Chapter 6 –
“Clara Baek left for Japan last night. She was accompanied by two young men — looks like she’s on vacation.”
Attorney Kang from the legal team reported to Executive Director Kwon Seung-won, who sat on the main seat of the office sofa reviewing documents.
“Have you identified them?”
“One’s a rookie model, the other is a fitness trainer.”
Kang pulled three photos from a white envelope and spread them out on the table. The men with Clara Baek — sleek-faced and openly affectionate with her at the airport — looked no older than their early twenties.
“We confirmed they checked into the hotel together. Only one room.”
“Keep watching. Secure the evidence.”
“Understood.”
With a subtle nod, Seung-won dismissed him. When the door shut, silence filled the room.
He checked his watch — 7:40 AM. Twenty minutes before the morning meeting.
Leaving the photos where they lay, he rose from the sofa, walked to the mini-fridge, and pulled out a bottle of water. His office — on the 27th floor of the Mobile Division — overlooked the city of Pangyo through spotless glass walls.
He twisted the cap open and drank deeply, eyes half-lidded as sunlight glimmered beyond the glass.
This should end quietly. No need to make it bigger than it is. The key is to find her weakness — then make it disappear.
He’d already learned that Clara Baek’s sudden trips abroad with young men were part of her creative ritual — something she did before every exhibition.
“I draw inspiration from the raw instincts of human nature.”
That’s what she’d once said in an interview — and it explained everything. Or almost everything. Her obsession with him still defied logic.
Then came a knock.
“Come in,” Seung-won said, still gazing out the window.
It was Assistant Manager Jung Hyeong-jin from the secretary’s office, carrying a report file.
“Director Kwon, the Device Solutions team has finished reviewing the technical standardization documents. Also, about the art gallery booking you asked me to check…”
Seung-won capped the empty water bottle and turned.
“It was booked under the name Baek Min-jeong. Hall C at Haerang Art Museum. The exhibition is scheduled for the end of next month, and she’s preparing to promote it through her agency.”
“Which agency?”
“Etranger Korea. After the Korea show, she’s set to continue the exhibition in France. This is a copy of her agency contract.”
Seung-won placed the empty bottle on the desk and opened the document. His eyes stopped on the liability and penalty clauses — fines and damages in case of public scandal.
Perfect.
A cold smile spread across his lips.
Later that morning, Yoon-ah woke to the buzz of her phone.
She’d been exhausted — visiting art academies to prepare for lessons during the day and researching recent art exam trends late into the night.
Who’s texting this early…
She squinted at the screen. The name flashing beside the message icon was Senior Gun-woo.
[Hey, Yoon-ah. I heard you’re taking it easy these days? I got a model for sketch practice. Want to come to the studio?]
[Sure! What time should I be there?]
[Three o’clock. I’ll keep the good sketches for my lecture material. That okay?]
[No problem.]
She smiled. It had been years since she last joined a live croquis (quick sketch) session.
In the kitchen, she made herself a quick toast, golden-brown and buttery, and flipped open her old drawing sketchbook as she munched.
Back in her college days, she’d joined croquis gatherings religiously — sometimes twice a day during vacations.
Those were the days… drawing from dawn till night felt like happiness itself.
She left home on time, caught the subway, and picked up six coffees and a box of cookies at a café near Seongsu Station before heading to the studio.
Contrary to her expectations, only Gun-woo and Somi, an old classmate, were there.
Seeing her hands full, Gun-woo commented dryly:
“The only ones with free time are you two. Everyone else has jobs or lovers.”
“Ah… right.”
“So yeah — the only unemployed singles are you and Somi.”
His bluntness stung. Yoon-ah cleared her throat and handed out the drinks.
“Thanks. Leave the rest there and get ready — the model’s in the changing room.”
She set her bag down, rolled an easel beside Somi, and sat. It was her first time seeing Somi since graduation.
Before Yoon-ah could even greet her, Somi leaned in and whispered:
“I saw the model earlier. Total heartthrob. He’s an actual model, apparently.”
“Really?”
“Yup. He just came back from Japan and even gave me this chocolate with Japanese writing. What do you think that means?”
Somi poked Yoon-ah’s side with her elbow, her eyes sparkling.
“He’s probably interested in you.”
“Right? You think so too?”
“Mm-hm.”
Somi giggled, carefully pocketing the chocolate and tucking her hair behind her ear.
“You know Gun-woo’s brother’s a model, right? So all the models he gets for sketch sessions are from the industry.”
“Oh… really?”
“You didn’t know?”
Somi stared, baffled.
“How could you not know that? Anyway, I never skip when he hosts these. I even begged off work tomorrow just to come today.”
“I see…”
They were still chatting when the door opened.
A man stepped in — white robe draped over a lean, sculpted body, features sharp and flawless.
A tearing sound — chiiik — filled the room as Yoon-ah ripped the last sheet from her sketchpad.
The once-thick book was now down to a few pages.
Gun-woo took the pad from her with a satisfied grin.
“Still got the touch, huh? That’s why I keep calling you back.”
Yoon-ah smiled awkwardly, remembering how he’d just called her “unemployed and single” hours earlier.
“That guy’s a rookie, but he’s walked a few runways already. Expensive, though. Said he’s done croquis gigs before. Poses were good, right?”
“Yeah. Very natural — gave us a lot to work with.”
“Exactly. Worth the money. Let’s wrap up and head out.”
“Somi hasn’t come back yet. She said she was going to the bathroom. I’ll go check.”
He nodded absently, eyes still on her drawings.
Yoon-ah stepped outside. The building was old, the restroom located down the corridor.
Stretching her arms high above her head, she let out a sigh. Her shoulders ached from hours of sketching — but she felt refreshed, liberated even.
I really need my own studio soon.
Just then, the door to the men’s restroom swung open — suddenly, sharply.
