Two years ago, under the neon glow of Tokyo’s skyline, Jisoo let herself break the rules. Just once.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen. Hadn’t meant to lose herself in whispered secrets and stolen touches, in the way that night had felt different—dangerous, exhilarating, real.

And then she left.

She told herself it was for the best. That it had been nothing more than a fleeting moment, a beautiful mistake. But no matter how many performances she gave, how many airports she passed through, how many faces she smiled at—she could never quite shake the feeling that she had left something behind.

Or rather, someone.

And now, sitting in the dim golden glow of the Grammys, that someone was only a few feet away.

Jisoo hadn’t noticed at first. The evening had been a blur of flashing cameras, stunning gowns, and polite conversation. But then Jennie, seated beside her, suddenly stilled.

“Jisoo.”

There was something in her voice—something knowing.

Jisoo turned her head, following Jennie’s gaze.

And then her breath caught.

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Seated at a table directly in front of them, surrounded by a group of friends, laughing softly at something one of them had said. She looked effortlessly radiant, the low lighting catching the red of her hair like embers in the dark. There was an ease to her posture, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. She had always been beautiful, but now—she was breathtaking.

Jisoo’s heart twisted painfully.

She shouldn’t still feel this way.

She shouldn’t still want.

Rosé shifted in her seat beside her, discreetly watching Jisoo’s reaction. She had never seen her unnie look so completely lost.

Lisa leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “So that’s her.” It wasn’t a question.

Jisoo swallowed, fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. She forced herself to look away, to pretend like it didn’t matter. But it did. It always did.