of her fingers, the way she hugged herself like she could hold her soul together if she just squeezed hard enough.
I stopped a few feet away.
Afraid to scare her.
Afraid to break whatever fragile truce the night had wrapped around her.
She didn't look up.
But she spoke.
Voice barely louder than the river's whisper.
"I thought if I left first," she said, "it wouldn't hurt so much when you did."
I swallowed hard.
Tried to speak.
Failed.
She hugged her knees tighter.
"I thought if I disappeared," she continued, "I could protect you."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
"I don't need protecting," I said finally, my voice rough.
She laughed—a hollow, broken sound that made my chest ache.
"You needed protecting from the moment you met me," she said.
I moved closer.
Sat beside her.
Close enough to feel her shiver.
Close enough to feel her pain vibrate in the cold night air between us.
But I didn't touch her.
Not yet.
Instead, I said the only thing I knew was true:
"I'm not leaving."
She finally turned her head.
Looked at me.
And for the first time since the motel, I saw it.
The fear.
The longing.
The desperate, fragile hope.
"You should," she whispered.
"I can't."
"You still can."
"I won't."
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent and stubborn.
"You're an idiot," she said, voice breaking.
"I know."
"You're going to regret this."
"Maybe."
She laughed again.
Softer.
More broken.
She wiped her face with her sleeve.
"You don't deserve this," she said.
I leaned closer.
Close enough that our knees brushed.
Close enough that I could smell the cheap detergent in her hoodie and the salt of her tears.
"I deserve you," I said.
And her face crumpled.
She broke.
Finally.
Fully.
And she buried her face against my shoulder.
Sobbing.
Trembling.
Shattering.
I held her.
Arms tight.
Anchoring her to something real.
Something solid.
Something that wouldn't walk away.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
The river whispered around us.
The city pulsed behind us.
And I knew—
No matter how broken we were—
No matter how many cameras waited to tear us apart—
I wasn't letting her go.
Not without a fight.
I don't know how long we sat there.
Maybe minutes.
Maybe hours.
The city throbbed behind us, indifferent.
The Han River whispered below us, carrying away pieces of who we used to be.
I held her until the trembling in her body faded.
Until her breathing slowed.
Until she remembered that she was still alive, still here, still mine if she wanted to be.
Finally, she pulled back.
Her face blotchy.
Eyes swollen.
Nose pink.
Hair messy.
Beautiful.
God, she was beautiful.
Not in the way cameras tried to make her.
Not in the way fans polished her into a goddess with their fantasies.
Real.
Wrecked.
Human.
"I don't know how to fix this," she said, voice hoarse.
I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"You don't have to."
She shook her head.
"I can't just hide forever."
"I'm not asking you to."
"But you should."
"You're not something I regret."
She closed her eyes, like the words hurt more than comforted.
"I dragged you into this," she whispered.
"I walked in."
"You didn't know what you were walking into."
"Maybe," I said. "But I knew who I was walking toward."
She didn't argue.
She didn't have the strength to anymore.
Neither did I.
The night stretched between us.
Heavy.
Wounded.
Sacred.
"We need a plan," I said finally.
She opened her eyes, wary.
"We can't run forever," I said. "We need to control the story again."
"How?" she asked, voice brittle.
"They want a villain," I said. "Fine. Let's give them one."
Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
I sat back, thinking, my brain moving faster than it had all night.
"We flip the script," I said. "We tell the truth. The real truth."
Her face twisted. "They won't believe it."
"Not everyone needs to," I said. "Just enough."
She hugged her knees to her chest, skeptical.
"You want us to go public," she said flatly.
"Yes."
"And say what? That we're happily married? That we were secretly in love all along?"
"No," I said. "We tell them exactly what this was."
"A contract," she said, voice bitter.
"A contract that became something else," I said. "Something real. Something messy."
"Messy doesn't sell," she muttered.
"Maybe not," I said. "But lies do. And if we don't control the lies, someone else will."
She didn't answer.
But I could see the war inside her.
The part of her that wanted to believe there was still a way out.
The part that was already halfway to giving up.
"I'll do whatever you need," I said. "But you have to choose."
Her hands tightened around her knees.
"I'm tired," she whispered.
"I know."
"I'm scared."
"I know."
"I don't want to fight anymore."
I reached for her hand.
Wrapped it in mine.
"I'll fight for you," I said. "But you have to let me."
She squeezed my hand once.
Hard.
And when she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.
"Okay."
It wasn't a war cry.
It wasn't a vow.
It was a surrender.
A broken, battered, terrified surrender.
But it was enough.
I stood.
Pulled her up with me.
She staggered, legs stiff from sitting so long.
I steadied her.
We started walking, side by side, back toward the city.
Back toward the wreckage.
Back toward whatever future we could still carve out of the ruins.
We didn't talk.
Didn't need to.
The decision was made.
We would fight.
Together.
Even if it killed us.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
Saw Do-yoon's name flash across the screen.
I frowned.
He hadn't called all night.
Hadn't answered my messages either.
I picked up.
