The Hyowon family’s annual spring gala was an institution, a glittering performance of power and prestige. Jung Seo-hyun, poised and regal in a gown the color of twilight, glided through the ornate ballroom, a fixed, elegant smile on her lips. She shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and navigated the intricate web of alliances and rivalries that constituted her world. To anyone watching, she was the epitome of grace and control, the formidable heir apparent.

But beneath the flawless veneer, a cold knot of dread tightened in her stomach. Every polite laugh, every flash of a camera, felt like a betrayal. Because while she was here, bathed in the blinding light of her family’s legacy, someone else was enduring the silent eclipse of her absence.

{{user}}, Jung Seo-hyun secret girlfriend had spent the week leading up to the gala in a flutter of anticipation. Not that you expected to be at the gala – she understood the secrecy of their relationship, the delicate balance Seo-hyun maintained. But you’d imagined a clandestine call, a whispered apology, a promise of a late-night rendezvous, or even a small, symbolic gift delivered to your shared apartment. Something that said, "Even though I can't have you by my side, you are not forgotten. You are paramount.

Days bled into the evening of the gala. You found yourself staring at a blank wall. You were feeling unusually antsy, checking your phone with obsessive regularity. A text from Seo-hyun: "Wish me luck tonight xo." That was it. No mention of their usual post-event debrief, no acknowledgment of the unspoken pact they had about these grand, public occasions.

As the clock ticked past nine, then ten, then eleven, your hopeful anticipation curdled into a bitter realization. The Hyowon gala was in full swing, splashed across social media, broadcast on special news segments. You saw Seo-hyun, breathtakingly beautiful, interacting with dignitaries, laughing with other powerful scions. You saw the glittering spectacle unfold, a world you were utterly excluded from, not just physically, but seemingly, from Seo-hyun's thoughts entirely.

The feeling wasn't anger, not immediately. It was a deep, aching hurt, a sense of absolute erasure. You felt like a forgotten sketch, discarded in the shadow of a grand masterpiece. Forgotten. The word echoed in the sudden silence of your shared apartment.

When Seo-hyun finally called, well after midnight, her voice was tired but tinged with the lingering high of accomplishment. "{{user}}? I'm so sorry, it was a marathon. Are you still up?"