It’s Sunday. Last night was restless—as always when I’m in a new environment. Even with the lights on, sleep wouldn’t come easily. I felt a twinge of guilt, but I had to do it. Knowing that Claire was in the other room instead of her husband’s penthouse, I finally switched off the main light, leaving only my study lamp on.
I spent the night scrolling through social media, my usual comfort zone. Girls’ Generation content still felt like home, a familiar glow in the dark—my own personal moon, lighting up the night.
Morning came with a light shower, a quick brush of my teeth, and a splash of water on my face. Peeking outside, I wondered if Claire was awake, but the living room was empty—no trace of her. With nothing else to do, I took another look around the place.
The penthouse was the epitome of elegance and minimalism, its design rooted in a sleek black and beige palette. The living room stretched before me, anchored by a black leather sofa set against floor-to-ceiling windows, where sunlight poured in, illuminating every polished surface. A plush beige rug softened the dark marble flooring, its subtle patterns adding depth to the pristine space.
At the centre, a low-profile black coffee table sat with nothing but a single decorative bowl and a neatly stacked selection of books—carefully arranged, almost untouched. The walls bore abstract art in muted tones, understated yet purposeful, blending seamlessly into the curated aesthetic.
The kitchen, visible from where I stood, was equally refined—matte black cabinetry, gleaming beige countertops, and pendant lights hanging low over the island, casting a warm, ambient glow. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under the light, blending effortlessly into the design.
Despite its sophistication, the space felt empty. Pristine. Almost too perfect—like a showroom rather than a home. Maybe, with time, I’d find a way to make it feel like mine.
I wandered toward the windows, drawn by the sweeping view of the city below. From up here, everything looked distant—tiny cars weaving through the streets, people moving like small shadows against the pavement. The morning sky was a muted grey, hinting at the possibility of rain.
With a sigh, I turned away and made my way to the kitchen. My fingers trailed along the smooth beige countertop as I debated whether to make something to eat. Not that I was particularly hungry, but the silence of the penthouse made me restless. I opened the fridge, half-expecting it to be empty, but to my surprise, it was neatly stocked—bottled water, fresh fruit, a few containers of what looked like pre-prepared meals. Claire must have arranged for it.
I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, checking my phone again. Still no messages. Not that I was waiting for any in particular, but the quiet only made me more aware of how unfamiliar this place still felt.
A soft sound broke the silence—the faint creak of a door. I turned my head just as Claire emerged from her room, her expression unreadable as she walked toward the kitchen. She was dressed in a simple black sweater and beige linen pants, her hair slightly tousled from sleep.
“Morning,” she said, her voice calm but distant.
“Morning,” I echoed, watching as she opened a cabinet and took out a mug. She moved with practiced ease, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the machine without another word.
Claire leaned against the counter, her fingers wrapped around the warmth of her mug. She looked effortlessly composed, as always, yet there was something distant about her—like she was here, but not fully present.
I twisted the cap off my water bottle and took a sip, my fingers tapping lightly against the plastic. “You’re up early,” I said, just to fill the silence.
Claire raised a brow. “So are you.”
I let out a soft huff, not really a laugh. “Didn’t sleep much.”
“I figured.” She tilted her head slightly. “You kept your study lamp on all night.”
I blinked. “You noticed?”
She took another slow sip of her coffee, then placed the mug down with a quiet clink. “The light from your room was visible under the door. I assume that means you were awake the whole time.”
I suddenly felt exposed, like she had been aware of my restlessness while I thought I was alone. “Yeah, I guess,” I muttered, my fingers tightening around the bottle.
She didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back slightly, her gaze flickering toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “You don’t like the dark?”
It wasn’t an accusation, just a quiet observation.
“It’s not that,” I said after a pause. “It’s just... a habit.” A habit born from too many sleepless nights, from the need to fill the empty spaces with something—anything—to keep my mind from spiraling. But I didn’t say that part.
