Chapter 3

“Fine. I’m quitting. I’m done.”

I pounded my fist against the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re not. You signed a ten-year contract.”

“What? Oh, for the love of God, can someone please bring me justice?”

My emotions flared so violently that a sudden rush of dizziness hit me, and I collapsed backward.

Kian, who was rigid and composed just seconds ago, moved in an instant.

His arms caught my shoulders, pulling me into his embrace.

…

A sharp headache tore through my skull, my vision went dark, and cold sweat drenched my skin.

Kian’s hands trembled as he held me.

And just like that, my mind flashed back to that desperate embrace at the airport and his pale feet on the cold concrete.

“Kian… why weren’t you wearing shoes back then?”

I finally voiced the question that had been nagging at me.

He kept quiet, as if struggling with himself.

Then, his low voice broke through the quiet.

“You said you liked me. Was that a lie?”

“Of course,” I answered without hesitation.

Beside me, I heard a soft exhale.

He sounded relief.

A sharp ache spread through my heart.

So that was it.

He had been afraid I was serious.

No one knew the truth.

I really did like him.

I had spent so long convincing myself otherwise.

No one knew that my so-called “joke” on the plane was the only way I could say what I truly felt.

Whether he believed it or not, at least I said it.

I had no regrets.

But I never expected it to end like this.

My secret crush had been doomed from the start.

Kian gently lowered me back onto the bed.

I shut my eyes, wanting to escape the unbearable awkwardness hanging in the air.

He left not long after.

He arranged for a private caregiver, and since I was in a luxury single-patient suite, the stay was pretty comfortable.

I might as well take full advantage of my paid medical leave and rest a few extra days.

During my hospital stay, Kian never visited.

A new phone was delivered to me by the caregiver.

I logged back into the company’s internal messaging system.

Scrolling through old messages, I came across a conversation where everyone had once talked about Ava Air Flight 117—the one that nearly crashed due to a mechanical failure.

They also discussed the celebrity pilot, the man who had pulled off the impossible, keeping his cool in the face of disaster.

But in the latest messages…

The topic shifted.

Now, everyone in the company’s private chat was talking about how Kian brought his girlfriend to tour the office.

My eyes widened instantly.

My grip on the phone tightened as I stared at the screen, reading every word carefully.

Then, I saw the photo.

A candid shot taken by one of my coworkers.

Kian stood in a deep blue suit, slightly turned to the side, speaking to a beautiful, elegant woman.

Even from this angle, I could see the gentle look on his face—an expression I had never once seen before.

My chest constricted.

My breathing turned shallow.

Then, pain.

A splitting pain.

It felt like my skull was being torn apart.

I clutched my head, twisting in agony on the bed.

The caregiver rushed in, took one look at me, and immediately turned to call for a doctor.

And just like that, I was back on the plane.

The deafening cries of passengers surrounded me.

Luggage rained down from the overhead compartments.

A blood-red haze filled my vision.

I touched my forehead, and my fingers came away warm and sticky with blood.

Panic overtook me.

I was still on the plane.

The plane never landed safely.

Everything from the hospital, Kian running toward me, to our awkward conversation had all been nothing more than a hallucination in my dying moments.

Terror rattled through my bones.

My whole body trembled violently as I clutched my head, screaming, "I don’t want this! I don’t want to die! I don’t—!"

If I had never known warmth, I wouldn’t have feared death so much.