Note: Thank you for your waiting! This chapter is the longest so far by a mile. Hoping to update more regularly from now on.

I sometimes make small edits in previous chapters, mostly very small things, like grammar or descriptions, that don't matter too much in the grand scheme of things. But this time I made a more substantial change, explaining Bella's stance more clearly, so it might make sense to reread Chapter 11 and Chapter 12, definitely not essential for the story to make sense though.

Also, in case you are wondering what the quokka business is about, search for '손흥민 쿼카' on google.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The early morning sun filters through the tall hedges that line the narrow inroad behind the Tottenham Hotspur Training Grounds. With a quiet word of thanks to Sonny's assistant, who drove me here from home, I take small, steady steps towards the sleek grey Mercedes coupe parked in a recessed driveway.

I round the corner and face the car. The windows are slightly tinted, but I can still make out Sonny's silhouette in the driver's seat, hands resting on the wheel. A shiver passes down my spine – he's so visibly exposed, waiting for me in broad daylight.

What is he playing at? What if we get caught?

But I guess that's why we picked this as the rendezvous spot. This is somewhere he can drive to without arousing any suspicion and then pick me up unnoticed in an area hidden from outsiders.

Steeling myself, I approach the car, the click of my sandals sounding impossibly loud against the asphalt in the quiet morning air.

Sonny leans over to push open the passenger door, his face breaking into that heart-stopping smile that never fails to devastate me.

He walks over, with broad confident strides, his eyes never leaving my face. Dressed in a crisp white t-shirt and well-fitted black pants, with a sand-colored cotton overshirt thrown on top, he looks like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ.

'Good morning,' he greets me, voice warm and slightly husky. 'You got here okay?'

I manage a small smile and nod, before heading to the passenger side.

He closes in behind, reaching around me in one smooth motion to grab the door handle.

For an infinitesimal moment, we're frozen there with his chest gently pressing against my back, the casual intimacy of the gesture addling my senses.

Then, as quickly as it began, the moment passes. Sonny takes a step back, holding the door open for me silently.

'Thanks,' my voice croaks embarrassingly.

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I slip into the buttery leather seat cool against my skin. While he rounds the car to the driver's side, I take a second to myself for a deep breath.

What kind of black magic does this man possess to reduce me into a complete mess in under five minutes?

The scent of the interior wraps around me - a blend of the leather, Sonny's signature vanilla, and a subtle note of cedar.

He slides into his own seat, and with a twist of the key, the engine hums to life – a low, steady vibration that echoes the pounding of my heart. I don't know much about cars, but the deep, throaty purr reminds me of fancy sports car ads on TV.

We pull out to the main road and soon we are off to the races. The city fades away in the rearview mirror, and the open motorway stretches out before us. We wind our way through the ribbon of asphalt cutting through the green. Clusters of trees line pop up here and there, their leafy branches swaying in the wind.

Sonny starts to fiddle with the radio, settling on a top 40 station. The generic pop washes over me, a welcome distraction from my racing thoughts. I'm the furthest thing from a music snob imaginable. If it sounds good, I'm good.

Sonny must be enjoying the music too. His fingers tap against the steering wheel, but his rhythm – its erratically half a beat off.

Is he...nervous?

Sneaking a look at him from the corner of my eye, I find him already looking at me. Our eyes make contact for a brief second, before he turns his attention back to the road.

I look down at my lap, suddenly on edge again.

I search for words, just to say something to dispel this nervous energy. But before I can break the silence, he reaches over the center console and takes my hand with one decisive move. His fingers completely cover mine, washing me over with a wave of calm.

The memory of that night we spent together at my apartment, Sonny's arms tucking me into bed, descends on my mind like a security blanket.

This feels nice.

'I'm so happy we're doing this,' Sonny says softly, his eyes flicking to mine once more before focusing on the road ahead.

'Hmm, yeah, me too,' I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. 'I know it's not easy, with everything...' I trail off, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air between us.

'But we still made it work, no?' he counters brightly.

I guess we did?

Despite all the obstacles, here we are, together in this moment. I can't guarantee what will happen in the future – next month, next week, tomorrow or even later tonight – but for now, just for now, everything is good with the world.

'Yeah, that's true,' I agree, my eyes tracing the lines of his profile – the chiseled cheekbones, the sharp nose, and that unruly lock of jet-black hair falling over his forehead.

