Mimi pressed the elevator button with trembling fingers.
The doors closed slowly, trapping her in a mirrored box of herself — pink, perfect, painted... and breaking.
The strawberry pudding box sat in her hands, dented and warm now, the cream inside smeared against the sides. Her Douyin lashes — once fluttery and full — clung to wet cheeks. Her lips were still glossed, but the shine meant nothing now.
She had stood there.
In front of Kijo.
Holding that little dessert box like it meant something.
And Kijo had barely looked at her.
Too busy laughing with her assistant. Too cold to even lie.
"I didn't ask you to bring this."
Like Mimi's effort... her time... her heart — were all inconvenient.
Her throat tightened.
The tears didn't fall loudly.
They slipped down like they always did with Mimi — quiet, soft, unnoticed.
But this time, she didn't wipe them away.
She let herself cry in that elevator until her vision blurred, until the ribbon slipped from the box and landed on the floor.
She left it there.
Mimi didn't go home.
She couldn't.
She texted Aena — barely one word.
"Can I come over?"
The reply came in seconds.
"Of course. I'm already waiting."
Kijo's key clicked in the door at 1:46 a.m.
She stepped inside the penthouse without looking up, still checking a contract draft on her phone. Her heels clicked once, twice—
Then stopped.
It was dark.
Not dim — dark.
No hallway light left on. No soft lamp in the kitchen. No warm smell of cinnamon or honey. No quiet hum of Mimi's music echoing from her room.
The apartment felt... hollow.
She frowned.
Dropped her keys.
And looked around.
The living room was exactly as she'd left it. Clean. Cold.
Too clean.
Too cold.
She walked to the kitchen, expecting to see that little covered plate waiting for her — the one Mimi left out every night, with her pink handwriting scribbled on a sticky note:
"Eat well, okay? ♡"
But the counter was empty.
The air was still.
Kijo opened the fridge. Nothing labeled. Nothing packed. No stupid cute lunchbox filled with sparkles and strawberries and effort.
No note. No color. No Mimi.
She checked the hallway.
Bedroom door cracked open.
Light off.
Silence.
Kijo's chest tightened — an unfamiliar weight pressing against something she didn't realize had grown used to soft footsteps, humming, and freshly boiled tea.
She pulled out her phone. Opened Mimi's name in her messages.
Blank.
She hadn't messaged all day.
Kijo never noticed that before.
She noticed now.
She typed.
Paused.
Deleted.
Closed her phone.
Across the city, Mimi sat curled on a couch, wearing one of Aena's oversized sweatshirts. Her cheeks were red. Her eyes puffy. Her voice broken.
"I tried so hard," she whispered.
Aena handed her a tissue. "You did more than enough."
"I just... I thought if I was kind enough... sweet enough... maybe she'd start to care."
Aena stayed quiet, only squeezing her hand.
Mimi pulled her knees closer to her chest.
"She didn't even look at me," she said. "She didn't even notice I was there."
And back in the penthouse, Kijo stood alone in the dark, leaning against the counter where Mimi used to place her silly little treats.
She turned her head, as if half expecting to hear soft footsteps. A quiet giggle. A humming tune.
But it never came.
She stood in that silence for hours.
And never realized how long a night could feel when the person who filled it... was gone.