The Duke and the Girl from Nowhere

The morning sun spilled gently through the silk curtains, casting a golden glow across the floorboards, but Yuna couldn't feel its warmth. She sat curled near the window, her knees drawn to her chest, the crimson ribbon from her gown still tangled in her hair.

Everything felt too real.

And not real at all.

She pressed her palm to the windowpane, watching the breeze stir the garden below. Ji-Hwan hadn't stirred when she slipped from bed at dawn, his breathing soft and steady, a rare moment of peace carved from chaos.

But peace was a lie.

What am I doing here?

The question had haunted her long before last night, but now… it clung to her skin like dew.

She didn't belong in this world — not in this time, not in this story, not in Ji-Hwan's arms.

And yet, everything about him felt like home.

Her throat tightened.

How long can I stay here pretending? Pretending I won't wake up one day and this will all be gone. That I won't just disappear.

A knock at the door snapped her out of her spiral.

She didn't answer.

A pause, then soft footsteps walked away.

She turned her face from the door and whispered, "I'm sorry…"

Not to Ji-Hwan.

To herself.

Because she was about to do the one thing her heart didn't want—pull away.

_________

The days that followed blurred into a quiet pattern. Yuna kept to herself — rising early, walking through the orchard, helping Soo-Min with small tasks around the estate. But she never returned to the west wing unless she had to.

Not where he was.

Not where they had been.

Ji-Hwan noticed, of course.

He wasn't stupid.

She skipped breakfast. She claimed to be resting when he knocked. She found reasons to leave the room whenever he entered.

By the third day, he stopped knocking.

That evening, the estate buzzed with the usual noble chatter — a dinner was being hosted for visiting council members, and everyone was expected to attend.

Yuna stood near the balcony, hands clasped tight around a silver goblet she hadn't touched. She wore a pale ivory dress, elegant and simple — but Ji-Hwan hadn't looked at her once all evening.

Not really.

Not like before.

When she finally gathered the courage to face him, he was gone from the hall.

Her pulse quickened.

She slipped away quietly, down the candlelit corridor, past the music and laughter. Just as she turned the corner near the old library, a voice caught her.

"Is avoiding me the only answer you have left?"

She froze.

Ji-Hwan stepped out from the shadows, one hand pressed against the wall beside her. His eyes searched hers, tired and burning with quiet frustration.

"You won't even look at me," he said, voice low. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she said quickly. "It's not that. It's—"

Her words caught like thorns in her throat. "I don't belong here, Ji-Hwan. I can't pretend forever."

He stepped closer, but didn't touch her.

"Do you regret what happened?" he asked.

Her breath shook. "No. But I can't stay in this world. I don't even know how I got here… or how to go back."

"And you think leaving first makes it easier?" he whispered.

"I think not loving you would've made it easier," she whispered back.

That broke something in both of them.

He reached for her wrist, gently, as if he'd break her if he held on too tight. "Then don't run from me, Yuna. If the world takes you from me, let it fight for you first."

Tears burned behind her mask of calm.

She looked up, and for the first time in days — really looked at him.

"Then don't make me choose between staying… and breaking my heart."

Before Ji-Hwan could answer her trembling words, a loud crack split the air — thunder rolled across the sky, and within moments, fat drops of rain began to fall through the open corridor windows.

Yuna gasped as the sudden downpour soaked the marble terrace beyond.

Ji-Hwan stepped forward instinctively, removing his jacket and holding it above her head.

She shook her head, brushing past him — needing space, air, anything but his closeness right now.

She stepped into the rain.

He followed.

The cold water plastered her hair against her skin, her dress clinging to every curve, but Yuna didn't flinch. She turned to him slowly, chest heaving, rain streaking down her cheeks like unshed tears.

"You make it hard to breathe," she whispered. "Even when you say nothing."

Ji-Hwan's expression cracked — not with anger, but something deeper. Something helpless.

"Then let me say it."

He stepped closer, raindrops slipping from his jaw as he stared at her like she was the last truth in his world.

"I don't know how this ends," he said. "But I know it started the moment I met you. And I don't care if you're from another time, another world—Yuna, I will fight whatever brought you here… if it means I get to keep you."

Her throat tightened. Her heart screamed.

But her feet wouldn't move.

Because if she stepped into his arms now, she might never want to leave.

And she had to.

Didn't she?

A long silence settled between them, broken only by the storm around them — thunder, rain, and all the things they couldn't say.

Then she whispered, barely audible over the rain:

"Don't follow me tonight."

And she turned away — leaving Ji-Hwan standing alone in the downpour.

End of Chapter 16