The mansion was eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity muted by the deep stillness that seemed to linger in the air. Eunji stood in the hallway, her footsteps almost soundless as she made her way toward Hiroto’s room. She knew he had been unwell for a few days, but his stubbornness and distance from her made it difficult to gauge how serious it was. The servants had spoken in hushed tones, and though they never mentioned specifics, the worry in their eyes was enough to make her decide to act.

She hadn’t contacted him directly since their last confrontation, not wanting to deal with the complex emotions he stirred in her. But seeing him in pain—weak and feverish—pulled something in her that she couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t out of affection. It was... something else. A need to care for him, even if he didn’t know it.

Eunji entered his room quietly, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and the faint scent of tea. Hiroto lay in bed, his body flushed with fever, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. His usually sharp features were softened by exhaustion, his eyes closed as if he were in a restless sleep.

She approached him cautiously, sitting beside the bed, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment longer than she intended. Despite everything that had happened between them, despite how much he had hurt her, a part of her still cared. She couldn’t quite shake that feeling, no matter how much she tried.

Taking a damp cloth, she gently placed it on his forehead, watching as the tension in his face seemed to ease ever so slightly. His breathing remained shallow and uneven, and Eunji couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. This man—her father, her "uncle"—had been a stranger to her for so long. She didn’t want to care for him, yet here she was.

She adjusted the blankets around him and poured him a glass of water, holding it to his lips as she coaxed him to drink. His feverish mutterings made it clear he was delirious, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to pretend that she was a daughter caring for her father—not the broken, angry girl she had become.

But as she watched him drift in and out of sleep, she knew she couldn’t stay. Her heart was heavy with unresolved anger, and even in this moment of tenderness, she couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing her vulnerability. She knew that if she stayed longer, he would wake up and she would have to confront the weight of everything that had passed between them.

So, quietly, she stood and left the room, her heart beating faster as she stepped into the hallway. She was a model, a student, a perfectly crafted image of someone who had it all together, but inside, she was still that girl—still the girl who had been abandoned by the man who should have loved her.

The servants didn’t speak much when Hiroto finally stirred, awakening to the dim light of the morning. His fever had broken, but the fatigue remained heavy in his body. He groggily sat up, feeling a strange sense of emptiness where his daughter’s presence had been just hours ago.

When the servants entered, they were quick to notice the change in him—the fever had broken, but there was something off about the way he looked. His gaze was distant, and he had yet to speak.

“Sir, your fever is gone,” one of the maids said tentatively, looking at him with concern. “You were very ill, but...”

“But what?” Hiroto’s voice was hoarse, his head throbbing. He pushed himself into a sitting position, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table.

“We... we saw Miss Eunji by your side last night, sir. She stayed with you, making sure you were comfortable. She left before you woke up, though,” the maid said hesitantly, unsure of how much to reveal.

Hiroto’s chest tightened at the words. Eunji had been there—taking care of him without him even realizing. His throat tightened, a bitter sense of guilt washing over him. How had he been so blind? How had he missed the subtle ways she had tried to bridge the distance between them?

Despite everything that had happened—despite the anger, the pain, and the lies—she still cared for him. And yet, he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him the most.

A deep sigh escaped his lips as he lowered his head. His heart ached, but it was a pain of his own making. Eunji was angry, broken, and he was the one who had caused it all.

The maid left quietly, and Hiroto remained alone in the room, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. He had been so consumed with his own guilt and shame that he hadn’t even noticed the quiet acts of love she had shown him.

But now, with the truth standing before him, Hiroto knew he had to face the consequences. He could no longer live in the shadows of his own mistakes. Eunji’s care for him—despite everything—was a reminder that he still had a chance to make things right, if only she would let him.

But the question remained: could she ever forgive him? Could she ever truly accept him as her father again, after everything that had happened?

And would he, too, be able to forgive himself?