Ughh, it's annoying how handsome this man is.

Sensing my gaze, Sonny glances at me again, and gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

The miles tick by, interspersed by bits of idle conversation about nothing and everything. I log each little piece of information into my brain, a precious gem, a glimpse of the man who occupies most of my waking thoughts.

Before long, we're turning off the main motorway, winding our way through picturesque country lanes lined with hedgerows and wildflowers. The sun is high in the sky now, casting a golden glow over the rolling green hills and quaint farmhouses that dot the landscape. It's like something out of a postcard, a perfect snapshot of idyllic English countryside.

And then, as we crest a particularly steep hill, a small town comes into view. The GPS navigation chimes, announcing our arrival in Thistlebury.

Nestled in a lush valley, it looks like something straight out of a fairytale – all cobblestone streets and thatched roofs, ivy-covered cottages and bursts of colorful blooms. I take in a sharp inhale, captivated by the sheer charm of it all.

Sonny glances over at me, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 'Pretty, eh?' he asks, sounding almost proud.

'It is,' I reply simply. It's crazy to think how many scenic places there are in this wide world, places I've never even heard of. 'How did you find it?'

'One of our kitmen is from the Suffolk area, and he showed us photos of this place one day. Then I stopped by one time on a road trip with my family and always wanted to come back,' he explains.

'I see,' I nod. 'It's really beautiful.'

We roll to a stop in a parking spot close to the center of town, the engine ticking as it cools, and step out of the car.

I take in the sights while gently stretching my legs – rows of half-timbered and brick cottages, hollyhocks standing tall against the walls and roses climbing over fences, the sound of laughter and chatter drifting from small shop fronts.

The soft wind flutters frilly layers of my lavender floral chiffon dress – my favorite sundress that I almost didn't buy a few years back because it felt like a bit 'too much'. But standing here now, it feels like this dress was made for this exact occasion. Here, in this enchanted place, at this magical time, I feel as if I'm in my very own fairytale, where anything is possible.

We make our way to the market square. A small stone fountain stands in the middle, the sound of bubbling water mingling with the chirping of birds.

Our steps falling into sync as we walk. Our hands bump together, or rather his hand bumps against my wrist due to our significant height difference.

After the third time it happens, I counted, he wordlessly takes my hand, fingers lacing with mine like it's the most natural thing in the world. I pause in my tracks.

'There are people here,' I whisper apprehensively.

'Oh, I doubt they know who I am. This place doesn't even have reviews on Google,' he chuckles. 'If anything, they'll think we are random "tourists". Bella, you worry too much. This is something that I need to worry about, not you.'

He presses my fingers tighter, his thumb stroking my knuckles soothingly.

I sigh – it wouldn't be me if I didn't overthink everything. But he must have thought through this plan, knowing what's at stake.

I guess I just have to trust his judgment.

We turn onto the high street and a row of charming shops greet us.

'Can we go there?' I point towards a store whose windowfront showcases a treasure trove of curiosities. Buying knick-knacks is a particular weakness of mine. Can you say you've been somewhere if you don't have an odd little souvenir?

'Sure,' he agrees without hesitation, leading us forward.

A bell tingles as we enter, announcing our arrival. It's an antique store filled to the brim with objects from bygone eras - ornate figurines, delicate china sets, and sepia-tinted photographs in gilded frames. The air is thick with the scent of old books. I guess no gimmicky fridge magnets or upmarket candles here.

We split off in different directions to discover the shop's hidden charms. I browse through the jumbled aisles, my fingers trailing over the dusty relics, until I reach rows of jewelry and trinkets. There, nestled among the baubles, my eyes land on a vintage lock and key. The lock is a work of art, intricately carved with swirling floral patterns, the brass worn to a soft patina. The key, its perfect match, is adorned with a delicate filigree bow.

I'm drawn to it immediately, deciding it to buy it on an impulse.

I carry it to the counter, where a kindly old lady with twinkling eyes and a warm smile looks up at me. 'Ah, you've picked a real beauty there. Victorian, you see,' she says enthusiastically.

'Oh wow, really?' I respond politely.

'Back in the Victorian era, locks like this were for special things – secret rooms, treasure boxes,' she explains, her eyes alight.

'Treasures? You said treasures?' Sonny asks, overhearing and joining us in conversation.

