Becky's POV
Probably just the wrong room. I decided to get out of the room, and there I saw Mee, my stylist.
But I am sure Mr. Cute Guy got into this exact room.
"Becky, I can't believe you are just here. We are looking for you for 3 hours," he said.
"Hours? How? But I just got here in this room for approximately twenty minutes," I answered.
"Why? What happened?" I ask because I noticed the concern in his eyes.
"It's Freen," he replied, his voice filled with worry.
"What about her?"
He just stood there, and tears in his eyes started to show.
"What happened to Freen?"
"The media and the whole showbiz industry are now buzzing about Blew's accident at the highway near our site." I gasped hearing the news from him.
"Where's Freen?" is the first thing I asked.
"Becky, wait."
I'm sure she's going there. I wonder how she feels right now, even though Blew is an asshole. I know she loved him. So without asking more about the details, I ran to Freen's room with Mee behind me.
When I arrived in front of Freen's dressing room, I saw the gang already standing outside. I stopped when Tee held my wrist as I held the door knob.
She looked at me with worried eyes.
"Becky..." Jim tried to stop me, but I continued to get inside; the door wasn't even locked.
"What are you doing outside, just standing?" I said in a low and firm voice. I know they are afraid of Freen when upset, but seriously? I pushed past Tee and entered the dressing room, finding Freen sitting calmly on a chair. The gang exchanged nervous glances, but I couldn't understand why they were so hesitant to get near her.
"I told you all to leave me alone. I just want to go there and see what happens. Why hasn't anyone understood me?" she said in a hoarse voice.
I looked at all of them, hearing what Freen had said. How could they?
They all looked at each other before Kade spoke.
"Director Wuttapong just wanted to protect you; this is a murder case, and they all suspect you have a connection to it, and Blew's grandfather is pointing you out as the reason for his grandson's nearly death," Kade explained, her voice filled with concern.
"They're just trying to keep you safe and find the truth." I could see the worry etched on their faces as they grappled with the weight of the situation.
"When did this happen?" I ask.
Kade sighed before responding,
"It happened early this morning. The police found Blew unconscious inside his car, and they believe someone tried to kill him. As the witnesses saw his car being chased by another car before his car collided with the truck at the highway. But they are still investigating and looking for evidence and CCTV footage to see what really happened."
"Early this morning? And they all conclude that fast that the case has something to do with Mr. On's case? How? Isn't it too soon to conclude?" I ask, so confused. I ask, trying to make sense of the situation.
"And what are they saying Freen is involved in this? And what are they saying Freen's involvement is in this?" I inquire.
"Clearly, that psycho has found another way to torture Freen as they found that Freen is re-opening the case of her parents—"
"Can you all please get out of my room?" All of us were startled by Freen's sudden outburst.
We all came silent and they quickly exited the room, giving her the privacy she needed.
But I stayed and just sat quietly by her side.
Later on, I was startled when she leaned headfirst on my shoulder. My heart broke into pieces when I felt hot tears on my shoulder.
But I chose not to do anything and just stayed there.
I looked down, and there I noticed the bouquet of flowers she was holding.
"He's here. He came to me before he had an accident. He was here before the accident," Freen said, still leaning on my shoulder.
Later, she held on to my left arm.
And I just stayed there, letting her get strength from me.
"The old man is right; it was my fault. Blew is fighting for his life now. It was my fault that he was nearly dead. I am a curse; everyone who gets near me dies, like my parents, Mr. On, and other people involved in our family."
I slowly put my hands on her shoulder and slightly pressed her body against mine.
I whispered softly,
"You are not a curse. Sometimes unfortunate events happen, but it does not define who you are. We will do everything we can to help Blew recover and ensure the safety of those around us."
"I want to see him, Becky. If I hadn't broken up with him abruptly, this would not have happened. Maybe he wouldn't be in his situation right now. Maybe if I waited a little more, Mr. On would still be here too."
I sighed at hearing her say those words.
Maybe she was right. Maybe my timing was wrong too.
Then I suddenly remembered these words after hearing them in my head.
There are some unfortunate events that are planned to occur and will nonetheless occur no matter what we do to prevent them. Additionally, sometimes preventing them from occurring will only result in the worst-case scenario.
Just from whom did I ever hear that?
I ignore it and continue comforting Freen.
"I don't know what to say to you," I say,
"But I'm here for you, and we'll get through this together."
She snuggled into my chest.
Later on, I heard her say something.
"Hm?"
"I said thank you," she said, turning to face me while still tightly holding me in her arms.
I made a silent promise to be there for her constantly as we cuddled.
"What is it?" Freen asks, confused.
"Nothing," I wiped her tears with the back of my fingers and smiled,
"I just didn't know that you are such a cry baby."
She pouted.
"Ouch," I said, she's pinching my side.
I let out a playful yelp and playfully nudged her shoulder.
"Alright, alright, I take it back," I chuckled.
"I can't believe you have the time to joke like that in this situation," she said, finally letting go of our embrace.
Which made me miss her warmth in me.
