Freen's POV:
Morning came too fast. The light from the window was soft at first, warm against my face. I blinked a few times, the familiar beeping of the monitor beside me reminding me where I was.
And then I felt it — something warm, soft, close.
I turned my head slightly. Becky.
Her head resting against my shoulder, her arm wrapped loosely around my waist.
We were hugging.
For a moment, my mind went completely blank. My breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something I didn't want to name.
I didn't even dare move. I just looked at her — at the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed, the tiny crease between her brows even in sleep. She looked... peaceful.
Then I heard it — a throat clearing.
I turned my head to the left.
Saint. Standing there. Arms crossed. Eyes wide.
And behind him — the doctor and nurse. Both frozen.
Oh, god.
I instantly sat up, accidentally waking Becky in the process.
"Becky—Becky, wake up!" I hissed, my voice higher than usual.
She groaned softly, eyes still half-closed. "Uh... it's early..."
"Wake up!" I said again, almost panicked now.
Her eyes finally opened — and then widened.
She jumped slightly, realizing where she was, how close we were, and who was watching. "Oh my god—"
Saint just stood there, shaking his head like he'd just walked into a scene he could never unsee.
The doctor, awkward as ever, cleared his throat again. "Uh, Miss Freen... we'll just... proceed with the final checkup. You can discharge after that."
I nodded quickly, trying to look composed even though my heart was sprinting. "Y-yes, of course."
Becky got off the bed fast, straightening her hair, her clothes, her dignity. "I'll, uh, go ahead first," she mumbled without looking at anyone.
And just like that, she was gone — leaving behind her scent, her warmth, and my absolute confusion.
The doctor did his quick rounds, nodding in approval before leaving too.
Then it was just me and Saint.
He stood there for a long moment, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying not to lose it.
Finally, he sighed. "What's happening, Freen?"
I looked down, picking at the blanket. "It's not what it looks like."
"Oh really?" His tone was half disbelief, half frustration. "You were hugging someone else's wife in a hospital bed. What do you call that, then?"
I stayed silent.
Saint stepped closer, his voice lower now. "Do you even realize how dangerous this is? What if it really was her husband who did this to you? And now you're—god—giving him even more reason?"
I felt a sharp ache in my chest. Not from fear — from truth.
Because he was right.
I looked up at him, eyes tired. "I know, Saint. I know."
But even knowing that...
I couldn't deny the warmth that still lingered where she'd held me.
Silence filled the room after Saint's words.
He wasn't angry anymore — not really. Just tired. Worried. The kind of silence that only family could have after seeing you walk too close to the edge.
I looked down at my hands, tracing the faint bruise on my wrist where the IV had been. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I just couldn't help it."
Saint raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"She was here last night," I continued, voice barely above a whisper. "She stayed. Accompanied me all night. I didn't ask her to, Saint. She just... did. And for once, I didn't feel so alone."
He sighed, sitting on the chair beside my bed. His tone softened. "I know, Freen. I understand. You've been waiting for this—what? Years? Half your life?"
I nodded slowly, staring at the small crack on the wall opposite me. "Yeah. Maybe too long."
Saint leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But think of yourself too. You almost died, Freen. Someone out there wants you gone. And Becky—she might not know what's really happening. Bright..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Bright might already be planning something one step ahead of us."
I clenched my jaw, that name alone bringing a dull ache to my chest. "I know. But I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His voice firm now. "You can and you have to. You can't protect her if you're broken too."
I looked at him then. The concern in his eyes wasn't just about the case or the plan. It was about me. About his little sister who always tried to carry too much.
"I get it," I said finally. "I'll be careful."
Saint stood, adjusting his jacket. "Good. Now get up and get ready. I'll check your discharge documents. You can go home after lunch."
I smiled faintly. "Thanks, Saint."
He nodded once before walking out.
The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with the silence again.
I leaned back against the pillow, exhaling slowly. My eyes drifted to the window — to the same sky I'd stared at last night when she was beside me.
For the first time in a long time, my heart felt both full and empty.
"Get it together, Freen," I muttered to myself.
Then I sighed — long, deep, tired.
Because I knew he was right.
But knowing what's right doesn't make it hurt any less.
Finally home.
