Since everything happened so unexpectedly, I found it hard to think rationally about Lee Seol-won, so I decided to put it aside for now.

But as for Heo Yeonseo, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him in many ways. Now that “the real man” had appeared, I couldn’t even imagine what would have happened if the scandal with Lee Seol-won had broken out on the day of the Gugak Festival media presentation, as I had originally planned.

“Right? Honestly, someone from a family like Heo Yeonseo’s could’ve just graduated from college, opened her own academy, maintained a respectable image, and gotten married. But to see her joining a private dance company and actively performing on stage, when she probably wouldn’t have even considered anything outside the national or city troupes, makes me think that she’s really serious about Korean dance.

The way people talked about Heo Yeonseo had changed a lot since our college days. I had to agree to a certain extent – I never thought I’d see her perform with the Hani Dance Company.

It’s extremely difficult to get into the national troupes in any field, especially since openings are so rare. And even if you do get in, there are so many incredibly talented people that personal connections or family influence don’t carry much weight.

That’s because the public has a keen eye when it comes to judging an artist’s talent.

So it was quite surprising that Heo Yeonseo, who had followed nothing but an elite path from competitions to university with the full support of her parents, continued to dance not with the national or city troupes, but with a private dance company.

“To be honest, it’s a win-win situation for Hani as well. Except for the national or a few city troupes, most private companies can’t even guarantee a steady salary and usually just split the performance income. But thanks to the efforts of a leading dancer from a wealthy family, they can perform in major theaters and establish themselves quickly.”

I was quietly listening to the conversation between my colleagues, who were sitting just a hand’s breadth away, when I felt a vibration in my pocket. Instinctively, I swallowed hard.

It was him.

I had set Eun-sae’s phone to vibrate so that I would know immediately if a message came in. After all, only he or Lee Seol-won would contact this number. But somehow I had a strong feeling that Lee Seol-won would never contact me first again.

I lowered my head and rummaged through my bag to find the phone. Without taking the device out, I just lit up the screen to check.

—Hey, guess where I found this photo?

He didn’t just send a message. There was also a large attached file. I opened it.

I could hardly stop myself from screaming.

In the photo, I was holding Lee Seol-won’s neck and kissing him. I remembered it vividly. It was the day I first met Lee Seol-won at Songun Art Hall. It was also the first day I pretended to be Hyun Eun-sae instead of Hyun Seo-hae.

At that time, I had deliberately staged the photo to cause a scandal. However, since not a single media outlet reported the story, I assumed that the photo didn’t even exist.

Up until that point, I really believed that I was the one who was helping to throw a bit of mud into Lee Seol-won’s otherwise spotless life.

But I was wrong – the real depths weren’t mine.

This was the abyss.

“Seo-hae? Seo-hae…?”

My colleagues who had been talking quietly waved their hands in front of my face.

“…Ah, yes?”

“You suddenly looked very pale. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m fine.”

I forced the corners of my stiff lips into something resembling a smile, trying to regain my composure. But I had no way of knowing if the effort was convincing.

— “Forget everything you saw and went through yesterday. And go back to the U.S. Don’t ever come back.”

Were those Lee Seol-won’s last words of advice to me – or a warning?

Did he know that a compromising photo had been taken on the day of the media presentation?

Did he know that a photo that once seemed to lie dormant had been dug up and sent to me – driven by someone’s malicious intent?

The fact that he sent the photo to me was basically a threat – an indication that he intended to use it for malicious purposes.

If a scandal erupts, people who know me might suspect that the woman in the photo is me, while people who know Eun-sae would assume that it’s her.

As questions arise and the pieces of my split identity fall into place, the chances of my secret being revealed would be almost one hundred percent. And if that happens, I’ll lose the chance to take her revenge disguised as Eun-sae.

No, Seo-hae. This isn’t just about you.

I may be part of the problem, but so is Lee Seol-won.

Although I had a job that required me to perform on stage, at the end of the day I was just a single gayageum player in an orchestral ensemble.

In fact, most people didn’t even know about the private gugak orchestra Gamanhan Sori, let alone a performer named Hyun Seo-hae.

Even musicians who play mainstream instruments such as piano or violin are only recognized if they’re among the few who have won prestigious international competitions.

