Rain pressed against the tall windows of Duke Min Jae's manor, each drop like a quiet echo in the endless corridors. The candles flickered along the stone walls, throwing gold light across the polished floor, but nothing softened the chill that had settled in the air.
He stood by the window, gloved hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the dark horizon. Outside, the world drowned in silver rain. Inside, the duke drowned in memories he refused to name.
It had been years—too many—for him to still remember her face so clearly. But memory, cruel and loyal, never left him.
> "Seo Rin…"
Her name tasted like the past—warm, sweet, and forbidden.
He had built these walls, these rules, this heart of ice to survive the world that had destroyed them both. People whispered that Duke Min Jae was ruthless, that mercy was a word he did not know. Perhaps they were right. Mercy had not saved him when his father's hand struck him for the first time, nor when his mother's cries were swallowed by the night. Power had. Control had. Coldness had.
Yet tonight, all his carefully built control began to crack.
Because she had returned.
---
The heavy doors opened with a groan. Rain and candlelight met in a shimmer, and she stepped in—Lady Seo Rin, the woman the capital had long believed dead.
She wore a long dark-blue dress, wet at the hem, clinging to her like silk shadows. Her hair, once tied with ribbons in childhood, now framed her face in elegant waves. Her gaze was calm—too calm, the kind that hid storms.
Min Jae's throat tightened.
> "So it's true," he said quietly. "You really are alive."
Seo Rin stopped a few steps away, hands folded in front of her. The firelight caught the faint scar near her wrist, a mark he remembered all too well—the one she got trying to shield him years ago.
> "Alive," she repeated, her voice soft but steady. "You sound disappointed."
A bitter smile touched his lips. "Disappointed? No. Merely… surprised that a ghost walks in my halls."
Their eyes met—ice against fire, silence against breath.
---
He wanted to ask where she had gone, why she had left him bleeding in that courtyard all those years ago. But the words refused to move past pride.
Instead, he turned slightly toward the fire.
> "Why return now? Have you come to haunt me, Lady Seo Rin?"
Her tone stayed even. "Perhaps I came to remind you that you were once human, Your Grace."
That struck deeper than any blade.
For a heartbeat, the room fell still.
He could still see the frightened child she once was—the one who hid behind him whenever the servants shouted, who used to whisper dreams of running away from their fathers' cruelty. But she was no longer that girl. She stood tall now, her eyes strong enough to face him and every ghost between them.
> "You think I forgot what they did to us?" he asked quietly. "How they broke us to fit their world?"
Seo Rin's lashes lowered. "We both remember. The difference is… I refused to become them."
He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until he could feel the faint tremor of her breath.
> "And yet," he murmured, "you disappeared. You left me to become what I am."
Her answer was a whisper drowned in thunder. "I had no choice."
Lightning flashed, painting their faces in white light—his sharp with fury and ache, hers calm but trembling.
> "There's always a choice," Min Jae said, though his voice cracked at the edge.
> "Not when your life is a leash in someone else's hand."
Silence again. Only rain, and the echo of two hearts that once beat together in a ruined courtyard.
---
For the first time in years, Min Jae let his mask falter. His eyes softened, the ruthless duke giving way to the broken boy beneath.
> "Tell me the truth, Seo Rin. Did you ever think of me?"
Her lips parted, a faint breath escaping.
> "Every night," she said. "Even when I wished I could forget."
Something in his chest gave way. All the anger, the coldness, the years of power and cruelty—none of it could protect him from that single confession.
He turned away quickly, afraid she might see the tears that burned behind his eyes.
> "You shouldn't have come," he said. "I don't know who I am when you're near."
Her reply came soft, almost kind.
> "Then perhaps it's time you remember."
And with that, she walked past him, her dress brushing lightly against his arm—a touch that felt like both forgiveness and fire.
He didn't stop her. He couldn't. The rain outside softened to a whisper as she vanished down the hall.
Min Jae stood there alone, staring at the door she had closed behind her.
> "Remember," he echoed under his breath. "As if I ever forgot."