Jihan’s POV
When we entered the restaurant, I was actually excited.
Not the polite kind of excited I fake when people expect me to smile, but the real one—the kind that bubbles up in my chest and makes my steps lighter.
I hadn’t eaten properly in days.
Everything either made me nauseous or tasted wrong, like my body was rejecting it out of spite.
Japanese food sounded safe.
Clean.
Predictable.
Something I could enjoy without thinking too much.
For once, I wanted a normal moment.
And then I saw him.
It was like the universe took that small, fragile happiness and crushed it between its fingers just to see what would happen.
Why did it have to be him?
Before I could even process it—before I could stop myself—my body already reacted.
My steps slowed.
My chest tightened.
That familiar pull, instinctual and cruel, curled around my ribs like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
Of course he would be here.
Of course.
“Oh,” Hansoo said beside me, squinting slightly.
“Isn’t that Mr. Kim Wonbin? He’s your fiancé, right? What is he doing with some omega?”
I shook my head immediately, panic rising.
“I don’t know. Let’s just go somewhere else.”
I didn’t wait for a response.
I turned on my heel and walked out as fast as I could without outright running.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest.
I hated how fast my body reacted to him—how my omega was already stirring, already aware, already betraying me.
I should’ve known better.
“Jihan-ssi.”
His voice stopped me cold.
I hated that it still did that.
That one sound—warm, familiar, too gentle for someone who had hurt me so badly—could freeze me in place like this.
I turned around slowly.
He was already walking toward me, brows furrowed, concern written all over his face like he hadn’t been the reason I spent nights curled up alone, hand over my stomach, wondering how badly I’d ruined my own life.
“Are you avoiding me?” he asked softly, stopping a few steps away.
I shook my head quickly.
Too quickly.
“No. I just suddenly realized I don’t want Japanese food anymore.”
It was a weak excuse and we both knew it.
“Really?” he asked, studying my face like he was trying to read something written beneath my skin.
“What do you want then?”
I swallowed.
“So maybe I should just go home. I’m really hungry.”
I looked at my bodyguards, then back at him, hoping he’d let it go.
Instead, he smiled.
“Well, your house is a little far from here,” he said easily.
“If you’re really hungry, we can go to our house. It’s nearby. I’m sure Mom would be happy to see you.”
My heart sank.
I should’ve said no.
I knew I should’ve said no.
But then he added, softer, almost hopeful, “We have a really good cook. I promise.”
And just like that, my resolve crumbled.
I nodded before my brain could catch up.
“Okay.”
The way his face lit up at that—God, it hurt.
“But,” I added, forcing myself to look at him, “what about the omega you’re with?”
He blinked, then chuckled.
“Oh. That? She’s my niece. Her dad asked me to accompany her and see who she’s meeting.”
Relief washed over me so fast it made me dizzy.
I hated myself for it.
“How old is she?” I asked quietly.
“Sixteen,” he said.
“But she acts like she’s older. Her dad keeps blaming me for it.” He laughed.
“He says it’s because when he was pregnant with her, I was always around. Says she takes after me.”
I smiled faintly, but my thoughts spiraled.
What if my baby takes after him?
What if they look like him?
Smell like him?
Smile like him?
What if one day they leave too?
What if my baby grows up resenting me for not giving them an alpha father?
For choosing loneliness over something easier?
What if they look at me one day and see only my mistakes?
This was my fault.
I should have known better.
I should have remembered his reputation, the way people talked about him, the ease with which he moved through relationships.
I should have reminded myself that that night meant nothing to him.
That he was drunk.
That he thought I was someone else.
I was fine with it being a one-time thing.
I told myself that over and over.
But knowing he was ready to sleep with someone else—on the same night he had been so close to me—hurt more than I wanted to admit.
“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I shook my head.
I just remembered something.”
I hesitated, then said quietly, “I was at the hospital earlier.
I saw someone crying because their baby had a seizure.
I hope I can do something to help.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Just… displaced.
He smiled gently.
“They’ll be okay. If they need help, someone will come. God always sends someone.”
I nodded, though the words didn’t comfort me.
In the parking lot, he turned to me.
“Is it okay if we use my car? They can follow us.”
I hesitated.
This was a bad idea.
Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to protect what little stability I had left.
But when would I get another chance to be alone with him?
“Sure,” I said softly.
I nodded to my bodyguards.
They understood immediately.
The moment I stepped into his car, his scent hit me full force.
Warm.
Familiar.
Overwhelming.
It wrapped around me like a memory I couldn’t escape.
“You can open the window if my scent is too much,” he said carefully.
I shook my head.
“I like it.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His breath hitched.
I could feel it.
“I like your scent too,” he said quietly.
“A lot.”
“Even now?” I asked.
“Mine’s changed a little.”
“Really?” He leaned closer, inhaled softly.
“Yeah. Still like it.”
My heart skipped.
This was dangerous.
I knew it.
And yet, sitting there beside him, surrounded by his scent, listening to his voice—God, it was so easy to forget everything else.
To forget the hurt.
To forget the fear.
To forget that loving him might destroy me.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Because even now—after everything—
I still wanted him.
And that might be the most frustrating thing of all.