The house was too quiet.
No one spoke of her.
Not the maids who used to whisper about her every move. Not the cooks who stopped pretending to care.
Not her parents who seemed even more relieved that Hana was gone.
Not even Yuna, who strutted through the halls like Hana had never existed.
But Jin noticed.
He noticed her absence in the way the light hit the garden in the afternoon, missing the silhouette of a girl who used to sit quietly on the bench, sketching.
He noticed it in the mornings, when no one left tea outside his door—something Hana had done without ever saying a word.
She was gone. And everyone else had already forgotten.
Everyone but him.
Jin sat at his desk, staring at the bouquet of pale blue hyacinths he had picked out himself—symbols of regret. It had taken him hours to choose them. He wasn't good with apologies, but this was a start.
He would apologize to Hana and ask Yuna's hand in marriage. After all, Hana was still Yuna's sister and part of the family of the girl he was going to marry.
Today, he planned to do what he believed was long overdue.
He would reveal his identity—not as Jin the driver, but as Jin Ahn, heir to the Ahn Group. He had waited years for this moment. To step out of the shadows. To prove himself worthy. And now that he was ready, he would ask for Yuna's hand in marriage.
Yuna. The girl he thought he loved.
He carried a bouquet of white lilies—purity, sincerity, commitment—and walked with quiet purpose toward the lounge. She was likely with her friends, but that didn't matter. Today, he'd finally make it official.
But just as he reached the doorway, laughter broke through.
Snide. Sharp.
Yuna's voice.
"Oh, come on," she scoffed. "As if I ever liked him."
Jin froze behind the wall.
"He was just some lowly driver. I only flirted with him because Hana liked him. Watching her get depressed over it? Honestly, it was hilarious."
Louder laughter followed from her friends.
"And now that Mr. Ahn is sending me gifts and courting me?" she said with a proud giggle. "Please. Like I'd ever stoop so low as to be with a driver."
Jin stood frozen.
The bouquet dropped from his hand, scattering white petals across the polished floor.
Inside, the girl he believed was kind . . . brave . . . the girl who had once inspired him to give up everything . . . was laughing at his expense.
And suddenly, the memory he'd clung to all these years—the girl climbing a tree to rescue a wounded bird, the act of courage and compassion that had branded itself on his soul—felt wrong.
Could someone like Yuna have ever done that?
Was it possible . . . it wasn't her at all?
What if . . .
What if it had been Hana all along?
Jin turned away like a man unmoored, heart pounding, lungs tight. He stumbled back to his room. Locked the door behind him.
Each breath burned as shame clawed at his throat.
Had he fallen in love with a lie?
He'd spent years idolizing the girl from that one moment—her bravery, her gentleness. Everyone had told him it was Yuna. He had wanted to believe it.
But now . . . he wasn't so sure.
He reached for his phone, hands trembling.
"Get me the CCTV footage from the night Yuna fell," he barked into the phone. "All of it. Every second. And go through the old archives at the Yang estate. I want everything from ten years ago. Especially photos."
His voice cracked.
"Do it now."
====
The files arrived by midnight.
Jin barely noticed the time. He hadn't eaten, hadn't slept. His focus was locked on the screen, skipping through footage frame by frame, desperate for answers.
There.
Yuna appeared in the hallway, clutching a necklace.
His heart stuttered.
It was the same necklace her mother used to wear.
Then Hana entered the frame.
They exchanged words—no sound, but Hana's face was a storm of emotions. Hurt. Anger. Desperation.
Yuna reached forward—ripped the necklace from her neck and threw it on the ground. The necklace broke.
Hana slapped her.
Another video, Yuna staggered back—on her own. Her heel caught, and Hana was trying to save her.
She fell.
Jin paused the video.
She hadn't been pushed.
Hana had only tried to reclaim something precious—her mother's final gift. She even wanted to save Yuna but the latter fell on her own and blamed it on Hana.
And he . . . he had believed Hana was guilty. Those slaps and lashes . . . it shouldn't have been her.
His stomach turned.
Another clip loaded.
Hana, sitting on the floor afterward, quietly crying. Not a single soul approached her. Alone in her shame. In her pain.
And what had he done?
He'd punished her. Hurt her. Called her a liar. Slap and whipped her.
He ran a hand down his face, trying to stay grounded, but the walls were closing in.
More files. Photos this time.
Jin clicked through them in a blur.
Until one stopped him cold.
A girl in a white summer dress, halfway up a tree.
In her hand, a tiny wounded bird.
Girls stood not far, giggling. One snapped a selfie.
Jin zoomed in.
The face.
It wasn't Yuna.
It was Hana.
His breath hitched. The room tilted. The memory from his youth—the moment he had fallen for someone so quietly heroic—came rushing back.
It had never been Yuna.
It was Hana all along.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed into his chair. His body shook as the realization slammed into him like a wave.
He had loved Hana all along.
And he had destroyed her.
The girl he had whipped.
The girl he had ignored.
The girl he had chosen to doubt.
"What have I done?" he whispered hoarsely.
His fists clenched.
The image of Hana's tear-streaked face filled his mind.
She had tried to love him.
And he had turned her into a villain.
A sob tore from his chest. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart.
He stared at his hands—these hands that had held the lash, that had hurt her.
He didn't deserve her.
But he had to find her.