Chapter 88 – Volkov_01
POV: Jaeheon Kang
There were a thousand lights on stage, but the only one he ever looked for was never in the crowd.
Jaeheon stood center spotlight, drenched in applause, sweat beading at his jawline, the roar of twenty thousand voices screaming his name—and yet, the only image etched behind his eyes was hers.
She hadn't come.
Of course, she hadn't.
She never said she would.
She never said anything at all.
But still, he looked.
Every time.
Later that night – Zurich. Hotel Penthouse.
The others were out celebrating.
Jaeheon stood alone on the rooftop balcony, a glass of untouched water in one hand, the other resting near the hidden pen-drive under his hoodie. It contained the ten new demos he had recorded the past week.
All of them about her.
None of them ever heard by anyone else.
The stars above flickered faintly, but they didn't shine the way her hair did beneath chandeliers. Not the way he remembered.
He didn't mean to look down toward the hotel bar.
He didn't mean to recognize her silhouette so quickly.
But he did.
Even in a room full of brilliance, Anastasia Celeste Volkov stood untouched.
Regal. Composed. Impossible.
And beside her—
A man.
Tall. Golden hair. A tailored Armani suit.
He leaned in and whispered something against her ear.
She didn't flinch.
She didn't move away.
She didn't smile either—but she didn't move away.
That was enough to hurt.
Jaeheon didn't realize his hand was clenched until his knuckles turned white.
1:12 a.m.
He was back in the studio room they'd set up for the tour.
The others wouldn't come in tonight.
He knew it.
He liked being alone.
He preferred it, always had.
But tonight... tonight, his fingers moved faster than his mind.
Piano keys were pressed. Melodies spilled. Words surfaced without permission.
If you choose someone else,
I will not stop you.
I will not follow.
I will only disappear with your name inside my chest.
Even if you forget me,
I'll remember the way
you stood under golden light—
untouchable,
unforgettable.
He titled the track: Even If You Choose Someone Else
Then he opened a private folder.
Locked it.
Named it:
Volkov_01
He stared at the screen for a long moment.
"How long are you going to love someone who doesn't even look at you?"
He asked himself that once.
The answer hadn't changed.
"Until the world stops turning."
Three days later – Milan. Private Event.
She was there.
He didn't know she would be.
No one did.
But somehow, when he turned his head, she stood across the marble-floored hall, speaking to the event host, dressed in black silk and diamond-lined heels.
Untouchable.
Eyes like polished ice.
He should have walked over. Should have said something.
But his feet stayed rooted, as if approaching her would shatter him completely.
She didn't glance at him once.
He didn't expect her to.
He was an idol. A celebrity. A performer.
She was Anastasia Volkov.
A realm beyond royalty.
But gods fell too, didn't they?
He wondered what it would take to make a woman like her fall.
If she ever could.
If he ever could be enough.
Later, back at the hotel
He opened the folder again.
There were now twelve songs.
All of them about her.
All of them written without ever using her name.
Yet every line screamed it louder than any chorus ever could.
He clicked the newest demo.
Listened.
Paused.
Then wrote one line in the notes tab:
I'm not afraid of her loving someone else.
I'm only afraid of never being loved at all.
He closed the file.
Locked the folder.
Deleted the shortcut.
And went to bed with her name in his chest and her silence carved into his ribs like scripture.