Prologue

Sejeong was truly meticulous that day. Even her left eye was in good condition. Not too flashy, not too plain, with the minimum accessories and a neat autumn dress, her straight hair dancing below her shoulders—everything was flawless and pleasing to the eye.

It was her first time visiting a Cheongdam-dong membership studio that coordinated everything perfectly, from hair to clothes to shoes. The reservation was under her name, but the membership card belonged to Seri, her older sister.

Twenty minutes passed before a knock sounded. The manager of the private room opened the door and politely ushered in the man Sejeong had been waiting for.

He was exceptionally tall. Perhaps around 190 centimeters, maybe even a little more. His broad shoulders and long limbs radiated an imposing aura. There was a sense of solemnity, as if this were not a blind date but a business meeting to settle a decisive matter.

“I’m late.”

There was no apology for being late. He spoke mechanically and sat across from Sejeong. It was as if Sejeong, not he, was the one who’d been late—his manner was so confidently overbearing. Pressed by his presence, Sejeong answered with a barely audible “Yes,” like a mosquito, and fixed her nervous gaze on his crisp white collar.

Meeting him again after ten years, he looked just like in the photos. No, his face was even more refined and sharper than in the pictures. When he frowned slightly at the hot coffee, his strong jawline seemed even more pronounced.

Without a word, he picked up a Royal Copenhagen teacup—one used by the Danish royal family—and brought it to his lips. Her family once had the same teacup. To be precise, they used to have it. Her father had proudly displayed it at the kitchen entrance, but Seri had broken every single one and run off, so now not a single piece remained.

Yeo Un-rok set down the teacup and looked at her. Then he took out his softly chiming phone from his pocket, glanced at it, and put it back. There was an unconscious elegance in his movements. Even after growing up, the refined manners ingrained in a precious young master remained. He never rushed, yet there was nothing frivolous or unnecessary—only sharpness.

“Ms. Eun Sejeong.”

“Huh? Yes.”

Sejeong, who had been staring at his hands, looked up at him in surprise. The left hand, beloved by classical music lovers in Korea and across Europe—including herself—appeared perfectly normal. Five fingers, white and firm, exuded a fierce strength, but the last two were damaged only internally.

“Were you ever my fan?”

His mocking question made Sejeong pause. Was it because she’d stared at his hand, or because his stepmother had hinted at something?

“Yes……”

Sejeong replied in a voice so timid it sounded like she was confessing to a crime. As if it were her fault that, at just eighteen, he suffered a tragic accident right before his first contract with Deutsche Grammophon, or as if she had something to do with the grand piano’s body that crushed his extraordinary fingers and shattered his bones. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to look him straight in the face.

Yeo Un-rok said nothing and took out a cigarette from a case marked with the Treasurer logo and lit it. He didn’t even ask if it was okay to smoke. The smoke drifted out the open window, dispersing like empty mist. September, just after Chuseok, with early autumn’s air, quickly became tinged with the sharp scent of smoke.

“Ms. Eun Sejeong, such a pretty name. It gives a good impression. Truly.”

His tone carried a faint sarcasm, making it unclear whether it was genuine praise or a sneer. Still, she felt she had to respond. Swallowing the saliva that had gathered in her tense throat, she coughed several times before finally opening her mouth.

“Mr. Yeo Un-rok… you also have a wonderful name. I’m sure you hear that a lot.”

He didn’t reply and simply closed his eyes. Then he exhaled smoke toward the window again. Beneath his neatly drawn eyebrows, his closed eyelashes were like the tips of a bird’s wings just before flight.

“It means high and beautiful happiness. Un-rok. But the owner of the name is far from its meaning.”　

He carelessly tossed the cigarette, still between his fingers, into the teacup.

“I’m trash, you see.”

Sejeong’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“So if you marry me, Ms. Eun Sejeong, you’ll become trash too. Like the saying ‘husband and wife are one.’”

“Pardon……?”

“Or… maybe Ms. Eun Sejeong, you are trash too, in reality. Perhaps.”

Yeo Un-rok smirked. He seemed amused by Sejeong’s suddenly pale complexion.

“Then our household, living together only on paper, will be a complete trash bin… since both spouses are trash.”

Sejeong’s lips moved slightly. Her left eye, which had been somewhat fine, suddenly throbbed with pain. It was a psychological reaction that occurred when startled or emotionally shocked. Yeo Un-rok drank the now cold tea as if it were water and looked directly at her.

“Baek Seongyeong—my father’s secretary and mistress, now officially registered—she’s the one pushing this marriage forward. I don’t know what she told you, Ms. Eun Sejeong…….”

Now, even the sarcasm lingering at his lips was gone. Only a chilling, bottomless hostility filled Yeo Un-rok.

“For your own sake, it would be best if you refused this marriage, Ms. Eun Sejeong.”

“Um, what do you mean……. I was told the marriage was already decided…….”

“You have a good reason to refuse. Fortunately.”

Yeo Un-rok straightened his arrogantly crossed legs and slowly stood up.

“You probably know I’ve been taking antidepressants for a long time… besides my mental issues, there’s another good reason for you, Ms. Eun Sejeong. I have a lover I’ve been with for a long time. I have absolutely no intention of breaking up. Between me and that woman, until one of us dies.”

Sejeong’s eyes shook violently. This time, she was truly shocked.

“No matter who I marry, weekdays, weekends, whenever I feel like it, I’ll go to my lover’s house for s*x. The wife is just a legal mate. What do you think? Even if you’re marrying for family or money, do you want to have such a trashy marriage?”

Yeo Un-rok picked up his suit jacket. His gaze toward her was as empty as glass, devoid of any warmth.

“Go home now. And tell them you can’t marry me.”

“Um… that…….”

“You understand, right?”

He spoke as if soothing a child who couldn’t grasp his words. A beautiful smile flickered at Yeo Un-rok’s lips, then vanished like a lie. He turned and left the room, never once looking back at her.