Margaret's gaze remained fixed on the small, stiff slip of white paper held lightly between her fingers.
The card was simple, yet its edges were dusted in gold that caught the twilight glow in a way that felt almost intrusive—shimmering softly, as if demanding to be admired just a moment longer.
On its surface, a name was neatly printed, followed by a phone number, a title, and a company name, all rendered in deep, jet-black ink. But to her eyes, the ink was more than just black. It held a subtle luster, like tiny shards of glass embedded within the paper's surface.
"This is my business card, Margaret."
"If there is anything else you wish to ask, you can reach out to me. However, make sure you do so in absolute secret."
"Oh, and one more thing—if you're interested, you're welcome to join Adamas. Who knows? You might even become an idol yourself… and see Chase every single day."
"Bear this in mind, Margaret: this secret is yours to keep."
"Not a soul must know. I trust that, as a 'Goddess of Kindness,' you will stay true to your word, won't you?"
Aside from Viona's final words, Margaret could still see the woman's face clearly in her mind: an expression of sheer cheerfulness mixed with relief, and a smile that radiated genuine warmth.
She also remembered the way Viona had waved goodbye—a quick, energetic motion, perhaps even a little hurried. Margaret's eyes had followed Viona as she walked away with her husband. The two of them moved in perfect sync, side by side, toward the car parked just a few meters from where she and Viona had been sitting.
"That business card seems to have stolen your focus, Margaret. So much so that you've completely forgotten I'm even here?"
The voice suddenly pierced through Margaret's ears, shattering her daydream into a million pieces.
Her senses were immediately hit by the scent of leather and fabric, a stark contrast to the air outside. The low, steady hum of an engine echoed around her, and the subtle vibration of the car seat made her realize she was no longer where she had been just seconds ago.
Margaret whipped her head to the side, her heart instantly racing. Her gaze collided with Frankestein's face—flat, almost expressionless. But his eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—seemed to look right through her, making her feel as though her every thought was being laid bare.
She quickly shoved the card into her uniform pocket and looked away, avoiding his intense stare.
"Why did you come looking for me, Oppa?"
"Couldn't you have just stayed inside and finished your work without worrying about me?"
"Is it because of my leg? I told you, I'm fine."
"Even if it throbs occasionally, it doesn't mean I can't walk or take care of myself. I'm not a child anymore, so you don't need to worry about me so much."
Margaret's flat tone, deliberately indifferent, mirrored her refusal to meet his eyes.
Frankestein's jaw tightened instantly. The faint yet audible grind of his teeth was swallowed by his heavy, labored breathing.
He was holding back something urgent—a volatile mix of anger and disappointment, a mountain of frustration that had been building for far too long. He had scoured every room in the hospital, searched every face he passed, only to be met with Margaret's ice-cold attitude.
"Just because of that man…?"
"Just because of him, you ran away from me? You avoided me, and now you're treating me like this?"
His voice trembled—a strained, suppressed vibration, like someone exerting every ounce of strength to keep something from escaping.
There was an intensity nearly overflowing, forced into a hollow silence, until his words became muffled, leaving only a faint, fragile tremor that was on the verge of shattering.
"Do you have any idea, Margaret?"
"I'm the one who should be acting this way toward you, not the other way around. It's because of you that I've turned into a madman—losing my mind, racing through every inch of this hospital searching for you like a man possessed."
"And in the end… what do I find? You, sitting there with a pregnant woman claiming to be a staff member from Adamas Entertainment?"
A sharp, shallow huff escaped his nose as he finished—a breath laced with mockery and a stifled sneer.
"Let me guess..."
"That woman... she gave you her business card because she's scouted you. She thinks you could be a trainee, and then maybe an idol if you join them, right?"
"And that way... you could get closer to Chase and give him even more of your attention. Perhaps then, Chase would stop seeing you as just a junior... and start seeing you as a girl he likes. A girl who clearly belongs to someone else—someone he can steal, someone he can claim as his own."
Frankestein's words—fervent and laced with a restless, burning impatience—crashed over Margaret like an unrelenting wave.
Her hands, which had been resting loosely on her tote bag, now balled into tight fists. Her fingers dug into the fabric, crushing the already wrinkled sides of the bag. Finally, she turned to face him, meeting the gaze of those sharp, piercing eyes.
"Don't you think you should be the one realizing what you've done, Oppa?"
Margaret refused to back down.
