The house was eerily quiet in the wake of Dae-Hyun’s departure, the only sound being the low hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Soo-Ah stared out the window for a moment, watching the trees sway with the breeze, her thoughts clouded with a combination of irritation and confusion. It had only been a few days since the incident at the breakfast table, but the undercurrent of unease had only deepened. She could feel Dae-Hyun’s distance — not physically, but mentally. It was as if the man she once knew had been replaced by something else entirely. And no matter how much she tried to connect with him, a gap remained. A chasm that she couldn’t bridge.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something from her. Something monumental.

The way he had deflected her anger last night with that smile — that maddening, impenetrable smile. He hadn’t even flinched when she accused him of hiding his true feelings. It was almost as though he was made of stone, unaffected by anything she said.

His claim that he was just "fine" didn’t sit right with her. No one could be that unaffected by everything they’d been through. Especially not someone who had been diagnosed as clinically insane. She had seen the fragility in him once, when they were young. That vulnerability had drawn her to him, had made her want to protect him, love him even more.

But now… now there was nothing but this perfect mask. This performance that he executed so well, it made her question whether the man she had once known even existed anymore.

She stood abruptly, her decision made.

She needed to know.

She needed to find out what was buried beneath that stone-cold exterior. And she knew exactly where to look.

His study.

When he was away at work, it was her chance — her only chance.

With purposeful steps, she made her way through the house, her heels tapping softly against the floor as she approached the door to his study. It loomed before her, closed and silent. She hesitated for just a moment, a fleeting doubt skimming through her mind, but quickly dismissed it.

No. She had to do this.

The moment she entered, she was hit with the scent of expensive leather and the sharp, sterile cleanliness of his personal space. Everything was arranged with unsettling precision. The desk was immaculate, save for a few papers, the shelves were perfectly aligned with books that had never been touched, and the floor was so spotless it looked as though it had never been walked on. There was nothing here that spoke to her — nothing that felt personal or human.

Not like before. Before, there had been traces of their lives scattered in every corner: old photographs, scribbled notes, and things that told the story of them — of him. Now, it was as if his life had been erased and replaced with this cold, clinical perfection.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of his desk, searching for something — anything. But there was nothing.

Soo-Ah frowned. His study had always been where he hid his secrets, where he poured over reports, where he spent long hours making deals that no one outside the Kang empire would ever understand. But now, there was no trace of the man she once knew. Nothing personal, nothing revealing.

She bit her lip, frustration bubbling up inside her. This wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Her eyes flickered to his computer.

It was sleek, ultra-modern, and locked behind a password, just like everything else in his life. But Soo-Ah wasn’t stupid. She’d always known how to get around security — how to bypass systems and find what she needed. She had learned over the years, when he’d been too caught up in his work to notice her curiosity, how to access even the most secure files.

But this time, when she typed in the password and hit enter, a red message flashed across the screen: Access Denied.

Soo-Ah froze. Her heart thudded in her chest.

She tried again, more cautiously this time, but the same thing happened.

Access Denied.

It was like a wall had slammed down in front of her, a wall she had no way of getting past. She felt a spike of panic. This was different. This wasn’t just a password she could guess. This was something else entirely. Dae-Hyun had taken extra precautions, and Soo-Ah couldn’t help but wonder if the man she had once known had turned into something even more unrecognizable.

She tried again. And again. But nothing worked.

Her breathing quickened, and her frustration turned to rage. How could he do this? How could he lock her out of his world like this? Was he so afraid of her finding out the truth? Or worse — was he hiding something that could break them both?

She stood up abruptly, knocking her chair back with a loud scrape against the floor. The sudden noise seemed to snap her back into reality, and she stared at the computer screen for a moment longer, before exhaling sharply. She had to stop. This was only making things worse.

Soo-Ah turned away from the desk and glanced around the room, her eyes scanning every corner. But there was nothing. No clue, no hint, no trace of the man she used to know. He had vanished, leaving only this fortress of technology and perfection in his wake.

Her heart sank.

What had happened to him?

She could feel the old, familiar ache building in her chest again. The ache that told her that Dae-Hyun was slipping further away from her — and she didn’t know how to reach him anymore.

He was smarter than she could ever hope to be. And no matter how much she searched, she would never be able to break through the fortress he had built around himself. She wasn’t just locked out of his study. She was locked out of his life, too.

Soo-Ah turned and walked out of the study, her mind racing with confusion, frustration, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She had no idea how to save him, or even if he wanted to be saved.

And as she closed the door behind her, the truth hit her — Dae-Hyun was no longer a man she could reach. He was someone else now. Someone who was too far gone.

And she had no idea what to do with that.