“Are you telling me not to read a book?”
Seo Tae-joon turned his head, his gaze settling on Ji-woo. His eyes were as deep and silent as a tranquil sea, and the quiet in them was almost suffocating.
“What? What did I do?”
“How am I supposed to concentrate when my wife is staring at me like that?” He let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I can’t sleep.”
He set the book aside, his attention caught by her wide eyes. “Then, Ji-woo, can you tell me a story about the old days?”
“About what?”
“About us. For instance, our first—”
“—our first night?”
Seo Tae-joon shifted, lying down on his side to face her. The slight furrow of his brow suggested he was not amused.
“Not that one. How we first met.”
“…”
“I don’t want to hear about some worthless bastard who finishes too quickly.”
Ji-woo coughed to cover her embarrassment, praying the dim light hid the heat rising in her cheeks.
A man in a black raincoat, a shovel glinting in his hand, standing alone in the mountains… She violently shook the image from her mind. “We met in the mountains,” she said instead. “I’d left something behind, and you found it. You followed me to return it. That’s how we met.”
Fortunately, spinning a romance from the threads of a horror story wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared.
“That’s classic,” he murmured.
“Yes, it was.”
“Don’t tell me I returned your handkerchief.”
At his question, Ji-woo offered a small smile, swallowing the words she couldn’t say. It was my favorite electric saw.
“It was just a small comb.”
He smiled back, a soft, distant look in his eyes as if he were trying to picture it. The sight of that gentle expression filled her mouth with the bitter taste of guilt.
From now on, you will have to be more faithful to your husband if it’s true that we got married because we love each other. Seo Tae-joon’s words echoed in her ears, full of a hope and affection she didn’t deserve. If only he knew…
With every lie, she felt herself backed closer to the edge of a cliff. Seo Tae-joon seemed compliant most of the time, but every so often, he would say something that made her blood run cold—a chilling reminder that his doubts were still there, lurking beneath the surface. She had to make the lies better, more sincere.
It was just one mountain after another, and she was still climbing.
“Is Pine Tree Clinic here?”
The day of the open tournament had finally arrived.
“Yes, we are here!” Ji-woo raised her hand, trying to catch her breath.
They were gathered on a slope in a dense forest, a two-lane road curving behind them. Everyone stared up in awe at the thirty-meter Ginkgo tree, its massive form leaning at a precarious angle. One crooked branch, in particular, looked ready to snap, and the surrounding trees seemed to tilt away from it, as if in fear.
“Pine Tree Clinic has three participants, correct? Director Han Ji-woo and two others?”
“Yes… wait, what?” She turned to the inspector. “Three people?”
In her grand vision, Pine Tree Clinic was a prestigious institution staffed by tree doctor Han Ji-woo, arborist Park Mi-sook, flower arranger Seo Tae-joon, and insect specialist Lee Gyu-baek. In reality, it was just two women struggling to keep the lights on. So who, besides Mi-sook, is officially registered?
“It says here, a Mr. Seo Tae-joon.”
What?! As the director, she’d never registered him as an employee. Ji-woo froze, feeling as if she’d been turned to stone. But then she caught Seo Tae-joon’s inquisitive stare from beside her and quickly forced a smile, feigning nonchalance.
“Yes, yes… That’s right.”
I see. If someone had done this behind her back, there was only one person it could be.
Seo Tae-joon’s older brother, Seo Ki-seok.
Ji-woo pressed a finger to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. The man had a way of making his presence known, even from a distance. The thought of him made her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat.
—Han Ji-woo, how have you been?
He called once every three months. His intentions were transparent; each call was kindling, meant to keep the embers of her fear from dying out. Just the sound of his voice was enough to resurrect the terror of that night.
With every call, her resolve withered a little more.
…I feel like he's watching me.
Her heart began to hammer against her ribs. When will I ever be free from these shackles?
During the years Seo Tae-joon was in a vegetative state, the stress had been immense. She’d thought she would lose her mind. Yet, paradoxically, there had been moments of respite. Seo Ki-seok handled all the expenses, from nursing costs to doctors’ visits. Ji-woo hadn't had to worry about a thing, allowing her to focus on her work. Life had returned to a strange, peaceful normal, as if the events of that night were just a bad dream. She sometimes marveled that she'd escaped that slaughterhouse without so much as a scratch.
It was a simple, brutal equation. To Seo Ki-seok, Ji-woo was a hostage. And to Ji-woo, Seo Tae-joon was her hostage, her lifeline.
But everything had changed the moment he woke up. A seed of suspicion had taken root in her mind. It made no sense that a man like Seo Ki-seok, with all his resources, had failed to find the real culprit after two long years.
Perhaps she hadn't escaped at all. She had simply walked right into the prison Seo Ki-seok had built for her.