Chapter 30

The streets were unfamiliar, yet in some ways, they resembled the neighborhood where Yaein had lived during her university years.  

*People live the same way everywhere,* her grandmother used to say. 

No matter how far she ran, Yaein’s life never truly changed shape.  

A place she didn’t know.  

Alone—just the same as always.  

Her foot caught on a crack in the uneven pavement, nearly sending her sprawling.  

There was no one to catch her.  

That was the biggest difference between here and the place she had lived before.  

Taeheon wasn’t here.  

He had told her she was being conned, that they were just after her money.  

She had been furious at the time, unwilling to believe him.  

Her steps slowed as she climbed a small hill.  

She had come all the way here to escape Taeheon, and yet, all she could do was think about him.  

If he saw her like this, what would he say?  

Would he sneer and say *I told you so*?  

Would he be angry?  

Would he think she was pathetic?  

Or maybe—this time—he’d finally get tired of her.  

Yaein let out a hollow laugh.  

*An idiot who didn’t defend herself in time when accused of cheating.*  

*A fool who ran back to the mother who abandoned her, thinking she might be accepted this time.*  

It was so pitiful she couldn’t even cry.  

She bit her lip as she counted the money she had left.  

Taxi fare, clothing, a place to stay.  

It felt like she had traveled back in time.  

Even while living in that mansion, she had been constantly worrying about bus fares and calculating how much she had left to spend.  

She remembered walking from one real estate office to another, her feet blistering as she searched for a place where she and her grandmother could live together.  

*This*—this way of living—was familiar to her.  

Yaein let out a quiet, bitter chuckle before stopping in her tracks. 

Above the low buildings, the clouds drifted by.  

The golden hues of sunset spread across the sky, overtaking the blue.  

Even with a coat on, the evening air felt cold.  

She curled her shoulders, shivering slightly.  

*What now?*  

She had run away with all her strength, but she was back to the same worries, the same uncertainty.  

She must have been hoping—*even while knowing she might not be welcomed.*  

Maybe, after everything she had endured, things would be different this time.  

But no.  

She was alone again.  

Yaein crouched in the alley, wrapping her arms around her stomach.  

She didn’t have the strength to stand anymore.  

But…  

She muttered to herself,  

“But once you’re born, everything will change.”

This child—this child would truly be her family.  

Even as she repeated it, her face only grew darker.  

“What if… I’m not enough for you?”

She had always been inadequate to everyone else.  

What if she became a burden to this child, too?  

“I’ll try. I’ll do my best. But what if even then, I’m not a good enough mother for you?”

Yaein clenched her teeth.  

But she had come this far.  

She had left *him* behind.  

So she had to keep going.  

She had to become someone *useful* to this child.  

Yaein forced herself to stand.  

The same resolve she had clung to since childhood—she repeated it once more.  

Even if it had never been rewarded before.  

She turned down an unfamiliar street, walking without knowing where to go.

***

The cap of the soju bottle popped off with a sharp snap.  

A strong, pungent scent filled the air as the clear liquid poured into the glass.  

Soju and beer swirled together in the transparent cup, foam bubbling violently to the surface.  

The mixed stench of alcohol and spicy food made Yaein feel nauseous.  

She buried her nose in her sleeve, taking shallow breaths to keep from gagging.  

Mi-ryeong’s boyfriend stirred his glass with chopsticks before extending it toward Yaein.  

“Come on, have a drink.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Aw, don’t be shy. Just one, huh?”

Yaein glanced at Mi-ryeong, hoping she would intervene, but her mother was too busy poking at the plate of stir-fried sundae to pay attention.  

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m pregnant.”

In the end, Yaein had to explain herself.  

For some reason, it felt difficult to openly admit her pregnancy.  

Maybe because she had spent so much time trying to hide it.  

Fortunately, the man withdrew his offer, though he looked noticeably less enthusiastic.  

The atmosphere cooled.  

“Right, you said you were looking for a job earlier. How’d that go?”

Mi-ryeong asked without looking up, still idly picking at her food.  

She had barely seemed interested when Yaein first told her, so the fact that she even remembered felt oddly reassuring.  

