Freen entered the elevator, combing her fingers through her soft, silky hair. She grabbed the handrail with her right hand, her legs suddenly weak beneath her. It was clear—she was frozen inside. She held the handle tightly, as if drawing strength from it, while her left hand clutched a black handbag.
Just as the doors were about to close, she saw a woman sprinting toward the elevator. But it shut completely before Becky could make it. Frustrated, Becky entered the adjacent elevator instead.
"Whoa, Becky? The photoshoot done already?" asked a tall, fair-skinned man inside—the one who had entered with her.
"Wait, Becky, I was just about to get off." The man tried to stop her when she immediately pressed the ground floor button. She glared at him. He raised his hands in surrender and stepped to the side, silent.
Becky faced the elevator doors impatiently, arms crossed. In their reflection, she could see the man watching her in confusion. He was dressed sharply: blue suit, white shirt, white pants, and white sneakers.
"What is it, Kirk?" she asked, annoyed by his gaze.
"I didn't say anything," Kirk replied, shrugging innocently.
Ding.
As the elevator doors opened, Becky stepped out immediately, scanning for Freen. Freen had just exited her own elevator—but a man approached her, carrying a single flower bud. Becky froze as the media swarmed around them. Her heart sank when the man kissed Freen's forehead and wrapped an arm around her, sending the nearby fans into a frenzy.
Two warm hands caught Becky's shoulders as her knees buckled.
"Becky, are you okay?" Kirk asked, concerned. But she shook off his hands without answering and hurried back into the elevator alone. Thankfully, it was empty. She wiped her left eye, then smiled bitterly.
Kirk slipped in just as the doors were closing. Becky glared at him. He raised his hands again and shuffled to the far end of the elevator, avoiding her gaze.
When they got out, Kirk followed her like a loyal puppy. Becky frowned. What is this man? A dog? Why is he always following me?
On the way to the studio, they ran into Ya—Freen's personal assistant—rushing down the hall with Freen's clothes on a hanger.
"Did you see Freen?" Ya asked breathlessly.
Becky just shrugged with an annoyed look and walked past her. Kirk, more helpful, signaled that Freen was downstairs.
"Ugh, that girl snuck out again," Ya muttered in frustration before sprinting to the elevator.
Kirk continued following Becky. He'd been hoping for a chance to invite her to dinner before their lock-in taping began, knowing they might not get another opportunity. But, as always, it wasn't the right time.
"Becky, where did you go? I had to gather all your things in the hallway. We thought something happened between you and Freen," Mee, her loyal assistant-stylist, said, walking up with her belongings in hand.
"I'm sorry, Mee, for worrying you. Something just came up. Thanks for this," Becky replied softly.
"No worries," Mee said and gave her a warm hug.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked again.
Becky nodded, though her expression said otherwise. Mee didn't push.
"You heading home?"
She nodded again.
"You brought a car?"
"My dad should be here by now," Becky lied. She didn't want company—especially not Kirk's.
"I'll walk you out, then," Kirk insisted.
Becky sighed, feeling guilty. Kirk had always been kind to her, and she'd kept him at a distance.
"…Okay," she relented. Kirk beamed.
"Yes!" he cheered, punching the air. Becky couldn't help but laugh at his goofy excitement.
"Lover boy, get her home safe," Mee teased, laughing too.
"Of course," Kirk grinned, making them all laugh again.
What's up with this guy? Becky thought as she watched him smile. They shared a look—until Mee clapped his hands between them.
"Okay, enough. We still have a contract with Freen and Becky's film. No distractions, kids."
Kirk scratched his nape, while Becky laughed again.
"After you, milady," Kirk said, grabbing her bag. Becky hesitated, then let him carry it as they exited the studio.
At the parking lot, Kirk led her to his car. Becky had lied—her dad was supposed to fetch her, but a last-minute message said something came up. Oddly enough, the only other time her dad ever canceled on her like this… was when Freen was still in her life.
No. It's not possible.
"What?" Kirk asked, hearing her mutter.
"Nothing," Becky shook her head.
