"If you want to keep your teeth, shut your mouth."
Hwang Jo-yoon nodded, his body trembling.
“Good boy.” Seo Tae-joon seized him by the collar and dragged him out of the house. The street outside was empty, the air still and silent. A sob broke from Hwang Jo-yoon’s throat. Without a moment’s hesitation, Seo Tae-joon hauled him toward the house directly across the street—the very house Hwang Jo-yoon had recently purchased.
Hwang Jo-yoon struggled weakly, blood smearing his lips. The thought of being forced into that house with this man sent a fresh wave of terror through him.
“Wondering how I found your little hideout?” Seo Tae-joon asked, his voice a low rasp, thick with suppressed rage. “One night, I was on the hospital porch. I looked over and saw this house. It occurred to me that if I were to be intimate with Ji-woo, anyone watching from that window would see everything.”
“You should have stayed hidden,” Seo Tae-joon continued, his tone dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You should have disappeared for good so she’d never have to think about you again. All you’ve done is make her suffer.”
Petrified, Hwang Jo-yoon could only listen. “It’s time to grow up. A man in a boy’s body just gets himself kicked.”
With that, Seo Tae-joon dragged him to the front door and kicked it open. In the split second before he was pulled into the darkness, Hwang Jo-yoon saw a pedestrian approaching, a plastic grocery bag swinging from his hand. It was his only chance. He screamed, a desperate, strangled sound.
The man in the baseball cap stopped and turned, his gaze falling upon them. He had to have seen the ropes binding Hwang Jo-yoon’s hands. He saw me! He saw me!
A wild glimmer of hope flashed across Hwang Jo-yoon’s face, but it died as quickly as it appeared. The pedestrian simply turned away and quickened his pace, vanishing down the street. His last hope was gone. Another neighbor walked past, entering a nearby house without so much as a glance in their direction.
What is wrong with people in this country? There was no escape.
The man in the baseball cap entered the house and set his plastic bag on the floor. The room was a mess of scattered newspapers, some piled in neat bundles. Near the window, a high-magnification lens was mounted on a tripod. The man settled into the chair beside it, peering through the scope at Ji-woo’s house as if it were his daily routine.
He was making a fuss yesterday. Looks like they finally caught him. “Messed with the wrong person,” the man murmured to himself. “Got caught by the master.”
It was the first time in years he had seen Seo Tae-joon up close. The brief happiness of the reunion evaporated instantly. The sight of Seo Tae-joon mercilessly dragging the other man inside sent a chill crawling up his spine.
If it weren’t for that head injury… The man’s eyes widened. He pulled out his phone. Seo Tae-joon had seemed strangely calm, almost docile. It was nothing like the man he knew—a man with a fiery temper and a murderous glint in his eye. It seemed the amnesia was real.
“Director, this is Beom-hee.” My master… even docile, even with his memory gone, he’s still capable of murder.
For the first time in days, Ji-woo woke from a deep and peaceful sleep. She sat up in bed, savoring the quiet stillness of the morning. Subconsciously, she had begun to grow accustomed to the unfamiliar scent on her pillow. Just as she was enjoying the tranquility, a man’s face flashed through her mind, and the peace shattered.
She rubbed her eyes and padded out into the living room. “Seo Tae-joon…”
He was standing at the kitchen island, trimming bright red flowers. He worked with a practiced ease, his fingers deftly stripping thorns and pruning stems. Ji-woo’s eyes widened. He looked up then, seeing her standing in the middle of the room.
“Ji-woo,” he said with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”
He set the flowers down. Seeing his casual, easy smile, she felt as if the terrifying events of the past week had been nothing but a dream. He walked toward her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Practicing my flower arranging.”
“Why?”
“I want to start working again,” he said. “Get back to a normal life. Or at least, what I think my normal life was before I lost my memory.”
Ji-woo felt a sharp prick of guilt. She had never regretted the web of lies she had spun—it had been for her own survival. But right now, looking at the sincerity in his eyes, she couldn’t meet his gaze. She turned away.
“Where did you get the flowers?”
“I picked them from the flowerbed outside.” He gestured toward the window.
Ji-woo glanced at his profile as he looked out the window. The sharp line of his jaw, the smoothness of his skin. He turned back, and their eyes met.
“Do you want me to tie up your hair?” he offered.
“Ah… I must look a mess, right?” Embarrassed, Ji-woo ran a hand through her tangled hair.
“No.” He stepped closer, his voice calm. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around. “It’s just an excuse. I want to touch your hair.”