HS 7

Chapter 7 –

The person who came out of the restroom was the model.

When he saw Yoon-ah, he curved his eyes into crescent shapes and wiggled his fingers with a teasing grin.

Yoon-ah gave him a polite nod in return, just as Somi walked out behind him. Her cheeks flushed, and the moment she saw Yoon-ah, she froze like she’d been caught.

“Y-Yoon-ah.”
“Yeah. Gun-woo said he’s wrapping up, so I thought maybe we could grab dinner together if you’re free.”
“Ah, I… um…”

Her face still red, Somi glanced helplessly at the model as if asking what to do.

“I’ll call you later.”
“Huh? You don’t even have my number.”
“Oh, really? Give me your phone.”
“It’s inside. I’ll bring it out.”

Blushing, Somi darted back inside, after giving Yoon-ah a quick, nervous look.

That’s when the model stepped closer to Yoon-ah.

“Noona, are you friends with her?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you must be twenty-six.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m twenty-three.”

She blinked, unsure why he was volunteering his age. Having nothing to say, Yoon-ah gave an awkward smile and turned away.

She hadn’t even taken a full step when his voice called from behind—

“Noona, you’re my type. What do you think? You already saw everything earlier, right?”

…Did I hear that right?

She hadn’t seen it directly, but judging by the timing, he and Somi had definitely been doing something in the restroom.

Yoon-ah slowly turned her head, frowning.

“I like women with skin as pale as yours. Must feel amazing to touch.”
“Weren’t you just making plans with Somi?”
“Oh, that her name? Why, jealous?”
“No. I’m not interested in—”
“Hey!!”

The sudden piercing shout made Yoon-ah’s shoulders jerk up. She turned toward the source of the voice—

A woman in a black cap was storming toward her, face twisted with rage.

It was Clara Baek.

Yoon-ah’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Clara Baek? Here?

Clara stomped right up to her, eyes blazing, chest heaving.

“Oh? The painter unni? What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet at the hotel tonight.”
“Shut your mouth and get lost!”

Clara shoved the model hard in the chest. He stumbled back a step, shrugged indifferently, and walked off without a word.

Once he disappeared down the street, Clara swung back to Yoon-ah.

“Hey! You came out of the restroom with him, right? What the hell were you doing in there?!”
“What are you talking about? We were in the studio, drawing. He was the model—there were others inside—”
“Drawing? Model? Don’t give me that crap. Do you even know how much that guy charges per session?”
“I paid the fee myse—”
“You bitch. First you flirt with my Seung-won, now you’re messing with a kid barely out of school?”
“That’s not true! You don’t even know me and you’re—”
“Shut up!!”

Clara’s scream cut her off. She clenched her fist and, trembling with fury, shoved Yoon-ah hard in the chest.

There was no time to dodge — her back slammed into the wall with a thud.

“Ah!”

Yoon-ah collapsed to the floor, pain radiating through her spine. Clara crouched down and tapped her forehead mockingly with one finger.

“Pathetic. I hate women like you the most — pretending to be pure while seducing men. Maybe I should teach you a proper lesson— ah!!”

Clara’s shriek broke off as her wrist was twisted sharply behind her. One of the bodyguards had appeared from nowhere, grabbing her arm in a ruthless lock.

“Let go! Who the hell are you?!”
“Ma’am, please take a taxi home. I’ll handle it from here.”

He nodded toward the street, motioning her away.

Knowing she’d only make things worse by staying, Yoon-ah slipped back inside the studio.

Somi was trembling, pale as chalk, while Gun-woo simply sat there munching on cookies as if nothing had happened.

After apologizing and saying she’d leave first, Yoon-ah gathered her things and stepped outside.

Both Clara and the bodyguard were gone.

Later, stepping out of the taxi, Yoon-ah pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. The night had fallen completely, and the apartment complex lay in deep shadow.

As she followed the dim path of streetlights, her back ached from where she’d been shoved against the wall.

How did Clara Baek even find that place? Was she following me? Does she think I’m involved with Executive Director Kwon?

Clara’s furious voice echoed in her head like a ghost:

“I’ll kill her! I’ll kill that bitch!”

Her pulse spiked again.

Then came the echo of the model’s words—

‘Oh? The painter unni? What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet at the hotel tonight.’

She slowed, scowling in disbelief.

So Clara claimed to be Kwon Seung-won’s girlfriend, yet she was spending nights in hotels with that model — and still had the nerve to accuse Yoon-ah of seducing him?

Unbelievable.

In her head, a tangled web of names formed — Clara Baek, the model, Executive Director Kwon… and herself.

Just thinking about it made her skin crawl. She shook her head to clear it and quickened her pace.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she noticed a dark silhouette leaning against a car in the parking lot.

Hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground.

It was Executive Director Kwon Seung-won.

He lifted his head. The shadows hid his face, but his eyes gleamed coldly.

Straightening up, he strode toward her with deliberate steps — sharp, purposeful, predatory.

Yoon-ah instinctively clasped her hands together.

“Good evening…”
“Skip the greeting. What’s your relationship with that model?”
“Ah— we were just drawing in the studio. He was posing for the class.”
“So you expect me to believe that the same model Clara Baek sleeps with just happened to be your art model?”
“Yes…”

Even though she was telling the truth, it felt like lying under that glare.

Kwon tilted his head back, let out a short sigh, and smiled faintly — not kindly, but with something like disbelief.

“The extra allowance I give you isn’t a favor. It’s compensation — for your cooperation until this situation is handled.”
“I understand…”
“That includes not wandering around alone, and keeping yourself out of dangerous situations.”
“…”
“That woman is more dangerous than you think.”

Yoon-ah lowered her head, shoulders shrinking. She knew he wasn’t wrong.

He’d assigned a driver to her lessons, even offered a company car for her safety, and she knew very well why.

“I’m not keeping her around because I’m weak, you know. So until this is over, you’ll cooperate — completely.”
“Yes.”
“From now on, only go out when absolutely necessary. And no going out after nine p.m.”

Her head snapped up in disbelief.

“Nine? That’s ridiculous. That’s way too early!”

A curfew? And at nine o’clock? She wasn’t a teenager! Even in high school, she’d had more freedom.

But Kwon’s expression didn’t waver.

“Eight.”
“What? No, seriously, that’s—”
“Seven.”

Her mouth fell open. She stared at him, aghast, but he met her eyes calmly, even expectantly.

“Answer me, Ms. Yoon.”

Her lips parted, closed again, and after a long pause, she finally muttered—

“…Yes.”

It was absurd, but she had no choice. Seven o’clock. That wasn’t a curfew — it was imprisonment.

“Are you hurt?”
“Just a little bruise.”

Pouting, she kicked lightly at the pavement.

Kwon studied her for a moment, then nodded.

“You seem fine.”
“Then I’ll be going now. It’s past curfew, apparently.”

She shot the words like darts, gave a curt bow, and turned on her heel.

As she walked away, she heard the car door shut behind her.

She glanced back — the black sedan glided past her smoothly, headlights sweeping across the asphalt.

For a brief moment, through the tinted window, she clearly saw—

The corner of Kwon Seung-won’s mouth, curling into a smile