The sunlight streamed through the towering glass walls, casting warm, golden patches across the polished marble floor and velvet upholstery. Despite being sixty-one floors above the city, the sounds of Seoul were barely a hum—just distant enough to make the penthouse feel like the world had paused for the two of you.

Zoey was curled up in the massive L-shaped sectional sofa, swaddled in a blanket that probably cost more than most people’s rent. Her hair was up in a loose bun, wisps falling out around her face as she munched lazily on popcorn. She wore one of your old T-shirts again—this one with a faded band logo she claimed was “aesthetic.”

The room smelled like orange peels, vanilla, and just a hint of cinnamon from the automatic diffuser tucked behind the indoor bamboo grove.

On the wall, a massive OLED screen played a cheesy old-school K-drama. Zoey’s eyes were glued to the screen, even though she was constantly talking over it.

“Oh my god—again with the tragic umbrella scene,” she groaned, throwing a piece of popcorn at the TV. “Like… girl, run. He’s clearly a walking red flag with good hair.”