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[Right where you left me] - [taylor swift]

It's one thing to be trapped in a web you never spun yourself, but it's something else entirely to realize you're the spider, and you've been spinning it all along.

Iseul stared at the venue before her—no, gazed would be the more fitting word. It wasn't just a building. It wasn't just another fancy hall. It was a battleground. A battleground of illusions and secrets, where the glittering chandeliers above her seemed to mock her, dangling in cold, golden perfection.

Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, but each step felt like it led her further into a storm she didn't know how to weather.

Rena strode ahead of her with the grace of a woman who knew she owned the room, speaking with the planner with a voice laced with an air of authority.

Iseul couldn't shake the feeling that this entire afternoo, had beenplanned around one thing: to break her. To remind her of everything she was trying to forget. It was so typical of Rena—calculated, methodical. The kind of woman who would rather see Iseul crumble than let go of her perfect façade.

But as much as Iseul wanted to keep her distance, she didn't understand why she had been dragged here. But she understood the twisted logic of it the minute she saw him.

Sunghoon.

The world seemed to stop in that instant—time itself stilled as she saw him. The raw, unfiltered shock in his eyes when they locked with hers. There was no pretending now. Not anymore. His gaze flickered with confusion, discomfort, and something else—something that made her heart seize painfully in her chest.

The truth was, he didn't expect her to be here. He didn't want her here. The look in his eyes, that cold surprise—he thought she had disappeared. He thought she was out of the picture. A 'mistake' to be swept under the rug.

And Rena—Rena was right there, rushing to him, a smile blooming on her face. Iseul's heart tightened painfully, the jealousy swelling in her chest like a poison, suffocating every breath she tried to take.

"Babe, you're here?" Rena's voice was sweet, saccharine, her hands reaching for Sunghoon with that practiced grace. Her fingers brushed his arm, as if to remind Iseul that she was the one who had claimed him, that she had what Iseul never would.

Sunghoon's response, though, was far from what Iseul had imagined. His eyes didn't soften, his hands didn't pull her closer. There was no spark, no genuine warmth in his gaze.

He simply stood there, his expression unreadable, and muttered, "I said I would come, didn't I?"

Iseul's chest tightened, her stomach twisting into knots. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the flood of emotions threatening to spill over, but it was impossible. She hated herself for how much she cared, how much it hurt to see them together, so perfect.

But she knew better.

"I guess since the fiancé is here," Iseul murmured, her voice colder than she intended, "this is my cue to leave."

She turned to go, but the moment her hand reached for her bag, Rena's grip on her wrist stopped her. Iseul froze, her heart racing. What now? What game was Rena playing?

Sunghoon looked at Rena, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

Rena only smiled, a smile that Iseul now saw for what it was—a calculated, manipulative gesture. "Sunghoon says I can do whatever I want, but," she paused, her eyes flicking to Iseul, "I could use the help of another woman."

Iseul felt the bile rise in her throat. She fought against the surge of anger, but it was pointless.

She wanted to scream, to lash out, to ask why Sunghoon had let all of this happen—but she couldn't. He was already too far gone.

Just then, the planner entered, smiling brightly, showing off the pastries they had prepared. "Ms. Jung, Mr. Park," she said cheerfully, "Please, take a look at the options."

But Rena's smile quickly faltered, her eyes narrowing with irritation. "This is not what I asked for," she snapped, her voice laced with venom. "I specifically told you I wanted fruity cakes! It's summer! Why do I have to repeat myself?"

Sunghoon, standing nearby, barely paid attention. His gaze was distant, not on Rena, not on the cake, but somewhere far beyond, lost in his own thoughts. And Iseul? She barely noticed the cake either, her eyes locked on Sunghoon, unable to tear her gaze away from the man who was no longer hers.

But then it happened.

Their eyes met. It wasn't a conscious decision. Neither of them had planned it. But there it was—the silent exchange, the moment when everything else fell away. The chatter, the cake, Rena's petty tantrum—all of it dissolved into nothingness. In that one fleeting moment, it was just them. And in that moment, they both remembered the same thing.

Their wedding cake. The one they had dreamed about, hoped for.

A bitter smile tugged at Iseul's lips. She hadn't expected to feel this much pain, not after everything that had happened.

The memory hit her with the gentleness of a soft breeze. It wasn't a grand moment, no flashy lights or expensive decorations—just the quiet, earnest simplicity of two young hearts trying to make it through the world together.

