Se-hyeon lay on his side, with Ji-an’s head on his arm, and watched her silently.

She must have fallen into a deep sleep, as she didn’t so much as twitch. With every soft inhalation, he could hear the faint sound of her hair brushing against his ear.

Had he ever offered her his arm like this before? He hadn’t meant to tonight either.

Usually, as soon as their passionate nights ended, he would get up straight away. But when she collapsed as though she had fainted, he had laid her down, somehow ending up in this position.

“Mmm…”

Perhaps caught in a nightmare, Ji-an furrowed her brow.

Se-hyeon lifted a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. With his forefinger, he traced the neat line of her brow.

Fascinated by her thick lashes, he brushed them and her lids fluttered. His finger slid down the straight bridge of her nose and tapped her swollen lip.

‘Se-hyeon… please……sob..’

He could still picture her face, her hands clutching his shoulders as she cried.

Since that night, he had relentlessly pursued her. When he told her to try to get pregnant, Ji-an didn’t respond.

Thinking of last night, he remembered the packet of birth control pills he’d found on her dressing table.

They had always avoided conception for three years, but after that day, he had done nothing.

“Do your best not to conceive during that time. Prove that you’re not Yang Jin-hee’s pawn and I’ll grant you a divorce whenever you want.”

He couldn’t read her anymore. He’d assumed he understood her, but he realised that he had no idea what she was thinking or planning.

He’d thought she was completely open with him; yet today, she had behaved in an unpredictable way, calling him first and obeying his order to kiss him — things she had never done before.

“..…”

Then Ji-an, her face crumpled in sleep, began to sob. The closed eyes grew damp, tears sliding down his arm.

“That sweet girl cried in front of me— isn’t that all your fault?”

 His grandmother’s words resurfaced.

‘How hurt must she be to cry like that?’

Apart from the rare occasions when she cl*maxed in bed, Yoo Ji-an had never cried in front of him — not since the day they first met at the funeral home.

As her muffled sobs grew louder, his arm became steadily damp.

Seeing her weep so sorrowfully stirred something in him — an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

Looking down at her, Se-hyeon found himself recalling the second time they had met.

***

Three Years Ago.

“I—I’ll pay it soon. I’m really sorry.”
Ji-an held her phone tightly in both hands and bowed her head in apology.

—”You have to make the payment by the end of this month. It’s already been delayed for months now.”

The voice at the other end of the line had been sympathetic when she first called, but was now cold with frustration. They could not be lenient any longer.

“I’m sorry.”

Ji-an repeated this, and as the call ended, she let out a weary sigh.

The phone had been ringing non-stop throughout her university class, with calls coming from the hospital’s administrative office where her younger brother had been admitted.

Her ailing grandmother was in a nursing home.

Her younger brother was recovering from heart surgery in hospital.

Although they had received some donations, they were nowhere near enough.

The rapidly increasing medical bills were overwhelming — so much so that Ji-an felt like she couldn’t breathe.

‘What should I do now…’

She had been attending school on a full scholarship, but a misstep this semester cost her everything.

She missed a final exam last term due to illness caused by working too many part-time jobs, resulting in her losing her scholarship.

Scraping together enough money for tuition had already been difficult.

After everything that had happened, it seemed likely that she would have to take a leave of absence.

Working rather than studying seemed like the only option.

Thankfully, it was still early in the semester and she could withdraw.

This wasn’t the first time she had taken time off school due to financial issues.

It seemed she would have to delay her studies once more.

“Hoo…”

Ji-an exhaled deeply.

She had a little time before her evening shift. She had planned to visit Ji-min that day and her grandmother the next. It had been three days since she had last seen either of them, and she had used her busy schedule as an excuse.

Hurrying up, Ji-an headed towards the place where her brother was waiting for her.

***

“Ji-min, It’s me, I’m here.”
Ji-an forced a cheerful tone into her voice.

It had been three months since the surgery, yet Ji-min was still in the ICU.

Although the operation itself had gone well, complications afterwards had made recovery difficult.

“How are you feeling today?”

Despite the lack of a response, Ji-an smiled faintly.

She dipped a towel in warm water and gently wiped Ji-min’s face and hands.

Ji-min had been born with a heart defect.

She had undergone several surgeries, even as a child. Her body had always been weak, but her condition had worsened significantly in recent years, making this latest operation inevitable.

