Chapter 2. Ready (1)
Traffic on weekend afternoons was a nightmare. Even housewives have a boundary between weekdays and weekends. My plan to sleep in late and laze around for once before heading to the newly opened spa with some women my age from the neighborhood had gone completely down the drain.
All because of my husband’s company anniversary party. Out of nowhere, and with spouses invited, no less. I kept tugging at the hem of my suffocating dress, unable to get comfortable as I glared at the rear bumper of the car ahead.
“Don’t screw up.”
My husband was as tense as a high schooler preparing for college admissions. Telling me not to screw up again and again seemed more like his way of brainwashing himself.
“You couldn’t have put some padding in your bra?”
“Listen to yourself. Who’s even looking at me?”
“It looks better when I introduce you to people.”
“Stop shaking your leg. You think that’s gonna help with traffic?”
“Will you shut up? I can’t focus,” I added with a hiss. Damn asshole was always acting like the size of his wife’s tits was some kind of status symbol. I knew if I didn’t snap back like this, the nitpicking would never end. Feeling embarrassed, he fell silent.
“You’ve been working there how many years again? They never invited partners before. Why now?”
“Word is, they’re throwing this huge bash to introduce the chairman’s good-for-nothing youngest daughter to everyone, inside and out.”
“Good-for-nothing?”
My husband slammed his hand on the horn, hurling curses at a car trying to cut in instead of answering. All those hurry-hurries to try and speed things up didn’t do anything. Wondering if there had been an accident up ahead, he turned on the radio, checking his phone in a nervous panic. Then, with the look of a man who’d lost everything, he stared blankly at the license plate in front of him.
I knew a corporate anniversary party would be big, but walking in felt like stepping right onto the set of a movie dinner party. Everywhere my eyes fell was stark white, dazzling bright. The piano quintet lazily playing classical music on stage sounded like they were playing from heaven. It was so unreal I felt a slight wave of nausea.
The moment we stepped into the hall, my husband scrambled to find his boss and the man’s wife, groveling and buttering them up. A grown man brown-nosing like that. I know people are usually talking about women when they say someone’s trying to make their daddies happy, but damn. Seeing him hunched over with nonstop bows while he forced over-the-top laughs, there was really no other way to put it. Still, he was smooth and had a silver tongue, so at least everyone laughed everywhere he went.
* * *
The wives in the banquet hall fell into two distinct groups. Those wearing muted pearl necklaces and carrying solid-colored leather bags, and those sporting diamond rings and clutching tiny purses encrusted with colorful jewels. One side was understated, while the other was straight-up flashy.
And then there was me, an untouchable who belonged to neither group. Being one of the youngest didn’t offer any comfort. I know I said there was zero chance anyone would pay attention to me, so there was no real reason to feel pathetic, but the truth was, I still felt like a loser.
Don’t screw up.
Like an unwanted wallflower or a drop of oil floating on water. Drifting along the edges of the hall. I walked and paused, taking care not to catch anyone’s eye. Whether I walked or whether I stood still, I kept hearing my husband’s desperate voice.
What could I possibly do to screw up? What was he so terrified of? Even if I did make a mistake, who here would even care? I sneered to myself at his obsessive behavior.
Sharply dressed young waiters walked around balancing silver trays bearing half a dozen flutes of champagne in one hand. They all wore black bow ties and vests, waiters and waitresses alike. The way they glided smoothly between tables to politely offer guests champagne almost looked like a circus act.
Every single one of them was clearly determined to make sure everyone got a taste of the champagne they were serving. Why else would one of them approach little old me, plastered against the wall like a discarded flyer? The flute they presented with a stiff smile was fizzing with tiny, dancing bubbles.
Honestly? It felt kind of magical. Not to the point of feeling like the leading lady in a movie, but still.
“Thank you.”
I took the glass with my brightest smile, so far beyond my usual expression that my jaw and ears twitched from the strain. I held the smile until the waiter nodded politely and turned to walk away. It was the maximum amount of effort I could muster, and as soon as he vanished into the crowd, I wilted into exhaustion.
By then, the dancing bubbles in the champagne had fizzled out, and the liquid sloshing in my mouth was unpleasantly lukewarm. But I downed the whole flute as if it didn’t matter. After all, the worst thing about this goddamned party was that it had been less than half an hour since we arrived. And the main event hadn’t even started yet.
Maybe it was because I’d spent over two hours stuck in traffic while wearing a dress so tight I could barely breathe, but shortly after chugging the champagne, I felt a sudden, urgent need to use the bathroom. I figured while I was out there, I could find a place to sit down in the hallway and rest for a bit.
