Chapter 8
As she strained against his grip, his slow gaze shifted. It traveled from her pale, tense face, down to her thin, bony wrists, and then to the dark spots where water had splattered her shirt. Only then did he finally loosen his hold.
Taegyeom sat up, sweeping his wet hair back from his face. Her eyes were involuntarily drawn to the powerful, wing-like muscles of his back. His body was a roadmap of perfectly defined muscle, so solid it looked as if a needle would break against his skin.
As he stretched languidly, he looked like a sated lion, or perhaps a decadent, lazy libertine.
Yiseo scrambled out from under him, quickly averting her gaze. When he had sat up, the blanket had shifted, revealing that he was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs.
She was the only one flustered, her eyes darting around, searching for a safe place to look. He was the one nearly naked in front of a woman he barely knew, yet while she was mortified, his demeanor was utterly relaxed and nonchalant. Now fully out of bed, he ruffled his hair, shaking out the water. The sunlight caught in the dark strands, making them glitter like gold.
A man so brazen he’d have sex outdoors for anyone to see. Is that why he’s so unconcerned about his own body, so confident walking around in his underwear in front of a strange woman?
Just then, he turned back, his expression clearly asking what she was still doing there. One of his eyebrows arched high.
And in that instant, realization dawned on Yiseo.
Taegyeom Kwon felt not an ounce of shame in front of her, not because of some promiscuous taste or casual familiarity, but for a much simpler, more chilling reason.
To him, she wasn’t a woman or even a stranger. She was a presence so utterly insignificant that she didn’t even register enough to warrant embarrassment. She existed in a realm of complete indifference, like a speck of dust in the air.
"Aren’t you leaving?" Taegyeom demanded, his voice flat as he massaged the back of his neck.
"It’s rather difficult when you just stand there staring. Especially in the morning."
He muttered something incomprehensible while retrieving a gray robe from the foot of the bed. Droplets of water had splattered across the fabric, and he shook them off with a careless flick of his wrist before sighing and slipping his arms into the sleeves.
Yiseo’s eyes landed on the water glass that had rolled near the bedpost. She picked it up.
"Managing Director Hwang is waiting for you downstairs," she reported.
Thankfully, the glass wasn’t broken. I’ll have to tell Matron Seosan about the soaked sheets and duvet when she gets back, Yiseo thought, lifting her gaze.
But Taegyeom had already turned away, heading for the bathroom. The sight of his back as he ambled away, languidly tying the robe’s sash, made it painfully clear he wasn’t listening to a word she said.
Mr. Hwang had practically ordered her to get Taegyeom ready for work and bring him down, but she could hardly wait for the notoriously prickly man to emerge from his shower and then forcibly dress him. She could only hope he’d gotten the hint. She certainly didn’t expect him to show any consideration for her own difficult position, caught in the middle.
He didn’t seem to possess that kind of character. All she wanted was to escape this room.
Yiseo strode quickly toward the door. But before she could cross the threshold, Taegyeom’s voice flew from behind her, sharp as a dart.
"Bring me a glass of water."
His tone was so accustomed to command that it sounded utterly natural. Yiseo turned, the empty glass still in her hand, but he had already vanished into the bathroom without waiting for her reply. She stared at the vacant bedroom for a beat, then stepped out into the hall.
As she made her way to the second-floor kitchenette, she dissected the feeling coiling in her gut. A cold dread settled in her stomach, and a sensation like a long, thin skewer was prodding her chest. It was a galling, unpleasant feeling.
She slowly scanned her surroundings. The brand-new furniture and appliances stood silent and still in their designated places, making the space feel entirely separate from the one that had throbbed with the noise of last night’s raucous party.
Sunlight streamed through a window, casting a stark line across the TV’s black screen. Within that dark mirror, her own silhouette stood, looking foolish and small.
Tearing her gaze from the reflection, Yiseo took a deep breath and continued toward the kitchen, willing her churning stomach to settle. She was just an employee, paid to do a job. There was no reason to let that man’s arrogance dictate her emotions.
Besides, today would be the last time she’d have to deal with the master of this annex. The thought was a small comfort.
The kitchenette on this floor seemed designed less for cooking and more for serving alcohol. A massive wine cellar was packed so densely with bottles that she couldn’t imagine who would ever drink them all.
