Eun Chae returned to her room and sat by her bed, trembling, with a vacant gaze fixed on nowhere. She didn’t know how to handle the residual frustration that couldn’t be fully vented, resorting only to deep breaths.

Repeated deep breaths gradually calmed her heightened emotions. Then it dawned on her – the forced separations she experienced weren’t her fault but Chairman Song Myung Hwan’s.

She had been blaming herself all this time – for not being able to protect her mother, who was deteriorating daily due to distrust in her husband, for foolishly giving her heart to Kwon Ki Joo too easily, and for being oblivious to the departure of Ham An Dae, whom she relied on as much as blood relatives.

In retrospect, it was all unjust.

It was because of Song Myung Hwan that she couldn’t save her mother, that Ki Joo left, and that the nanny was gone.

Chairman Song Myung Hwan was an insurmountable wall she couldn’t overcome with will alone.

Even the purpose and motivation to repay Ki Joo for his wretchedness had faded long ago.

Had she unconsciously thought that compliance was the only answer? Had her desire for a moment’s peace blinded her?

She had forgotten that Song Myung Hwan was the kind to snatch away even the last thing she had.

Eun Chae’s gaze turned to her viola, a remnant of her faceless biological father who loved music, poetry, and movies.

If the greenhouse was her mother incarnate, then the viola was her root and identity.

Her face turned pale as the door opened without a knock. Kwon Ki Joo entered with his impeccable face.

“I just found out about the firing too,” he said.

“…”

“I’ll bring her back, so…”

Eun Chae shook her head and buried her face in her hands, cutting him off.

“The reason you left me.”

Ki Joo fell silent. His calm eyes felt like a quagmire to her. Forcing her parched lips apart, she continued, “Don’t ignore me, don’t lie, and don’t beat around the bush… Tell me now.”

Thankfully, his usual nonchalance was absent.

Eun Chae held onto hope.

“Why did you leave me?”

“Because I was cowardly.”

His eyes flickered as he spoke. Relief filled Eun Chae; at least he wasn’t ignoring her. She believed it wasn’t a lie.

He wore an expression she had never seen before, one she didn’t want to believe was feigned.

“It wasn’t beating around the bush. If it was, Ki Joo would have been his usual composed self.”

“Everything I cherish leaves me. Father made sure of that.”

“…”

“Even the viola will be snatched away someday.”

As she spoke, her throat tightened with fear. The greenhouse had already been demolished once, and Ham An Dae had been dismissed. She feared her viola, the last thing she clung to, might be taken under some plausible excuse.

Already, Chairman Song Myung Hwan, who disparaged art as useless, would snatch it away once she had served her purpose.

Eun Chae paled at the thought.

She couldn’t lose the viola.

It was something she had to preserve completely.
“Do you… like me?” Eun Chae asked, her voice breaking slightly.

Kwon Ki Joo looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Sooner or later it may change, but for now… you do like me, don’t you?”

Silence.

“Can you run away with me?”

Ki Joo remained silent, his eyes mysterious. Eun Chae knew he wouldn’t easily agree, but her mouth went dry.

“With me…”

Run away together.

The definitive words circled in her mind, unspoken.

Ki Joo was still silent. Eun Chae knew that silence was also a form of expression.

Her eyes grew teary. She bit her lip, closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them.

“I got too excited. I should leave now.”

Don’t keep me hanging on.

Eun Chae grabbed Ki Joo’s wrist and pulled him outside. She swallowed her tears as he followed obediently.

In the end, Ki Joo had no intention of going through with it.

Even though she knew, it hurt.

There was no punishment for Eun Chae’s unauthorized intrusion and tantrum in the study. Surprisingly lenient, yet she was not grateful.

How staff were warned to stay away from her was evident; none dared approach her.

Eun Chae was stoic. She wasn’t upset about the housekeeper’s swift departure or the staff avoiding her.

But one thing did disturb her: the change of her bodyguard from Ki Joo to Lee Kwang Il. Unlike Ki Joo, who worked alone, Lee Kwang Il had formed a team, clearly intent on providing airtight security.

Eun Chae eyed the security team skeptically. Some had swollen faces and scabs on their lips.

Had there been a fight within the team? How childish.

As she walked on, she paused, worried Ki Joo might have been involved in the fight.

Even if that were true, Lee Kwang Il wouldn’t tell her. She glanced at him. As expected, he opened the car door with a stern face.

“Get in.”

“I would have, even if you hadn’t said so,” she retorted and sat in the backseat. Two bodyguards joined her, one in the driver’s seat, and Lee Kwang Il as the chief bodyguard in the passenger seat.

Glancing back, she noticed another sedan following. Probably they refrained from placing guards beside her in the car for appearance’s sake.