Chapter 16

The call logs barely lasted five minutes at most. Most of the communication had been through text messages, and the pattern of their exchange was strange.  

[“Thank you for helping me,”][“Please help me…”]

The messages contained little else. It was too obvious what kind of help she was asking for, especially when combined with the withdrawal records his subordinates had pulled, matching the timestamps.  

A dry chuckle escaped him. Taeheon leaned back in his chair until it tilted as far as it could go.  

His head tipped back, facing the ceiling. In the far corner, a faint stain marred the pristine white surface.  

It needed to be cleaned. His obsessive compulsions flared up. The urge to scrape it off immediately gnawed at him, but he restrained himself. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped the armrest.  

It was all so predictable. He had seen it happen countless times while growing up. His father cycled through women like clockwork, and his mother…

Taeheon had never quite understood how people could be drawn to so many different strangers.  

Even *one* was too many. From the start, there were few people he found remotely interesting.  

Swapping saliva, fluids, flesh—so many times, with so many people—just to be satisfied? His father’s depraved appetite had only made him seem more monstrous to young Taeheon.  

And his mother was no different.  

“If it weren’t for you.”

Whenever his father was out cavorting with another woman, his mother would slam her crippled leg against the floor and sob.  

“I ended up like this because I had you. Your father runs to other women because of you. If only I hadn’t given birth to you!”

Her voice rang vividly in his head. A bad sign.  

The old burns on his back flared up with phantom pain. The sensation was returning.  

There was no anger. No grief.  

Looking back on his broken childhood left him as unmoved as always.

But the scars scattered across his body still remembered the pain. They resurrected the sensation of seared skin, of pus swelling in the wounds, of nerves screaming in protest.  

His clenched jaw ached. A deep shadow settled between his brows. 

“……”  

His lips remained sealed, not a single sound escaping. Just like back then.  

Taeheon traced the scar near his temple with his fingertips.  

As if mimicking *her* touch, his movements were slow and deliberate.  

‘Lee Yaein was supposed to be different.’

She was supposed to be nothing like those wretched, pathetic creatures.  

A pure and gentle wife. A foolish, beautiful woman. Someone *he* had chosen. 

She was supposed to be nothing like the filthy world that surrounded him.

But perhaps, in truth, she was no different.  

“I have something to tell you.”

That was the most recent message she had sent.  

What exactly did she want to say?  

That she was going through with the divorce? That she missed him?  

What thoughts were swirling inside that small head of hers?  

“What are you hiding, Lee Yaein?”

His voice seeped into the room like a lingering stain on the wall.  

The air drifting in through the open window was damp and cold.

***

Raindrops lightly tapped against the car window.  

Beyond the glass, the scenery blurred like a smudged painting. Taeheon, who had been reading a document on his tablet, shifted his gaze to the window.  

The car had just left the parking lot.  

“Take me home.”  

At his command, the driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror.  

“Aren’t you supposed to head to Incheon today? I thought you were going to check the warehouse.”  

“Kim will handle it. We agreed on that over lunch.”  

“Mr. Kim? You’re not going in person?”  

“Didn’t I just say that?”  

“My apologies. It’s just… I’ve never seen you delegate to someone else before.”  

The driver quickly bowed his head. It was rare for Taeheon to deviate from his schedule. He always confirmed things himself, ensuring everything was done to his satisfaction.  

By the time they reached the house, the rain had intensified into a heavy downpour.  

As soon as Taeheon stepped inside, a familiar fragrance greeted him.  

The scent lingered in the air, drifting through the house—a scent that clung to Yaein’s skin. At some point, it had become synonymous with home.  

Had she heard him come in, she would have come to greet him by now. But she was nowhere in sight.  

The house was large, and his return had been unexpected. It wasn’t strange that she hadn’t noticed right away.  

Still, Taeheon didn’t bother changing his clothes. Instead, he moved through the house, searching for her.  

The silence felt ominous.  

She wasn’t in the living room. Not in the sitting area or the kitchen either.  

His steps quickened as he climbed the stairs.  

When he roughly pushed open the bedroom door, he came to an abrupt stop.

Yaein was asleep.  

Curled up in a small chair beside the bed, she looked utterly exhausted, her head resting against her shoulder like a weary bird. 

She resembled a painting—a masterful depiction of a bird and a flower.  

Then, in this image, was she the bird? Or the flower?  

Taeheon remained still, simply watching her.  

Her eyelashes were long—remarkably so. He had thought the same when he first saw her.  

She had never been particularly plump, but lately, she had grown even thinner. And yet, he knew how soft her body was. His gaze traced the curve of her chest, then downward to her hips.  

She had no idea.  

No idea that she was being violated by his gaze.  

As if sensing his thoughts, Yaein’s eyelids fluttered open without a sound. Light brown eyes reflected his figure.  

Her gaze was gentle, her expression even softer in the quiet glow of sleep. A flush of warmth colored her cheeks.  

Her lips parted slightly. A small tongue flicked inside her mouth before she finally spoke.  

“…Taeheon?”  

Her voice.  