The familiar scent of jasmine from my mother's garden drifted through the open door as I stepped into the house. For a second, I stood there at the entrance, breathing it in. It was strange how something so small, so ordinary, could make me feel both comforted and fragile at the same time.
Mom was the first to reach me. "Oh, my baby..." she whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around me as if I could disappear any moment. Her hug was warm, trembling. I hugged her back just as hard.
"I'm okay now, Mom," I said softly. "Really."
Dad was next. He didn't say much, just placed his hand on my head and nodded — the kind of quiet reassurance that meant more than any words.
Saint was behind them, watching, his expression half-relieved, half-exhausted. "Alright," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's enough hugs. She needs to rest. Doctor said no over-emotional scenes."
Mom swatted him lightly. "You're just jealous."
I smiled. For a fleeting moment, I felt... normal.
After dinner — which Mom insisted I eat even though I barely had an appetite — I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked at them one last time. "Thank you," I said. "For everything."
Saint gave a small grin. "Just rest now, Freen. Tomorrow's waiting for you. Long day ahead."
I nodded, even though I had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
When I entered my room, silence greeted me again.
The faint glow of the night lamp reflected off the glass window. Everything looked exactly how I'd left it — except the drawer near my bed. It was slightly open.
My heart skipped a beat.
I walked closer and pulled it fully open. Empty. The diary wasn't there.
A quiet laugh escaped me — not out of amusement, but realization. "Saint..." I murmured, shaking my head. "You must've given it to her."
My fingers brushed over the wooden edge of the drawer. For a second, I imagined her face when she opened it, when she saw those pages filled with her activities and photos. Did she cry? Did she hate me?
"Stop," I told myself softly, closing the drawer. "Don't go there."
I lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The soft hum of the air-conditioner was the only sound in the room.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop whatever I was feeling — that quiet ache in my chest, the memory of her scent lingering in my mind, the warmth of her arms when she hugged me that night.
I turned on my side, pulling the blanket closer.
"She knows now," I whispered into the dark. "And that should be enough."
But deep down, I knew — it wasn't.
Next day.
The next morning came too fast.
I barely slept — my mind was restless, flipping between the sound of her voice and the reality that I needed to return to being me again. The CEO. The calm one. The one who knew what she was doing.
When I arrived at the office, everyone stood straighter than usual. Whispers moved from one corner to another — the boss is back.
I didn't say a word. Just walked past them, the sharp sound of my heels echoing through the marble floor. I could feel their eyes, half curious, half relieved.
It was always like this after I disappeared for a while — they never asked questions, but they looked at me as if they wanted answers.
I reached my office and dropped my bag on the desk. The room smelled faintly of lavender — Irin must have cleaned up before I came.
"Irin," I said, calling as she entered with her tablet already open, efficient as always. "What's my schedule today?"
She scrolled through the screen quickly. "Morning meeting with the investors at nine. After that, a quick briefing with the marketing team."
I nodded. "And after lunch?"
Irin hesitated for half a second — just enough for me to notice. "After lunch... we're meeting Bright Entertainment. With Khun Becky's team."
I froze. My fingers, which had been tapping lightly on the desk, stopped.
Becky.
Her name alone made something twist inside my chest.
Irin noticed the shift immediately. "Boss, we can reschedule if you want. I'll call their PA right now."
I shook my head. "No."
She blinked. "Are you sure? You're still recovering. You don't have to push yourself—"
"I said no, Irin," I repeated, this time more firmly. "We'll go."
She nodded quickly. "Understood, boss." She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
I leaned back on my chair and took a deep breath, staring at the glass window where the morning light poured in. The city outside was already alive — cars honking, people rushing, the world moving as if nothing had ever happened.
I needed to focus.
I had to.
This was just another meeting. Another project. Another collaboration.
After a long day, Irin and I were driven to Becky's office. The city blurred past; my head felt heavy but alert. Twenty minutes later we pulled up and walked through the glass doors into the bright hallway.
There they were—Bright and Becky—walking side by side, holding hands like nothing had exploded our world two nights ago.
The sight should have twisted me; instead I steadied myself and kept my face neutral.
"Oh, Freen," Bright called, smiling too easily.
"Yes," Becky replied, polite and composed. "We have meetings."
