✓ GREEDY HEARTS | JAY

40 - Who Will Save Us

Y/N'S POV

The night of the event eventually arrives and while I get ready, the danger that's awaiting us settles on my shoulders. This time, I'm not dressed in red. A black dress hugs my body and I wonder if I'm mourning the innocence I once possessed or embracing the darkness that circumstances have thrust upon me. Either way, it feels like a second skin and I dread what lies ahead.

I still remember that night when I was clueless, when I wanted to end the Parks just because I worked for Choi Minho. When I hated Jay and wanted to get rid of him. Now I love him, I miss him, and I can't shake off the guilt of betraying him.

Minho appears at the door, dressed in a sharp black suit that complements my attire. For the first time in forever, he looks good. Or maybe I just hated him too much to acknowledge his appearance before. The realization catches me off guard. How much of my perspective has changed since that fateful night when my world crumbled? 

"You look stunning." I hear him say before I take my eyes off my reflection in the mirror and meet his gaze. There's an odd sincerity in his eyes, one that makes me question how humans can be so complicated, their motives layered and their hearts a battleground of conflicting emotions. I offer a tight-lipped smile, acknowledging his words without truly taking them to heart. Beauty, at this moment, is not something I can afford to dwell on.

"We should go." With a gun hidden under my dress and an earpiece tucked discreetly, I nod in agreement, and we make our way to the waiting car. The night air is cool, and I know that the calm before the storm is merely an illusion. "Tonight is the night that changes everything." I hear myself say when we settle inside the car and it takes us through the dark city streets toward the venue of the underworld meeting.

"We might not see each other after tonight." He responds, his voice a low rumble in the confined space of the car as he fixes his gaze on some distant point beyond the car window.

"Why? Are you planning to disappear?" I ask, trying to read his expression in the dim light of the car. I don't blame him if he wants to vanish after this. The chaos, the fallout, and the enemies that will undoubtedly come knocking on his door—it's a lot to bear.

"Because if this plan works, if we expose the truth and bring down the Parks, I won't need you anymore," He replies, his eyes still focused outside the car. "You'll be free, and so will I. Maybe we can start over. I'll leave the country and build a new life. You can do the same. Spend time with your sister and find a peaceful existence." Why does my heart ache at his words? Why does the thought of freedom make me feel sad and empty?

But I still find it in me to scoff. "You're such a hypocrite, Minho. You think we can just wash away the blood on our hands and pretend like the past never happened?"

"Aren't we all hypocrites, Y/N?" He finally turns to face me, his eyes searching mine for something—understanding, perhaps. Then he chuckles, a low, bitter sound. "Some people are just better at hiding it than others." His words linger in the back of my mind until the car rolls to a stop and the door opens, letting us step into the night with him by my side. I suck in a deep breath. This is it; we're walking into the lion's den.

Minho guides me through the crowd, a sea of faces watching our every move. I recognize every single figure – crime lords, smugglers, and power players. If you ever wonder who's really running the city, these are the faces you'd find. They're the very puppets pulling the strings of society, hidden in plain sight.

"Choi Minho, always a pleasure," A deep voice resonates from the shadows, and a man steps forward. He's a middle-aged figure, with his golden tooth and slicked-back silver hair, making him look like a character from a noir film. When his eyes meet mine, I realize I've seen this face before. He's the owner of several casinos, the ones where most of the underground elite's secret meetings take place. "Agent Red." I slightly bow at him, acknowledging his presence with a nod. The title "Agent Red" now feels like a ghost from my past, a version of myself I'm trying so hard to escape from. "I've heard you're here to make a proposition," he continues, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Let's just say, I've brought something valuable to the table," Minho replies, his tone confident as he glances at me. "Something that could potentially reshape the power dynamics in this city."

The man's smile widens, revealing the glint of his golden tooth. "Well, I'm all ears."

"Y/N," Minho gestures for me to step forward. I walk toward the center of the room, feeling the weight of every gaze on me. This is it, the moment where the carefully crafted plan unfolds. When the room falls into a hushed silence, Minho's voice echoes through the place. "This is Baek Y/N, better known as Agent Red, and she's been a subject of an experiment held by the Parks. Park's chairman, the man you all feared and respected, murdered her parents and erased her memories, along with his own son who was a witness of the murder. And when he realized that my father, his once loyal friend, was a potential threat, he murdered him and made it look like an accident."

The room ripples with murmurs and whispers as the revelation sinks in. I scan the place, watching as the shadows of doubt and disbelief dance across the faces of the assembled figures. Right, this is what we planned for – to sow seeds of doubt and discord among the criminal elite, to fracture the alliances built on fear and loyalty to the Parks. But then, in a dimly lit corner, I see him – Jay. The sight of him knocks the air out of my lungs and my heart drops. His gaze is fixed on me, and I can see the pain in them. This is the man from my childhood, the one person I've allowed into my heart, and yet, the one my memories of were forcibly taken away.

I want to leave everything and run to him, let him hold me tight until all the pain and confusion dissipates. But I can't. I'm tethered to this plan, this dangerous game that could unravel everything or set us free.

"Park Jay," Minho calls him but he doesn't tear his gaze away from me, he simply tightens his jaw, his fists clenching at his sides. The room falls silent as all eyes shift towards Jay, waiting for his response. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, cutting through the crowd. "Tell us the truth about your father. Tell us about the night when your father murdered Baek Y/N's parents and erased your memories so you don't remember the horrifying truth. Because you were in the car that crashed into theirs and you saw everything-"

"My father is indeed a cold-blooded murderer. I hate to admit it, but Baek Y/N and I were subjects of an experiment. My memories were wiped, but I've been piecing things together," He says and it's almost as if time stands still. Gasps and whispers ripple through the room and everyone starts to process the shocking revelation. "There you have it. The truth." 

I feel a lump forming in my throat when the underground elites tear their eyes off us and focus on the conversations between them. And I'm left alone standing across from Jay, our gazes locked in a silent exchange that speaks volumes. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice barely audible. I'm apologizing for a lot of things—stabbing him, betraying him, and now, for being a part of this twisted game that has revealed painful truths. I'm apologizing for the life we never chose, the pain we never asked for, and the love that now seems like a distant memory clouded by manipulation and deceit.

"Y/N." He breathes out my name like a prayer as if pleading with the universe for answers. But right then, his gaze shifts somewhere else, and his eyes widen before returning to me. "Y/N!" This time my name doesn't sound like a prayer, it's a desperate plea. And before I know it, Minho pushes me away right when the sound of a gunshot fills the air. It reverberates in my ears, drowning out all other sounds while I wince and try to get up from the ground.

"What-" When I look at my hands, blood is seeping through my fingers. I'm too confused to process what's happening and for a moment I wonder if I was shot. But there's no pain, no sharp agony that usually accompanies a gunshot wound.  Instead, a dull ache spreads across my body, and I realize the blood isn't mine. And when I look at Minho, he's collapsing to the ground, a look of shock on his face. He clutches his chest, blood staining his suit, and everything slows down as the realization hits me. 

Minho took the bullet meant for me.