The soft hum of the hospital room faded as Mira shifted in bed, wincing at the dull throb in her casted ankle. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the white sheets.
She flexed her fingers, testing her grip—still weak, but steady. The doctors had said she was lucky. A fractured ankle, severe bruising, mild hypothermia. Lucky.
The door creaked open.
Jae stepped inside, his usual sharp suit replaced with rumpled clothes, his hair disheveled. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice rough.
Mira offered a small smile. "Barely."
He crossed the room in three strides, his hand finding hers. His grip was warm, grounding.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
Jae exhaled. "You'll walk. But it'll take time."
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
---
Jae hadn't slept.
While Mira rested, he had buried himself in work—pulling every string, calling every contact, digging into Eun-ji's sudden disappearance.
His laptop sat open on the hospital room's small table, screen glowing with financial records, flight manifests, encrypted messages.
Mira watched him from the bed, her fingers tracing the edge of her blanket. "Find anything?"
Jae scrubbed a hand over his face. "She's gone underground. No credit cards, no flights under her name."
"Someone's hiding her," Mira murmured.
Jae's jaw tightened. "Yeah. And I'm close to figuring out who."
He turned the screen toward her—a series of offshore transactions, all leading back to one name:
Han Seung-jun.
Mira's breath caught. "Titan Holdings?"
Jae nodded. "He's had a grudge against my family for years. Now he's using Eun-ji to get to me."
Mira's fingers curled into the sheets. "What are you going to do?"
Jae met her gaze, his eyes dark. "Whatever it takes."
Days passed in a blur of physical therapy and quiet conversations.
Mira hated the wheelchair. Hated the way Jae hovered, his worry etched into every movement.
But most of all, she hated the fear—the way her breath hitched when she heard a sudden noise, the way her pulse spiked when she thought of the rocks, the water, Eun-ji's cold smile.
One evening, as Jae helped her into bed, she caught his wrist.
"I'm not staying on the sidelines," she said, her voice firm.
Jae stilled. "Mira—"
"I won't let her win," she interrupted. "Not again."
Jae studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Then we do this together."
The next morning, Mira sat propped up in bed, her laptop balanced on her knees.
She typed carefully, pulling up every connection she could find between Han Seung-jun and Eun-ji.
Soo-yeon had sent her files—whispered rumors from the fashion industry, hushed conversations at elite parties.
Mira's fingers paused over the keyboard.
There.
A private estate in Jeju, registered under a shell company.
She exhaled sharply.
"Jae."
He looked up from his phone.
Mira turned the screen toward him. "I think I found her."
---
The police took their statements seriously.
Detectives swarmed Jeju Island, collecting evidence from the rocky cove where Mira had been left to die. Security footage from nearby villas, financial trails, phone records—everything was scrutinized.
But investigations took time.
And Eun-ji was still out there.
---
Mira noticed it first.
The way Jae's fingers would drum against his knee—tap. tap. pause. tap—a restless rhythm whenever his thoughts spiraled.
She recognized it.
It was the same pattern he'd used as a child, back when he was trying to solve a problem too big for his young mind.
Now, it was worse.
He did it at breakfast, staring blankly at his untouched coffee.
He did it in the middle of the night, sitting on the edge of their bed, shoulders tense.
And he did it now, as they sat on the terrace of their Jeju villa, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and blooming flowers.
Mira reached over, covering his hand with hers, stilling his fingers.
"Stop," she murmured.
Jae blinked, as if pulled from a trance. "Sorry."
She studied him—the shadows under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. "Talk to me."
The Apology
Jae exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping to their joined hands.
"I keep thinking about your childhood," he admitted, voice rough. "How helpless you were. How much you fought..."
Mira's chest tightened.
"And now," he continued, "I've dragged you into my chaos. You've been hurt because of me."
Mira squeezed his hand. "Jae—"
"I swore I'd protect you," he interrupted, his voice cracking. "But I keep failing."
The raw pain in his words stole her breath.
Mira shifted closer, her free hand cupping his face.
"Listen to me," she said firmly. "You didn't drag me anywhere. I chose this. I chose you."
Jae's eyes searched hers, desperate.
"And you have protected me," she continued. "You found me when no one else could. You've fought for me every step of the way."
She pressed her forehead against his.
"I'm not that helpless girl anymore. And you're not alone in this fight."
Jae shuddered, his arms wrapping around her, holding her like she might disappear.
"I love you," he whispered.
Mira closed her eyes. "I know."
---
For the first time in weeks, they allowed themselves to breathe.
No investigations. No enemies.
Just them.
Jae cooked breakfast—badly, but with enthusiasm.
Mira laughed as he nearly burned the pancakes, then kissed him when he grumbled about it.
They walked along the beach, Mira leaning on his arm, her ankle still tender.
And at night, curled together under the stars, Jae's fingers no longer tapped.
They were still.
At peace.