I forced a small smirk and kept my voice even. "I'm glad you're both well."
Bright smile and said ''I'm glad you are better now, Freen.''
My shoulders squared. "I'm fine now—strong enough to find the culprit. I'll make sure he pays."
For a heartbeat both Bright and Becky froze. Bright's smile slipped into something unreadable. Then, as if to erase the moment, he leaned in and kissed Becky's cheek—soft, possessive—and walked away.
I looked away immediately, swallowing whatever I felt, and kept walking. My steps were steady, but my heart was not.
Inside the meeting room, I forced myself to stay composed. My posture straight, voice firm, expression unreadable. The air between Becky and me was thick—professional smiles masking everything else. I kept my eyes on the slides, on the figures, anything but her.
Thirty minutes passed when suddenly—
A scream tore through the corridor.
At first, everyone thought it was something minor, but the noise grew louder. The sound of someone crying, shouting—a man's voice trying to silence her. Then—Bright's voice.
"Security! Someone call security!"
The room froze. Irin glanced at me. Becky was already standing. Without hesitation, she opened the door, and we all followed her out.
The scene in the hallway was chaos. Bright stood there, face pale, hands up defensively. In front of him—a girl. She couldn't be more than nineteen. Her voice cracked from crying and rage.
"Why did you leave me? Why won't you see me anymore?" she screamed, her whole body shaking.
Bright snapped back, panicked. "You're crazy! I don't even know you!"
Becky stepped forward, her tone sharp but calm. "What's happening here?"
Bright turned to her like she was his only lifeline. "Babe... I swear, I don't know her."
The girl's eyes widened, trembling as she pointed at Becky. "So she's your wife?" Her voice cracked again. "I'm— I'm Bright's girlfriend! I even... I'm pregnant!"
The hallway fell silent.
Every single person froze.
The world stopped breathing.
Bright's face went twisted—anger, fear, denial all smashed together. "You're crazy! I don't even know you!" he barked. "Babe... don't listen—this must be someone's plan."
Becky stood frozen, shock washing over her like cold water. The girl in front of Bright only got louder, more frantic. "If you don't admit it you're going to lose me and the baby, Bright!" she screamed.
Bright snapped, "Go on! I don't know you!" His voice ricocheted down the hallway. Everyone—staff, visitors, my people—were pressed into the doorway, watching.
Then the girl lost it. She grabbed a handful of papers off a nearby table and hurled them at Bright. Scattered sheets fluttered like wounded birds. Next she seized a pair of scissors from the reception desk and threw them wildly.
Time slowed. The sharp metal spun through the air in a terrible arc.
I saw it heading straight towards me.
But Becky run to me.
"Becky!" I shouted.
The scissors struck—cutting through air and then into skin—hitting Becky's arm. She gasped, clutching it. Blood welled. The hallway exploded into movement: people lunging, shouting, someone grabbing the girl.
"Becky!" I screamed again, my voice raw.
"Freen..." Becky's voice trembled, her hand pressing over the blood on her arm. "You alright?"
I blinked, still dazed. "Are you insane? You're the one not okay right now!" I said, grabbing her wrist gently to check the wound. The red line on her skin made my chest tighten.
Security finally burst into the hallway, pushing through the stunned crowd.
Bright pointed sharply. "Her! Take her!" he barked, his voice trembling between fury and panic.
The girl struggled against the guards. "You liar! You said you loved me! You said—" Her voice cracked as they dragged her away, the sound echoing long after she was gone.
I couldn't look away from her. There was something in her eyes—pain, confusion, maybe truth. She didn't look like she was lying. My gut twisted.
Becky straightened herself, breathing heavily. Her arm still bled, but her expression was steady—too steady. She looked at everyone, her tone sharp, commanding. "Everyone. Meeting dismissed."
Her voice left no room for argument. The staff hesitated, then scattered like startled birds.
Then she turned to me. "Freen, I'll talk to you another day."
"But Becky—"
She forced a smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll handle this. And I'm gonna be fine."
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to. But her smile felt like a wall—one she built fast, to keep herself from falling apart.
I stepped back, nodded once, and turned away. My phone felt heavy in my hand.
As I walked down the hallway, I dialed Saint's number.