When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 17

She says it so casually, not knowing that my heart is currently hammering in my chest.

Han Wool.

I’ll get to see him again.

A surge of excitement rushes through me before I can stop it. I know I should be more cautious, that last night should have made me take a step back—but how can I, when fate is already giving me another chance?

I press my lips together, hiding my smile behind my cup.

This is perfect.

I can see him.

And I can take the next step in my plan.

I will make him remember.

Even if it takes everything I have.
_____________

The hours pass painfully slow.

I try to read a book. I try to watch something. I try to take a nap.

Nothing works.

My mind is too restless, my body too on edge.

And when the evening finally rolls around, I stand before my closet, fingers trailing over my clothes, searching for the right thing to wear.

Something simple but beautiful.

Something that makes him look at me.

And then I find it.

A black dress, patterned with white squares.

It hugs my figure just enough, fitting perfectly without being too much. I slip into it, feeling the smooth fabric against my skin.

For my hair, I leave it down—sleek, natural, falling over my shoulders like a curtain.

I reach for my earrings next—delicate silver flowers, small but eye-catching.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t just see me.

I see someone who is ready to fight.

A knock at my door.

I open it to find Harin standing there, arms crossed, looking effortlessly put together in high-waisted jeans and a red top.

Her lips are painted a darker shade than usual, her expression unreadable as she scans my outfit.

“You’re really coming?” she asks, tilting her head.

I smile sweetly. “Of course. His mom invited me.”

Harin huffs a laugh. “She was just being polite. You don’t have to be there.”

I shrug. “And yet, here I am.”

Her jaw tightens slightly, but she sighs. “Whatever. Just don’t embarrass yourself.”

I don’t reply.

Because I know the only one who’ll be embarrassed in the end isn’t me.

The drive to Han Wool’s house is silent.

Harin scrolls through her phone, probably texting Han Wool, and I stare out the window, my fingers gripping my dress as we get closer.

When we arrive, the grand house looms before us—tall gates, a well-kept garden, the kind of home that breathes wealth and power.

The door opens before we can even knock.

Han Wool’s mother stands there, as elegant as ever, smiling warmly.

“You’re here! Come in, come in.”

I step inside, the familiar scent of expensive candles and fresh tea filling the air.