"Hyung," he said, voice low, urgent. "You need to see this."
"What?"
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Sorry for what?"
He hesitated.
And in that hesitation, I knew.
I knew.
Another betrayal.
Another knife.
Another fall.
"Hyung," he said, voice cracking. "I didn't know they'd use it like this."
"What are you talking about?" I snapped.
"They took my investigation files," he said. "They twisted them."
My blood went cold.
"Twisted how?"
"They're saying you blackmailed her," he said.
The ground tilted under my feet.
"They're saying you threatened to expose her if she didn't marry you."
Ji-eun stiffened beside me.
She couldn't hear the words.
But she felt them.
Felt them crawl over my skin like a sickness.
"No," I said.
"I'm sorry," Do-yoon said again. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear."
I hung up without saying goodbye.
Turned to Ji-eun.
Her eyes searched mine.
And before I could find the words—
Before I could prepare her—
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out.
Looked at the screen.
And froze.
I saw the headline reflected in her wide, horrified eyes.
> BREAKING: Secret Husband Coerced Kang Ji-eun Into Illegal Marriage Contract — Exclusive Evidence Revealed
A photo underneath.
Of me.
Leaving a courthouse.
Grainy.
Twisted.
Weaponized.
The caption:
> Scumbag Scriptwriter Exposed as Mastermind Behind Velvet Rouge's Fall.
She dropped the phone.
It hit the sidewalk with a crack.
And then she looked at me.
Not with love.
Not with hope.
Not even with anger.
With fear.
Raw, naked fear.
And I realized—
Jun-woo hadn't just framed me.
He'd turned her against me without firing a single shot.
She looked at me like she didn't know me.
Like I was a stranger who had just stepped out of the darkness.
I opened my mouth to speak—
To explain—
To beg—
But nothing came out.
Because how do you explain something you didn't even see coming?
How do you tear down a lie that's been built on your back?
Her hand trembled at her side.
I watched it.
Watched the way her fingers flexed, searching for something solid.
Something safe.
And I realized—
Right now, I wasn't that.
Right now, I was the monster they made me into.
And if she didn't believe me—
If she couldn't believe me—
She would be alone.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
Easy prey.
I couldn't let that happen.
Even if it meant destroying whatever fragile thing we had left.
Even if it meant becoming the villain she already saw in my face.
I forced my voice to work.
Forced the words out, one jagged shard at a time.
"Go," I said.
She flinched.
"What?" she whispered.
"Run," I said, stepping back, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them from reaching for her. "Get as far from me as you can."
Her lip trembled.
"You didn't—" she started.
"It doesn't matter what I did," I cut her off.
The lie tasted like blood.
"They'll believe it anyway."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"But—"
I laughed.
Sharp.
Ugly.
It echoed against the empty riverbank.
"You think this was ever about you?" I said, making my voice cruel, detached. "You were a paycheck. A contract. A shortcut."
Each word sliced something inside me wide open.
Each word dug the knife deeper.
But I kept going.
Because she needed to believe it.
She needed to hate me.
It was the only way she'd survive.
"You were just a job," I said.
She shook her head.
"No," she whispered.
"Yes," I said. "And the second the money ran out, I was done."
Her face crumpled.
She took a step back.
Another.
The distance yawning between us like a canyon.
"You don't mean that," she said.
"I do."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" I sneered. "Look at me, Ji-eun. Look at what I am. What did you think was going to happen? That we were going to ride off into the sunset?"
She covered her mouth with both hands.
Choking on a sob she didn't want me to hear.
Didn't want me to see.
I pressed the dagger home.
"You're nothing to me," I said.
The world tilted.
My vision blurred.
Not from anger.
From the unbearable weight of it.
The unbearable truth that none of it was true.
None of it.
She staggered.
Turned.
Ran.
This time, I didn't follow.
This time, I let her go.
Because loving someone means knowing when you're the thing killing them.
I stood there long after she disappeared into the city's shadows.
Long after the wind picked up, cold and punishing against my skin.
Long after the first few drops of rain started to fall.
And I let myself break.
Completely.
Utterly.
Silently.
Because the world was still watching.
And the villain doesn't get to cry.
The villain doesn't get to be saved.
The villain doesn't get to be loved.
I pulled out my phone.
Opened the last message from Do-yoon.
The last scrap of proof that this wasn't an accident.
That this was a war.
That Jun-woo was winning.
I stared at it.
At the evidence.
At the instructions tucked between the lines.
And I realized:
If I wanted to save her—
Really save her—
I couldn't just run.
I couldn't just hide.
I had to fight.
Dirty.
Ugly.
Brutal.
I had to become the monster they thought I was.
Or lose her forever.
Another text buzzed in.
Unknown number.
A new link.
A new headline.
I didn't even hesitate.
I clicked it open.
And what I saw made my blood freeze.
> BREAKING: Exclusive Interview with Ji-eun's Childhood Friend Reveals New Shocking Allegations
And below that—
A photo.
Of Do-yoon.
Smiling.
Talking to a reporter.
Selling whatever was left of us to the highest bidder.