This time, her voice rose, the edges of her words sharp and biting. Her gaze hardened—a clear sign that she was offended, and that the feelings she had previously buried in her silence could no longer be contained.
"Why would you do that, huh?!"
"Beating someone who was clearly innocent... is that what you call 'protection'? Just because that person touched me?!"
Her outburst wasn't loud; it was almost like a whisper forced through gritted teeth, yet it was enough to make Margaret's face flush a deep, burning crimson.
This time, it wasn't from embarrassment, nor was it out of awkwardness or fear. It was something deeper—an urgent, heavy pressure rising from her heart and mind, demanding to be set free.
Even as she resisted the urge to surrender to it, the feeling pushed her toward a conclusion that was both resolute and cold.
"I don't belong to anyone. I am not your girlfriend, nor am I your future wife."
"I've already told you—I didn't ask you to worry about me, I didn't ask you to come looking for me, and I certainly didn't ask you to turn into some possessed madman. As for that business card... you don't need to know why she gave it to me, either."
"And one more thing... I am not the 'Little Margaret' I used to be. The one who could only whimper for you to stay when I was sick, the one who always obeyed just to keep me calm and happy."
"I did need you then—desperately. But now, I'm an adult. I know what I'm doing, I know what I'm feeling, and I know all the risks involved. All of it—my thoughts, my actions, my feelings—none of it is your business just because you happen to be the person closest to me."
"Besides, you're an adult too, aren't you? You do what you think is best for yourself, and no one stops you."
"So... the same applies to me."
She hurled every word with sharp, unwavering emphasis, backed by a conviction that could not be shaken.
Her gaze remained cold and devoid of emotion—eyes that refused to read whatever reaction might be brewing in Frankestein, eyes that seemed to shut themselves off from every possibility, yet asserted one thing clearly: she did not care.
When everything had been said, and the air inside the car still vibrated with the echo of her words, Margaret moved without hesitation. Her hand reached for the door handle, her grip steady and sure, and with a calm yet firm motion, she pushed the door open.
But before her feet stepped out, she turned one last time toward Frankestein.
"Have a nice day, Doctor Frankestein."
The car door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing like a small gavel, marking the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new one.
Margaret's feet moved slowly, stepping away from that cramped, tension-filled space—leaving behind Frankestein, who remained staring from inside the car. She headed toward the massive gates that separated the hospital grounds from the noisy, chaotic roar of the main road.
For some reason, just minutes after letting those words fly—as her steps neared the hospital gates—something in Margaret's heart suddenly hardened.
The feeling surged without warning, tightening in her chest. Her blood felt like strange, turbulent waves rolling and crashing inside her. An unsettling discomfort washed over her, as if a faceless guilt had latched itself onto her very skin.
But she quickly gave her head a small, firm shake—a simple gesture to brush away the shadow of remorse.
"Never regret this, Margaret."
"Your life is in your own hands... not anyone else's. The past... is the past, not the present."
"Frankestein Oppa might have been your savior once... but if he tries to save you again now, it only means you're forcing his life to revolve around yours forever."
"Forget these foolish feelings, Margaret. He will never love you, and you have every right to open your heart to someone else."
"From this moment on... forget Frankestein Oppa."
She let out a soft, slow breath, then tilted her head back to watch the sky as it began to shift, draping the city in the fading colors of twilight.
After a few seconds lost in the view, Margaret fixed her gaze forward, returning her focus to the road ahead. With a reflexive tug to adjust the bag on her shoulder, she quickened her pace and walked on.
However, just before her feet could cross the threshold where the hospital's cracked pavement met the asphalt of the main road, a hand suddenly clamped around her arm with a powerful grip.
By reflex, Margaret tried to steady herself, but the shock was so profound that her eyes widened and her heart seemed to skip a beat. Her body was jerked backward, her back colliding with a broad, firm chest—warm and unyielding.
Margaret looked up, her breath hitching in her throat. There, looming over her, was Frankestein. Behind his glasses, his eyes were bloodshot and swollen as they bored into hers.
"I hate those words, Margaret."
"Don't you dare call me 'Doctor,' because you have never been a patient to me."
"Everything I've done for you—from then until now—was never out of obligation."
"It's because I like you... because I love you."
"I don't want you looking at anyone but me. That is why I act as if I'm imprisoning you—because I'm jealous, Margaret."
"I am... jealous."