The moment Baek Do-yoon's hand slid away from hers, the air between them felt colder—like a thread had been cut that only she could feel.
Shin Hae-won stared at him, watching his jaw tighten, his eyes flicking to her lips like he was still replaying the moment in his head. Her heart pounded louder than the wedding music playing somewhere beyond the glass windows of the hotel lobby.
"Why did you look at me like that just now?" she asked, barely managing to hold her voice steady.
He didn't answer. Instead, Do-yoon stepped back and looked away, like whatever emotions had surfaced just seconds ago were already being tucked behind his usual wall of cold indifference.
"You should go, Hae-won."
Her chest ached at the way he said her name. Soft, familiar—but final.
"No," she whispered. "Not until you tell me what you remember."
His eyes snapped back to hers.
The silence that followed was loud. Sharp.
Then came the words she didn't expect.
"I remember you standing in the rain," he said, voice low. "You were crying. You were wearing that green dress. You told me I never loved you."
Her breath caught.
That had never happened.
Not in this timeline.
She never wore a green dress in this version. She'd never cried in the rain. That confrontation never took place—at least, not here.
"Do-yoon," she whispered, heart racing. "That wasn't this time. That wasn't now."
He nodded slowly. "I know."
Her knees weakened, and she leaned against the marble pillar for support. "How long have you been remembering things like that?"
"A few days," he admitted. "They come in flashes. Moments. Feelings. Some so vivid it makes my head hurt. But they don't make sense. I thought I was going crazy."
She exhaled shakily. "You're not. I think… we've both been living through versions of our lives. Over and over."
He gave a dark laugh. "Great. So we're both insane."
"No," she said quickly, stepping toward him. "We're caught in something. A loop. A reset. And I'm not sure we're the only ones."
His eyes searched hers. "You've known longer, haven't you?"
She nodded. "Since the first time I touched you and felt something I hadn't lived yet. Like a future that already happened."
Something between them shifted. The invisible wall began to crack. A question hung between them—unspoken but undeniable:
If you remember loving me in another life… do you still love me now?
Do-yoon looked like he might say something. His lips parted, but—
"Shin Hae-won."
The voice froze her blood.
Seo Min-jae.
She turned to find him standing just meters away, a calm but unreadable expression on his face. His dark turtleneck made him look more like a shadow than a man, and his presence sucked the air from the room.
"Professor," she said, pulse stuttering.
He looked between them. "Am I interrupting something?"
Do-yoon's entire body tensed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Waiting," Min-jae said coolly. "And watching. As always."
Hae-won stepped in between them. "This isn't the place."
"On the contrary," Min-jae said, smile razor-sharp. "It's the perfect place. This is where everything ends, isn't it? Or begins again."
Do-yoon growled. "You've been messing with her head—"
"No more than you have," Min-jae interrupted smoothly. "Besides, this isn't about her head. It's about her heart. And time doesn't listen to logic—it listens to longing."
Hae-won's eyes widened. "You knew. You knew Do-yoon would start remembering."
"I encouraged it," he said, with no shame. "Memory is a powerful motivator. But you're not the only one with fractures in time, Hae-won."
She stared at him. "What do you want?"
"You," he said, simply. "All of you. Every version."
Do-yoon moved like he might hit him, but Hae-won held out her arm.
"No," she said sharply. "Not here. Not now."
Min-jae's voice lowered. "You need to choose soon. The resets are getting unstable. You can't keep playing both sides."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he said, stepping closer. "And it's killing you."
Her skin broke into goosebumps.
"I remember you crying too, Hae-won," Min-jae whispered, his hand brushing against hers. "But in my version, you cried for me."
The moment he touched her—another flash tore through her mind.
A rooftop. Moonlight. Min-jae kissing her, holding her like a man starved.
Then—
Gunshots.
Screams.
Do-yoon falling in slow motion.
Blood.
A watch.
Time freezing.
Hae-won gasped and stumbled back, her hands trembling.
Do-yoon caught her by the shoulders. "What did he show you?"
Min-jae's eyes darkened. "She's remembering. Finally."
Hae-won looked between the two men.
One was her past.
One was her question.
And she was the key to both breaking—and restarting—everything.
"I don't want to be someone you fight over," she said, breathless. "I want to be someone you choose to protect. Even if it means letting me go."
Neither man spoke.
But the tension hung like static.
Then her phone buzzed in her clutch.
Unknown number.
A single message:
"They're watching. You're getting too close. Leave him before it resets again."
Her heart stopped.
Who was they?
And who was she supposed to leave?
She looked up. Both men were staring at her now. Waiting.
One with love.
One with possession.
And maybe both with danger.