Shriya woke before dawn.
For a long moment, she didn't move. She lay still on her side, watching MK sleep beside her, memorizing the soft rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows even in rest. MK looked exhausted—like someone who had fought through the night and only just allowed herself to collapse.
The ache returned quietly.
Not physical. Emotional.
Shriya still felt the sting of how dismissive MK had been before everything spiraled. How easily she had walked away. The memory sat heavy in her chest, refusing to loosen its grip.
Carefully, almost reverently, Shriya lifted her hand and traced the faint mark on MK's neck. Her thumb hovered there longer than necessary, guilt tightening her throat. Her eyes drifted down to MK's left hand.
A bruise.
Shriya swallowed.
She wanted to move closer. To pull MK into her arms. To whisper an apology into her hair. To explain everything she never had the chance to say.
Instead, she pulled away.
Slowly, quietly, she slipped out of bed. Every movement was deliberate, cautious, as if the wrong sound might shatter the fragile peace. She cleaned and treated MK's neck first, then her hand, wrapping the bandage gently.
MK stirred once, a soft breath catching in her throat, but she didn't wake. She was in too deep a sleep—one earned by fear, anger, and love colliding all at once.
Shriya stood there for a moment longer, watching her.
Then she left.
---
It was still painfully early. The city hadn't fully woken yet, streets hushed and pale under the morning light. It took longer than usual to find a taxi. When she did, Shriya leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, a dull headache pressing behind them.
She went straight to the club.
Called a mechanic about her car.
Then climbed the stairs to the spare room above the club—the small, forgotten one. She locked the door behind her, dropped onto the narrow bed fully clothed, and let the exhaustion take her.
Her head still throbbed.
But sleep came anyway.
---
MK woke later that morning.
For a second, she was disoriented. The light filtering through the curtains felt unfamiliar. Then she noticed the bandage wrapped neatly around her hand.
Her fingers brushed her neck.
Another bandage.
She frowned, memories returning in fragments. The club. The car. The fear.
Shrii.
MK reached for her phone—then froze.
The headline stared back at her.
"Starlight Entertainment Company Rebranded to M-Kent Entertainment Company."
Her breath hitched.
She sat up, scrolling fast.
The company, previously on the verge of bankruptcy, has undergone a sudden and aggressive restructuring. Reports confirm that over half of the board members have been fired.
Sources indicate these individuals were directly involved in the company's financial and ethical downfall.
Attached was a list.
Names.
MK recognized them instantly—the same faces that had judged her, dismissed her, voted against her.
Every single one of them.
Her mouth fell open as she kept reading.
M-Kent Group, which recently acquired full operational control, permitted the removal of non-loyal parties. All previous investors have reportedly pulled out, surrendering the company entirely.
All of them.
M-Kent Entertainment Company now has a sole owner, whose identity remains undisclosed.
Rumors suggest the owner also controls the leading club, M-Kent Paradise.
A billionaire influence is said to be backing the transition.
MK's phone buzzed nonstop.
Messages. Calls.
Do you know the owner?
Can you put in a word for me?
Are you related to M-Kent?
Another article loaded.
Despite sharing the same last name, sources confirm Michelle "MK" Kent is not officially listed as the owner.
Scandals have erupted as multiple figures claim to be the mysterious M-Kent.
Then one line made her chest tighten.
The only known lead connects Shriya White—described as ruthless, cold, and a Bravis Organization member—to direct communication with the anonymous owner.
Speculation suggests the figure behind M-Kent may be a powerful individual operating under an alias.
MK dropped the phone.
Her heart was racing.
She grabbed her jacket and left.
---
When she reached her own apartment, the answer waited for her.
Folders lay scattered across the floor.
Documents. Transfers. Signatures.
And a card.
Her hands trembled as she picked it up.
Hey, love.
I know you love the job… but how about the whole company as your wedding gift?
MK froze.
Wedding.
Her breath caught painfully as she scanned the room, panic igniting. She dropped to her knees, eyes searching frantically.
A small box.
Open.
Empty.
"Oh no—no, no, no…"
She crawled across the floor, pushing papers aside, checking under furniture, retracing every step she might have taken earlier. The box must have opened when she threw the folder.
The ring could be anywhere.
Her chest tightened with every passing minute.
Shriya had never broken a promise to her.
Not once.
And MK had made only one promise in return.
To never walk away.
Hours passed.
MK searched the same spots again and again, desperation rising with every failure.
"I can't believe…" she whispered to herself. "She wanted to propose."
---
Across the city, in the quiet spare room above the club, Shriya lay awake.
The ring rested between her fingers.
She turned it slowly, watching how it caught the light. How small it looked for something that carried so much weight.
"We're not ready for this," she murmured to herself.
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it toward the trash.
It missed.
The ring hit the floor instead, landing with a sharp, metallic cling.
She didn't move to retrieve it.
---
MK's phone buzzed again.
Another unknown number.
She ignored it.
She had been calling Shriya all day.
No answer.
She wanted to go find her—to confront her, apologize, hold her—but the missing ring kept her trapped in place, guilt pressing down on her chest.
A knock sounded at the door.
MK shot up instantly, heart leaping.
She reached the door in seconds and flung it open.
"Shrii—"
Her smile vanished.
Jesse stood there instead.
"MK—hey. Hey, I'm sorry," Jesse said quickly. She looked worn down, eyes tired, voice fragile.
MK stared at her, emotions colliding all at once.
And somewhere between the missing ring, the unanswered calls, and the woman standing at her door, everything began to unravel again.