There are hundreds, if not thousands, of Korean artists who perform overseas, but unless someone is a fan of that particular field, it’s rare for them to be recognized. Public awareness of gugak, a non-mainstream genre, is even more dismal.

But Lee Seol-won was different.

His family’s company, SW Company, is one of the leading corporations in Korea – no Korean would have heard of it. Moreover, as a third-generation chaebol executive, he was often in the media.

From the beginning, I was ready to leave the orchestra and return to my parents once I had made him pay for his sins.

Even if I was disgraced in the end, that label wouldn’t stay with me for long. Although there may not be as many opportunities for gayageum players in the U.S. as there are in Korea, if I looked hard enough, I could probably find a way to continue there.

But unlike me – someone who could quietly disappear to another country – Lee Seol-won had nowhere to go. Even if he was demoted or transferred, his whereabouts would always be public knowledge. This meant that he couldn’t just disappear on a whim.

So he couldn’t afford to disappear.

When I first decided to create a scandal, it was because I instinctively saw it as the most effective way to strike a blow, regardless of the power imbalance between us – or rather, because of that imbalance.

So it was something I started.

And something I have to take responsibility for.

So this was something I started – and I have to take responsibility for it.

Until now, I had deliberately avoided imagining it in detail. How devastating it would be if an infidelity scandal suddenly erupted targeting Lee Seol-won, the one who had brought the Songwoon Cultural Foundation and Art Hall to where they are today.

I just wanted it to explode as loudly as possible. The bigger the scandal, the better. Whatever disgrace he faced and however he tried to clean it up, it was his burden to bear. I thought I could just stand back, fan the flames, and watch the house burn down.

At least that’s what I believed – until the real him showed up.

I stared at the photo again, forcing myself to stay focused.

Stay calm, Seo-hae.

Think this through step by step.

He got his hands on something powerful enough to take down several people at once, but instead of going straight to the media, he decided to send a message to Eun-sae’s phone first.

What does that mean?

It means that he knows about Eun-sae’s feelings. That even though she chose another man in the end, she still hasn’t let go of Lee Seol-won – she still clings to him emotionally.

He must have calculated that Eun-sae wouldn’t be able to sit back and do nothing if he went after Lee Seol-won.

He probably sent the message expecting her to tremble and beg him not to do it.

Pathetic.

If it had been Eun-sae, she would have been swayed by the perpetrator’s threats, caught in a dirty web of manipulation and constantly exploited.

Yes – if it was Eun-sae.

If she were the one in the photo, if she were still alive, that’s probably what would have happened.

But I wasn’t the shy Eun-sae, and I wasn’t going to dance to his tune.

I couldn’t do it alone.

I looked outside.

It was late at night, dark and quiet – but I knew exactly where I had to go.

The company dinner that had been going on for about three hours was finally coming to an end. The drinks had made it last longer than usual.

“Seo-hae, how are you going to get home? I called a designated driver – do you want a ride on the way?”

“No, that’s okay. I have to stop somewhere, so I called a taxi.”

I held up my phone to show the app screen and sent my colleagues out in front of me. After they dispersed, I set my destination to Songun Art Hall and called a taxi.

“Your destination is Songun Art Hall, right? But… you’re going to an exhibition this late at night?”

The taxi driver asked in a friendly tone.

“Ah, yes… I have some things to take care of.”

“I see.”

I wasn’t in the mood to chat, so I gave a vague answer, and the driver seemed to understand – he said nothing more.

As the taxi glided quietly through the streets, I opened the Internet on my phone. I wanted to look up some information on the way.

Where should I start?

The outline of him was still frustratingly unclear, but still, he was probably someone who was connected to Lee Seol-won in some way. If Eun-sae met this man as a substitute for Lee Seol-won, then she must have chosen someone who had at least some contact with him.

I searched the Internet again for photos of the SW Company family. Up until then, I had only focused on Lee Seol-won and skipped over the pictures of everyone else.

That’s how consumed I was, with nothing but Lee Seol-won occupying my thoughts. That’s how powerful Eun-sae’s lie was for me.

I shouldn’t have let it happen.

I should have known how to recognize the colors of your lies, Eun-sae.

I really thought I knew everything about you… but I guess I didn’t.