Jinho pov:
After he left bobae's room that night, Jinho did not sleep in the mansion.
He returned to his room, yes—but only long enough to be there and realize he couldn't stay.
The room felt wrong. Too ordered. Too insulated. Like a place where consequences were delayed, softened, erased.
He changed out of his clothes slowly and mechanically, then stopped midway and sank onto the edge of the bed.
Bobae's voice echoed in his head—not loud, not angry.
Careful.
Respectful.
Already resigned.
I don't want to cause trouble.
Jinho exhaled sharply and stood again, grabbing his jacket. He didn't tell anyone where he was going. He didn't leave a message. He didn't ask permission.
For once, he chose absence.
He drove without direction at first, the city lights blurring past the windshield. He ended up at a small hotel near the river—one his family never used, one no one would associate with his name.
The clerk didn't recognize him.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
The room was plain. Narrow bed. Thin walls. No staff hovering. No quiet efficiency smoothing his edges.
Jinho sat on the bed and stared at his phone.
No messages.
No calls.
He told himself Bobae was fine. That reassignment was routine. That nothing serious would happen.
But deep down, he knew better.
He stayed there one night.
Then another.
During the day, he wandered the city—cafés, streets, places where people worked too hard for too little and still smiled when they shouldn't have to. He watched them from a distance, like someone studying a life he was never meant to live.
At night, guilt crept in.
He thought of Bobae alone in a house that wasn't kind. Thought of Clara's calm confidence. Thought of how easily silence became a weapon when no one challenged it.
If I had spoken, he thought. If I had stood up.
But thoughts didn't change outcomes.
Actions did.
On the third night, his phone finally buzzed.
A message from the estate.
Bobae has been reassigned.
No explanation.
No discussion.
Just fact.
Jinho closed his eyes.
This was what running away cost.
He had left her unprotected.
The next morning, he checked out early and drove back toward the estate, something hard and resolved settling into his chest.
By the time he stepped back into the mansion—the same hallways, the same polished calm, he had feelings that bobae was already gone.
And the silence that greeted him wasn't peace.
It was consequence.
The gates opened without hesitation.
That was the first mistake he noticed.
No questions. No delays. No one asking where he'd been or why he'd disappeared for days. The estate accepted him back the way it accepted everything—quietly, efficiently, without consequence.
He felt the familiar weight settle over his shoulders.
Nothing had changed.
And that was the problem.
Inside, the mansion moved on its usual rhythm. Staff bowed. Trays passed. Doors opened and closed with soft precision. The house breathed as if nothing had happened.
Jinho walked the corridor toward Bobae's section before he could stop himself.
He open the door to her room....it was empty.
No sheets on the bed. No slippers by the side. No faint scent of soap lingering in the air.
He stopped at the threshold.
This wasn't absence.
It was removal.
His chest tightened, sharp and sudden.
"So it happened while I was gone," he murmured.
The words tasted bitter.
A maid passed behind him, hesitating when she saw where he stood.
"Where is she?" Jinho asked quietly.
The maid lowered her head. "She was reassigned, sir. West estate."
Reassigned.
The word landed like a verdict.
"When?" he asked.
"This morning."
Jinho nodded once.
He didn't thank her.
He turned away before his expression could betray him.
In his room, he closed the door and stood there longer than necessary, hands clenched at his sides.
He had believed distance would protect her.
That silence would buy time.
That doing nothing was safer than doing the wrong thing.
He had miscalculated everything.
Bobae hadn't needed space.
She'd needed someone to stay.
Jinho pressed his palm against his forehead, exhaling slowly.
This was what neutrality cost.
Erasure.
Later, he found Clara in the sitting room, perfectly composed, scrolling through her phone as if nothing in the world had shifted.
What did you do? he asked.
Clara looked up, calm. "With a questioning face.
"And you didn't think to wait?" Jinho asked.
Clara tilted her head. "Wait for what?
Jinho stared at her, something cold settling in his chest.
"You didn't move her for order," he said quietly. "You moved her because of me.
Clara smiled, thin and controlled. "This house doesn't reward hesitation." And also she deserves it.
Jinho lunged at her clenching his fist. Clara was afraid.
On seeing her shaking out of dread, He withdrew and turned away.
For the first time, the estate didn't feel like home.
It felt like a machine.
And Bobae had been caught in its gears while he was elsewhere, convincing himself that silence was wisdom.
As he walked toward the west wing doors, one thought echoed relentlessly in his mind:
If I don't act now, this won't be the last person this family erases.
And next time, there might be no one left to notice.