She passed a shelf displaying premium liquors and opened the refrigerator, finding it stocked to the brim with cans of beer. The sight alone was almost nauseating.
She retrieved a bottle of water from a space beside the perfectly aligned rows of cans. Setting the empty glass she carried into the sink, she took a clean one from a shelf and began to pour.
As the gurgling sound filled the silence, Yiseo recalled Mr. Hwang’s words.
"Why don’t you take a glass of water up to him? After a night of heavy drinking, water is the first thing a man looks for when he wakes up."
Managing Director Incheol Hwang knew all about Taegyeom’s nightly debauchery in the annex. Even if his own visits to the estate had dwindled, he still seemed to have a firm grasp on everything that happened here. And since his right-hand man, Manager Gong, was in charge of the estate, it wasn’t surprising that Mr. Hwang was so well-informed.
She wondered how long Matron Seosan’s wish for the Eldest Young Master to play around discreetly, away from the Chairman’s watchful eyes, would hold true. It seemed unlikely to last.
But that was none of her concern. Glass of water in hand, Yiseo returned to the bedroom.
It was still empty. From behind the closed bathroom door, she could hear the steady hiss of the shower.
He’d ordered her to bring him water, only to continue showering at his leisure. Yiseo placed the glass on the nightstand and left the room.
***
Walking several paces ahead, Incheol glanced over his shoulder. A considerable distance had formed between him and Taegyeom, who was trailing behind at a lazy, unhurried pace. Incheol stopped, assuming a respectful posture as he waited for Taegyeom to catch up.
Every one of Taegyeom’s languid steps was weighted with annoyance. The top two buttons of his crisply ironed white shirt were undone, revealing the long, thick column of his neck and a prominent Adam’s apple. His tie, rather than being knotted properly, was stuffed carelessly into his suit pocket.
He was the antithesis of a tidy professional, yet his brutally handsome face was so fine and flawless that it more than compensated for his delinquent presentation.
Incheol saw, superimposed over the man before him, the image of a small boy from twenty years ago, holding his mother’s hand as he was all but chased through the departure gate at Incheon Airport. The boy’s numb, placid eyes and his unnaturally calm, composed expression were seared into Incheol’s memory. The sorrowful atmosphere of that day felt as vivid as yesterday.
Studying abroad had been nothing more than a convenient lie. Chairman Kwon, having just impregnated a twenty-year-old Jua Shin, had casually disposed of his ten-year-old son by shipping him off to America. It was the moment the Chairman’s long-awaited firstborn, obtained with such difficulty at the age of thirty-six, was demoted to a mere nuisance.
Incheol could still vividly recall relaying Jua Shin’s ultimatum to the Chairman: she would rather abort the child and return to her acting career than live as his hidden second wife.
How could he ever forget? A tragic mother and son, banished to a foreign land by the filthy desires of a patriarch who lusted after a woman young enough to be his own daughter. Unlike the woman, who seemed lost in a deep, resigned sorrow, the boy’s face had been a mask, utterly devoid of emotion.
Incheol watched the wind play through Taegyeom’s hair, seeing the boy in the man. The small, thin shoulders that had so steadfastly marched into the departure terminal, as if leading his own mother, were gone. In their place stood a handsome young man well over six feet tall, his face etched with the profound boredom of a life steeped in ennui.
He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long yawn. His eyes were heavy, hazy with what could have been sleep or the lingering effects of alcohol.
"Are you tired, sir?" Incheol asked, taking a step back as if to formally receive him. He offered a practiced, pleasant smile.
Taegyeom gave him a passing glance and a noncommittal nod. "Yes, well."
"The jet lag can be brutal. Even a short business trip can leave one exhausted for a week. It will take time to completely reset a biological clock that’s been fixed for nearly two decades. There’s no need to push yourself."
"Then you should have scheduled my appointments for the evening," Taegyeom retorted dryly.
"The company executives are early risers, sir. They arrive at the office before dawn. This was the best I could do to accommodate everyone. They say the older you get, the less you sleep. What else are they to do at home when they wake up? They come to work like they’re machines, Haha."
"Is that so?" Taegyeom’s tone was utterly indifferent. "I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been old."
At that, Incheol let out a booming laugh.
