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My custom black Pagani Zonda HP Barchetta snarls beneath me as I leave Seoul behind.

Good fucking riddance.

The city shrinks in my rearview mirror, taking its noise, expectations, and the millions of people convinced they own a piece of me with it. At least for the next few days.

I sink deeper into the driver’s seat as the car devours the snow-covered highway. Its carbon-fiber body cuts through the winter night like a blade, while the naturally aspirated V12 roars beneath me.

God, I fucking love this car.

Not because it’s rare.

Not because it costs more than most people will earn in a lifetime.

I love it because, behind the wheel, nobody gets to tell me who the fuck I’m supposed to be.

Out here, I’m not Khaos. Not the billionaire. Not the celebrity. Not the villain the media loves to hate.

I’m just Stephen.

And for a few precious hours, that’s enough.

The darkness in my head doesn’t disappear, but the road gives it somewhere else to go. The farther I get from Seoul, the easier it becomes to breathe.

So, I keep driving.

Toward the mountains. Toward the snow. Toward the only place that has ever given me something money can't buy.

Peace.

My estate in Pyeongchang.

My Ma’s dream.

Some artists drink themselves numb. Others spend thousands talking to therapists.

Me?

Well… I drive until the world finally shuts the hell up.

There are no cameras in the mountains. No one demanding another piece of me.

Just silence, Minho, and Mrs. Han.

Well, that and the fact that Junie has already turned the next forty-eight hours into a prison sentence. Photoshoots. Campaign meetings. Enough forced social interaction to qualify as psychological torture.

But until then, I still belong to myself.

Once I’m done wrestling with my thoughts, I reach for the radio and switch it on.

Come Back Home by Seo Taiji and Boys pours through the speakers. One of the few songs I can still listen to without feeling a stab of jealousy. Without wondering when music stopped feeling like magic and started feeling like work.

The familiar beat fills the car’s cabin as the road winds through endless stretches of snow-covered mountains.

The farther I drive, the quieter the world becomes.

People love calling me mysterious, private and elusive but the truth isn’t nearly that interesting.

Sometimes the walls close in and I run.