Clear and tender.  

A way of calling his name that no one else had ever used. 

Taeheon swallowed dryly.  

Thirst curled at his throat.  

Desire stirred deep in his stomach, crackling like an electric spark. Even as the thought of another man possibly touching her body lingered in his mind.  

Still groggy, Yaein sat up and checked the time.  

“You’re home early.”  

“Yeah.”  

“You’ve been coming home earlier these days.”  

“Guess who I have to thank for that.”  

“Are you afraid I’ll run away?”  

Her tone was light, playful, but somehow, it didn’t sound like a joke.  

“Yeah.”

Taeheon brushed his fingertips against Yaein’s stiffened cheek, his index finger gliding over the soft skin.  

Why?

There was no reason for him to recall the image of his mother, frantically dragging a worn-out suitcase down the stairs.  

And yet, the memory surfaced.  

“If I were planning to run away, do you think coming home early would be enough to stop me?”  

Another remark with hidden thorns.

He suddenly wanted to touch her delicate ankle.  

If he gripped it tightly, it felt like it would snap so easily.  

Where exactly did she want to go with those fragile legs?  

Had she decided to leave him because she wanted to throw herself into another man’s arms?  

“Well, what do you think? If I really wanted to keep you here, do you think you could escape just because you decided to?”  

Yaein’s expression darkened.  

This wasn’t the time to recall the sounds of his mother sobbing as she was dragged back into the house by his father. Yet memories struck his mind without warning, like an unrelenting downpour.  

He wanted to erase them.  

If only he could scrub away the past like a bloodstain with disinfectant, maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was tainting his wife just by touching her.  

Taeheon slipped his hand beneath the loose neckline of her sweater.  

“What are you doing?”  

As his large hand slid in, the fabric stretched taut.  

Yaein, flustered, tried to stop him, but Taeheon shamelessly groped her br*asts.  

Through the bra, he felt the softness of her flesh.  

She leaned against his thick arm, glaring up at him.  

“Take it out. You’re going to stretch my clothes.”  

He liked the way her n*pples stiffened beneath his palm.  

He liked the way she scolded him. 

He didn’t care about the scent of blood he tried to bury deep within himself.  

What he truly despised about himself was something else entirely.  

He liked defiling her.  

“I just want to serve you. As your husband.”  

He rolled her n*pple between his fingers, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive peak.  

A faint flush crept up Yaein’s cheeks.  

“As long as I don’t put it in, it’s fine, right? Like last time.”  

“When I said I didn’t want s*x, I meant *everything* like this.” 

“Then why were you touching me so eagerly back then?”  

Yaein grabbed his wrist and forced his hand out of her sweater.  

She had already seen through him.  

She knew exactly what he was trying to do—pin her down, devour her like an animal, smother everything else between their tangled bodies.  

“You think that if you tie me down and touch me, I’ll be stupid enough to forget about leaving?”  

“…Aren’t you?”  

Humiliation flared across Yaein’s face.  

“The only one acting desperate for s*x right now is *you,* not me.”  

In the distance, the sound of rain echoed.  

It had rained the night they first met.  

That night, Yaein had been drenched, curled up like a shivering stray.  

And absurdly enough, he had gotten hard just looking at her.  

As he drove her home, all he could think about was f*cking her.  

Peeling off those wet clothes, pressing his lips against her bare skin.  

He was used to terrible impulses clawing their way to the surface of his mind, but this was the first time one had taken the form of raw lust.  

The thought that another man might have looked at her the same way made his stomach churn.  

“Then who *do* you want to f*ck?”  

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

Yaein truly seemed clueless as she asked back, showing not the slightest hint of anxiety, no sign that she feared Taeheon might have discovered her betrayal.  

She was just as innocent as ever.  

So innocent, he almost wanted to be fooled.  

“Exactly what I said. Do *you* want to have s*x with another man?”  

“Ha…”  

“What kind of men do you even like? Someone married, like your sister?”  

At his taunt, a slight twitch flickered in the corner of Yaein’s eyes.  

“Enough. Move.”  

The hand that pushed at his chest wasn’t even strong enough to tickle.  

Taeheon scooped her up effortlessly and threw her onto the bed.  

A small scream slipped from Yaein’s lips.  

She was delicate—so light, so fragile. He could pin her down with just one hand.  

Straddling her back, he pressed his weight down, forcing his arms to loosen, to hold back.  

Sometimes, touching Yaein made him anxious.  

He didn’t want to break her.  

But he knew he could.  

“Tell me. Who is it?”  

“Nobody…! Let go!”  

“Why?”  

Taeheon whispered the question into her ear, his breath so close that his lips brushed against the heated skin of her earlobe.  

Beneath him, her slender back shivered violently.  

“You belong to me.”  

Taeheon declared it without hesitation.  

Of course, she was his.  

He had paid the price.  

Yaein had agreed.  

She had no right to leave now.  

Not even if she thought this place was a filthy, rotting swamp.  

Not even if she had finally realized the filthiest thing in it was her own husband.

“I’m not.”  

She could not discard him like this.