The Cost of Loyalty

The sudden chaos left everyone at the party baffled. The atmosphere, which had been celebratory just moments before, took on a bewildered edge. People exchanged puzzled glances, whispers spreading across the venue like ripples in water. Hye-su's abrupt departure from the stage had caught everyone off guard. What was happening? Why had she run off in the middle of her speech?

Thankfully, Prince Tarif was quick to act. He took a deep breath, stepping up to the microphone with a warm, calm smile that masked any uncertainty he might have felt. He adjusted his tie, projecting the same confidence he had during the earlier meetings.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the sudden interruption," he began smoothly, his voice carrying a sense of control. "As you can imagine, this evening is very special to us, and sometimes emotions can run high when it comes to reflecting on our journey. Rest assured, all is well."

He laughed lightly as if trying to turn the sudden tension into something harmless, almost humorous.

"We're here to celebrate tonight, and nothing will dampen that spirit."

His words seemed to have the intended effect—there was a scattered chuckle from the audience, the tension loosening just a bit. People seemed willing to let their questions slide, their attention shifting back to the festivities at hand.

Hae-won quickly followed Prince Tarif's lead. She moved through the crowd, her smile reassuring, using her presence to ease concerns. She spoke with several of the more senior guests, improvising an explanation.

"It's nothing to worry about," she told one older executive, her voice steady. "Jin-ho tends to be a bit unpredictable, and Hye-su always looks out for him. You know how it is—team dynamics. But please, enjoy the evening. This night is for all of us."

Slowly but surely, the crowd settled, their unease subsiding under the careful efforts of Tarif and Hae-won. The band resumed their music, the soft melodies filling the room once more as waiters began circulating with trays of food and drinks again, trying to bring back a sense of normalcy. It wasn't perfect, but the party continued, the unexpected disturbance fading into the background of conversation and laughter.

Meanwhile, away from the brightly lit hall, Hye-su ran. Her breathing was heavy, her heels clicking against the polished marble of the corridor as she pushed herself to catch up. The hurt in her heart seemed to grow with every step she took. It was a different kind of pain—not the physical strain of running in uncomfortable shoes, but a deep ache, an emotion that seemed to pierce her core.

Why was he doing this? Why was he leaving without a word?

She knew Jin-ho better than almost anyone. He wasn't someone who walked away from responsibility, who gave up on something they had built. And yet, here he was—running, leaving behind everything they had fought for.

"Jin-ho!" she called out, her voice cracking slightly as she pushed herself harder. But he was already turning a corner ahead of her, the bag on his shoulder bouncing as he moved, as if determined to put as much distance between them as possible.

With each second that passed, the fear that had gnawed at her throughout the evening only grew stronger, sinking its teeth deeper. Was this really the end? Was he leaving them—leaving her—behind?

Her heart pounded, not just from the physical exertion, but from the sheer force of the emotions tearing through her. Hye-su knew there was something Jin-ho wasn't telling her, some reason why he had chosen tonight of all nights to make his departure. And it was that thought that hurt the most—the idea that he was carrying this burden alone, without leaning on her, without even giving her a chance to understand.

Hye-su blinked back tears, her determination unwavering. She had to catch him. She had to find out why.

Her feet screamed in protest as she pushed herself forward, every step a reminder of how unaccustomed she was to running in heels. The pain shot up her legs with each hurried stride, her ankles threatening to give out as she rushed through the building's corridors, her eyes fixed ahead, searching for Jin-ho. It was an extra burden she couldn't afford—not now, not when every second counted.

She slowed down for a brief moment, slipping off her heels without hesitation. The cool, hard floor met the soles of her feet as she resumed running, her bare feet slapping against the marble. She left the pair of shoes behind, discarded in the middle of the hallway without a second thought. She couldn't waste any more time. The longer she delayed, the further he slipped away from her. And she couldn't—she wouldn't—let that happen.

She rushed ahead, her breaths coming in rapid gasps, her heart pounding. She turned the last corner, her eyes catching sight of the exit—one of the doors that led out to the helipad. The bold, unmistakable symbols were displayed above it, signalling her destination. Jin-ho was going to the helipad. The realization brought another surge of panic. A helicopter? He was leaving, truly leaving.

Pushing the door open with all her strength, she rushed outside, her eyes immediately catching the two men stationed by the door—security guards. They blocked her path almost instantly, their expressions neutral but firm as they reached out to stop her.

"Ma'am, please—" one of them began, his voice almost lost in the deafening whirr of the helicopter blades. The sound was unmistakable, the rhythmic pounding of the rotors vibrating in her ears, making her heart sink even further.

She saw Jin-ho then—already inside the helicopter, the door closed, the engine roaring to life as the aircraft prepared to take off. He wasn't looking back. He wasn't even glancing in her direction, as though this decision had been made long before, as though he was set on this path without even the slightest hesitation.

"Jin-ho!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she struggled against the guards' hold. "Jin-ho!"

The desperation in her tone was unmistakable, the raw fear and heartbreak laid bare for all to hear. She pulled at their grip, her hands pushing against their arms, but they were strong, and they were resolute.

"Let me go!" she begged them, her voice hoarse, her entire being straining toward the man who was slipping away from her.

But the guards didn't budge.

"Ma'am, it's dangerous—please, for your safety—"

She barely heard them. Her eyes were glued to the helicopter as it slowly began to ascend, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. It felt like everything inside her had turned to ice, her legs giving way as the realization hit her like a physical blow—he was leaving. The helicopter lifted off, the wind from the blades whipping her hair around her face, her tears blurring her vision as she watched it rise into the sky.

"Jin-ho!" she shouted again, her voice cracking, her body trembling in the guards' hold. But there was no response, no acknowledgement from the man she had spent so many years working alongside, the man who had been more than just a colleague, more than just a partner.

The helicopter began to move, tilting forward as it started its flight away from the building, away from her. It was getting smaller, the sound of the blades growing more distant with each passing second. And as it disappeared into the night sky, something inside Hye-su seemed to break beyond repair.

She went silent, her body slumping, her strength giving out as she stopped struggling. The guards loosened their hold on her, stepping back as she sank to her knees, her eyes still fixed on the empty sky where the helicopter had been moments before. The wind still rushed around her, the cold of the night biting into her skin, but she didn't feel it. All she felt was the emptiness—the disbelief that this was happening, that this was real.

Her vision blurred, tears streaming down her cheeks as her lips parted in a silent plea. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare, wanted to believe that this wasn't how things ended between them. But the cold, harsh reality was there—he was gone. And she had no idea if he was ever coming back.

Hye-su knelt there, her body trembling, the night air wrapping her in its chill as the helicopter became nothing but a distant hum. Her heart felt hollow, the emptiness echoing in her chest as if a part of her had been ripped away. Slowly, she raised her gaze to the dark sky, her tears blurring the stars above.

A sense of finality settled over her, heavy and suffocating, and yet—somewhere deep inside, a glimmer of something else remained. It was fragile, barely a flicker, but it was there: hope. Because Jin-ho hadn't said goodbye. Not properly. He hadn't even looked back. And maybe, just maybe, that meant there was still something left—something she could hold on to, some way to bring him back.