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"W-what do you know about my father's death?"
Her voice broke, but the words held. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks now—silent, deliberate—but she didn't waver. She kept her chin lifted, her gaze locked to his.
Min-soo's smile returned, slow and serpentine, curling like smoke from a ruin.
"Hm... nothing much," he said, drawing out the words like a man savoring a secret. "Only that he was a victim of disobedience."
Ji-hyun's breath hitched.
He looked at her as though she were a chess piece finally realizing it had always been on the losing side. Then, as casually as one might comment on the weather, he added,
"So you should eat."
A pause.
His voice dropped an octave—gentle, cruel.
"Before you become a victim too."
He stepped back, his movements fluid and unhurried, retreating to his chair like a puppeteer letting his strings slacken—knowing the marionette couldn't run far.
Ji-hyun stood frozen.
That single sentence struck like a match to gasoline, igniting something cold and terrible inside her.
Victim of disobedience.
Did he mean her father disobeyed someone? Him? Was it… her mother?
No. No—it couldn't be.
But the look in Min-soo's eyes wasn't the look of a man speculating.
It was the look of a man who knew.
Her knees trembled. She clutched the edge of the table to steady herself, the sharp linen pressing into her palms. Slowly—mechanically—she slid off the surface, her feet finding the floor again. The hem of her dress brushed against the jagged edges of shattered porcelain.
The broken plate gleamed like bone.
A moment later, the door opened with a soft click, and three maids in black uniforms slipped in silently, their eyes lowered. They moved quickly, gathering the sharp fragments without so much as a glance toward her or Min-soo. Their silence was unnatural. Rehearsed.
Trained not to see.
Trained not to hear.
Ji-hyun stared at them, chest rising and falling in shallow waves. The chill of the marble floor bit through the soles of her slippers.
Did they know? Had they seen it all before?
Min-soo sat back down with the elegance of a king at a throne—crossed his legs, folded his hands, and watched her with quiet amusement, like a man watching rain slide down a windowpane.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The room was saturated with his presence—his voice still echoing in her bones, in her blood.
Ji-hyun didn't dare look at him again. Instead, she focused on her breathing—shaky, shallow—and on the trembling of her hands. She clenched them into fists to stop the shiver. It didn't help.
That line…
Victim of disobedience.
Was it a warning? A confession? A threat? Or all three?
And the way he'd said "before you become one too"…
Ji-hyun swallowed hard. Her mind reeled, a thousand questions crashing against one another in a frenzy.
Had he orchestrated her father's death?
Was he merely a witness?
Or something far more sinister?
She stared at the floor as the last shard was collected, the maid bowing briefly before leaving. The heavy door clicked shut once again, leaving her in the silence that now felt like a cage.
Min-soo finally spoke again—calm, collected.
"You really should eat something, Ji-hyun," he said softly, as if he hadn't just cracked her entire world open. "It's a long road ahead. And you'll need your strength."
She looked up at him slowly.
She didn't even see the man she had feared.
She saw a predator who had been waiting—no, weaving—since she was a child. Threading himself into every moment. Every shadow.
And now, he had her right where he wanted .
But Ji-hyun wasn't ready to break.
Atleast not yet.
She forced herself to walk back to the table, each step echoing like a drumbeat in her ears. Her hands trembled as she reached for the untouched fork—her fingers closing around it like it was a weapon, not a utensil.
Min-soo watched her, his gaze sharp and knowing.
She took one bite.
Mechanical. Hollow. Like feeding a corpse.
And she smiled—just a little.
Because she wasn't eating to obey.
She was eating to survive.
"Good girl," he said coldly, his red pupils glinting—sharp and unblinking, like a predator savoring the stillness before the pounce.
She swallowed another bite of kimchi. Then another. The spice burned down her throat, but she didn't flinch. Didn't blink. It wasn't hunger guiding her movements—it was survival. Each mouthful was a silent rebellion, a show of composure carved from the edge of fear.
Finally, she set the fork down with a soft clink.
"I… I guess I'm full now," she said, forcing a wistful smile. "I'm watching my weight, you know."
A flicker passed over Min-soo's face. Not surprise. Not concern.
Interest.
"Really?" he murmured, almost to himself. "So you do want to look sexy for your husband."
The word hung in the air like smoke.
Ji-hyun's lips parted, but nothing came out.
"I… I…"
The rest of the sentence crumbled on her tongue. She could hear her heartbeat now—thick, loud, useless. Her smile faltered.
Min-soo leaned back slowly, eyes still fixed on her. Not like a man admiring a woman—but like a predator monitoring all its preys movements.
The silence stretched, taut and suffocating.
"Why are you still here?" Min-soo said, his voice cutting through the silence—harsh and piercing, like a blade drawn too fast.
Ji-hyun flinched. The sudden shift in tone snapped the air between them.
"I… yeah. Um… the room," she stammered, blinking rapidly. "Right. The room."
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, thin and unsteady. Without waiting for a dismissal, she turned and slipped out, her footsteps muffled against the cold marble.
Once out of sight, Ji-hyun exhaled shakily, pressing a hand against her chest to quiet the panic clawing inside her ribs. She began walking slowly, almost aimlessly, down the long corridor. The silence here felt different—less suffocating, but no less cold.
"Ugh… he is so annoying," she muttered under her breath, her voice bitter but hollow.
Her fingers brushed the smooth wall as she walked, grounding herself. Her mind, however, was far from still.
What did he mean when he said Dad was a victim of disobedience?
Her steps faltered.
Was it a warning? A confession? A trap?
The thought gnawed at her.
The way he said it—with such calm, such certainty—it hadn't sounded like hearsay. It hadn't even sounded like a threat.
It had sounded like a memory.
Ji-hyun clenched her fists and shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the chill coiling through her spine. The hall stretched on like a dream, doors lining each side like silent witnesses. She didn't even know which one was hers. None of this place felt like it belonged to her. Not even her reflection.
"Is this what marriage is supposed to feel like?" she whispered to no one. "So lifeless… and strange?"
She stopped in front of a door, unsure why this one called to her.
Maybe it didn't matter.
Everything in this house felt like a stage—gilded, elaborate, and rigged to collapse the moment she forgot her lines.
She rested her forehead lightly against the wood, eyes closing.
Is this it? Is this all my life is going to be now?
Filled with lies, overwhelming silence, and a face of a man she knew nothing about.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to inhale, straighten, and turn the doorknob.
Whatever was waiting on the other side—she'd face it.
Even if she had to do it shaking.
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