The lady nods, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. 'Aye, I did! All kinds of treasures they had in those days, didn't they? Jewels fit for a queen, secret diaries, love letters from a forbidden romance,' she wags her eyebrows teasingly.

Forbidden romance? For fucks sake.

I clear my throat and avoid making any eye contact, suddenly not too keen on the purchase anymore.

My brow furrows as I try to figure out how to make a graceful exit without appearing rude, but the woman isn't quite finished yet.

'Locks can also stand for a soul's steadfast nature. Now lad,' she continues on a different angle, unperturbed, eyeing Sonny up and down, 'you look like a right ol' big sturdy oak in a summer squall. You best buy this for yer missus to remind 'er of yer unwavering love,' she finishes with a smug grin, a spitting image of the Cheshire Cat.

Missus?

My eyes widen and I feel my face burn. I'm about to protest vehemently, but Sonny interrupts.

'I think you're right,' he acquiesces with a quiet chuckle. 'Shall we get it then?' he turns towards me, but one look at my face makes him break into full on hearty laughter, eyebrows dancing in mirth.

He thinks my mortification is funny. Great.

'Fifty quid. Special price for you two lovebirds,' she goes in for the kill.

I'm ready for violence, but when I see Sonny is reaching for his wallet, I make a split-second decision.

'No, I'll get it,' I quickly put down cash on the table and grab the lock from her. 'No need to pack, thanks.'

'Eager to lock things down, are we,' she smirks.

'Havaaanyseday,' I purse my lips and drag Sonny out of the store before I do something I might regret, like throttling someone's grandma.

'Thank you!' Sonny's calls out to her as we step back out onto the street.

I inspect my purchase in the light once we are outside. It was probably a rip-off, and I'm sure she's got no proof that it's a genuine Victorian, but it's a beautiful piece, nonetheless.

I take out the key, turn towards Sonny, and hand him just the lock. 'For you.'

'Me? I thought you wanted it?' his smiles in confusion.

'I'll keep the key,' I explain, feeling my cheeks heat up once more. I've wanted to get him something ever since he gave me the ring, and this feels like a good opportunity. 'I just thought it's pretty, don't think too much into it,' I add quickly, not wanting him to feel pressured by any hidden meaning or symbolism.

'Thanks, I'll keep it well,' he replies softly in Korean, his eyes honeyed and warm.

With a nod, I avert my eyes, overwhelmed by awkwardness, and retreat down the street, suddenly awfully curious about the produce displayed outside the grocer's.

We continue to explore the village, surrounded by the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the local bakery, mingling with subtle sweetness of candy.

Sonny points out an old stone bridge arching over a narrow canal, its weathered stones standing strong and proud, a testament to the town's rich history.

As we pass the village green, two boys playing football catch my attention. They can't be more than six or seven years old, all gangly limbs and missing teeth. Completely lost in their own world, they pass the ball back and forth, their small faces flushed with exertion and joy, their little feet darting and weaving.

Did Sonny and his brother ever play like this, carefree and unburdened?

I sneak a glance, trying to gauge his thoughts, but his expression is unreadable, his eyes fixed on some distant point.

Is it bittersweet ache of nostalgia? Is it a reminder of what's truly important to him? Does that make him regret bringing me here?

The bell in the old church tower rings out, announcing the hour and pulling me from my reverie. It's one o'clock already.

'Are you hungry?' Sonny asks, turning to me with a carefree, easy smile.

'A little,' I admit. 'Should we find a pub or something?' I glance around, half-expecting a charming little inn to materialize out of thin air.

'Actually, I brought something,' he replies, his smile turning bashful. 'Come on,' he says, gently tugging on my hand.

Curious, I follow him back to where we parked the car. He pops open the trunk to reveal a Waitrose bag, stuffed to the brim. I peer inside, trying to make out the contents.

'It's not much but I always wanted to have a picnic,' he explains, sounding almost hesitant. 'So, I just got a few things we could eat outside.'

He's never had a picnic before?

I guess when you're a global superstar, life is different. Celebrities possess abundance beyond measure, but they also miss out on so many of life's simple pleasures. Weekend outings to Central Park with my parents, totes filled with bagels, lemonade and books in hand, are some of my most treasured memories.

I look back at Sonny, and for the first time since I've met him, he seems flustered.

