The whole world seems to stop spinning as Max tries to process what his eyes are seeing.

Staring right back at him−murderously, he might add− is Park Gyuri, who has knocked him to the floor, pinning him down by sitting on his chest. Her forearm is pressed against his throat, threatening to crush his windpipe.

Gyuri's shoulders move up and down rapidly, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight before her. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

"G-Gyuri-ssi," Max chokes, trying to speak, but he can't continue any further, because right then, she presses her arm down harder on his throat.

"I said"− Gyuri raises her voice−"who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

Max's heart is thumping in his chest faster than a torpedo cutting through smooth water. He's in so much trouble. In fact, he thinks, trouble is the hugest understatement for the mess he's just gotten himself into.

In his life, he had garnered many examples from other people's mistakes of what he personally considered to be 'failure'. To some, failure meant death, losing a job or someone they love, or even just getting a bad score on a test. Max had never experienced any of the previous events, so it's only fitting that he doesn't consider them failure.

To him, failing is not carrying out a job. Not completing his orders. Not delivering success to feed his pride. Not doing all that he can for the one thing that matters to him.

He has never failed−in his definition of failure− before, but right now, in this moment, he can see everything flash before his eyes, everything he worked so hard for going down the drain.

I was so careless, he thinks, wanting to die right then and there if it will mean that he will forget this moment. Whatever T.O.P has planned for me, I think this will kill me first. She's seen me. She's seen me. She's seen me. How am I supposed to steal the diamond now?

Suddenly, an idea strikes his mind. It's pointless− stupid, really −, but Max is desperate and he realises that he doesn't want to die in the seemingly more than capable hands of the heiress. "I...can't... b-breathe..." he gasps. It's not a lie, even though it's intended to be one.

Gyuri narrows her eyes for a moment, calculating. Sizing him up.

After a moment, she lifts her arm and rolls off him in one lithe movement. In that fraction of a second that she has her back turned to him, Max gets to his feet, ignoring the black dots in his vision and the throbbing of his neck, and makes a mindless sprint for the window.

She sees him just as she straightens and lunges for him as he leaps out the window.

Her reflexes are swift, but not as fast as Max's, and her fingers close around empty air. Cursing, Gyuri leans out the window, tugging on the rope that's draped over the window sill.

But he's already gone.

***

Max doesn't stop running even when he gets back to his hotel. He doesn't pause for a break, despite his protesting lungs and still throbbing neck− judging by the tender feel of the skin, he guesses it's bruised− and dashes for his bag.

He pulls out his phone, his sweaty fingers almost slipping on the screen as he types in Fei's number. I can't believe I still remember it, he thinks.

I can't believe I actually need it.

Pacing the room anxiously, he waits for her to pick up. The dull beeps on the other end only make him even more nervous and he breaks out into an intense sweat despite the air conditioning, though he doesn't dare open the windows.

"Come on, Fei, answer your phone," Max growls.

She doesn't. Not the first try, nor the second or the twelfth.

Finally, Max gives up. It's nearing 1 in the morning, the clock tells him, and his body is weary. He collapses onto the bed, letting out a huff of frustration.

But he can't sleep. He doesn't even toss or turn and just lies there like a lifeless wooden board, staring up at the ceiling, tracing cracks that don't exist.

Only hours earlier, Max had been told that he would die on this theft. That this would be his last theft and it was his own employer's influence that had caused this chain of events to start.

Only hours earlier, Max hadn't believed any of it. He hadn't believed that he would die. Not on this job.

But now?

Now, he believes it.

The hours stretch on, each one passing slower than the one before it. Max is still in the same position he was a few hours earlier and his limbs are starting to complain. But he doesn't move.

The same question runs through his mind. It's a question he's hardly had reason to ask