I'm sitting in the interrogation room opposite the detective. I can't believe what I just found out.
"I'm giving you some advice as a woman to a woman. Admit the truth to you. Your crime has been solved, your arrest is only a matter of time."
"..."
Inner Cha-yeon:
"She's bluffing, but I don't want to go to jail for the crime of the boutique owner."
"you must understand that you are directly accused of treason and espionage. Do you even realize how serious this is?"
I do not know what to order. How can an ordinary woman do THAT?
My hands were shaking, and my face was terrified.
An hour later...
Cha-yeon:
"I-l-l d-d-didn't know-w. P-Please h-help me. I was very badly-y deceived."
She calmed me down, but soon she came out, most likely to talk to her superiors.
According to investigator Kim Song, the owner of the boutique deliberately imperceptibly changed her details to those similar to mine so that I could be her.
Inner Cha-yeon:
"And guess who took her bait first. I."
...
The interrogation room smelled of coffee and something metallic. Cha-yeon sat across from two officers — a man and a woman in plain clothes. Her file lay open on the table, turned to a page with her photo.
"Cha-yeon," the male officer began, leaning back slightly. "We believe the owner of the flower boutique has been using your personal data. Intentionally."
Cha-yeon didn't speak. Her fingers gripped the edge of the chair tightly.
"That's exactly why we want your help," the female officer said gently. "If you're innocent, you've got nothing to lose by cooperating."
Cha-yeon exhaled slowly. Questions raced through her mind. Who was this woman? Why her data? Why now?
Officer Kim Song pulled out a tablet and brought up the screen. A district map, a photo of the flower boutique, and the portrait of a woman appeared — under it, the name: Cha-yeon.
"You work at her shop," he said. "But you've never seen the actual owner, right?"
Cha-yeon nodded.
"Only phone calls. Sometimes letters. They say she's abroad."
"We have reason to believe this 'Cha-yeon' doesn't exist — at least not in the way you think," the female officer said. "Or she's using someone else's identity. Yours."
Kim Song added,
"The shop is legally hers. The paperwork matches. But the data we found — biometrics, patterns — it all points to you. She's living as you. And you're working for her."
"This is a nightmare," Cha-yeon breathed.
Inner Cha-Youn:
"Oh, please don't make me laugh. In short, the way I understand it is that I pretended to be her, and she took advantage of that because she was bad, to dump her problems on me. Do I understand?"
Inner Cha-Youn(icy):
"The problem is, do we tell this story to the police?"
"no!"
Female officer:
"what?"
"no"
...
She was already at home. It was the middle of the night. There was no husband. Is that how it should be?
Icy:
"I think I'm thinking wrong."
Cha-yeon:
"please..."
Cha-yeon sat on the edge of her couch, one sock half-off, holding a cup of warm barley tea that had gone cold.
The clock ticked past midnight.
Still no call. Still no text.
Nothing.
Inner Cha-yeon (Icy):
"He's not coming back."
"Probably in someone else's bed right now. You're the 'legally convenient wife,' and she's the real one."
Cha-yeon flinched.
She hated how convincing Icy could be.
Cha-yeon (murmuring):
"He's probably just passed out. Maybe he needed time to think."
Icy:
"Think? Sweetie. Men like that don't think. They disappear. Reappear. Apologize. Then do it again."
She stood up suddenly.
Was she worried?
No.
Okay. Maybe a little.
She pulled on a jacket over her pajamas, threw her hair into a bun, and glanced in the mirror.
Icy:
"At least go out looking like someone he'll regret cheating on."
The door creaked open.
Cha-yeon didn't even look up at first — she was too focused on finishing her silent argument with Icy in her head.
But then…
The scent of rain and sweat.
The quiet shuffle of sneakers on hardwood.
She turned — and froze.
Standing in the doorway was Han Temu.
But… not quite.
His once-flawless designer suit was wrinkled and stained with something that looked suspiciously like street food sauce. His usually pristine hair was messy, his shirt half untucked. And—was that… were those sneakers?
Han Temu, in sneakers?
Icy:
"Oh no. This is not your man. This is some soft reboot version of him."
He looked at her.
And in that second — something in Cha-yeon's heart skipped.
His eyes were the same.
But everything else felt distant, foreign, fragile.
Like he'd been taken apart and reassembled wrong.
He didn't speak.
He just dropped his bag on the floor with a quiet thud and leaned against the doorframe, breathing hard — like he had run all the way home. Or like he had escaped something big.
Something heavy.
Cha-yeon wanted to say a thousand things.
"Where were you?"
"Why do you look like that?"
"Did you drink?"
"Are you hurt?"
But instead, all that came out was:
Cha-yeon:
"…Did it rain?"
He gave the smallest nod.
Not a word. Not a smile. Just… him. Standing there.
And for a moment, time froze.
The man in the doorway wasn't the cold heir, wasn't the CEO, wasn't the man her heart had started aching for.
He was something else.
Raw.
Unfinished.
Real.
And somehow, painfully beautiful.