'It's a silly plan.'

'Sounds perfect,' I assure him, with an encouraging smile.

He seems relieved as he grabs the bag, the trunk beeping closed behind us. 'Follow me, I know where to go,' he calls over his shoulder, already looking up directions on his phone.

I quicken my pace to catch up.

In a few minutes, the quaint buildings of the town give way to open fields broken up by the occasional copse of trees. Venturing through a secluded thicket, we stumble upon a small meadow.

It's like something out of a painting, all soft colors and gentle lines. The grass is a lush green, dotted with tiny white blossoms. The sky is a pastel blue, interrupted only by sporadic wisps of cloud, like brush strokes on a canvas.

We settle in the dappled shade of a gnarled old oak tree, its branches reaching out like protective arms. I help spread out a small blanket for us to sit on.

From the bag, we take out an array of goodies – cheese sandwiches, cured meats, plump grapes and bright red strawberries. It's a simple meal, but I savor every bite.

We must have been hungrier than I realized, because we make a short work of lunch, hardly speaking a word.

Afterwards we just sit back, propped up on our hands, taking in the tranquility of our surroundings.

'This is nice,' Sonny says after a long moment, his voice content.

'Hmm,' I agree, letting my eyes drift closed, welcoming the comforting embrace of the dappled sunlight on my face.

'It's a really beautiful day,' he muses, leaning back on his elbows. 'It's so pretty here, even the birds know it. Listen to how much effort they are putting in their song,' he continues, a poetic lilt to his words that makes me smile.

I tilt my head, pursing my lips. 'Well actually, birds only sing to defend their territory and attract mates. So, the loveliness of the day is pretty irrelevant to them.'

Sorry to ruin the poetry, but facts are facts.

Sonny turns to me, amused. 'Okay, smarty-pants. I didn't know I was with a...bird professor,' he draws out the last two words in an exaggerated, mock-serious tone.

I grin, unapologetic. 'Hey, it's not my fault that you footballers don't bother to crack open a book once in a while between kicking balls and collecting sports cars.'

'Ouch!' He clutches at his chest, feigning a mortal wound. 'I've read books! Books. Multiple.'

I gasp sarcastically. 'Multiple books? No way! The dedication. The struggle. How?'

We dissolve into laughter, the sound carrying across the meadow, bright and unburdened.

As our laughter subsides, we both lean back further, now fully recumbent on the blanket.

I gaze up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, their shapes morphing and changing.

That one looks a bit like a bunny. Or a quokka. Quokkas have the cutest faces. Come to think of it, Sonny sometimes has that quokka-like expression...

I let my eyes flutter closed, losing track of time in lazy thoughts.

'You know, you were right before.' Sonny speaks up bringing me back to wakefulness. 'A lot of footballers, we don't really know much outside of the game. It's how we grew up. From when we are young, it's all about training, training and more training. All for the dream of making it.' His tone shifts, turning more introspective. 'But only maybe one of a million make it.'

I turn on my side to look at him more fully, resting my hands under my head.

'I was that one in a million,' he says, the words laden with a heavy weight. 'One person makes it, another doesn't,' he continues, a wistful note creeping into his words. 'Me and my brother, we both dreamed, we both worked hard, we both gave it our all, every single day. But then...' he trails off, a shadow passing over his features. 'Only I got to live the dream.'

He turns towards me abruptly, his gaze intense, almost imploring. 'I feel like... like I owe it to him, you know? To him. To my family. To make all their sacrifices worth it. To be grateful for getting to live my dream. I want to give it my all to become the best footballer I can.'

My heart lurches painfully for him.

'And you will,' I tell him. 'You already make everyone proud of you. Your brother included.'

He looks at me then, really looks at me, his eyes searching mine. 'You think so?'

A gentle breeze picks up, carrying with it the intoxicating sweet scent of grass.

'I know so,' I reply softly. And I do. I know that football will always be his top priority, the driving force that propels him forward. I know he will continue to inspire and amaze as a national icon, a symbol of pride, bringing joy and glory to his loved ones and his country. And I know, with a certainty that settles heavy in my gut, what that means for me. For us.

But how will I ever be able to forget him? How will I move on after the day we say goodbye?

