She lay back down on the bed in silence.
It wasn't her body that collapsed—it was her heart.
As her eyelids slowly descended, the memories of the night before dissolved like an old dream, fading into something distant and blurred.
And with that, she slipped into a quiet, deep sleep.
How much time had passed?
What was meant to be a short rest had quietly consumed the hours.
When she opened her eyes again, dusk had already settled across the room.
The sky outside was stained in the soft hues of evening, and the last of the sun filtered through the gray curtains, painting long shadows across the walls.
The scattered city lights blurred into a languid glow.
Everything in the room was still—unusually so, as though even time was holding its breath.
The water from the shower had stopped running.
Celeste stepped out, cradling her damp hair in one hand.
Droplets clung to her silk robe, gliding down the fabric as the towel on her shoulder slowly slid out of place.
A quiet knock at the door.
"Excuse me," came Howard's voice from outside.
With her towel still wrapped around her head, she took the thick folder he handed over and headed for the study.
His footsteps retreated behind her, and the door closed softly in his wake.
The file was heavy in both weight and implication.
The name printed on the front: Mr. Kim.
Compiled overnight by her black team, the report Howard delivered detailed far more than a simple criminal background.
The man ran Seoul's largest underground club—but that was just the surface.
Behind him loomed a web of entanglements: High-profile politicians, the mayor, members of the judiciary, senior diplomats—all tethered together by quiet gatherings in private VIP rooms.
And then—the door opened.
Daniel stepped in.
The moment he entered, his senses were overwhelmed by a scent still lingering in the air.
The room remembered what had happened here.
The night their boundaries had crumbled.
His gaze flickered—first, to the sofa, and then slowly back to her.
Without a word, he placed a document on the table before her.
Audition venues, costs, and breakdowns.
Neutral. Routine.
"How are you feeling?"
His voice was low, restrained.
"…I'm fine."
Her reply was short, but her eyes betrayed a tiredness no sleep could mend.
Her hair was still damp, strands clinging softly to her neck.
A towel lay loosely over her shoulder, and the light catching her skin made her look… almost fragile.
Then he saw it.
The ring.
Silver-white, resting quietly on her fourth finger.
"…The ring."
He hadn't meant to say it aloud.
She shifted, brushing the back of her hand self-consciously.
"Oh… this…"
But Daniel already knew.
He had seen the black paper bag Jinwoo brought from the airport—how carefully he carried it, how protectively he held it close, unlike any other luggage.
A black ribbon.
Glossy wrapping paper. And inside, a ring box too elegant to be anything but serious.
He hadn't meant to open it.
But Jinwoo had stepped out to take a call. And Daniel's hand, almost against his will, had undone the ribbon.
Click.
The magnet released with a whisper.
There it was—a platinum ring with a diamond so clear it almost stung to look at.
It wasn't just a gift. It was a confession in silence.
He closed the box quickly. But his chest felt sick. His heart beat too fast, too hard.
And a thought seized him.
If she truly chose someone else—If she decided to marry…
He would have to step back. Vanish again into the shadows.
Bury everything behind the word family.
Wait in silence until she was alone again.
That ring on her finger felt like a farewell.
He stood still for a long moment, then slowly walked toward her and knelt without a sound.
He pressed his forehead gently to her knee.
She didn't move. She simply looked down at him, quiet and calm.
Daniel wrapped his arms around her waist—softly, tightly.
Silence settled between them.
Then—his shoulders trembled.
And beneath his quiet shudder, she felt a warmth spreading against her thigh.
Tears.
He didn't say a word.
But through that silent ache, he gave her the most vulnerable confession of all:
That he still loved her.
And had never once stopped.