They had put it off for as long as possible, but eventually the procedure went ahead, though Ji-an had never imagined the recovery would be so difficult.

“While you’ve been lying here, autumn has begun.”

Ji-an whispered, gently stroking her brother’s cheek as she carefully applied lotion.

“It was sweltering just a little while ago, but now the air’s turning cool. You love autumn, don’t you? We still need to go and see the autumn leaves together.”

Her voice remained steady, but tears gradually welled in her eyes as she looked down at her brother.

Despite Ji-an’s soft, loving words, Ji-min remained completely still — unmoving and unresponsive.

After their mother died, Ji-min had clung to her like a second mother. He had always been the sweet, obedient little brother.

Ji-an was still young, but after losing their father too, she had had no choice but to step up and become the head of the family. She raised Ji-min as if he were her own son.

Perhaps that’s why it hurt so much now. Seeing her brother lying there with his eyes closed made Ji-an’s heart ache in ways she couldn’t describe.

“…You can hear me, right?”

Nevertheless, Ji-an didn’t want to cry in front of his brother. She clenched her teeth, fighting back tears.

Their grandmother was suffering from dementia. Ji-min was like this, too. Their older brother hadn’t been in touch for a long time either.

Ji-an felt as though she had been abandoned by the world.

She remembered hearing about the so-called three years of misfortune — samjae, as it was called. Maybe this was hers.

When would all of this finally end? The future felt like a pitch-black void.

“But still… I know our dad is watching over us.”

‘He’ll help us.’

Their father had loved them more than anyone else. If he really was watching from somewhere, Ji-an believed with all her heart that he wouldn’t just turn away and do nothing.

Quickly wiping the tears trailing down her cheeks with the back of her hand, she steadied herself.

“Hoo…”

Even as she carefully applied lotion to Ji-min’s hands, she couldn’t stop crying and had to pause to catch her breath.

His hands had always been delicate and beautiful. He loved the piano and had once dreamed of becoming a pianist.

However, due to the family’s financial situation and his deteriorating health, he had quietly abandoned that dream.

Gently holding her brother’s soft, childlike hands, Ji-an whispered,

“If you can hear me, you have to wake up, okay? Promise me, Ji-min. Promise your sister.”

Every day felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, clinging on for dear life. If she let her guard down for even a moment, she felt like she would plummet into the abyss.

Living under such pressure left her drained in every possible way.

Things might feel a little easier if only Ji-min would wake up. But how long would this go on?

Swallowing her frustration, Ji-an looked at her brother again, bracing herself.

This, too, would pass — she had to believe that.

***

‘Apparently, the protester is here again today, holding a one-person demonstration outside the company.’

Se-hyeon closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

His relentless schedule since early morning had already left him exhausted, but he felt a surge of irritation when he heard Tae-hoon’s report, which left a dull throb in his head.

Only two weeks had passed since he had returned to Korea and officially joined the company. He had spent every day since then trying to get to grips with ongoing affairs. However, the real problem started two days before he returned.

A factory worker had died suddenly at work. The incident occurred during working hours, and the labour union was now using it as leverage to push for wage negotiations, even launching a strike.

“What about the autopsy?”

“They’re still refusing to cooperate.”

“They’re just being stubborn, refusing everything without reason.”

Se-hyeon pressed his temple with his fingers, clearly fed up.

The company had requested an autopsy to determine the cause of death, but the victim’s family did not want it. Instead, they continued to protest outside the company building, demanding the return of a life already lost.

To make matters worse, another employee had died in a factory accident just a few months earlier. This further damaged the company’s already tarnished reputation. This was a crisis that could not be ignored — it had to be addressed, no matter the cost.

Adding fuel to the fire were the persistent rumours that Se-hyeon had only been promoted to Executive Director because he was the Chairman’s son, Woo Seung-beom.

From the moment he joined the company, problems seemed to explode all at once, and the constant pressure only exacerbated his relentless headaches.

Knock knock.

Just then, there was a knock at the office door.

“Yes.”

With his permission, the door opened.

“Executive Director, the madam is here.”

Madam?

At those words, Se-hyeon’s expression instantly twisted in displeasure.

Right behind the secretary, Yang Jin-hee strolled in, wearing a haughty expression.

“I’m here, Director Woo.”

She said, casting him a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.