We continue to look into each other's eyes, a perfect stillness settling between us. His eyes, dark and fathomless, seem to hold a thousand unspoken secrets. I want to decipher the code, but their meaning remains just out of reach.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he raises his hand to my face, his fingers gliding over my cheek in a touch so light, so reverent, it feels almost like a dream. His gaze intensifies, burning with a longing that mirrors the ache in my own heart.

More than the thrill of kisses, it's the sweetness of moments like this that will linger with me long after we part.

And then he blinks, pulling back slightly, It's as if he caught himself on the edge of some invisible precipice.

'Should we head back to the town?' he asks, his voice a little rough around the edges.

I glance up at the sun, surprised to see it already closer to the horizon. The hours have slipped by unnoticed.

We make our way back, retracing our steps along the winding path. Each step takes us further from the enchanted meadow, and I feel a sting of loss, as if I left a piece of myself there behind.

'I'm starving,' Sonny groans. 'Definitely didn't bring enough food.'

'I'm good. But you're a growing boy, so you need to eat more,' I tease.

We reach the outskirts of the town, the ivy-clad cottages and cobblestone streets coming into view once more. The late afternoon light casts everything in a warm, honey-colored glow.

'If you know I need to eat more, then you should feed me more often,' Sonny suggests, a mischievous glint in his eye. 'Cook for me at home when I drop you off.'

Is he suggesting we have dinner together tonight?

My heart leaps at the thought. The thought of having him all to myself for the whole day, fills me with a giddy sort of joy.

But then I remember the heat in his gaze, the unspoken promise in his touch, and gulp down, molten lava bubbling at my core.

If we are alone at my place again...I don't know how much longer we can keep up this game of cat and mouse.

What's really holding me back from taking that next step?

Lost in thought, I almost don't notice when Sonny stops, pointing towards a cute little shop with a pastel awning and a flowerbed brimming with bluebells. 'Ice-cream?' he asks, a boyish grin lighting up his face.

I signal my approval – I can never say no to ice cream. Or to him, it seems, for the most part.

The shop is delightfully old-fashioned. Wooden counters, chalk-board menu, and only ten or so classic flavors in a gleaming glass case. No matcha or black sesame here.

We pick out our individual cones – mine a classic vanilla, his a tangy lemon sorbet – and Sonny insists on treating me, despite my objections.

Soon, we're strolling along the quiet lanes once more, savoring our treats.

'Why is it that whenever I'm eating ice-cream with someone, they inevitably choose a flavor I hate?' I wonder aloud.

'You eat ice-cream with other people often?' Sonny asks after a beat, his expression half-amused, half-concerned.

'Huh? Not often. Last time was like a few weeks ago with Steph. My friend. She got mint chocolate-chip,' I explain. I don't want to give an impression that I'm some sort of ice-cream fiend if that's what he's worried about. 'I don't know, I like switching halfway through. Two for one. Sharing is caring, you know?'

'You can get two scoops then, eh?' he chuckles, cheery all of a sudden again.

'No, that's too much. Anyway, it's a cosmic conspiracy. The universe doesn't want me to steal other people's ice-creams,' I pout.

'It's probably just a co-incidence. Just tell me what flavor you want, and I'll get that next time, okay?' he offers appeasingly.

Coincidence...

The word sends my mind drifting in another direction.

'Coincidence...I guess there are a lot of coincidences in life. Like for example how we met. How we sat at same table, how we kept running into each other, how you happened to be outside my cottage late that night,' the memories trigger a rush of dopamine through my system. 'We are here right now because of a series of coincidences,' I add contemplatively.

Sonny chortles, shaking his head. 'Coincidence? Maybe us meeting, yes. If you think about it, even that was because all our hard work that got us to that place in our careers. But anything else wasn't a...coincidence. I came to look for you, intentionally,' he rolls his eyes. 'Come on, I thought you are smart.'

I blink, taken aback. 'I mean, I did wonder if maybe you wanted to see me, but I figured it was more of an 'if it happens, it happens, if not, whatever' kind of situation,' I mumble, blushingly.

He stops, turning to face me fully. 'Then you were wrong. I wanted to sit beside you. I looked for you when we were volunteering. And I had my people find your room number at the front desk, so that I could go to you that night,' he admits, his smile softening the edges of his words. 'Maybe that was a bit too much, but I didn't have much choice. We were leaving the next day...' his tone suddenly defensive, trying to gauge my reaction.