“The owner wasn’t there. They said I could leave my contact information for an interview, but since I don’t have a phone, I told them I’d come back another time.”

“You don’t even have a phone? How are you living in this day and age without one?”

Mi-ryeong exaggerated her reaction, shaking her head in disbelief.  

“It’s because of my husband. He can’t know where I am for now.”

“Damn, so your husband’s got a temper, huh?”

The man, who had been drinking in silence, suddenly chimed in.  

Now that Yaein got a closer look, something about his demeanor made her uncomfortable.  

Despite being a stranger, he spoke to her too casually, almost condescendingly.  

His thick, showy tattoos wrapped around his forearm like a declaration, and the cigarette stench clinging to him made her stomach churn.  

For some reason, the clean, luxurious scent that always clung to Taeheon drifted into her mind.  

Why was she comparing?  

And why was she thinking of Taeheon while being asked if he was a *bad husband*?  

“It’s complicated.”

Yaein evaded the question.  

Whether Taeheon had been a bad husband was… complicated.  

He had been cold and indifferent at times, but he had always shielded her.  

He had been there for her in her lowest moments.  

“Well, at least get a prepaid phone. You need one if you’re gonna find work.”

“You can’t get a prepaid if you don’t have a registered ID. You’d have to use someone else’s.”

“A burner, then?”

The casual mention of *burner phones* felt unsettlingly normal.  

Mi-ryeong frequently asked for money.  

Sometimes small amounts, sometimes in the hundreds.

She always said she couldn’t use her own bank account, so Yaein had to withdraw cash or transfer the funds to a third party.  

She had done it, even when it seemed odd.  

Even as suspicion crept in that maybe her mother was living a very different life from what she had imagined.  

Now that she was physically here, caught in the middle of it, she could see the reality more clearly.  

And she worried.  

*Is it really safe for her to be with this man?*  

“I heard your husband’s got some power in Seoul.”

The man spoke again.  

“You said you’re not getting any settlement, right? Want me to go and squeeze some out of him for you?”

Yaein could see through his intentions immediately.  

Her mother’s boyfriend had no intention of hiding what kind of man he was.  

It was clear from the way he spoke—casual, but laced with calculation.  

“If he hit you, you should at least get some compensation.”

“…I’m not getting a divorce because of abuse.”

“Then what is it? Emotional distress? Pain and suffering?”

Despite her correction, he kept pushing, his voice slick and clinging.  

Yaein disliked how he spoke, how he pried.  

“What does your husband do, anyway?”

“He just works at a company.”

It was an obvious understatement.  

But she had no desire to explain further.  

After pressing her with more questions, the man eventually left, muttering about buying more alcohol.  

Yaein sighed, helping Mi-ryeong clean up the mess in the living room.  

Then, after some hesitation, she finally spoke.  

“You two aren’t married, are you?”

She was worried.  

The man didn’t seem like someone who lived an honest life.  

Was her mother really okay living with him?  

“He pays the rent.”

Mi-ryeong answered nonchalantly.  

Yaein paused, mid-wipe.  

“But… you said before that your rent was overdue.”

She distinctly remembered Mi-ryeong pleading for help, saying she was struggling with rent.  

For a brief second, a flicker of realization crossed her mother’s face.  

Then she waved a hand dramatically.  

“Oh, come on! I can’t just live off him, can I? He was sick at the time. Couldn’t go to work, so the rent fell behind. That’s why I had no choice but to ask you for help.”

Yaein didn’t believe it was the full truth.  

But she didn’t feel like pressing further.  

“You’re not expecting me to pay you back now, are you?”

Mi-ryeong walked over, watching her as she rinsed the rag in the sink.  

“I’m not saying I won’t pay you back, but things are tight right now. Hey! Didn’t you need a phone? I know someone who can get one under a different name.”

She clasped Yaein’s arm, smiling sweetly.  

Did she think Yaein was about to demand the money back?  

Yaein forced a small smile in return.  

“You don’t have to worry about it right now.”

Mi-ryeong beamed, clearly relieved.  

Something sharp lodged itself in Yaein’s throat, like a fishbone.  

Every time money was mentioned, her mother’s attitude shifted.  

That was the most telling thing of all.  

