Leo's POV
The night had teeth.
Sharp, cold ones.
I sat curled up on the garden bench, my arms draped over my knees, forehead resting in the dark space between them.
The wood was still damp from the earlier rain.
I couldn't feel it.
Couldn't feel anything except the tremble in my hands.
"I'm not her," I whispered.
"I'm not her… I'm not…"
But even as I said it — over and over — I didn't believe it.
Not after what I just did.
Not after the way she looked at me when I pushed her.
When I yelled.
When she closed her eyes, not out of anger —
But fear.
I'd sworn I'd never become that.
Never be the one who made someone feel that small.
But maybe I always was.
I pulled my jacket tighter.
Pressed my fists to my forehead.
It all came back —
That conversation.
Five Months Ago,
Right after Se-Ri and I moved in together.
The first week I felt something like peace —
And that's exactly when she showed up.
My mother.
No warning. No call.
Just her name over the front desk intercom like a detonator.
I could've ignored it.
I should have.
Instead, I buzzed her in.
She sat in the guest chair like it was still her kingdom.
Legs crossed, fingers tapping my desk like a therapist who didn't believe in healing.
"I heard you're living with someone now," she said, not even a greeting.
I nodded once. "Yes."
"That Indian-Korean girl. Pretty. Sharp. CEO, isn't she?"
"She's Se-Ri," I said.
"Of course," she smiled faintly, but it didn't touch her eyes.
"You think it'll last?"
I didn't reply.
"You think she won't leave once she sees too much?"
"You always were good at hiding the rot — for a while."
I clenched my fists under the desk.
"Let me save you time," she continued. "She'll look at you one day and see what I've always seen. The cracks. The cold. The thing beneath the polish."
"Stop," I said.
"You're not worthy of that kind of love. You never were. You're my son."
"You know what you are?"
She leaned forward.
"A devil.
One people fear."
She stood up.
"So run first, Leo.
Do her that mercy."
She'd left me sitting there, gutted.
I never told Se-Ri.
I thought if I just worked harder —
If I just kept her happy —
That voice would go quiet.
But it didn't.
Tonight proved that.
The way I grabbed her.
The way I shoved her.
The look on her face.
Like she saw it.
The devil she was warned about.
The part of me I've spent my whole life trying to bury.
I curled tighter on the bench, the night air swallowing me whole.
My eyes burned but wouldn't release.
Even my guilt had gone silent now.
All I could hear were her last words echoing in my skull:
"Do her a favor.
Leave first."
And maybe I had.
Because I wasn't just afraid of hurting her again.
I was afraid that deep down —
I didn't know how to stop.