A thrill of excitement passes through me. I would be lying if I said I didn't know he was interested in me, but his words make it so much more real.

'Thanks for putting in the effort. But we could have talked earlier that night, you know. I mean after the dinner. But you left. I looked for you. I was looking for you all day too,' I mutter, feeling the heat rise to my ears.

'Ah yes, the dinner. Thanks for bringing that up. We could have talked during the dinner. But if you remember, you were very busy. On a date.'

I sputter, indignant. 'Date? Don't even.'

'You don't even,' he parrots back, grinning. 'What was I supposed to think? You walk arm in arm with some handsome guy, ignore me completely, after we spent all day together. I even carried those heavy boxes of water for you. Reallyheavy boxes.' He sulks emphasizing the last point.

'I didn't want to bother you. I thought –'

'You thought too much. That's your problem. I thought too! I thought you are, what do you call it? Friend-zone! Yes, friend-zoning me. Maybe you only like handsome British guys,' he gives me an accusing stare.

I can't help but laugh at his antics, at the sheer absurdity of the notion. If he only knew, how every time I look at him, my...

'Pfft. I barely spoke twenty words to the guy. And he's not even that handsome...' I trail off, shily leaving out the part 'compared to you'.

Sonny seems mollified regardless, placing his arm around my shoulder as we continue our leisurely stroll. Emboldened by his confession, I can't resist asking the question that's been niggling at the back of my mind. 'So, what if I hadn't come out for a walk that night?'

Would he have given up?

'Then...then I would have just found another way. Get your email from the organizers. Look up your number. Show up at your office. I don't know,' he snorts, and I don't know if he's joking or not. 'The point is, we kept meeting because I wanted to meet you. It wasn't an accident or a coincidence. It happened because I wanted it to happen. I wanted to keep seeing you again. I just...I had to.'

My heart melts at his words and I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. Maybe his feelings for me are deeper than I thought. Maybe we can make this work...somehow.

We come to a stop beneath a large tree heavy with white blossoms, its branches reaching out like sheltering arms. Sonny turns to face me, one hand resting on my shoulder as the other trails down to circle my wrist.

'After we came back to London, every day, you're always on my mind. Till now everything in my life was football, football, football. But then I met you. You and your world are so...different. You are not here for the premier league footballer Son Heung Min. You're here for just...me, Sonny,' his words send a chill through my body.

No, no, no. Don't say that.

Shit.

What do I do?

My face must have been perfectly expressionless, because Sonny continues, untouched by the storm raging in my mind.

'When we are together, I feel happy. I feel good. That's why I want to keep seeing you. I have to keep seeing you,' his gaze is soft and tender. Even I know for certain that this is the look of a man who genuinely cares about me.

But would he still look at me so kindly if he found out I lied to him? The very foundation of our bond was based on a lie. Yes, it may be true that I would have fallen for him even if I had never even heard of the sport 'football' my whole life, but what difference does that make now? The facts are that I met him under false pretenses, and I willingly misled him until now. Like he said, he wanted to be with me because I was different. But the reality is, I'm just like any one of his other ten million fans.

How can I continue to deceive him when he's so sweet and good to me? How can I let him keep believing a false story if I claim to care for him too?

'Actually, I also have a confession,' I blurt out before I have a chance to change my mind. I have to come clean, no matter the outcome. Because the only way forward, if there is indeed a way, is the one built on truth.

Sonny looks at me curiously, a smirk playing at his lips. He probably thinks I'm about to make a joke, or admit to some silly, inconsequential secret.

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words, the gentlest way to share the truth. It's not about painting myself in the best light - I know I've messed up, and I'm ready to face the consequences. But the thought of seeing pain or disappointment in his eyes, of knowing I'm the cause of it... it's almost more than I can bear.

'The truth is,' I begin, my voice trembling slightly. But as I meet his gaze, the words die on my tongue, my courage deserting me. I look down at my feet, focusing on my lacquered toenails, and try again. 'The truth is that I–'

'What the hell?'

Sonny's sudden exclamation makes me jump, my heart leaping into my throat.

Panicked, I look up.

But Sonny's not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on something over my shoulder, his brow furrowed in frustration.

I feel his body going rigid, his arms dropping away to his sides.

Slowly, dreading what I might find, I turn to follow his gaze.