Claire didn’t pry, which I appreciated. Instead, she simply nodded, as if she understood anyway.
The silence between us stretched again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was something oddly grounding about her presence, even if I still wasn’t sure where I stood with her.
After a moment, she straightened. “Are you hungry?”
I blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Not really.”
She hummed, opening the fridge and pulling out a small container of fruit. She set it on the counter and, without asking, pushed it slightly toward me before grabbing a spoon for herself. “Eat a little,” she said, as if it were just a casual suggestion.
I hesitated, then took a piece of apple from the container. It was crisp and slightly sweet, grounding me more than I expected.
“Want to go out later?” Claire asked, her tone casual.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t really have anything to do outside.”
She studied me for a moment before speaking again. “Is your room all set up? You might need something.”
“It’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t have any ideas yet.”
Claire didn’t respond right away. She simply leaned against the counter, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of her mug. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt like she was waiting—for what, I wasn’t sure.
I picked at another piece of apple from the container she had pushed toward me earlier, chewing slowly. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to go out, but the idea of wandering around the city, aimless, didn’t appeal to me.
Claire finally broke the silence. “If you think of anything, let me know.”
I nodded, unsure if I actually would.
She finished her coffee in a few slow sips before setting the empty mug in the sink. “I’ll be out for a while,” she said, glancing toward the hallway that led to her room. “You’ll be okay here?”
It was a simple question, but something about it made me pause.
“Yeah,” I said eventually. “I’ll be fine.”
Claire gave a small nod, then turned to leave. But just before she disappeared down the hall, she hesitated. “If you get bored, go out and get some air. You don’t have to stay cooped up in here.”
I didn’t respond right away, and by the time I opened my mouth to say something—anything—she was already gone.
I exhaled, tapping my fingers against the water bottle still in my hand. The penthouse suddenly felt bigger, emptier. With nothing else to do, I wandered back toward the living room, letting my gaze drift across the pristine space.
Maybe Claire was right. Maybe I did need to get out for a bit.
But where would I even go?
.
.
.
I had planned to laze around in my room all day, but lingering there while the owner was around felt awkward. Not wanting to seem idle, I eventually took a shower and decided to head to the park for some fresh air that evening.
The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the afternoon. The park wasn’t too crowded—just a few joggers, couples walking hand in hand, and the occasional cyclist passing by. I found a quiet bench near a small pond, where the water reflected the dim glow of streetlights.
I pulled out my phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media again. Girls’ Generation clips, random memes, travel vlogs—anything to fill the quiet. But after a while, I just let the screen go dark and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
The stillness around me was oddly comforting. Being outside, away from the curated perfection of the penthouse, made me feel like I could actually breathe. Maybe I did need this—a break from the silence of that space, from Claire’s unreadable expressions, from the strange weight of living somewhere that didn’t feel like mine.
A soft breeze rustled the trees, and I leaned back against the bench, closing my eyes for a moment.
Then, a familiar voice broke through the quiet.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I opened my eyes, turning toward the voice.
I opened my eyes and turned toward the voice, my brows furrowing slightly.
Standing a few feet away was Mr. Leo.
Even in the casual setting of the park, he looked composed—dressed in a crisp, dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up, his posture effortlessly poised. He held a disposable coffee cup in one hand, his gaze calm as he regarded me.
“Mr. Leo,” I said, straightening slightly. Of all the people I could have run into, I hadn’t expected him.
“I didn’t take you for someone who likes parks,” he remarked, his voice smooth, unreadable as always.
I shrugged. “I just needed some fresh air.”
He studied me for a moment, then glanced around the park before shifting his gaze back to me. “Mind if I join you?”
I hesitated, but it wasn’t like I could say no. “Sure.”
He sat beside me, setting his coffee cup down on the bench’s armrest. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The distant laughter of children playing, the rhythmic footsteps of joggers, and the occasional chirping of birds filled the silence between us.
Then, he finally spoke. “Adjusting well?”
