Chapter 4
Lee Yooran was a married woman, yet his father had chased after her like a madman. When Kang Ryun was young, he hadn’t understood it at all.
He used to think his father simply had too much work whenever he wouldn’t come home for days on end—so long that even his face had grown hazy in his memory.
After all, his father was none other than the head of Hwabaek’s house—Cha Junseong.
“Mom, is Dad not coming home tonight either?”
“Yes… Daddy is very busy with work.”
A huge house. People who treated him kindly. And above all, his father, Cha Junseong, who stood above them all.
Even at a young age, Kang Ryun could understand the weight of that responsibility and all the interests tangled up in it.
So when his mother said Dad couldn’t come home because he was busy with work—
when she forced an awkward smile at him—
he had thought that was just how a spouse naturally shared that burden.
At some point, Kang Ryun stopped asking for his father.
As time passed, the responsibility Cha Junseong bore for Hwabaek’s house gradually shifted onto Kang Ryun’s shoulders. He grew up normally—no, at a pace far beyond normal.
When “Mom” turned into “Mother,” when “Dad” became “Father,” and the warmth between them faded into cold distance, Kang Ryun saw the hidden loneliness behind his mother’s life of plenty.
His mother, Yoo Chaei, slowly withered between a loveless husband and a son who had inherited that same indifference. In the end, the only lifeline she grabbed was an affair.
Ironically, even in her affair, she never escaped Cha Junseong’s shadow. Her lover had been none other than Cha Junseong’s chief secretary. Only recently did Kang Ryun discover that his father had orchestrated the entire affair.
Craving Cha Junseong’s affection like someone dying of thirst drinking seawater, she clung to him yet kept meeting Secretary Kim—
as if trying to fill the void of her unfulfilled love with him.
That secret relationship continued until the day she took her own life.
On the day Kang Ryun returned to college after completing his military service, he got the call. It came from the emergency room at Korea University Hospital.
—“Hello, this is Korea University ER. Are you Ms. Yoo Chaei’s son?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
—“We couldn’t reach your father, so we’re contacting you urgently. Ms. Yoo Chaei is in critical condition. She needs emergency surgery, but we need a guardian’s signature.”
They said his mother had slit her own wrist.
By the time the house staff found her, her wrist had been nearly severed, dangling by threads. He later learned that for a woman to cut that deep meant she must have done it repeatedly and with great force. The doctor even said the cause of death might have been shock.
Kang Ryun just stood silently outside the operating room. Many people wept outside, waiting for their loved ones.
The red-lit “In Surgery” sign glowed before his eyes.
He slowly scanned the people pouring out their sorrow in their own ways.
Even then, he was the only one standing there for his mother.
There was no one else to cry for her.
That day, his mother left this world by her own hand.
Hwabaek’s house, one of Korea’s leading global conglomerates.
With businesses in electronics, construction, distribution, and even global cultural projects—there was no Korean who didn’t know Hwabaek’s house.
And Cha Kang Ryun, CEO of Hwabaek Construction. His background alone made him a figure of attention, but his striking looks amplified that even more, giving him popularity rivaling a celebrity’s.
So it was only natural that Seoyeon recognized Kang Ryun the moment she saw him.
That day had started like any other ordinary day for Seoyeon. As usual, she’d been tidying up the backyard to paint, then stepped into the house through the front door—only to stop at the sight of two unfamiliar pairs of shoes lined neatly in the entryway.
Someone was here.
In this secluded villa deep in the mountains, no one had visited in over ten years. Seoyeon stood still, half curious, half expectant, then gently pushed open the inner door to peek inside. The house was empty—no sign of any stranger. But amid the ticking clock, she heard something out of place.
Voices.
Carefully, Seoyeon slipped off her shoes and tiptoed up to the second floor.
She could hear faint voices coming from her father’s study.
For more than ten years since her mother’s passing, her father, Yeontaek, had completely cut himself off from people. Every time she cautiously asked him to go into town with her, he would coldly refuse.
So she was glad that someone had come to see him.
Flushed with nervous excitement, Seoyeon headed to the first-floor kitchen.
She opened a cupboard to find a small box labeled Peppermint Tea in neat handwriting, with only a few cheap tea bags inside. Thinking of the expensive-looking shoes she’d seen at the door, Seoyeon swallowed nervously. She rummaged through the kitchen just in case, but the villa, untouched by visitors for so long, held nothing else fit to serve guests.
Would this be alright? With a worried look, Seoyeon stared at the tea bags for a moment, then sighed and picked one up. The kettle on the stove was already whistling with steam.
She hummed a quiet tune as she worked, carefully tearing open the tea bag and dropping it into the pot. Despite her worry, the rising aroma was surprisingly pleasant.
She took out two teacups decorated with big pink roses and set them on a tray, then added the teapot and carefully carried the tray upstairs to the study.
“Excuse me for interrupting. I brought some tea—may I come in?”
“…Come in.”
The voice that answered from inside the study was low and rough.
Worried, Seoyeon’s brow creased slightly as she knocked on the door a little harder.
When she opened the door, the study was thick with stale air.
Bathed in warm sunlight, two figures cast shadows on the floor.
Instinctively, Seoyeon’s eyes turned to the man. He was sitting leisurely in front of her father, one leg crossed over the other. The shaded outline of his profile was clear—relaxed and composed, unlike her father’s stiff posture. For a moment, he looked so at ease there that she almost wondered if he were the owner of this study instead.
Slowly, the man turned his head. Backlit, his face was shadowed, but Seoyeon could see it clearly.
Sharp eyes locked onto her.
Was it just the shadows?
The moment her gaze met his endless, pitch-black pupils, she felt like she’d been caught, unable to move.
Time seemed to slow inside the study.
