Chapter One Hundred One: Unchosen
Taehyun's Office – Lounge Room
The afternoon light was weak, filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the grey, churning river. Winter had arrived early this year, biting through the city's usual autumn gentleness. Frost traced delicate patterns on the glass, and the wind outside howled like something wounded.
I didn't mean to listen. Really, I didn't.
I only came to bring him lunch—a small rebellion against the endless meetings, the paperwork, the way he forgot to eat when he was buried in work. The hallways were quiet, most of his staff scattered to their own lunches. I carried the thermal bag in my good hand, my injured shoulder still aching from the morning's physical therapy.
The door to his private lounge was ajar.
I heard Minho's voice first—low, measured, the way he spoke when the subject was heavy.
"You're doing too much, Taehyun. The specialists. The experimental treatments. The private clinic in Switzerland. This isn't just about helping her anymore."
I stopped. My hand froze on the door handle.
Taehyun's voice came next, tired in a way I rarely heard. "I'm doing everything for her, Minho. For her amnesia. For the gaps in her memory that keep her up at night. I need her to get her memories back—to remember everything she lost. Not just the accident. All of it."
The thermal bag grew heavy in my hand.
A pause. Then Minho, quieter now: "Don't you love her?"
The silence that followed was a living thing—thick, suffocating, pressing against my chest until I couldn't breathe.
When Taehyun finally spoke, his voice was raw. "I never meant to love her."
My heart stopped.
"The marriage—" He exhaled, a sound like surrender. "That wasn't part of the plan either."
I didn't need to hear more.
I stepped back, my movements mechanical, my feet carrying me away from the door, down the hallway, past the guards who nodded at me with confused expressions. The thermal bag slipped from my fingers somewhere—I heard it hit the floor, heard the clatter of containers, but I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
Because if I stopped, I would have to feel it. The words. The way he said I never meant to love her like it was a confession, like it was a weight he'd been carrying.
And I would have to admit that I had been nothing but a burden. A project. A mission.
Someone to fix.
Not someone to love.
____
The cold was a blade.
I didn't know where I was going. My feet just moved, carrying me through streets I didn't recognize, past shops with frosted windows, past couples huddled together for warmth, past a world that seemed to be moving on without me.
The first flakes of snow began to fall.
I laughed—a broken, bitter sound that echoed off the empty sidewalks. Of course. Of course it would snow. As if the universe was determined to make this moment as cinematic as possible.
"It was all just… help?" The words came out in white puffs, dissolving into the frozen air. "A project? A mission? Sympathy?"
I wrapped my arms around myself, but the cold was inside me now, settled deep in my chest where my heart used to be.
"So this is what I was to him." I stopped walking, standing in the middle of the deserted street, snow collecting on my hair, my shoulders, the tips of my frozen fingers. "Someone to fix. Not someone to love."
A sob clawed its way up my throat, raw and ugly.
"Why did I fall?"
I had tried. God, I had tried so hard to hate him. To push him away. To keep my walls high and my heart locked. But somewhere between his possessive touches and soft scoldings, between the kisses he left like confessions and the way he held me like he'd die without me—I had fallen.
And I had fallen hard.
"Why did I dream of a happy ending?" I choked, my voice cracking on the last word. Snowflakes caught on my lashes, melting into tears. "I don't break easily, right? I'm cold. Heartless. Stubborn. So why am I crying like some girl in a stupid romance drama?"
I sank onto a frozen bench, the cold seeping through my jeans, but I barely felt it. The snow was falling faster now, blanketing the city in white, muffling the sounds of traffic, of footsteps, of life.
"Was I born to be unloved?"
The question hung in the frozen air, unanswered.
"Why does no one ever choose me? Not first. Not last. Not even by accident."
I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, the sharp tang of blood grounding me, reminding me I was still alive.
"What kind of sins did I commit before this life… for God to punish me like this?"
♡The Quiet Ache
I came home alone.
The mansion was quiet—not the peaceful quiet of a sleeping house, but the hollow quiet of a tomb. The staff moved in hushed silence, their eyes flickering to me with questions they didn't dare ask. I didn't meet their gazes. I walked straight to the bedroom, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, my shadow stretching long and lonely behind me.
The shower was hot. Scalding.
I stood under the spray, my palms pressed flat against the cold tile, my forehead resting against my hands. The water poured over me in sheets, washing away the snow, the cold, the evidence of my breakdown on that frozen bench.
But it couldn't wash away the pain.
I sank to the floor of the shower, my knees drawn to my chest, my arms wrapped around my legs.
He never meant to love me.
Even the marriage wasn't planned.
So what was I? A mistake? A complication? A problem he was trying to solve?