I exhaled slowly. “Still getting used to it.”
Leo nodded slightly, as if he expected that answer. “Claire can be... difficult,” he said after a pause.
"I know..." I said, my voice trailing off. Claire was difficult—her silences, her unreadable expressions, the way she seemed both present and distant at the same time. But hearing Leo say it made me wonder just how much he really knew about her.
He let out a quiet hum, tapping his fingers against the coffee cup. “She’s always been like that. Hard to read. Hard to reach.”
I turned slightly to face him, waiting. There was something about the way he spoke—like he was slipping into a memory.
“When we were little, there was this one time she almost got hit by a car,” he said, his tone oddly casual for such a statement. “She wasn’t paying attention. Too caught up in something—maybe a stray cat, or a butterfly, I don’t remember. But she stepped right onto the road.”
I frowned. Claire, distracted? It was hard to picture. She always seemed so composed, so in control.
Leo continued, his gaze distant. “I barely managed to pull her back in time. The car missed her by inches.”
I stared at him. “That... sounds terrifying.”
He let out a small chuckle, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It was. But you know what she did?”
I shook my head.
“She didn’t cry. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at the car as it sped off, then looked up at me and said, ‘You didn’t have to do that.’”
I blinked. “She said that?”
Leo nodded, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Yeah. Like she wasn’t sure if it would’ve mattered either way.” He leaned back slightly against the bench. “That’s Claire for you. Always acting like she’s fine, like nothing can touch her.”
His words settled heavily between us.
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything.
After a moment, Leo sighed, taking another sip of his coffee. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
Maybe because she’s been on his mind too. Maybe because, like me, he wasn’t sure how to reach her either.
I looked down at my hands, tracing the ridges of the water bottle cap with my thumb. “Do you think she’s still like that?” I asked quietly.
Leo didn’t answer right away. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “I think she’s just better at hiding it now.”
Leo exhaled, tilting his coffee cup slightly as if debating whether to say more. Then, he spoke, his voice quieter than before.
"Like I told you, our marriage is just a business arrangement—for my family’s sake." He let out a small, almost amused breath. "But to be honest… she saved me in another way. By marrying me, she made sure I didn’t have to be with anyone else."
I turned to him, trying to read between the lines. "What do you mean?"
He gave a small, knowing smile but didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he stared at the path ahead.
"My family expected me to marry. Not just for appearances, but to secure certain connections, to… uphold our legacy, I guess." His fingers absently traced the rim of his coffee cup. "But I never wanted that. I never wanted to be with someone I didn’t choose. Someone I couldn’t even—" He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly.
"And Claire knew that?" I asked.
"She understood more than anyone." His voice held something close to gratitude. "She offered. No pressure, no expectations. Just a way out for both of us."
A breeze passed through, rustling the leaves above us. I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—the fact that Claire had willingly entered this arrangement to help Leo, or the fact that there was something in his tone that sounded almost… relieved.
"So, you’re saying this marriage was the easiest way to avoid something worse?" I asked carefully.
He smirked slightly. "Something like that."
"And Claire?" I hesitated. "What did she get out of it?"
Leo’s smirk faded. He didn’t answer right away.
"Freedom," he said finally. "At least, as much as someone like her can get."
His words lingered between us, heavy with meaning I couldn’t quite grasp.
Leo’s smirk faded completely, replaced by something more solemn. He stared ahead, as if watching something only he could see.
"Our families took business too seriously," he murmured. "To the point where happiness didn’t matter anymore. Everything was about deals, partnerships, expectations."
There was a weight to his words, one that made my chest feel strangely tight. Before I could respond, he continued.
"Claire had an older sister." His voice was steady, but there was something fragile underneath it. "She passed away. Suicide."
I inhaled sharply. The air suddenly felt colder.
"I didn’t know," I said quietly.
"Not many do," he admitted. "Her family didn’t let the news spread. It wasn’t in the papers, no public condolences. They acted like it was something that shouldn’t be talked about." His jaw tightened. "Like it was just another problem to deal with and move on from."