"Well, sometimes humor is the best way to cope," I replied.
But this is not time to be greedy.
And we became silent again.
She was holding the flowers while reading the card with it.
I was looking at the flowers, and the flash came into my head again.
I see her.
A little girl with mischief in her smile and wild flowers in her hands—Freen. She runs to me in that old field of gold, where the sun kissed the grass and we had no names but our own. She places a crown of petals on my head, fingers gentle, reverent, as if I were a queen.
"For you," she says softly.
And I remember—how my heart ached and bloomed all at once.
That memory folds into another—
The willow tree. Its long arms shielding us from the world. My breath catches as I see us again, lips trembling just before they meet for the first time. That kiss—sweet, shy, holy. My whole soul lit like the sky on fire.
Then—laughter, fireflies.
We dance under a moon that knew our names. The field is alive with stars that fly, light catching on her eyes. Her hands in mine. I remember thinking: if we die tonight, I'd still be happy.
But fate was cruel. It always was.
My wedding day—white lace, shaking hands, a lie in every step. I see myself in the mirror, barely breathing. And then Freen—always Freen—pulling me into the wild, into freedom, into love. Mud on our shoes, wind in our lungs. We believed we could run faster than destiny.
I watch her kneel on the sand, drawing shaky letters with a stick.
I love you.
And I remember how I opened my mouth to reply—how the sea could have carried our promises away—but he arrived. My husband-to-be. Rage in his eyes. The end written in our silence.
Kirk dies first—my brother in soul, protector of our truth.
Then Saint—cold hands, warm heart—falls so we could breathe a little longer.
One by one, they vanish, taking pieces of us with them.
And then—I see myself again.
The night I was wed. A girl in white with a noose of pearls around her neck. In that room, where the world celebrated a lie, I carved my goodbye into skin. No one heard my silence, not until it was too loud.
But Freen did.
She found me there. My blood, my flowers, my sorrow.
She fell beside me, her hands shaking, her voice breaking—
"I am back. I am here. Please don't leave me."
And even as the light dimmed, even as my soul drifted, I remember whispering—
"I will love you from this life... and the next."
Because love like ours doesn't end.
It waits.
It finds you again.
And maybe this time... we'll live.
It was like a memory..
"Becky, Becky are you okay? You're crying." I was back on my senses and noticed the worry on Freen's face while shaking my shoulders.
I wiped my tears and looked away.
"What happened? Is there something wrong?" Freen asked.
I took a deep breath.
I stared at Freen, still in shock, and couldn't point out what those flashes were.
Memories?
Imagination?
A cruel daydream wrapped in longing?
But if it wasn't real...
Why did it feel like grief?
Why did my chest ache like a wound had reopened from a time I can't name?
Why could I feel the weight of her flower crown on my head?
Why could I still taste the salt of our kiss under that tree?
Why could I hear her voice trembling as she wrote I love you in the sand?
I clutched at my heart, trying to steady it—
But it beat for something I could no longer see.
For someone I'm just now remembering.
Freen.
Was that truly us?
Was I really that girl who danced with her under firefly skies and ran barefoot through fields just to stay in her arms?
Was I the one who chose death over a life lived without her?
Did I promise her—from one life to the next—that I would love her still?
And if that was true...
Then why am I here?
Why now?
Why her?
And why is my soul screaming ''I've missed you ''when my lips still don't remember how to say her name without shaking?
"It's just... these flowers remind me of someone I lost," I replied.
Freen looked at the flower in her hand"I—am sorry. Maybe I should just throw the flowers—"
I waved my hand,"No. This is stupid. I mean—"
"It's okay, you don't have to explain," Freen said with concern in her eyes.
She reached out and gently squeezed my hand.
"You don't understand. It's something else—"
Shit, Becky don't tell her now... it'll add on her problems...
"What is it, Becky? Tell me. Please you're scaring me ," pleaded Freen.
She reached out to hold my trembling hands.
"No... no. It's just a stupid hallucination—"
A knock on the door interrupted me from telling her things I should be telling her now.
"What is it, Becky? Continue," she said...
"Freen, the police are here. They want to ask a few questions about Blew's accident this morning."
She turned to look at me. Just for a second.
Her eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite read—
Worry?
Guilt?
Fear?
But then it was gone, hidden beneath the calm mask she always wore when the world demanded more than her heart could carry.
She nodded, opened the door, and greeted the officers with a voice so steady it almost unnerved me.
"Yes, officer. How can I help you?"
Polite. Smooth. Controlled.
As they stepped inside and the door clicked shut behind them, I quietly excused myself, slipping out of the dressing room to give them privacy.
But as I walked away, the hallway stretched longer than usual, and each step felt heavier than the last.
A strange unease curled in my stomach.
Somewhere between relief and dread.
Relieved that she seemed composed.
Anxious that whatever truth might come out wouldn't tear more holes in what was already unraveling.
I didn't know what just happened.
Not fully.
But I knew this:
There was something about the way Freen had looked at me before she answered the door.
Like she was holding a secret between her teeth.
What is really happening?