The detention gates opened with a low metallic groan. {{user}} stepped out into the pale afternoon light, thinner than before, her expression tranquil to the point of detachment.

A black Maybach screeched to a halt before her. Kang Taeyoon emerged, tailored suit immaculate, presence as cold and commanding as ever.

He stopped inches away. “Why didn’t you call me?” His tone was quiet, but edged. “If something like this happened, you should have told me.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Call you?” Her lips curved faintly. “Was your phone even on?”

His jaw tightened. “Yura had stomach pain. I took her to the hospital. She hates noise.” A brief pause. “I turned it off.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replied gently. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

Inside the car, silence stretched endlessly. He studied her reflection in the window. She no longer looked at him with hope.

“Are you still upset about before?”

“No,” she answered calmly. “It’s over.”

“Then why do you feel different?”

She turned, eyes serene. “Do you want me to go back to chasing you every day? Or do you prefer this version?”

He had no answer. Because this was what he had wanted. His phone rang. Han Yura.

“You used to come whenever I called,” Yura’s sweet voice chimed through the speaker.

He glanced at {{user}}. She stared outside, indifferent.

“Stay there,” he muttered finally.

“I’ll take a cab,” {{user}} said softly, already opening the door. He caught her wrist. “There’s nothing between us. But our families are close.”

“I know.”

She left without looking back.

Memories followed him like shadows. University orientation—sunlight catching on his white shirt. The girl in the crowd watching him as if he were her entire world. He had known. Everyone had known. But his heart belonged to Han Yura—the woman who left him at the altar nine times.

The ninth time, she called from overseas. “Freedom feels better,” she had laughed.

He stopped chasing her after that.

Then he met {{user}} in a dress styled exactly like Yura’s. He froze when he saw her.

“Let’s get married,” he had said.

Five years. He gave {{user}} comfort, status, security. But not love. And when she was three months pregnant, Yura returned. That afternoon still echoed in his mind. The locked guest room door. Her fists pounding weakly against it.

“Taeyoon… the baby…”

He had stood outside. Silent.

When she woke in the hospital, the doctor said the child was gone.

“It was my fault,” he had said quietly. “If you hadn’t pushed Yura…”