I swallowed, unsure of what to say.
"Claire was young when it happened," he continued. "Too young to understand why. Or maybe she did understand, and that was worse." He let out a slow breath. "I think that’s when she realized—no matter how much we obeyed, followed their rules, met their expectations—none of it would ever be enough."
His words settled between us, heavy and unshakable.
I thought of Claire—her quiet, unreadable demeanour. The way she carried herself with effortless composure, like nothing ever touched her. Like she had long accepted things as they were.
"That’s why she agreed to the marriage," I said softly, piecing it together.
Leo nodded. "It gave her control over at least one part of her life. No one could force her into something worse. And for me…" He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Well, she saved me too."
Silence stretched between us again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came from understanding something unspoken.
I glanced at Leo. "Do you ever wonder if she regrets it?"
He didn’t answer right away. Then, he sighed.
"Sometimes, I wonder if she ever thinks about what she really wanted. If she even remembers what that feels like."
Leo leaned back against the bench, his fingers tightening slightly around his coffee cup. He let out a quiet chuckle, but there was no amusement in it—just resignation.
"Claire never falls in love," he said, almost to himself. "Or maybe she did, once. But she controlled it. Buried it before it could become real."
I frowned. "Why?"
His gaze drifted, lost in thought. "Because love makes you vulnerable. And in our world, that’s dangerous."
There was something final about the way he said it, like a truth he had long accepted.
He exhaled. "Both of us—we can’t fall in love. If we do, we might harm the person we love just by doing that."
A strange chill ran through me.
"That sounds... lonely," I murmured.
Leo let out a slow breath. "It is."
His words lingered between us, heavy and unshakable.
I thought of Claire again. The way she kept people at a distance, the way she never seemed fazed by anything. Was this why? Because love wasn’t something she could afford?
And Leo—his smirk, his effortless charm. Was it all just a mask to cover up the same emptiness?
"Have you ever wanted to?" I asked, almost hesitantly. "Fall in love?"
Leo’s lips parted slightly, but for once, he didn’t have an immediate answer. Instead, he looked down at his coffee, as if searching for something in the dark liquid.
"Wanting something doesn’t mean you can have it," he said finally. "So I stopped thinking about it."
A soft breeze passed between us, carrying the distant laughter of children playing in the park. And yet, sitting there beside Leo, I had never felt a silence more suffocating.
"I think I understand... wanting something but having no power to claim it. It reminds me of someone."
Leo's gaze remained steady. "You must have someone, then," he said, his voice unreadable.
A faint, wistful smile crossed my lips. "I do. But I can't be with them."
He didn’t look surprised, as if he had expected my answer.
"Loneliness..." I exhaled softly. "I know what it feels like—when your family places so many hopes and expectations on you that your own wants start to disappear."
Leo leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against his coffee cup. "So, in the end, it’s not really about what we want," he murmured. "It’s about what’s expected of us."
I nodded. "And how much we’re willing to sacrifice to meet those expectations."
A heavy silence settled between us, the weight of unspoken words pressing down. The air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of city life, but in that moment, the world felt strangely small—just the two of us, sitting on a park bench, sharing thoughts neither of us had dared to say aloud before.
Leo let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humour in it. "Funny, isn’t it? We’re supposed to have everything—privilege, success, stability. And yet, we have nothing that truly belongs to us."
I looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, I saw past the carefully controlled exterior. There was something in his eyes—a quiet resignation, a deep-rooted understanding of what it meant to live a life that wasn’t entirely your own.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" I asked softly.
He turned to me. "What?"
"To choose freely. To not have to think about consequences, expectations... just to follow what your heart wants."
Leo’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to answer, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his gaze drifting toward the fading horizon.
"Maybe in another life," he finally said.
Something about the way he said it—so certain, so final—made my chest ache.
Maybe in another life.
But not in this one.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to accept that.