The room was quiet when Yuna finally began to wake, the steady beeping of the monitor filling the space with a fragile sense of rhythm. Her eyelids fluttered slowly, her body still weak, heavy, as if even breathing required effort. For a moment, everything felt distant—blurred lights, unfamiliar ceiling, the faint smell of antiseptic. Then memory rushed back all at once.
Her father.
The truth.
Ethan.
Her eyes opened fully, and the first thing she saw was him.
He was sitting beside her bed, leaning slightly forward, his hands clasped together, his posture tense in a way she had never seen before. The moment he noticed her awake, he straightened immediately, relief flashing across his face before it was quickly controlled.
"Yuna…" he said, his voice low, careful. "You're awake."
She didn't respond.
Her gaze lingered on him for only a second before turning away, fixing on the wall instead.
That silence said everything.
Ethan felt it.
Still, he didn't step back. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
No answer.
Just distance.
A quiet, deliberate refusal.
Ethan exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening before he spoke again, this time more direct. "I'm sorry."
That made her eyes shift—just slightly.
"I'm sorry for killing your father," he said.
The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.
Before she could respond, the door opened. Luca stepped inside, followed closely by Elena, who had just arrived. The moment Elena saw Yuna awake, relief crossed her face, and she hurried to her side.
"Yuna," she said softly, brushing her hair back gently. "You scared us."
Yuna didn't look at her either.
Her voice, when it came, was weak—but steady enough. "You killed him too, didn't you?" she said, looking toward Luca.
Luca didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Elena glanced at him briefly, then back at Yuna, sensing where this was going.
"But you don't understand," Luca continued, stepping closer. "Your father—he wasn't innocent, Yuna. He did things… things you don't know about. We didn't just—"
"Stop," Yuna cut him off.
Her eyes filled again, but this time there was anger behind them.
"Don't try to justify it," she said.
Elena stepped in gently, trying to soften it. "Yuna, listen… Ethan doesn't kill innocent people. You know that."
That made Yuna laugh bitterly.
A broken sound.
"Really?" she said, her voice rising slightly despite her weakness. "Then what about my friend six years ago?"
The room went still.
Ethan's expression changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
"He was innocent," Yuna continued, her voice trembling now. "He didn't do anything wrong. But Ethan killed him."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
"So what does that make this?" she asked, looking directly at Ethan now. "What does that make my father?"
Her breathing became uneven again, tears slipping down her temples. "You killed him without any reason… just like you killed my friend."
Elena immediately moved closer, holding her gently. "Hey, hey… calm down," she said softly. "You need to relax. The baby—"
Yuna's expression faltered for a second at that word.
"Elena's right," she continued, her tone soothing. "The baby is fine. You have to take care of yourself now."
But Yuna barely reacted.
Her eyes were still on Ethan.
Waiting.
Demanding something.
Anything.
Ethan finally spoke, his voice quieter now, but firm. "Why didn't you tell me about the baby?"
That question shifted something.
Yuna blinked, caught off guard for a moment.
Then her expression hardened again.
Before she could answer, Ethan turned slightly toward Luca and Elena. "Go outside."
Neither of them moved immediately.
"Now," he added.
There was no room to argue.
Luca gave Yuna one last look, then nodded and stepped out. Elena hesitated for a second, gently squeezing Yuna's hand before following him.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Ethan stepped closer to the bed.
"Answer me," he said, softer this time. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Yuna looked at him, her eyes tired, filled with too many emotions at once.
"Because…" she started, her voice breaking slightly, "because you don't even love me."
The words landed quietly.
But they hit harder than anything before.
She swallowed, forcing herself to continue. "Would you have even accepted this baby?" she asked. "Or would it just be another responsibility… another thing you didn't ask for?"
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
He just looked at her.
Really looked.
For the first time without distance.
"Who said I don't love you?" he asked.
Yuna froze.
The question caught her completely off guard.
Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion replacing anger for just a moment. "What…?"
Ethan stepped closer again, his voice steady now, but carrying something deeper than before.
"I love you, Yuna."
Silence filled the room again.
But this time—
It was different.
Yuna stared at him, searching his face, trying to find doubt, hesitation, anything that would prove he didn't mean it.
But there was none.
"You…" she whispered, unsure. "You never said that before."
"I know," he said.
"Then why now?" she asked, her voice fragile again. "After everything?"
Ethan exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping for a second before returning to hers. "Because now you're asking," he said. "And I'm not going to lie to you."
Her eyes filled again—but this time, the tears weren't only anger.
They were confusion.
Pain.
Hope.
All tangled together.
"You killed my father," she said quietly.
"I did."
"You killed someone I cared about before that."
Ethan didn't deny it.
"And you expect me to just believe this?" she asked.
"No," he said honestly. "I don't expect anything."
That answer stopped her again.
"I know what I've done," he continued. "I know what it makes me. But what I feel for you…" he paused slightly, as if choosing the words carefully, "that's not part of anything else."
Yuna's lips trembled.
"You don't get to decide that," she said weakly. "You don't get to decide what I feel."
"I'm not trying to," he replied.
Silence.
Again.
But softer this time.
Yuna turned her face slightly away, her tears falling quietly now.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted.
Ethan didn't move closer.
Didn't push.
"You don't have to decide right now," he said.
Her hand shifted slightly on the bed, instinctively moving toward her stomach.
Toward the child.
Their child.
Ethan noticed.
And for the first time—
His gaze softened completely.
Not because of control.
Not because of strategy.
But because—
This was something real.
Something neither of them could undo.
And whatever happened next—
It would change everything.
Yuna stayed quiet after that, her fingers resting protectively over her stomach, her mind caught between two worlds that refused to come together. Ethan's words lingered in the air—I love you—but they didn't settle easily inside her. They clashed with everything else. With the image of him standing there, gun in hand. With the memory of her father. With the past she hadn't even fully processed yet.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through it.
Part of her wanted to believe him.
That was the hardest part.
Because it wasn't impossible.
It wasn't fake.
She had seen the way he looked at her, the way he held her, the quiet moments that didn't feel like lies. Those things were real. She knew they were.
But so was everything else.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "I want to…" she said, struggling to form the words. "I want to accept this… accept you… but I can't."
Ethan didn't interrupt.
Didn't move.
He just listened.
Her eyes opened again, filled with quiet pain. "Every time I look at you… I see him," she admitted. "I see what you did. I hear it again. And it doesn't stop."
Her hand trembled slightly.
"I hate that I still…" she stopped, swallowing hard, "…still feel something for you."
That confession broke more than anger ever could.
Ethan's jaw tightened, but he didn't step forward.
"Then don't force it," he said quietly.
Yuna shook her head slowly. "It's not that simple."
"I know."
Silence stretched again, softer now, but heavier.
She looked at him one more time, her expression torn completely in two. "If things were different…" she whispered.
Ethan didn't let her finish.
"But they're not."
And that was the truth they both had to face.
Not love.
Not hate.
But something far more painful—
Both, at the same time.