Iseul had been in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the scent of food filling the air. Her family's restaurant was her second home, and it was where she spent long hours with a smile on her face, no matter how tired she was.

But today, the weight of everything was starting to press down on her. She looked over at Sunghoon, sitting at the small table by the window, the numbers from his latest calculations scattered in front of him.

He was frowning, brows furrowed in concentration. Iseul could tell from the way his shoulders were tense that something was off. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to him, leaning over his shoulder to glance at the paperwork.

"The money isn't enough, Iseul," Sunghoon said, his voice tight, a faint trace of panic in his eyes. "We're in trouble. We might have to cancel the wedding."

Iseul bit her lip, trying to hide the worry in her own chest. They had worked so hard for this—together, side by side, dreaming about a future that was still so far away. But as the costs piled up, it felt like everything was slipping through their fingers.

Iseul pouted slightly, trying to offer some comfort. She hated seeing him like this. But she didn't have the answers. She only had her love for him, and that had to be enough, right?

Sunghoon rubbed his temples, exhaustion leaking through his words. "We can't lower the number of invites. We need their money."

Iseul's lips quirked into a small chuckle, though her heart felt tight in her chest. She hated that they had to depend on other people to validate their love.

But in that moment, an idea sparked in her mind. She picked up the calculator, her fingers moving swiftly over the buttons, erasing everything Sunghoon had written.

"No need for a wedding and all the useless spending," she said lightly, her voice filled with a calm that didn't match the anxiety gnawing at her insides. "We'll just sign the certificate, then have dinner with our family."

Sunghoon blinked in disbelief, and then his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "And the cake?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "There's no wedding without a cake, right?"

Iseul giggled, shaking her head. "Mom will make it. We don't need a fancy one."

Sunghoon couldn't help but smile fully at that. The thought of Iseul's mom's homemade cake made everything feel a little brighter, a little simpler. The world was chaotic, but at least their love wasn't complicated. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug from behind.

"But if I can't give you the wedding you deserve, then what can I give you?" he whispered, his voice soft but laced with something deeper—something vulnerable.

Iseul turned to face him, gazing into his eyes with a smile that lit up her whole face. "Your love is enough," she said, her voice tender but full of conviction.

Sunghoon's heart thudded in his chest. How had he gotten so lucky? He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers, his voice low and filled with emotion. "I'll take out a loan. Whatever it takes, I'll give you the wedding of your dreams."

"No!" she exclaimed, pushing him gently away. "We don't need that. We'll be stuck in debt just to please people. I'll even rent a dress if I have to, just... let's not worry about all this."

Her words hit him harder than he expected. It was in moments like this that he realized just how deeply she cared for him—how much she was willing to sacrifice for their happiness. He cupped her face, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

"What have I done to deserve you?" he asked, his voice soft and filled with awe.

And in that moment, they were enough. They didn't need the expensive wedding, the endless guests, or the extravagant cake. They only needed each other.

But now... now Iseul stood in this grand venue, staring at the elegant cake and the glittering world that Rena had carefully constructed, and the cold truth hit her. This wasn't the life she and Sunghoon had dreamt of. This wasn't their dream.

Their shared gaze brought them back to the truth, pulling them from their shared reverie . No words were needed. Their eyes spoke volumes—silent, understanding communication that was enough to convey everything they couldn't say aloud.

Iseul's chest tightened as she realized how far they had drifted. Sunghoon, equally caught in the pull of the moment, gave her a brief, wistful smile before turning his gaze away. It wasn't the same. Not anymore.

Rena's voice broke the silence, her words cold and matter-of-fact. "The dinner's on you," she told the worker, a smile spreading across her face, the same practiced one she used for everything—carefully crafted, never truly genuine.

Iseul and Sunghoon's eyes met again across the room. The weight of it all pressed down on them, and for a moment, they were back there—at that small, humble table in her mother's restaurant. It was chaotic, noisy, messy—but it was theirs.

That night, despite everything, had felt like perfection.

She could almost hear it now—Yejin's voice, sharp and biting as she devoured her food. Minjae had been standing at the door with the cake in her hands, a proud grin on her face. The sound of clapping filled the room as the cake was placed on the table, the sweet scent of it mingling with the family chaos.

Yejin had rolled her eyes, her sharp tone cutting through the light-hearted banter. "She made a cake that her daughter loves," she had sneered, eyes narrowed. "She doesn't even know what you like, my son."