I scanned the room for my husband, but I couldn’t tell where he and his dumb grins were. Just as I pushed open the heavy leather doors of the hall to step outside, I caught sight of him shaking his hips like he was performing tricks for his superiors. Hearing the half-feigned bursts of laughter directed at him, I shoved the heavy door open.
And there, at the end of that hallway, I met her. No greetings, just our eyes locking. And yet I clearly caught sight of her cock right then and there.
Slap, slap.
The wet sound of flesh against flesh echoed persistently down the hallway, pinning my feet to the floor. The woman’s high-pitched moans rose sharply before smothering into muffled whimpers. She must have covered her mouth, I muttered under my breath, pacing back and forth outside the banquet hall.
The slender hands that had cradled the woman’s head flickered behind my eyelids. Her hands had struck me as remarkably large, even after factoring in her tall frame. Or maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me because of how shocking it had been.
“God, damn it…”
My underwear was soaked. I could feel it. Even while pacing, squirts of slick pulsed between my thighs. And I was going to have to sit at a table inside the hall for at least two hours. I began to worry that the slick might seep through my pale pink dress.
“Where the hell were you?!”
My husband, exhausted from calling my phone over and over, came outside looking for me right then. He let out a low growl, but quickly shut his mouth after scanning some of the people lingering in the hallway.
“Are you trying to embarrass me on purpose…?”
“I get it, so lower your voice.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I called?”
“I had to catch my breath because this dress is too tight, so drop it.”
Now that his solo performance was over, he needed a young wife by his side to play along. It had taken him an hour to realize he needed me, someone who lacked enthusiasm but had a decent enough face to look presentable. For a man who had left me to fend for myself, it was quite the passionate assertion of ownership.
“Smile. It’s a big day.”
I lightly brushed his shoulder as I offered the hollow words. Not minding the affectionate touch, my husband pursed his lips and fell silent. I slid my arm through his, clinging to his side. Having just spent time focusing on someone else’s privates, I resolved to play the dutiful wife and cater to his mood the best I could today.
As the emcee’s voice echoed through the hall, the buzzing chatter vanished instantly. My husband practically dragged me like a ragdoll as he hurried back inside the banquet hall.
Our assigned table was the farthest from the central stage. You know how real estate with the best views, or seats closest to the stage at a theater, always command a premium? This place was no different. From where we sat, all we could see was a sea of heads. Barely suppressing a scoff, I took a sip of water from the glass on the table.
The boring speech from the chairman, a face I’d seen often enough in the media, dragged on and on. The musicians who had been playing classical music paused their hands to listen politely to the speech. Everyone except me was hanging on every word. My husband in particular looked enraptured, like he was listening to the voice of God. It took an elbow to his ribs for him to finally shut his gaping mouth.
“I am honored to introduce my humble daughter today…”
Contrary to the modest words, a broad smile spread across the chairman’s aging face. Turned out that even someone who controlled billions of dollars worth of assets from the top of the nation’s business world was just another proud parent showing off their kid in the end.
“Didn’t you say the youngest daughter was good for nothing?”
“…Huh?”
“Never mind.”
I didn’t want to ruin my husband’s pleasant little daydream. Just then, the musicians, who had been sitting stiff as they listened to the chairman, sprang into action. Exchanging glances as they prepared their instruments, they soon began to play.
Shostakovich’s Waltz.
Dum-pa-pa. Dum-pa. Dum-pa-pa. Dum-pa. The familiar melody of the waltz that everybody knew from movies and ads swelled loudly to match the stride of the person marching up to the podium. Thunderous applause erupted from the crowd as people suddenly jumped halfway out of their seats to clap frantically, completely blocking my view.
I briefly covered my ringing ears. My husband grabbed my arm and pulled me up beside him. Reluctantly, I stood by his side and joined in the applause. Dum-pa-pa. Dum-pa. Dum-pa-pa. Dum-pa. The grandiose melody filled the room. The music finally ceased when a short rustle at the microphone echoed across the hall.
“Thank you.”
The person at the podium spoke.
“I’m On Suhyeon, the newly appointed CEO of On Connect.”
The familiar voice sent deep reverberations through the room. The introduction hit me like a punch to the gut, sounding less like a greeting and more like a declaration. The applauding crowd smoothed down their clothes and took their seats, as did my husband. But me? I just stood there, staring at the person beneath the blinding lights in the center of the stage as she looked back with her piercing gaze.
It was her. The alpha, the owner of that amazing cock. And she was definitely looking at me.