Chapter 11: Breaking the Silence
950 Words
The mansion was too quiet that night.
Mirae sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her wrist where Taewoo’s grip had left its faint red mark. She pressed her fingers against it lightly, feeling the echo of the moment — the laughter of the courtyard, Harim’s gentle defense, and Joonseo’s voice, sharp and cold, cutting through everything.
Don’t touch her.
Try it again, and I’ll break your hand.
Her chest tightened. She had never heard him like that before. Not Joonseo — who lived in silence, who never wasted words. But today he had spoken, loudly, publicly, dangerously. For her.
Why?
The question burned inside her, restless and heavy. She couldn’t sleep until she knew.
Before she could stop herself, Mirae stood. Her bare feet padded against the cold floor as she slipped out of her room, her hoodie pulled close like armor. The hallway lights glowed dimly, casting long shadows against the walls.
She knew where he would be.
The sound reached her first — the steady thud of a tennis ball against the practice wall. Sharp. Relentless. Like a heartbeat outside her own.
When she stepped into the indoor court, the sight stopped her breath.
Joonseo was there, alone. His blazer was discarded on the bench, his shirt clinging to his skin with sweat. His movements were precise, ruthless — each swing of the racket slicing the air, each ball rebounding with punishing rhythm.
He looked untouchable. Beautiful. Dangerous.
But when he noticed her standing there, the rhythm broke. The ball skittered across the floor. He lowered his racket slowly, his chest rising and falling with quiet control.
“Mirae,” he said, her name low in his throat.
She swallowed, her voice unsteady. “Why?”
His brow furrowed. “Why what?”
“Why did you do that today?” She stepped closer, her hoodie sleeves twisting in her fists. “Why did you step in for me?”
His eyes darkened, unreadable. “Because Taewoo was out of line.”
“That’s not an answer.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “You don’t talk. You don’t get involved. You’ve ignored me since the day I walked into this house. But out there—” Her breath caught. “Out there, you— you threatened him. For me. Why?”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric.
Joonseo set his racket down, his movements deliberate, controlled. Then he stepped closer, each stride measured. When he stopped, he was only a breath away. Mirae had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
His voice was low, dangerous in its calm. “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His gaze lingered on her, sharp enough to pin her in place. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t say it. That he would walk away like always.
Then, softly: “Because I couldn’t stand seeing him touch you.”
Her chest tightened. Heat rushed to her face. “What… what does that mean?”
“It means,” Joonseo said, his jaw tense, “that you don’t understand the way people like Taewoo are. He pushes until someone breaks. If you let him, he’ll never stop.”
“That’s not—” She shook her head, her throat tight. “That’s not what you meant.”
His eyes flickered. His silence was louder than words.
Mirae’s voice rose, trembling. “You think I don’t notice? You don’t look at me. You don’t talk to me. But then you—” Her hands shook. “You say things like that. You protect me like— like—”
“Like what?” His tone sharpened, though his expression stayed controlled.
“Like I matter to you!” The words burst out before she could stop them.
The air split.
Joonseo’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but his mask didn’t break. He looked at her with those unreadable eyes, his silence suffocating.
Mirae’s voice cracked, raw. “Do I matter to you, Joonseo? Or am I just some problem you have to manage?”
He stepped closer still, until the space between them was almost nothing. His voice was low, steady, but there was a tension beneath it that made her chest ache.
“You shouldn’t matter to me.”
The words cut deeper than a blade.
Mirae’s breath faltered. “…Then why do I?”
For the first time, his composure cracked. His eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening as if he was holding something back. When he opened them again, his gaze burned hotter than she had ever seen.
“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he said softly.
Mirae’s pulse hammered. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Then tell me anyway.”
His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for her but forced himself not to. His eyes searched hers, fierce and restless, before he turned sharply away.
“I can’t.”
The finality in his tone left her hollow.
She took a step back, her chest tight, her vision stinging. “You’ll never say it, will you? You’ll just keep pretending.”
Joonseo didn’t move. Didn’t turn. His shoulders were rigid, his back to her, as if he couldn’t risk one more look.
“Go back to your room, Mirae,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but it trembled at the edges.
She stood frozen, her breath shaking. Then she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the vast, silent court.
Behind her, the sound of a tennis ball cracking against the wall started again — harder, sharper, more violent than before.
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- Writer