Her thoughts ran wild. Did Dad ask Freen to pick me up again? It sounded insane—but those two had always been close. Maybe they still kept in touch, and he was just respecting Becky's decision to distance herself after England.
"Wait here," Kirk said, opening the passenger door for her.
"You don't have to do that, Kirk." She tried to be polite, but he was irritatingly persistent. Something about him just felt… off—or maybe she wasn't used to this, not unless it was Freen.
Stop thinking about her. Please, stop. Becky scolded herself.
Just as she was about to step in—
HONK!
A black BMW M5 screeched to a stop in front of them. Freen stepped out from the driver's seat like a goddess and stormed toward Becky. She grabbed Becky's right hand without a word.
Becky tried to resist, but Freen yanked her away. Kirk grabbed Becky's left hand, halting them.
"Let. Go." Freen said coldly, her eyes locked on Kirk's grip.
Both Kirk and Becky froze. Kirk quickly released her, rubbing the back of his head.
"Wait, Fre—"
"I'm taking her with me." Freen cut him off and opened her car door, trying to push Becky in.
"No. I'm not going with you," Becky snapped, unmoving.
"Ugh, you're so annoying. Just get in," Freen growled.
"No!" Becky shouted and stormed off. What the hell is her problem? One minute she's flirty, the next she's cold, then she acts hurt—then pretends she's still in love with her public boyfriend. It was exhausting.
Freen followed, Kirk standing awkwardly in the distance.
He was about to warn them—Mee had texted that paparazzi were nearby—but before he could, Freen grabbed Becky's arm and shoved her into the car. She sprinted to the driver's seat and jumped in.
"What is wrong with you?!" Becky shouted, hitting Freen with her bag.
"Ow! Stop it!" Freen yelled back, grabbing Becky's wrists with one hand and pinning them behind her.
She climbed onto Becky's lap, leaning in close, eyes burning into hers. Becky glared back, furious.
"Please," Freen whispered. "Stop."
Becky didn't back down, still wriggling.
Freen pushed her against the seat harder. Both were breathing heavily, locked in a stare. Becky saw something flicker in Freen's eyes—something deep. Was it sorrow? Longing?
Why do her eyes tell me a story without saying anything?
Becky was so focused on her gaze that she didn't notice Freen's fingers brushing her shoulder… then grazing down toward her chest.
"A-Ah…" Becky gasped, shocked at the sound that escaped her.
Freen smirked, eyes flicking to Becky's flushed cheeks.
"W-What are—"
"W-what are you doing, Freen?" Becky asked, her voice trembling—not out of fear, but from the rush of heat surging through her veins. Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm as she tried to keep her composure.
Freen didn't say a word at first. Her fingertips, previously playful and teasing, now rested gently against Becky's collarbone. Her eyes softened, no longer the piercing glare that dared Kirk to challenge her. Now they were glassy, almost vulnerable.
"I missed you," Freen finally said, her voice barely audible, almost as if it were a confession she hadn't meant to say out loud.
Becky froze. Those words hit her like a punch to the chest—unexpected, painful, and full of everything she'd been trying to suppress. She shook her head slowly. "Don't do that," she whispered. "Don't say things you don't mean."
Freen leaned closer, brushing her nose against Becky's. "I mean every word. Even if I can't say them in front of everyone… I never stopped meaning them when it's just us."
Becky looked away, her face turned to the side, struggling to hold back the lump forming in her throat. "Then why do you keep hurting me?" she asked, voice cracking. "Why do you keep choosing him?"
Freen inhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a moment before speaking again. "Because I was afraid. Because everyone expects me to love him. Because I thought hiding you would keep you safe."
"Safe?" Becky scoffed bitterly. "You left me in the dark, Freen. That's not safe. That's cruel."
A silence hung in the air like fog, heavy and pressing.
Freen slowly released Becky's wrists, her body still close, but no longer pinning her. "Then hit me again," she whispered. "Yell at me, hate me… but don't walk away from me. Not when I've finally found the courage to stand here like this."
Becky sat still, her body trembling. Her heart screamed to hold Freen. Her mind screamed to run. She looked into Freen's eyes once again, seeing the raw truth swimming in them—and for the first time, it wasn't hidden behind a camera, or a boyfriend's arm, or a scripted smile.
