The air in the mansion felt charged.
Everyone felt it.
Mi-Ho didn't speak during breakfast. His jaw was tight, and his eyes never once drifted toward Hana—not even when she entered the room in that soft blue dress he once said made her "look like sky."
She noticed.
She always noticed him.
But she didn't speak either.
Because Tae-Hyun sat beside her, laughing about a memory from high school—how she used to draw stars on the windows when she was sad.
"Some things never change," he teased, gently brushing a smudge of charcoal from her cheek.
Mi-Ho saw it.
And snapped.
Later that day, in the garden—
Mi-Ho cornered her.
Not violently. Not aggressively.
But emotionally? He was seething beneath his calm.
"You trust him?" Mi-Ho asked, voice dangerously quiet.
Hana blinked. "Tae-Hyun? He's been nothing but kind—"
"He disappeared when you needed him most."
"He didn't even know I was alive."
"He knew enough to come now," Mi-Ho snapped. "And he came running."
She stared at him.
"You're not really mad at Tae-Hyun."
He scoffed, turning away.
"You're mad at yourself," she said, stepping closer. "Because you had the chance to say something… and you didn't."
Silence.
The wind shifted.
"You think I don't know what that night on the rooftop meant?" she continued, voice trembling. "I waited, Mi-Ho. I waited for you to say it."
He looked at her then—really looked.
And the armor cracked.
"Do you want me to say it now?" he asked, suddenly vulnerable.
Her breath caught.
"Yes," she whispered.
He stepped closer.
So close their foreheads almost touched.
"I lo—"
"Ahem." A voice cleared loudly.
It was Tae-Hyun.
Mi-Ho stepped back.
Hana looked torn.
And just like that... the moment was gone.
Again.