A heavy tension that made it hard to breathe pressed down on her steps. She knew instinctively—she couldn’t afford to make a mistake now. She gripped the tray so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Maybe she should’ve prepared better tea.
Hands trembling slightly, she lowered the tray onto the table with great care. Lifting the teapot, she poured the tea, then handed him the cup.
“I’m sorry, we only have peppermint tea at home. I hope it suits your taste.”
“The aroma’s nice. Thank you.”
His deep, calm voice suited him perfectly. The crisp, bitter scent of wood mixed strangely with the sharp peppermint—it was oddly captivating, somehow.
When Seoyeon set down the teapot, she felt his gaze on her and looked up.
At some point, he’d been watching her, and their eyes met squarely.
Ah.
A small sound escaped Seoyeon’s lips. At that, the man’s eyes crinkled.
In that fleeting moment, the cold sharpness of his features softened into something unexpectedly gentle.
Caught by that subtle but clear change, Seoyeon found herself staring at him again—this time, unable to look away.
Inside her slippers, her toes curled tight.
Riiing.
The phone on her desk buzzed loudly, jolting Seoyeon out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen—Hanoh Gallery’s Director Cha Inoh.
“Yes, Director.”
—“Seoyeon, how have you been?”
“Very well, and you?”
His gentle voice drifted through the line.
Pushing thoughts of Kang Ryun out of her head, Seoyeon perched on her desk.
—“About the piece for our gallery’s 20th anniversary—how’s it going?”
Seoyeon lifted her head to look at the painting hanging on the opposite wall. Finished just that morning, it glowed faintly in the sunlight, giving off a subtle air.
“I think it’s good. Shall I send it over by Thursday?”
—“Yes, please don’t be late.”
“Of course. Don’t worry.”
They exchanged a few more business-like words, mostly about Hanoh Gallery’s anniversary exhibition.
“I’ll be in touch again soon.”
—“Seoyeon, wait a moment.”
Director Inoh’s voice stopped her just as she was about to hang up.
Seoyeon paused, the phone pressed to her ear.
“Yes, Director?”
—“It’s nothing urgent, but…”
Cha Inoh hesitated for a moment before letting out a short sigh.
—“You know, Seoyeon, there’s been a rumor going around lately. I didn’t want to bring it up, but… do you perhaps know Kang Ryun?”
Seoyeon, who had been lightly tapping her knee with her fingertip, stopped.
“…Pardon?”
—“I heard a rumor that you’ve met Kang Ryun recently. It could just be gossip, but the art scene is sensitive about these things. You know how people talk.”
Seoyeon’s eyes widened slightly.
“Where did you hear that?”
—“I heard it from someone who saw you near the villa. They said they spotted a car with Kang Ryun’s number plate. It might be nonsense, but you know how the gallery’s board can be… They’ll latch onto any rumor.”
“I see.”
She swept a strand of hair behind her ear. There was no point denying it—someone had clearly seen him here.
But what was there to explain? She didn’t even know Kang Ryun. He’d shown up unannounced—like an unexpected storm—and then disappeared just as suddenly.
—“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Seoyeon. I just wanted to make sure you’re not caught off guard if someone asks you about it.”
“Yes… thank you, Director. I appreciate it.”
—“I know you, Seoyeon. I know you wouldn’t get involved in anything strange. I trust you.”
His warm words made her throat tighten for a moment.
“…Thank you. I’ll call you again once I’ve sent the painting.”
—“Alright. I look forward to it.”
After the call ended, Seoyeon put down her phone and let out a small sigh.
She rested her elbow on the desk, gently rubbing her temple. The memory of Kang Ryun’s sharp gaze still lingered vividly in her mind—dark, bottomless, as if it had seen straight through her.
Why had he come here?
What did he want from her father?
She had too many questions, but no one to ask. Her father wouldn’t tell her anything.
She looked up at the half-finished canvas next to her new painting.
A half-painted sky that she’d abandoned weeks ago. For some reason, it felt like her mind was just as blank as that empty patch of canvas.
In the meantime, at the Hwabaek Group’s headquarters in Seoul, Cha Jin Taek was sitting stiffly in the executive meeting room.
He was staring down at a report, his forehead creased with tension.
Across from him, Kang Ryun sat at the head of the table, one hand tapping lightly against the armrest.
The room was quiet—unbearably so.
Kang Ryun flipped through the pages Jin Taek had handed him, his expression unreadable.
After a while, he dropped the file onto the table with a dull thud.
“Cha Jin Taek.”
“Yes, Director.”
“Do you know why this bothers me?”
“…I apologize. I thought it would be the best option for now, considering the risk…”
Kang Ryun let out a low laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“The best option? Are you saying wasting the company’s resources on a stalled project is your best option?”
Cha Jin Taek’s shoulders stiffened.
“It’s temporary. If we freeze the funds for now—”
“‘Temporary.’” Kang Ryun repeated the word slowly, then leaned back in his chair.
His eyes, pitch-black and sharp as ever, locked onto Jin Taek’s face like they were pinning him in place.
“If you want to stay here, Cha Jin Taek, you’d better remember something.”
“…Yes, sir.”
“Hwabaek’s house doesn’t buy time. We buy results.”
Kang Ryun’s voice was calm—almost gentle. But the pressure in the air made Jin Taek feel as if his lungs were being squeezed.
“Get out.”
“…Yes, sir.”
When Jin Taek stepped out, Kang Ryun pulled the loosened tie away from his collar. He let out a long breath.
He felt as if every person around him, every decision, every move—it all had to be checked, corrected, broken apart, and rebuilt from scratch.
Even so, there were always cracks.
No matter how tightly he grasped it all, something always slipped through.
Just like Lee Yooran. Just like his mother.
And now, Seoyeon—standing there like an echo from a past he hadn’t buried yet.