"Freen…" she breathed out.
Freen closed the space between them, slowly, deliberately—until their lips were just a breath away. "Tell me to stop," she whispered, her voice laced with fear and fire.
But Becky didn't say a word.
Their noses brushed.
Becky turned her head—but didn't move away.
The air between them was trembling, alive. One breath too deep, one second too long, and the truth would come undone.
"You're really here," Becky whispered, barely louder than the heartbeat between them.
Freen's voice was rough with everything she never said. "You waited."
Becky's eyes glistened. "I didn't know I was waiting until you showed up."
Freen leaned in slowly, as if she were walking across glass. Her fingertips grazed Becky's jaw, memorizing the shape of a face she'd dreamed of in silence.
The first kiss was lightning. Not soft—charged. A question neither of them dared ask aloud.
The second was fire. A gasp caught between them. Hands in hair. Nails digging into cloth. A kiss that said don't run.
The third—God, the third—was surrender.
Freen pulled Becky close like she was anchoring herself to the world. Becky gripped Freen's shirt, clung like she might fall if she let go.
No fans. No flashes. No noise.
Only truth, raw and undeniable, spoken in silence between two mouths that had waited too long.
Becky broke the kiss first—barely. Their foreheads touched, breath crashing like waves.
"This changes everything," she said, shaking. Not with fear. With release.
Freen didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
"Then let it."
Goosebumps rose on Becky's skin.
A pause.
A beat too still.
Then—
Click.
The sound was soft.
But in the silence, it was deafening.
They turned.
And there he was.
Watching.
Kirk's POV
Kirk stood frozen, his fist still clenched from earlier. He hadn't left after the argument—something in his gut told him not to. Now, standing just out of sight, he watched the scene unfold through the window of Freen's car, his heart pounding so loud it echoed in his ears.
He saw the way Freen looked at Becky—not the way she looked at him during interviews or staged dates, but something... devastatingly real. Raw. Unfiltered. It hit him like cold water that he had never really been in the frame—not truly. He was just holding a space someone else had already filled.
His jaw tightened.
Mee, peeking behind him after returning from the prop room, saw the look on Kirk's face. Her eyes darted to where he was staring and then back to him. "You should go," she whispered, tugging his sleeve gently. "This... isn't a scene you want to interrupt."
But Kirk didn't move. "She chose me," he said, almost to himself.
Mee frowned. "Did she, though?"
He finally turned, brushing past Mee without another word.
The car was quiet. Still parked.
Neither of them moved.
The kiss had ended, but its weight lingered heavily between them. Freen kept her hands on the steering wheel, not trusting herself to look at Becky. She could feel her heart beating hard against her ribs, her mind racing to process what she'd just done. Becky hadn't said a word—not since it happened.
She was still staring ahead, lips slightly parted, breathing uneven. Her fingers twitched in her lap, clutching the handkerchief Freen had given her. She could still taste it—the heat of the moment, the confusion, the truth neither of them dared say out loud.
Freen dared a glance. Becky didn't return it.
Then—a phone rang.
The sound shattered the silence.
Freen startled and checked her phone. Mee.
She answered quickly.
"Freen, where are you? The paparazzi—they're on your trail. They followed Becky inside. Get out of there before they—"
But Mee's warning came too late.
Outside the windshield, camera flashes sparked like lightning as a swarm of paparazzi began spilling out from the corners of the building, spotting them in the car.
"Damn it," Freen cursed, tossing her phone aside and quickly turning the key.
The engine roared to life, and with one swift move, she reversed out of the parking slot and shot forward onto the road. Becky grabbed the side handle as the car veered sharply, the tires screeching against the cement.
Neither spoke.
Freen kept her eyes focused, weaving through side streets to shake the followers. Becky sat in stiff silence, too stunned by everything—the kiss, the cameras, the silence.
But what stayed with Freen more than anything was that moment—that moment.
Becky had pulled away first. Foreheads still touching. Breathless.
"This changes everything," Becky had whispered.
