Cha Woo-rim let out a heavy sigh, unable to bring himself to speak. Even his breathtakingly handsome face—one that might appear once in a century—couldn't hide the flicker of bewilderment in his expression. At that moment, Do-hee felt a pang of guilt.
Recommending a top-tier agency, one reserved for A-list actors, to someone who had only just starred in a single indie film? And implying he could join whenever he pleased? Even putting herself in his shoes, the suggestion sounded absurd.
But Do-hee knew. She knew that Cha Woo-rim was destined to soar far beyond the most celebrated actors of their time.
He was the one who would captivate the hearts of countless fans, basking in their love and envy alike. He would ascend a golden throne, crown upon his head, scepter in hand, gazing down with regal indifference. That was Cha Woo-rim.
"I know, sunbae. You're someone who can reach the very top."
"…Does the me standing before you look insignificant?"
Cha Woo-rim's quiet retort pierced her. Do-hee's heart jolted, caught off guard by the words she'd blurted out without thinking.
"No, that's not it… You're amazing now, of course. But I know you'll become even greater…"
Cha Woo-rim let out a soft chuckle, his eyes tinged with a bittersweet glint. Do-hee clamped her mouth shut, deflated by his reaction.
"It's nice to have a fan, I suppose. Knowing there's someone out there who wants my happiness more than I do—it almost feels like I have to succeed, whether I want to or not."
"I mean it sincerely."
"I know. That's what makes it so complicated."
Cha Woo-rim took a step closer. There was no particular intent in his movement, yet the sudden closeness sent Do-hee's heart plummeting.
Instinctively, she stumbled backward, only for Cha Woo-rim to furrow his brow and flash a wry smile.
"Moments like this make it clear. You're too guarded, too defensive. Like there's some rule saying you and I can't be like this."
"H-H-Hold on…"
Do-hee's eyes darted side to side, her nerves fraying. Heat crept up her neck, her pulse hammering wildly.
Then, as if issuing a warning, her back met the cold wall behind her. Cha Woo-rim closed the distance without hesitation.
A crisp, refreshing scent brushed past her nose—reminiscent of a forest after rain. Only then did Do-hee realize it was the faint trace of Cha Woo-rim's cologne, so subtle it could only be noticed this close.
In that moment, his low voice murmured at her ear.
"Your heart… still hasn't made up its mind, has it?"
Her throat burned as if she'd been stranded in a desert.
Cha Woo-rim's dark, fathomless eyes were fixed on her lips. If she turned her head even slightly, their lips would meet.
Do-hee hadn't dared to imagine this—not in her wildest dreams, not even before she'd traveled back in time.
To think she'd end up entangled with him like this.
She dreamed of the child again.
How many times had this dream haunted her? She'd lost count long ago.
Do-hee stared blankly at the room, bathed in the pale light of dawn, and pressed a hand to her sweat-drenched forehead. Her body felt limp, as if the child's emotions from the dream had seeped into her bones.
"Poor thing, crying again," she muttered in a heavy, subdued voice.
In the dream, the boy was sobbing. Curled into a small ball, his frail shoulders trembled as tears streamed from his large, deer-like eyes. Though he'd grown taller and broader since she first saw him, he still looked so fragile, as if he might collapse at any moment. Was it the memory of his painfully thin frame from their first encounter that lingered so vividly?
Whine, whimper…
Sensing her unease, her dog Toby padded over and licked her cheek.
"Toby, Mommy's okay."
Toby crouched low, his gentle brown eyes watching her cautiously. The golden retriever, with his lustrous fur, was acutely attuned to his owner's emotions—perhaps because the memory of being abandoned by his first owner still lingered.
Do-hee ran her fingers slowly through Toby's soft fur, then buried her face in his plush neck.
"Why do I keep having these dreams?"
She'd first met the child in a dream two months ago.
He was an angelic boy, his eyes crinkling into crescents when he smiled, dimples deepening with every laugh. Do-hee had fallen for him instantly.
But the dream quickly turned into a nightmare. As time passed, the boy grew more and more miserable.
