Page 50 of Tell Me Where It Ends

“The damage is too significant. Sponsors have pulled out. They see you as too much of a liability.” He exhales. “They’re letting you go.”

My breath catches. I sink down onto the edge of Suho’s bed. “And… and you?” I whisper, already knowing the answer.

A long, painful pause. “I’ve been reassigned,” he says. His voice is flat—colder than I’ve ever heard it. “Effective immediately. They’re giving me a new rookie group to manage.”

Relief that he wasn’t collateral damage flickers for a heartbeat, only to be crushed by the sharper truth: I was the sinking ship he’d been ordered to evacuate. This wasn’t just my contract ending; it was our eight-year partnership being severed in real time.

“They’ll send a formal letter,” he adds, his professional composure finally cracking. “As your former manager, I have to tell you to prepare for the worst. Get a lawyer. Stay silent.”

Then his voice drops, the manager gone, only the man left. “Min-hee… for eight years, I watched you. Every win, every fall, every time you needed someone to cover your blind side. That part of me—” his voice wavers “—that part isn’t going anywhere. Please be safe. That’s all that matters to me now.”

He hangs up before I can answer.

And just like that, the world I’d built since I was a teenager collapses.

The numbness gives way to a pain so sharp it rips a sound from my throat—raw, animal. I slide from the bed to the floor, curling in on myself, sobs tearing through me.

It’s over. All of it. The training, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices. I’m not an actress anymore. Not an idol. Just a disgrace.

The sobs fade into a hollow, aching exhaustion heavier than sleep. I stay on the floor, cheek pressed to the cool wood, as the world outside shifts from late-afternoon gold to a deep, bruised purple.

The city lights come on one by one, glittering in a world I can no longer touch. Minutes bleed into hours. The sharp edges of grief dull into a gray numbness that feels like its own kind of death.

The sound of the door opening barely registers.

“Okay,” Suho says into the silence, his voice tight with exasperation. “So, we’re doing the ‘catatonic on the floor’ thing. Got it.”

He disappears, then returns, nudging my shoulder with a bottle of water. “Hydration is important during a mental breakdown.”

A small, watery laugh escapes me. Trust Suho to say something idiotic even when I’m falling apart. Hearing me laugh, he gives a soft, crooked smile, then helps me to my feet and steers me to the couch. He settles at the far end, pulling out his phone in silence.

I watch him. His thumb moves in slow, methodical swipes, over and over. He’s not scrolling idly—I recognize the motion, the same rabbit hole I’ve fallen into one too many times. He’s reading the articles. The comments.

He looks up, startled, as if he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“You’re going to make yourself sick reading that,” I whisper.

He snaps the phone shut, staring into the dark. When he finally speaks, his words are clipped and cold, tight with suppressed fury. “I want to burn it all down. For what they’re doing to you.”

Then he rises and steps in front of me. He doesn’t reach out—he just watches me, his gaze careful, intense.

“It’s all gone, Suho,” I whisper, a fresh wave of grief. “Everything.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then a strange, reckless glint lights his eyes. He doesn’t offer a hug, protection, comforting words, or tea. He offers chaos.

“Get dressed,” he says, his voice low and certain. “We’re going out.”

“Out where? To my own public execution?”

“No,” he says, a sly twitch at the corner of his mouth. “We’re going to the agency.”

I blink at him. Did my ears just betray me? “What?”

“It’s midnight. The building will be empty.” He reaches out, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You built your career in that building. You’re not going to let them take it from you with a phone call. We’re going to say a proper goodbye.”

It’s an absurd, insane idea. And somehow… it feels exactly like what I need.

A flicker of defiance—a pure, reckless surge—cuts through the numbness. A real smile breaks through my tears for the first time.