The world didn't just stop; it dissolved.
I had stood before judges, faced down violent criminals in the heat of the monsoon, and endured the grueling physical torture of the police academy without flinching. My heart was a fortress of iron and discipline. But as the mask fell and the face of Park Woonseok—the real, breathing, unedited man—was revealed in the moonlight, the fortress crumbled.
The shock wasn't a sharp pain; it was a sudden, overwhelming vacuum that sucked the oxygen out of the mountain air. My vision began to fray at the edges, the glittering lights of Seoul turning into long, distorted streaks of white and gold.
"SANA?" his voice called out, but it sounded like he was speaking from the bottom of a deep, dark well. "Sana? You're pale... breathe. Please, breathe."
I tried to respond, to tell him that I was fine, that I was an officer, and I didn't break. But my knees turned to water. The heavy leather jacket he had draped over me felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, pulling me down toward the wooden deck.
The last thing I saw was the look of pure, agonising terror in his dark eyes as he lunged forward.
"SANA!"
Darkness claimed me before I hit the ground.
THE PANIC OF THE STAR
Woonseok's Perspective
I caught her just as her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body went limp in my arms, a fragile weight of silk and cold skin.
"Sana! Sana, look at me!" I yelled, my voice cracking with a panic I hadn't felt in years. I gathered her against my chest, my heart hammering so violently it felt like it would crack my ribs. "What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?"
I didn't wait. I couldn't. I scooped her up, her head falling back against my shoulder, and sprinted toward the elevator. My mind was a chaotic storm of guilt. I had pushed her too far. I had let the fantasy go on too long, and the shock had broken her.
I reached my car in the parking level, laying her gently across the back seat. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely grip the steering wheel. I dialled Min-ho as I tore out of the parking lot, the tires screeching against the pavement.
"Hyung! Get the private doctor to the penthouse. Now!" I screamed into the Bluetooth.
"Woonseok? What's going on? Where are you—"
"Just do it! An emergency! If a single paparazzi sees us, I'll deal with it later. Just get the doctor there!"
I drove like a madman through the streets of Seoul, weaving through traffic with a reckless desperation. I didn't care about speed cameras or red lights. All I cared about was the silent, pale girl in my rearview mirror.
When I reached the basement of my apartment complex, I didn't even park properly. I threw the door open, lifted her back into my arms, and ran for the private elevator.
My penthouse was a sprawling, silent sanctuary of glass and marble, but tonight it felt like a cold, empty tomb. I kicked the door open, passing Min-ho who was standing in the foyer with a look of absolute horror.
"Woonseok, is that—is that the girl from the meet?" Min-ho stammered, his eyes wide. "What happened? Did someone attack you?"
"Move!" I barked, my voice laced with a raw, bleeding anger. "Where is the doctor?"
"He's in the guest suite, I just—"
I didn't let him finish. I carried her into my primary bedroom—the place no one but me ever entered—and laid her down on the dark silk sheets of my bed. She looked so small there, tragically, with the grey minimalist decor of my life.
The doctor rushed in, his face grim. I paced the floor at the foot of the bed, my hands buried in my hair, pulling at the roots until it hurt.
"Check her," I pleaded, my voice a broken whisper. "Please, just tell me she's okay."
The room was silent for twenty agonising minutes, broken only by the soft click of medical instruments. Min-ho stood by the door, watching me with a mixture of pity and confusion. I didn't look at him. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Finally, the doctor stood up, sighing as he packed his bag.
"Relax, Mr. Park," the doctor said gently. "She is fine. Her vitals are stable. It appears to be a combination of extreme emotional shock and a sudden spike in fever. She's been pushing herself too hard, and the cold mountain air didn't help. Her body simply hit its limit and forced her to shut down."
I felt the air rush out of my lungs in a long, shaky sob. I slumped into the velvet chair beside the bed, my strength finally failing me.
"Is she... is she in pain?"
"No. She's sleeping now. I've administered an IV drip for the dehydration and fever. She should wake up in a few hours. Just keep her warm and give her these medications when she regains consciousness."
The doctor bowed and left, followed by a very silent, very worried Min-ho.
I was alone with her.
The only sound in the room was the rhythmic hiss of the IV and the distant hum of the city through the soundproof glass. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I took her hand. Her skin was still too hot, her pulse thrumming beneath my thumb.
I looked at her face—the fierce, brilliant Officer Sana, now looking so vulnerable in her sleep. A single, crystalline tear had escaped from beneath her closed eyelid and was tracking slowly down her temple.
I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into the silence of the room. "I'm so sorry, Sana. I wanted to give you a dream, but all I did was give you a fever."
"We think we want to know the truth, until the truth arrives like a storm, tearing down everything we thought we knew and leaving us shivering in the wreckage of our own desires."
I didn't move. I just sat there in the dim light, holding the hand of a girl from Delhi, waiting for the moment her eyes would open and she would see the man who had accidentally broken her world.