I didn't know how long I stayed there. Minutes. Hours. Time had lost all meaning. The water eventually ran cold, but I didn't move. The cold was familiar now. It matched the hollow in my chest.
When I finally stepped out, my skin was wrinkled, my hair dripping, my lips blue. I dried myself slowly, mechanically, like I wasn't even present in my own body. I put on my softest pajama set—the one he'd bought me, the one he always said made me look like a marshmallow—and stood in front of the mirror.
I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me.
Red eyes. Swollen lids. Cheeks still flushed from the cold and the crying. The girl who always pretended to be strong. The girl who insulted and teased and mocked because it was easier than being vulnerable. The girl who hid her fear of love behind sarcasm, who was too scared to admit how deeply she craved it.
She looked broken.
"I'm also human," I whispered to my reflection, my voice cracking. "I also want to be loved. Is that such a bad thing?"
My phone buzzed on the counter.
Taehyun: I'll stay at the office tonight. Big meeting tomorrow. Don't wait up, love.
I stared at the screen until it dimmed, then went dark.
He didn't know. He didn't know I was falling apart. He didn't know I had heard every word, that his confession was playing on a loop in my head, that every "love" in his message felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
I typed back: Okay. Take care.
Just that. No questions. No blame.
Because that's how I've always been. Quiet. Mature. Unshakable.
"Why can't life give me happiness?" I asked the empty room, my voice swallowed by the silence. "Am I that bad? What did I do so wrong… to be punished like this?"
No answer came.
I slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and let the tears dry on my pillow.
---
♡Flawless Lies
Before I collapsed into bed, I did something ridiculous.
I went to my vanity and put on makeup. A little blush. A bit of kajal. I curled my lashes and glossed my lips—just enough to look like I'd made an effort. Just enough to hide the evidence of my breakdown.
If anyone sees me messy tomorrow, I thought, I'll just say it's the makeup's fault.
The foundation wouldn't cover the pain in my chest, but it was good enough to cover the redness under my eyes. I was good at acting, wasn't I? I'd been acting my whole life—pretending to be fine when I was falling apart, pretending to be strong when I was crumbling inside.
This was just another performance.
I lay down slowly, careful not to mess up the illusion I'd painted on my face. Sleep came not as rest, but as escape.
Until—
Click.
The door creaked open.
Heavy footsteps padded into the room. I didn't move. Even when the bed dipped under his weight, I stayed still. Pretending to sleep. Pretending I hadn't been crying. Pretending I hadn't heard a word.
He tucked my hair behind my ear. I heard him sigh—long, deep, heavy.
"You wore makeup before sleeping again." His voice was barely a whisper, rough with exhaustion. "You only do that when you don't want me to see you cry."
My heart clenched. I stayed quiet.
He touched my cheek. Gently. His thumb brushed across the blush-stained skin like he knew every inch of me—and saw through every layer I wore.
"What are you hiding from me, love?" His voice cracked, just slightly. "What did I do now?"
My throat burned. I wanted to scream everything. The words I'd overheard. The snow. The bench. The way I had shattered into a thousand pieces on a frozen street.
But instead, I stayed still.
Because that's what I did best.
♡A Love I Wish I Never Knew
Later, when his breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep, I opened my eyes.
I stared at his sleeping form beside me. So peaceful. So quiet. As if he wasn't the very storm that had shattered me. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver shadows across his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw, the hard line of his mouth.
He looked like the perfect husband. The devoted lover. The man any woman would dream of having by her side.
But I knew better now.
He was good at pretending. So good at acting, he'd even fooled me into believing his love was real.
I wanted to hate him. God, I wanted to hate him. I wished we had never met. Wished he'd never stepped into my life, never looked at me, never smiled like I meant the world to him.
Why did he come into my life?
Why did God send me someone who could make me feel loved, only to take that love away? Why did He let me fall when He knew the ground beneath was never mine to stand on?
I regretted loving him. I regretted opening my heart.
But the worst part? Even now, even in this silence full of cracks and lies, I still couldn't walk away. I couldn't go back to who I was before him, and I couldn't unlove him, no matter how much I wanted to.
I wished I could.
---
●The Study – Late Night
Taehyun couldn't sleep.
He'd left the bedroom quietly and made his way to the study. The fire had died hours ago, leaving only cold ash and the faint scent of smoke. He sat in the dark, his phone in his hand, the video playing on a loop.
His phone buzzed.
Minho: The street cameras confirm it. She was there for about an hour. Just… sitting in the snow. Crying.
Taehyun's jaw tightened.
Minho: She heard us, Taehyun. She heard everything.
He didn't reply. He just watched the video again. And again. And again.
I never meant to love her.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes burning with a desperate regret.
"You idiot," he whispered to himself, to the empty room. "She thinks she was a mistake. That I never truly loved her."