Kenzo woke to a splitting headache and the familiar scent of Nadia's perfume. It was a scent that once meant passion, but now it only smelled like betrayal. He was in an opulent hotel room that wasn't his, the morning light slicing through the gaps in the curtains like an accusation.
The memories returned in a sickening wave: the gala, Sharon's tear-streaked face as she walked away, the bottom of a sake bottle, and then… Nadia. Her lips. Her hands. The shower.
A cold terror seized him. Sharon.
He scrambled for his phone on the nightstand, his hands shaking. The screen lit up, revealing the damning evidence: 5 Missed Calls from Sharon. And her text, sent hours ago: I'm sorry, Kenzo. I know I hurt you, but please, just answer. I'm worried. When are you coming back?
Every word was a knife twisting in his gut. She had been worried. She had reached out. And where was he?
"Finally awake, sleeping beauty?" Nadia's voice came from the doorway. She was already dressed, leaning against the frame as if she owned him. "You were quite… enthusiastic last night."
"This was a mistake," he growled, his voice rough with sleep. He stood, grabbing his discarded shirt. "A drunken mistake. This never happens again."
He didn't wait for her reply. He shoved his feet into his shoes, not even bothering with his tie, and stormed out of the room, leaving her and the scent of her perfume behind.
The ride back to the Courtyard Hotel was a blur of regret. He crafted a thousand apologies in his head. He would get down on his knees if he had to. He would tell her everything, the alcohol, the despair, his own stupidity. He would make her see it was her, only her, always her.
He ran through the lobby, ignoring the curious stares at his rumpled, day-old suit. He reached her room and knocked, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Sharon? It's me."
Silence.
He knocked again, louder. "Sharon, please. Let me explain."
Nothing but hollow silence answered him. A cold dread, colder than anything he'd ever felt, began to spread through his veins. He fumbled for his phone and called her. It went straight to voicemail.
Driven by a rising panic, he found a housekeeper and, with a mixture of authority and desperation, convinced her to open the door.
The room was empty. The bed was made, untouched. All traces of her were gone. It was as if she had never been there at all. His eyes scanned the room, and that's when he saw it, a single piece of hotel stationery placed neatly on the pillow.
His feet felt like lead as he walked over and picked it up. Her elegant handwriting stared back at him, each word a quiet nail in the coffin of their relationship.
Kenzo,
I waited. I think a part of me will always be waiting for you. But some lines, once crossed, can't be uncrossed. What we had was beautiful, but it was built on a lie I can no longer ignore.
The deal is off. I've terminated my employment with Hayashi Tech. Effective immediately.
Don't try to find me.
- Sharon
The paper crumpled in his fist. He stumbled back, collapsing into a chair as the devastating weight of his loss crushed him. He had lost her. Not just as his fake fiancée, but as his partner, his confidant, his Sharon. He was truly alone.
Hours earlier
Sharon had spent a sleepless night, her phone clutched in her hand, jumping at every sound in the hallway, hoping it was him. Hope was a dying ember in her chest.
As the sun rose, the ember went out, replaced by a cold, hard stone of acceptance. He never came back.
Her phone buzzed on the sheets. For a second, she thought it was him. But it was an unknown number. A photo message.
Her thumb trembled as she opened it.
It was a selfie. Nadia, her face perfectly made-up, smiling directly at the camera. She was wearing a silken robe. And in the background, blurred but unmistakable, was Kenzo, asleep in a rumpled bed, the sheets tangled around his waist.
The message below was simple: "Some things just find their way back together. He's not your problem anymore. - N"
The air left Sharon's lungs in a painful rush. It wasn't just a suspicion anymore. It was proof. A confirmation of her worst nightmare. Sasha had been right. She felt nauseous, the room spinning around her.
The pain was so acute it was a sharp stab in her chest. But then, just as quickly, it was washed away by a wave of numb clarity.
She moved like an automaton. She packed her suitcase with orderly precision. She changed into her travel clothes. Then, she sat at the desk and wrote the note. The pen didn't shake. Her hand was steady. When your heart has already shattered, there's nothing left to tremble.
She left the note on the pillow, did one final sweep of the room to ensure she left no part of herself behind, and walked out.
As her taxi pulled away from the hotel, she didn't look back at the Seoul skyline. She looked at her phone, at the photo one last time, before deleting it and blocking the number. She then opened her text thread with Sasha.
Sharon: You were right. It's over. I'm coming home.
She leaned her head against the cool window, the ghost of his rain-soaked kiss feeling like a lie from a different lifetime. On the other side of the city, the man she loved was just discovering the ruins of what he had destroyed, while she drove away, building a fortress around her heart with every mile.