His mother was what people cruelly called a "mistress."
She'd deliberately seduced a corporate tycoon, spent a night with him, and bore an illegitimate child. After securing a hefty settlement, she signed a contract that forbade her from ever revealing the child's existence—or face crippling penalties.
"A selfish, vulgar woman."
The mother squandered the money on extravagant handbags, clothes, shoes, and accessories. She wouldn't step outside unless draped in designer labels, consumed by vanity and greed.
Do-hee watched her with disdain, but in the dream, she was powerless to act.
When the mother left the boy with his grandmother, Do-hee had breathed a sigh of relief. The grandmother cherished her only grandson like a treasure, pouring all her love into him to make up for the affection his parents never gave. Slowly, the boy's smile returned.
But today, something had clearly wounded him deeply.
Had his friends teased him for not having parents?
Overwhelmed, he sobbed as bitterly as he had when his mother abandoned him. Even Do-hee, watching from afar, felt tears prick her eyes.
"What could've happened to him…"
Do-hee muttered, her heart heavy with frustration.
"Such vivid dreams."
At first, she'd dismissed them as mere fantasies, fragments of something she'd glimpsed in passing. But the dreams were too detailed, too real. Stranger still was their continuity.
To dream repeatedly of the same child growing up, for two whole months, was no ordinary thing.
"Have I grown attached to him?"
The thought of leaving the boy to suffer was unbearable.
The bedside clock read 5 a.m. Another sleepless night, ruined by the dream.
The thought of dragging through the day like a drowsy chick made her head spin with dread.
"Get it together, Lee Do-hee. Focus on living your own life. Who are you to worry about anyone else?"
She closed her eyes, drained.
Already, the weight of the day felt suffocating.
As expected, the morning went awry.
Manager Park had promised to send samples to a client via courier but mixed them up with another company's, sparking chaos. The brunt of the blame fell squarely on Do-hee.
Worst of all, Manager Park—the one who'd made the mistake—barked at her like a rabid dog.
"I told you to double-check before sending them, Do-hee! If you can't even handle basic tasks, why are you even here?"
"…I'm sorry."
"Sorry fixes everything, does it? How are you going to clean up this mess?"
"I'll contact them this morning and resend the correct samples."
Do-hee bowed her head, swallowing her excuses. She'd learned the hard way that protesting only made things worse. Manager Park wasn't someone who responded to reason. The more facts she presented, the louder he raged.
Even choosing the lunch menu meant enduring his hysterics.
"Ddukbokki and rice? Are you serious? Did I or did I not say I drank last night? You're a woman, Do-hee, and you've got zero sense!"
How was she supposed to know Manager Park had gotten plastered the night before? She hadn't been drinking with him.
At this point, it was clear: he just disliked her.
Do-hee silently endured the irritation that clung to his every word. If she held out long enough, it would pass. That's how it always went.
There was no real reason for Manager Park's malice—just years of pent-up insecurity he unloaded on an easy target like her.
Sometimes, Do-hee felt like a living corpse. In those moments, her breath caught, and her heart raced with unease.
But even then, she endured in silence.
After surviving the warlike morning, Do-hee retreated to a corner of the break room, staring blankly at a text on her phone.
[You're right—maybe I should think about my life step by step. There's an audition this Thursday. Why don't you give it a try?]
Of all times, it was a message from Park Hye-young. She must've taken Do-hee's drunken ramblings seriously.
A hollow laugh escaped her chest.
Park Hye-young, whom Do-hee had known since she was fifteen, sometimes seemed to forget her age, encouraging her with bizarrely unrealistic ideas. Each time, Do-hee couldn't help but feel a sting of hurt.
Thirty-two.
Too old to start anything new. Especially as an actress—her chances were next to none.
She knew it all too well.
Her nose stung, and her eyes grew hot. Since abandoning her dream, she'd often been plagued by an aching sense of emptiness and loss.
Fearing a wave of resentment, Do-hee quickly deleted Park Hye-young's message. Then her gaze fell on another text, one that gnawed at her nerves.
[When are you done?]