Bobae pov:
As he left the his room, I stopped eavesdropping what they were saying and tiptoed to my room. on getting to my room, I think luck was behind me.
he took the last step to my door.
He didn't knock, cuz he has that ego of I owns everything in the mansion; except his brother's study.
he walked straight into my room like he owns the world I felt irritated with his action. his shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes locked on me like a man walking toward his prey.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, I crossed my legs , hands folded on my lap — staring at the wall like it held the answers to every question he'd ever ask.
I didn't look up when he entered. Just waited — quiet, and still.
He stopped a foot away. He didn't speak nor move.
Just stood there — breathing hard, heart hammering against his ribs — like he'd run a mile to get there.
I finally lifted my gaze, Expression calm.
Like I already decided what I would say before he even opened his mouth.
"You came," I said, voice low. "you told me to," he replied, voice rough.
"I told you to come _if_ you wanted to talk. I do. he half yelled. Then talk."
He swallowed.
Looked away.
Ran a hand through his hair — the same gesture he'd made a hundred times before — but this time, it felt different. he did it like he was reaching for something he'd lost.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't react.
Just stared at him — like I was waiting for the punchline.
"Sorry for what?" I asked, voice cool.
"For… everything." he said.
"Everything is a big word, Jinho."
He took a step closer.
For yelling at you. For treating you like you're nothing. For pretending you don't matter."
"You didn't pretend," I said, voice sharp. "You acted.
"I know." he agreed.
"Do you?" I stood — slow, deliberate — and walked toward him — until l was close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the faint bruise under her left cheekbone.
He opened his mouth — to answer — but I cut him off.
I didn't ask you to come because I want to forgive or comfort you. I just want you to know — I'm not scared of you anymore. I'm not afraid of your anger. I'm not afraid of your silence.
He stared at her — stunned, silent — like she'd ripped his heart out and held it up for him to see.
Then why I'm I here?" he whispered and swallowed hard.
Looked down at his hands — like they belonged to someone else. Then — slowly — he lifted his gaze.
Met her eyes.
And said, voice raw, trembling:
bobae? I'm jealous. I'm scared. And… I do love you. Even if it's too late."
I didn't respond
Just stared at him — long, searching — like she was trying to decide whether to believe him.
Then — slowly — I nodded. "Good."
I turned away — walked back to the bed — sat down.
"Now leave." she ordered.
He didn't move.
"What?" he asked stunned
"Leave," she repeated, voice calm. "I've heard enough. You've said what you needed to say. Now go."
"Bobae…"
"Don't." She looked up — eyes sharp, cold. "Don't call me that like you have the right to. Not after everything you've done.
She stood again — slow, deliberate — and walked toward him — until she was standing so close he could feel the heat of her skin.
> "You don't get to love me now, Jinho. Not after you spent months pretending I didn't exist. Not after you let me become a maid in your house.
and also you told me I'm not allowed to love or be loved and that's what I'm doing right now. fulfilling your wishes. happy now? so please leave.
I pushed him out of my room and slammed the door to his face.
jinho pov:
The door slammed shut in my face like a period at the end of a sentence I didn't know how to finish.
I stood there — frozen — hand still raised, fingers curled like I'd been reaching for her, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, breath trapped in my throat like a scream I couldn't let out.
She pushed me out
I stared at the door — at the grain of the wood, at the faint smudge of my thumb where I'd almost touched it, at the silence behind it — thick, heavy, suffocating — like the air after a bomb goes off.
"You don't get to love me now, Jinho."_
Her words echoed in my skull — not loud, — just whispering, relentless, like a ghost that wouldn't leave.
"Not after you spent months pretending I didn't exist. Not after I become a maid in your father's house. Not after you told me I'm not allowed to love or be loved…"_
I swallowed — hard — and tasted bile.
She was right.
I'd told her that — months ago — after coming back from school. that day was her first day in school and she was bullied by some girls which I didn't interfere because I didn't want people to know about her. Minho was the one who rescued her from the girls, and they became friends that day. I was jealous that she has another person who wants to be with her. I'd meant it. I'd meant every word. _"You're not allowed to love. You're not allowed to be loved. You're here to serve. To obey.
And she'd remembered.
And she'd held onto it — like a knife — and used it against me.
I leaned my forehead against the door and closed my eyes.
Happy now?"_ she'd spat.
No. I wasn't happy. I was broken.
> I was a man who'd spent months pretending he didn't care — and now that he finally admitted he did — the person he loved most in the world had just shut the door on him — and told him to leave.
I didn't move.
Just stood there — breathing, bleeding, burning — until the silence became too loud to bear.
Then — slowly — I turned.
Walked back to my room — feet dragging, shoulders slumped — like a man who'd just lost his last battle.
Clara already left the room.
I didn't look back. didn't check if the door was locked. I just… walked.
Until I sat down on my bed and stared at the floor.
She's right._
I didn't deserve her.
I didn't deserve her forgiveness.
I didn't deserve her love. I didn't even deserve her anger.
I'd treated her like a ghost — invisible, disposable, replaceable — and now that she'd finally seen me — really seen me.
I couldn't blame her.
I curled my hands into fists — nails biting into my palms — and I whispered — voice raw, broken:
"I'm sorry, Bobae. I'm so fucking sorry.
I laid down — slow, heavy — on my bed — and stared at the ceiling — like it was the last thing I'd ever see.
And for the first time — I cried. And hope for her to come back to being my personal maid.