Her mother’s boyfriend returned with more alcohol, and soon after, the two disappeared into the bedroom.  

Their muffled voices leaked out through the thin walls.  

The small living space, filled with leftover food smells, felt even smaller once Yaein lay down.  

Surrounded by clutter, she felt caged.  

She had spent years in luxury, and yet, it had only taken days for her to feel out of place.  

Habit was terrifying.  

Lying there, she thought of the warmth of a body beside her.  

She had left to escape him—so why did Taeheon keep creeping into her thoughts?  

As the night stretched on, sleep never came.  

Frustrated, she reached for the book she had bought at the local bookstore.  

A guide for first-time mothers, full of reassurances and advice.  

She lost herself in the pages, absorbing the information.  

*The most important thing is for expectant mothers to avoid stress and stay emotionally stable.*  

Her lips curled bitterly.  

She had already failed at that.  

There was no stability.  

No rest.  

She had nothing she was supposed to have.  

What would she do when the time came to give birth?  

Would she be able to handle it alone?  

She had always wanted to ask her mother how it had been when she had given birth to her.  

But that wasn’t the kind of conversation they had.  

At least she had a book now.  

Maybe that was an improvement.  

The smooth, laminated page crinkled slightly as she turned it.  

Then—  

“How long are we keeping her here?”

A voice.  

Yaein froze, fingers tightening around the book.  

“I don’t know yet. She said she’d leave when she found a place. What else can I do? She’s pregnant. I can’t just throw her out on the street.”

The voices came from the bedroom.  

Thin walls.  

She could hear everything.  

“She’s married to a rich guy, right? I heard she used to send you money whenever you asked. Think there’s any more left?”

“She *was*. But she says she’s divorcing now. Says she’s broke.”  

“What, he just tossed his own wife out with nothing?”

“Who knows? Rich people are worse than anyone. Just get her a phone, at least.”

“Ugh, I can’t get ahold of Suchan lately. He must’ve gotten into trouble somewhere.”

“Anyone else?”

“Plenty of guys do this kind of work. But hey, while we’re at it, why not squeeze something out of her husband?”

A pause.  

“Hmm… I don’t know…”

“She got kicked out with nothing, huh? If we help her out, it’s a win-win, don’t you think? Catch two birds with one stone.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“You don’t look convinced. What’s the problem? Feeling sentimental just because she’s your kid?”

The man chuckled.  

Yaein found herself holding her breath, listening intently.  

The silence that followed was so deep she could hear Mi-ryeong sigh.  

“It’s been over twenty years. She doesn’t feel like my kid. Even when she was little, she was always with her grandmother.”

Every word rang clear.  

Like an arrow shot blindly, hitting her dead center.  

It hadn’t been aimed, but it had buried itself deep.  

And it wasn’t going to come out easily.  

“I just don’t want to get involved. It’s… messy. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake. What the hell does that mean?”

The man’s voice suddenly rose, breaking the hushed conversation with a sharp crack.  

The weight in the air shifted.  

“Shh! Keep your voice down. She’ll hear you.”

“What, scared your own kid might hear what you’re saying about her?”

“Ugh, are you drunk?”

“Drunk? Please. Look, just talk to her. Get close. She’s got money in there somewhere. You know how bad things are for me right now.”

“That damn gambling debt. I’m so sick of it.”

“Like I racked up that debt for fun? It was for *us*. To get ahead, to make our lives better.”

An argument.  

It was always about money.  

It had always been about money.  

Every time her mother spoke to her, it was about money.  

Lying on her side, Yaein blinked blankly at the darkened room.  

Her dry eyes burned, her eyelids scraping over them like sandpaper.  

She curled up tighter under the thin blanket, her spine arching like a shrimp.  

The living room was freezing.

Outside, the wind howled.  

She squeezed her eyes shut.  

Tomorrow.  

Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, she’d go out and look for work again.  

She had to get out of here.  

As soon as possible.

***

The bold letters on the window were impossible to miss, even from across the street.  

“Quick and easy. No credit checks. No job required. Anyone can apply.”

Despite its sketchy promise of fast cash, the building was large—one of the biggest branches in the area.  

The front desk was neat, designed to lure in desperate customers.  

