Jun had been conveniently absent for this meeting, off shooting another music video segment for his debut release. Or maybe he was meeting with his stage organizer. Or the concert team. He was so busy these days, it was hard to keep track of what the fuck he was doing at any given time. And now that I wasn’t the person making his schedule, I didn’t know where every second of his day was allotted to.
Not that I cared.
I didn’t.
This had always been the plan. I was going to cut this cord between us and go back to my old life, my new job, the status quo before he walked back into my life.
I was on autopilot the whole way home, fingers drumming absently on my thighs as I stared out the window and contemplated how to tell Jun I was leaving. That I was moving back into my townhouse and out of his life again.
He never wanted me there, anyhow. Not now.
The driver glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched me as we rolled to a stop at the light, his eyes sharp, alert. I could appreciate someone who was on top of things, especially after the incident last week.
“How was your day, ma’am?” he asked calmly, weaving in and out of the lanes with practiced ease.
“Uneventful,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t press.
“Better than chaotic.”
Yes, I supposed it was. I’d had enough excitement and chaos to last me a lifetime. I didn’t need anything more than a nice soak in the bubble bath and a good night’s sleep. And then maybe a well-crafted speech on why I was done being Jun’s live-in assistant, that I’d deliver as I walked out the door.
I could have a good cry about it once I was in the safety of my own home.
He could never know how I really felt. I couldn’t afford to put them in danger again, though I was afraid it was too late for that. Still, there was no point in going back on everything I’d done until now. He’d never believe me, anyway.
After all, I’d done a really good job at lying to him. At making him believe the worst in me.
My sigh was laden with seven years of regret as it fogged up the window.
When we pulled into the driveway, I wasn’t surprised to see Yejin’s tutor’s car in the drive. Pujin was with Jun at the studio, but he’d left three men on guard at the house in his stead, all trustworthy blokes who did a bang-up job of keeping the whole place safe and calm.
But there was no guard at the gate when we rolled in. Usually, someone would swing it open for us, and then close it behind us.
Strange, but maybe there was an explanation. I mean, someone had to use the bathroom every now and then, right? Maybe he stepped away for a second.
“Wait here, Miss Simmons,” the driver said as he put the car in park, his eyes scanning the front of the house as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol I wasn’t aware he was carrying.
Suddenly, I was on high alert. He wouldn’t pull that unless he was afraid something was seriously wrong.
And then it hit me.
Yejin’s not supposed to be having her lessons with Graham right now. They should have ended an hour ago. Graham never stuck around this late without letting one of us know.
For his car to still be in the drive, something must’ve gone very, very wrong.
My mind went blank, and I put my hand on the door handle with no hesitation, following the new driver into the fray as he cleared the front door.
He paid me a second’s glance, and then swore when he realized I wasn’t good at listening. “Miss, you were supposed to stay with the car—oof.”
From around the corner, a hand reached out and disarmed him with ease, knocking him out with a well-placed pistol whip to the side of the temple. He crumpled like a cheap dollar, leaving me all alone.
Shit.
I heard a commotion from the theater room and sprinted down the hall, praying that everyone was alright. Suddenly very aware I could be walking into some serious shit, I pried the door open just a tad, and found?—
“Oh, hi there, Miss Simmons! Yejin and I extended our study session today to test out her comprehension and watch an educational video. Will you be joining us?”
As I opened my mouth to accept the invitation, I felt the familiar, cool sensation of a gun barrel digging into the side of my ribcage, just out of sight of the room’s participants.