Freen had said it without flinching. "Then let it."
But Becky hadn't responded. Not with words. Not with a look.
And now—this silence.
Freen's fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. She wanted to ask. She wanted to know what Becky was thinking. But instead, she let it go. Let her breathe. Whatever that kiss meant—it could wait. She wouldn't pressure her. Not tonight.
When they were finally a good distance away, and the city lights blurred around them, Becky broke the quiet.
"This isn't the way to my place."
Freen didn't answer.
Becky shifted in her seat, her voice firmer. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home," Freen said, her tone vague.
Becky frowned. "This isn't my home."
"Did I say I was taking you to yours?" Freen shot back.
Becky gave her a sharp glare. "Freen."
"I'm taking you to my unit," she replied, eyes never leaving the road.
"Why?"
"For someone who's a lawyer…" Freen began, lips twitching.
Becky narrowed her eyes. "Don't say it—"
"…you're a little dumb."
Becky gasped. "Are you insulting me right now?"
"Dumb," Freen confirmed casually, her smirk growing.
Becky's mouth fell open in disbelief. "You're seriously mocking me—after everything?"
"Are you going to sue me now, Miss Lawyer?"
Becky huffed, crossing her arms tightly. "I should."
Freen just chuckled, eyes still forward. Becky turned her face toward the window, biting back the smallest, reluctant smile.
They both said nothing more.
But the kiss—they were still thinking about it.
Someone's POV
Meanwhile, in the cold office high above the city, the old man sat frozen, eyes fixed on the television screen. The news broadcast blared, and Freen's face was on the screen, her words shaking the world beneath him. The weight of it hit him like a tidal wave, sweeping away everything he thought he could control.
"What do you mean she's reopening the case?" His voice was low, deadly.
His hand crushed the phone to his ear, his fury palpable. He'd been expecting this, but it didn't stop the rage from boiling inside him. The walls of his pristine office couldn't contain the storm inside him.
"Make sure she can't do it," he growled, the words slipping from his mouth like venom. "This case is closed, and I want it to stay that way. Do whatever it takes, or you'll be the one who answers for it."
He slammed the phone down with a brutal force, sending papers scattering across his desk. He couldn't afford to lose control—not now, not when everything was teetering on the edge.
The image on the TV flickered, showing Freen standing next to Blew, both surrounded by the cameras and chaos of the public. He clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. The fallout from this was going to be catastrophic. Investors were already pulling back, and his empire was crumbling.
"That ungrateful child," he muttered, his voice seething with hatred. "I should have ended her... years ago."
The old man's hands shook with rage as he picked up the glass of rum on his desk. He crushed it in his grip, the glass shattering into sharp pieces that scattered across the floor. He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. The only thing that remained was putting an end to this.
"On!" he barked.
A man entered the room quickly, his steps quick but measured, as though he was already anticipating the old man's demands. "Yes, sir. How can I help you?"
The old man's eyes narrowed, a sinister glint in them. "I need you to be my eyes. You've been around Freen long enough. You know her every move, her every transaction. I want that information, now."
On froze, but only for a moment. He knew exactly what the old man was asking. He knew the dangers of defying him, the horrors that followed.
But On's loyalty wasn't for sale—not even for the price the old man was offering.
"I can't do it, sir." On's voice was firm, despite the nervous tremor he felt deep within. "I can't betray Freen."
The old man's expression darkened. He opened a drawer slowly, the metallic click of the drawer sliding open sending a chill through the room. He pulled out a sleek handgun and clicked the safety off.
On's breath caught in his throat as the old man stood, the gun now aimed directly at him.
"Even your family's life, On?" The old man's voice was cold, emotionless. His eyes were empty—nothing but black, soulless pits. "Even your own?"
On didn't flinch. He stood tall, his heart pounding in his chest, but he refused to bend. "Even my life, sir."
The old man's lips curled into a sickening smile. "Well then, your wish is my command."
He raised the gun, pointing it straight at On's forehead. But On didn't blink. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
Then, without warning, three gunshots rang out in the silence of the office. The old man's laughter echoed, chilling, as it reverberated down the halls, deep into the night.