But past that, deeper into the office, the atmosphere turned cheap and dull.  

The man sitting on the worn-out leather couch blinked stupidly, his buzzed hair giving him a rougher look.  

Across from him, behind a desk with a wilting orchid, sat a balding middle-aged man.  

He was the branch manager, and he clearly wasn’t pleased.  

Buzzcut wasn’t sure why he had been called in.  

His superior outranked him by far, so being summoned to the office wasn’t a good sign.  

“You went to school in Buwan-eup, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Know the area well?”

“I guess…?”

“Go find someone for me.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make a scene. If too many people go sniffing around, she’ll catch on. Just check if she’s there. And fix your damn shirt.”

The manager frowned, pointing at the mismatched buttons of Buzzcut’s wrinkled dress shirt.  

Buzzcut hastily fixed them, chuckling awkwardly.  

“I tell you to dress properly, but you always look like a damn thug.”

The manager clicked his tongue in disapproval.  

Straightening his shirt, Buzzcut laughed.  

“Who am I looking for?”

Someone must have run off with money.  

Being called in so suddenly and told to track someone down—it had to be a debtor who had fled.  

But for orders like this to come *from above*?  

That was rare.  

It piqued his curiosity.  

“A woman. In her twenties.”

That was surprising.  

Before Buzzcut could react, the manager pulled up a photo on his phone. 

The image showed a young woman in a dress, clapping at what looked like a formal event.  

Buzzcut’s jaw dropped.  

“Damn. She’s gorgeous.”

“Oh?”

A voice came from behind.  

Buzzcut barely had time to register the shift in the room before he felt the weight of a gaze pressing down on him.  

The manager’s face had gone pale.  

Following his superior’s nervous stare, Buzzcut turned—  

—and nearly jumped back.  

A tall man stood behind him, sharply dressed in a tailored suit that screamed *money*.  

His presence was overwhelming.  

It wasn’t just his height.  

It was the way he carried himself—the way his cold, assessing gaze made Buzzcut’s skin crawl.  

Instinct screamed *danger*.  

Buzzcut felt himself shrinking.  

“D-Director Kwon! If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve fetched you myself!”

The manager scrambled up, bowing deeply.  

Buzzcut followed suit, suddenly realizing who this man was.  

*The chairman’s son.*

That realization made his hair stand on end.  

Taeheon ignored their greetings.  

He strode inside, running his fingers across the nameplate on the manager’s desk.  

The manager hovered anxiously.  

“W-We’ve already pulled the taxi records. We were just about to send some guys to check if the madam is still in the area.”

Taeheon picked up a grimy ashtray, its edges lined with old burn marks.  

A green lighter lay beside it. 

He flicked it open, clicking the flint a few times.  

The small flame danced.  

The manager kept talking, nervous.  

“It shouldn’t take long. It’s a small town.”

Taeheon said nothing.  

Just played with the lighter.  

The tiny sparks flickered.  

Buzzcut watched, uneasy.  

The manager was a well-known brute.  

People feared him.  

Yet here he was, practically groveling.  

It was *unnatural*.  

“Why aren’t you answering?”

Taeheon’s voice was directed at him.  

Buzzcut hadn’t even realized he was being spoken to.  

A second later, the lighter was in front of his face.  

A thin flame wavered, bright and sharp.  

It felt hypnotic.  

Buzzcut swallowed.  

“I asked you,”** Taeheon murmured.  

“Is she pretty?”

The flame of the lighter came dangerously close to Buzzcut’s nose.  

He swallowed dryly.  

If he had bangs, they’d have been singed off already.  

His head instinctively leaned back.  

“H-Huh? Uh, I—”

“You were talking just fine a second ago. Why so quiet now? It’s not even a hard question.”

Taeheon’s voice was unnervingly calm—almost indifferent.  

But the heat of the flame was searing.  

Buzzcut couldn’t retreat any further.  

His neck strained as he pulled back, his nape stiff and aching.  

The flame flickered, grazing dangerously close to his nose.  

It was *hot*.  

Unconsciously, he shuffled backward—  

Only to bump into the desk behind him.  

With a strangled yelp, he stumbled onto the tabletop.  

The flame finally disappeared.  