Sunghoon had just chuckled, a soft laugh escaping him as he adjusted his glasses. He looked at his mother, the fondness in his gaze undeniable despite her words. It was in moments like these, amidst the tension and teasing, that he realized how much he appreciated Iseul's calm presence, how she balanced out the chaos of his world.

Then their eyes had locked, and Iseul had rolled hers in that adorable, exasperated way she always did when his mother opened her mouth. He had loved that about her—how she was never afraid to be herself, never pretending. In a room full of noise, she was the stillness that anchored him.

And then came the cake-cutting moment. It had been simple, intimate—a symbol of the love they were building, of the life they wanted to share. The way they tried to feed each other with smiles on their faces, their hands fumbling but hearts full. It had been perfect in its imperfection.

But now... nothing was the same.

They both blinked back to reality. Iseul's breath hitched in her throat as she looked at Sunghoon once more, the weight of everything they'd lost hanging heavy between them. The contrast of the memory—the tenderness, the warmth—made the current reality feel like a cruel joke. How had it all slipped away so quickly?

Rena's voice cut through the quiet once more, and Iseul couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness. It was all slipping away, piece by piece, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.

Their eyes met one final time, a fleeting, silent goodbye that spoke of everything that once was—and everything that could never be again.

Iseul's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of everything she had lost. Her tears fell silently, leaving warm trails down her cheeks, but she couldn't bring herself to wipe them away. Her entire body trembled, caught between the raw ache of her heart and the fragile wall of composure she was desperately trying to maintain.

Sunghoon's gaze softened, a fleeting moment of guilt flickering in his eyes, but it was gone before Iseul could fully register it. Maybe it was regret, or maybe it was something deeper—something that called to her like a distant memory, but the warmth she had once known from him was now buried under layers of unspoken things.

It wasn't enough to pull her back, to stop her from walking away. His eyes softened, but his heart... His heart no longer seemed to reach for her the way it once did.

And there she was, standing in the doorway of her past, watching the man who once meant everything to her slip further away with each passing second.

Rena, watching from the side, rolled her eyes with an expression that screamed superiority. The way she clung to Sunghoon made Iseul's stomach twist with a sickening knot.

Rena's arms were wrapped around him, pulling him back into her world—a world where Iseul no longer had a place, a world where she would do anything to erase the history that had bound them together.

"What do you think?" she asked, her eyes dancing with a sickening satisfaction.

"Whatever you like, Rena," Sunghoon responded, his tone distant, as though he were already checked out of the conversation.

Rena grinned like a predator. She leaned in, aiming to kiss Sunghoon on the lips, but he turned his head just in time, making her kiss his cheek instead. The moment felt like a punch to Iseul's gut.

Iseul's heart twisted, and without even thinking, she blurted out, "I... I have to leave. I have loads of work to do." The words came out rushed, broken. She couldn't look at them anymore. Not now.

She couldn't be in that room, watching Sunghoon let Rena kiss him—watching their connection grow while hers with Sunghoon shriveled up like a dead plant. He didn't even look at her as she walked away. He didn't try to stop her.

But as she reached for the door, his voice stopped her cold.

"I'll call you a taxi." His voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife, but there was something there. Something soft behind it. A trace of warmth, maybe, or a flicker of regret. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Iseul didn't turn around. She couldn't. "No need," she whispered, her voice trembling, cracking from the weight of everything she was holding back.

The door closed behind her, and the air in the room shifted. Sunghoon turned toward Rena with a coldness that cut through the tension like a blade. His eyes, usually full of some semblance of warmth, were now void of everything. He was a storm, silent but destructive.

"Why did you bring her here?" His voice was low, icy, his words deliberate and cutting, like each syllable was carefully crafted to wound.

Rena, startled for the briefest moment, smirked, unbothered. "She had to know her place." The words were venomous, dripping with malice, but she didn't see the storm that was brewing in his gaze.

Sunghoon's expression didn't change. He didn't flinch. "And who are you to decide that?" His tone was clipped, as if she were nothing more than a distant nuisance, someone unworthy of his time.

Rena's smirk faltered, but before she could respond, Sunghoon turned on his heel, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence. His back was to her as he made his way toward the door, his exit as quiet as his arrival.

"Don't ever do that again," he muttered, his voice a final, frozen command.

And with that, he was gone.

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HELP IM STILL AT THE RESTAURANT STILL SITTING IN THE CORNER I HAUNT