The sky cracked open, unleashing a torrent of cold rain. Thunder rolled through the city, each boom louder than the last.
Hena ran, her lungs burning, feet splashing against the wet pavement. Behind her, shadows moved—dark figures cloaked in black, fast and relentless.
Her heart pounded louder than the storm. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her soaked clothes clung to her skin. A hand reached for her shoulder—she screamed, twisted away—and stumbled. Her knees hit the ground. Pain lanced through her body.
Everything spun.
The world tilted sideways, her vision blurring into streaks of rain and fear. Her last thought before she fell unconscious was "Why…? Why won't they just leave me alone?"
A warm hand pressed against her forehead.
Hena stirred, eyes fluttering open. The sound of rain had softened, replaced by quiet jazz playing low in the background. She was wrapped in a soft blanket, the scent of cedar and something masculine lingering in the air.
She blinked—and found herself looking up at Damian.
His hair was damp, clinging slightly to his forehead. He knelt beside her, worry etched across his sharp features. A fresh bruise bloomed on her temple, and he was gently dabbing it with a cloth.
"You're awake," he said softly.
She tried to sit up, but the pain made her wince.
"What happened?" she rasped.
"I found you in the street." His voice was quiet, but there was tension behind it. "You collapsed in the rain. Someone was following you."
Her face darkened as the memory returned—the goon, the chase, the terror.
"I don't need your help," she said sharply, her voice colder now. She turned away from him. "You should be with your fiancée. Maybe she sent that goon too."
Damian frowned. "Don't do that. Don't pretend to be her."
She looked at him, startled.
"I know you're not Hara," he continued, standing slowly. "You never were. You're different… softer, honest. Don't push me away just to protect me."
Hena's lips trembled. Her defenses wavered, but she didn't let them fall.
"The more you get close to me," she said bitterly, "the more dangerous my life becomes. Because of you, Hara slapped me, humiliated me. And now this? That man could've killed me."
Damian's brows furrowed. "Hara may be impulsive, jealous—but she wouldn't go that far. Not like this. I think…" he hesitated, "I think it might be Madam Seo."
"No…" Hena shook her head, the thought too painful. "My own mother? She wouldn't—"
"Then maybe it's time you wise up." Damian's voice was gentle, but unyielding.
Silence fell between them.
A single tear slipped down Hena's cheek, surprising even her. She quickly wiped it away, but not before Damian turned aside, giving her space… and hiding the flicker of pain in his own eyes.
"The music box," Hena whispered. "I broke it earlier. It was hers… maybe she saw me as a threat because I touched it. Because I wanted answers."
Damian said nothing for a moment, only watched her as if he were memorizing every word.
"You should get some rest," he said finally, walking toward his coat rack. He took off his jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders. "Wear this. Bring it to my office tomorrow. I'll need it."
As he turned to leave, she suddenly asked, "Can I use your landline? Just for a minute. My phone is probably destroyed."
He looked back, eyes soft. "You've got two minutes."
---
The line buzzed once, twice, before a familiar voice answered.
"Claire."
"Thank God," Hena exhaled. "I'm okay—but listen, something crazy happened."
She told her everything: the goon, the slap, the fight, the rain, waking up in Damian's penthouse.
Claire gasped. "Hara's gone off the deep end! That girl's a psycho. I swear, if I ever see her—"
"Claire…" Hena murmured. "I just needed to hear someone who cares."
"You'll be fine," Claire said firmly. "You've survived worse. I believe in you."
They hung up after a few more moments, and Hena dialed one more number.
"Min Jae?" she said quietly.
His voice lit up. "Hena? Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm at Damian's," she admitted. "But I'm fine, really. I just needed to hear your voice."
"I'll come to you right now."
"No," she said quickly. "Don't. It's too late, and I'm safe. Just… let's talk tomorrow, okay?"
A pause. Then a soft, "Alright. Tomorrow."
---
After she hung up, she held the receiver close to her chest.
"Claire… Min Jae… the only two people I can trust," she whispered. Her eyes flickered toward the window, where the rain still tapped gently against the glass.
"I just hope neither of them betrays me."