“S-Sorry! I just meant—she’s stunning. I spoke carelessly. My mistake, sir.”*

Buzzcut stammered, still leaning back awkwardly.  

The lighter hovered in front of his face.  

“Ah, a mistake.”

Taeheon acknowledged the apology with exaggerated leniency.  

A moment of relief—  

But then—  

The lighter flicked on again.  

A flash of heat—  

The biting sting of burning flesh.  

The sharp scent of *scorched skin*.  

Buzzcut shrieked, flailing in panic.  

The flame had licked his nose before he could pull away.  

Pain spread rapidly, and he writhed—  

But Taeheon gripped the back of his head.  

Only after the damage had been done did he let go.  

Buzzcut collapsed, clutching his face.  

“Is this the guy you’re sending?”

Taeheon’s voice cut through his muffled groans.  

“He grew up in that area. Thought he’d know it well. But if he’s not to your liking, I’ll send someone else.”

Buzzcut barely registered the manager’s groveling.  

The only sound that echoed in his head was—  

**Click. Click.**  

The grinding wheel of the lighter.  

Each flick sent a fresh wave of pain through his burnt skin.  

“No need for that.”

Taeheon stopped playing with the lighter and leaned down, closer—  

Buzzcut hiccupped in fear.  

Taeheon didn’t react.  

Instead, he casually slipped the lighter into Buzzcut’s front pocket.  

“Bring her back. Carefully.”

His voice was quiet but left no room for disobedience.  

Buzzcut nodded frantically, still clutching his throbbing face.  

Without another glance, Taeheon turned and left the office.  

The silence that followed was suffocating.  

Even after the door shut behind him, no one spoke.  

The manager was the first to move.  

He grabbed Buzzcut by the arm, yanking him upright.  

“Go find that damn taxi driver. *Now*.”

The manager looked just as shaken.  

Like he, too, understood—  

If things went wrong, they were *f*cked*.  

Buzzcut cursed under his breath, stepping into the elevator.  

He checked his reflection in the polished doors.  

His nose was red, swollen.  

*F*ck.*

The curse slipped out instinctively.  

He was still muttering to himself when the elevator doors opened—  

And he immediately ducked back inside.  

Down the hall, Taeheon was leaving through the lobby.  

Buzzcut pressed himself against the wall, watching.  

The glass doors slid open.  

A subordinate greeted him.  

“Did everything go smoothly, sir?”

“Hmm. Took a look around while I was here. It’s…”

Taeheon trailed off.  

“The branch isn’t doing well?”

He didn’t answer.  

Just walked toward the parking lot.  

*They’re useless.*  

The operations, the employees—everything.  

It would be better to handle things himself.  

“They tracked the last location of the taxi she took from Busan Station.”

Taeheon spoke decisively.  

“Let’s go there.”

But his subordinate hesitated.  

Not answering right away.  

Taeheon’s steps slowed.  

“Why?”

“Sir… You might need to head back to Seoul.”

His brows lifted slightly.  

The subordinate quickly explained.  

“Shanghai contacted us. They’re stopping at Incheon Airport tonight. The dinner meeting got moved up.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Their schedule changed.”

Taeheon exhaled through his nose.  

“What’s the topic?”

“They’re bringing up the new casino resort in Zhuhai. Your father invested in Macau before, remember?”

“That worked out well for him.”

“Exactly. They’re suggesting we partner up again.”

“And?”

“Other ongoing deals, too. Sounds like they want us involved in their explosives clearance process.”

“And they want to discuss all this *tonight*, without notice?”

“Officially, they just want to treat you to a meal.”

The subordinate sounded doubtful even as he said it.  

A power move.  

A test.  

They had refused to meet in China, and this was their way of *correcting* that decision.  

One round of diplomacy might be necessary.  

Taeheon *should* go.  

It was a good deal.  

A worthwhile connection.  

But his instincts screamed at him—  

**Don’t leave.**  

The timing was *too* close.  

She was within reach.  

He could hear her breath.  

Feel her pulse hammering.  

The way her hair flew behind her as she ran.  

The slight shiver down her spine.  

Taeheon closed his eyes.  

He could *feel* it.  

She was *right there*.