My stomach plummets as I take in the sight before me. Two men, huddled together, snickering and whispering. Their phones are raised, pointed unmistakably in our direction, their intentions clear. They know Son. There's no doubt about it.

In that moment, I can almost hear the gears turning in Sonny's brain, can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Instinctively, I take a step back, putting some distance between us. If there are going to be pictures, the least I can do is give him a chance at plausible deniability.

Sonny glances at me, just for a second, before turning his back on the wannabe paparazzi and walking away. He pulls out his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he fires off a series of hasty texts.

I hover uncertainly, not knowing what to do.

'We need to leave. Now. My assistant will meet us at the car to take you home,' his voice tight and strained.

Wordlessly, I fall into step behind him, making sure to keep a safe distance. My mind is reeling, a dizzying whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

We head back to where the Mercedes is parked, only to find a black SUV now parked next to it. Three men stand waiting, jumping to attention as we approach.

Sonny turns to one of them, speaking in brisk and businesslike Korean. 'Deal with them the usual way,' he instructs.

Usual way? What's the usual way?

'Take her straight home,' he tells another man, gesturing towards me.

Finally, he turns to face me, his eyes weary and heavy with sadness.

What can I say to him? What's there to say, really?

This was always going to be a challenge, with his fame and his need for secrecy. We thought we could win against the odds by hiding away like this, but the truth is, there's nowhere we can hide. He's too big for that. He should know that now.

We can never ever do this again.

And maybe that means this the end.

A sigh slips through my lips, as my heart breaks.

Sonny's face contorts with concern. 'I'm so–'

'It's okay. Take care,' I cut him off, forcing my best attempt at a smile before swiftly climbing into the waiting car.

I keep my gaze fixed on my hands, fisted tightly in my lap, biting down on my lip to stop the tears from falling. I can't cry, not like this, not in front of them.

As we pull away, I watch Sonny's figure grow smaller in the rearview mirror, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. The sight makes something twist painfully in my chest.

I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching as the village fades behind me. The daylight is still bright outside, a couple of hours yet till sunset, but the scenery has lost its charm, the colors faded and dull.

***

Darkness envelops the room but I don't bother turning on the lights - what's the point?

The silence of my apartment is deafening, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Each second feels like an eternity, stretching out before me in an endless expanse of emptiness.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces of my shattered heart.

The tears come, hot and fast, streaming down my cheeks in an endless torrent. Time starts to lose all meaning. Minutes, hours, I don't know, how long passes by. Eventually, I feel a numbness start to set in. It's like my mind has reached its limit.

Just as I'm starting to drift, my phone buzzes, the sound harsh and jarring in the quiet of the room.

Sonny.

It must be him.

How many times has this happened now?

Every time I think it's over, he always comes back. With a call, a text, a knock on my door. It's like he said – he makes it happen because he wants it to happen.

His words keep echoing in my mind.

He'll fix this...somehow.

With shaking hands, I frantically search for my phone, tossing aside pillows and blankets in my desperation.

I bring the screen to my face, squinting against the sudden brightness.

'Haven't talked in a while. Call when you can. Love you.' Mom.

It's not him. Of course it's not him. It's my mom. My sweet, wonderful mom, and dad, who I've been ignoring, selfishly wrapped up in this doomed romance.

Sonny can't fix this. There is no fix.

And he's not going to reach out. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not anytime soon. It's going to be like the last time we had the paparazzi scare. Maybe even worse.

I think back to his face, all the joy drained away, replaced with frustration and regret.

No matter how much he cares for me, he can't do anything to jeopardize his career. And I can't ask that of him. He barely knows me, and everything he does know is based on a lie. It would be unthinkable to risk his life's work for...this. For us.

How dare I hoped?

I guess I just let myself get swept up in the magic of it all - the charming village, the stolen moments, the way he looked at me. I got lost in the fairy tale, forgetting real life.

I was Cinderella at the ball, dancing in the arms of my prince. But now the clock striked twelve, the spell is broken, and in this story, the glass slipper doesn't fit me. I'm not the one for the prince – I never was.

A fresh wave of sobs rises up, tearing through me.

It hurts so bad. It hurts beyond anything I've ever imagined.

If I thought I could come out of this with my heart intact, all reasonable and logical, I was wrong. It's already too late. I'm already sinking and nothing can save me.

For both of our sakes, I have to let him go.