Packing and Panic
San Francisco was fading behind them piece by piece. At Kwang's condo, boxes cluttered the hallway, half-packed suitcases sat like question marks on the floor, and a shipping company had already hauled off two crates of clothes, scripts, and random knickknacks.
For Kwang, the move back to Korea was just part of the rhythm of his life — dramas, film sets, family dinners at the estate, late-night meetings. He hummed while tossing jeans into a duffel, flipping through a script with notes scribbled in the margins.
But for Ashling, the sight of everything being dismantled made her chest ache.
This wasn't just another trip. This wasn't a vacation.
The Kang family was returning to Seoul, and she was expected to follow.
Her Korean was flawless, her posture impeccable — she could sit at a boardroom table with executives twice her age and not blink. But living there meant permanency. It meant the contract she had clung to — twelve months, then annulment, then freedom — would become meaningless.
If she went, there would be no "pretend." No safe boundary line.
That night, long after Kwang had crashed on the couch with a script across his chest, Ashling sat at her desk with her laptop open to flight listings. Manila glowed on the screen like a lifeline.
I could be home by tomorrow afternoon, she thought, her fingers hovering over the keys. I could end this now.
She shoved the laptop shut, heart pounding.
Her suitcase was waiting by the door.
The Attempted Escape
At five a.m., Ashling wheeled it quietly across the apartment, sneakers soft against the hardwood. Her breath caught at every creak of the floorboards.
If she could just get outside, call a cab, slip away before anyone noticed—
"Going somewhere, Mrs. Kang?"
She froze.
In the kitchen, Kwang leaned against the counter in an old hoodie and sweatpants, hair a ridiculous mess, a slice of cold pepperoni pizza dangling from his hand. A half-empty Coke can sat beside him, fizzing faintly.
He raised an eyebrow, chewing leisurely. "That suitcase looks suspicious."
Ashling's heart slammed against her ribs. "I… couldn't sleep."
"With a suitcase?" He smirked, brushing crumbs from his mouth. "That's one intense case of insomnia."
Her chest tightened until the words spilled out.
"I can't do it. I can't go to Korea. This was supposed to be twelve months—just twelve months, and then done. If I go there, it won't be pretend anymore. It'll be forever. And I'm not ready for forever."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Kwang set the pizza down, suddenly serious. "Ash…"
"You don't understand!" she burst, fists trembling at her sides. "You grew up in that world. You're used to being watched, measured, expected. I'm not. I built walls to survive after Nonong. I wanted anonymity. Quiet. Not cameras. Not boardrooms. Not people weighing my worth every second. This wasn't supposed to be forever. It was supposed to be safe."
The words hung between them, raw and aching.
The Confrontation
Kwang pushed away from the counter and walked toward her slowly. He didn't grab the suitcase. He just rested his hand lightly on the handle until her grip eased.
"Ash," he said softly. "Look at me."
She did, reluctantly.
His eyes, usually lit with mischief, were steady now. Calm. "Do you really think I'd let them lock you in a tower? You're not Rapunzel."
Her lips trembled. "It feels like it."
He smiled faintly, that crooked grin slipping through. "If you were Rapunzel, you'd already have braided your hair into a rope and escaped down the window. Probably with my credit card in your pocket."
A shaky laugh escaped her, half a sob. "You're impossible."
"Exactly." His voice warmed. "Impossible means I'm not letting you go alone. Not like this."
She dropped her gaze. "I just… I don't want to lose myself again."
Kwang reached up, gently brushing a stray strand from her cheek. His touch lingered. "You won't. You'll find yourself. Maybe in ways you never expected. And I'll be right there, making a fool of myself to distract you."
Her eyes stung. "You promise?"
"I promise," he said simply. "One step at a time. If it's too much, we'll stop. If you hate it, we'll come back. But don't run before we even try."
Cold Pizza
Her suitcase handle slipped from her grip, the wheels thudding softly to the floor.
Kwang grinned, relieved, and turned back to the counter. He held up the pizza box. "Now, since you ruined my midnight snack, you might as well join me. Cold pizza—delicacy of starving actors everywhere."
Ashling wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting."
"Disgustingly perfect," he corrected, offering her a slice.
She took it, chewing reluctantly. The cheese was rubbery, the pepperoni greasy, but the absurdity of it made her laugh. "Fine. Disgustingly perfect."
He leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement. "See? If you can survive cold pizza with me, you can survive Korea."
Her laugh softened into a sigh. "You're really not going to let me run, are you?"
He shook his head, mock stern. "Not when you were pulling the suitcase the wrong way. Amateur move."
She smacked his arm with the pizza crust, giggling through her tears.
The Flight
Two days later, SFO buzzed with holiday travelers and businessmen in gray suits. The Kangs moved through the terminal like a well-oiled machine. Chairman Kang and Omma swept ahead toward first-class check-in, attendants trailing with luggage.
Ashling clutched her passport like it was a lifeline, nerves twisting her stomach. She stayed close to Kwang, who was juggling his script, his phone, and his carry-on with the ease of someone used to living between flights.
On the plane, she sat rigid, eyes fixed on the seat in front of her.
Kwang nudged her arm. "Scared?"
"Terrified," she admitted.
He smiled softly, "Good. Then we'll be terrified together."
For the first time since signing that cursed contract, Ashling let herself lean back into the seat and believe it.
Arrival in Seoul
When the plane touched down at Incheon, everything felt sharper. The air. The voices over the intercom. The rush of travelers.
Omma and Appa swept away in a waiting convoy bound for the Kang estate. Ashling and Kwang slid into a separate car, black leather seats cool beneath her palms.
She pressed her face to the window as the city unfolded—endless towers of glass, neon signs, the steady thrum of Seoul.
The car turned off the highway, winding into a quieter neighborhood. At last, it stopped before a wide stone gate.
Beyond it stood Kwang's house.
It was nothing like the austere Kang estate she imagined. This was… warm. Inviting. Spacious.
A stone pathway curved through a garden bursting with green. The house itself had clean lines, pale walls, and wide windows that caught the morning light. Inside, the living room opened in one sweeping space, airy and modern, yet softened by bookshelves and comfortable furniture. The kitchen gleamed but felt lived in, with a long wooden table begging for laughter.
Two bedrooms. A garden. A home.
Ashling stepped through the doorway slowly, her suitcase bumping over the threshold.
"This…" she breathed, "this is yours?"
Kwang rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "Yeah. I bought it a few years ago. Wanted somewhere quiet. Away from the estate. Close enough to the city, but not… you know. Chaebol palace."
She turned to him, her lips curving. "It's beautiful."
Something in his expression softened, relief mingling with pride. "You'll be safe here, Ash."
Her throat tightened. For the first time since signing the contract, the fear loosened its grip, just a little.
Maybe, just maybe, this didn't have to feel like a prison.
Maybe, in this house with the garden and the goofy man who ate cold pizza at dawn, she could breathe.