HS 8

Chapter 8 — 

The black sedan that entered the underground parking lot slowly came to a halt.

Getting out of the car, Seungwon walked past rows of parked vehicles, his gaze eventually stopping at a sleek, low blue sports car.

He paused in front of the hood, slipped one hand into his pocket, and answered his vibrating phone.

“Yes.”

— “Executive Director, this is Joo Hee-geon. We just sent Clara Baek home. We confirmed she entered a hotel with that male model. The black box memory card and phone video files with the assault footage have been delivered to the secretary’s office. I… about today’s incident…”

“Just be more careful in the future.”

Ending the call amid the bodyguard’s repeated apologies, Seungwon stepped into the elevator.

He had told the security team to start recording whenever they ran into Clara Baek, but even then, the client’s safety was the top priority. Luckily, no one seemed to be injured — though the situation escalating any further would have been troublesome.

On the first floor, Seungwon nodded a greeting to Chungsong-daek, the housekeeper coming out of the kitchen, then glanced toward the second floor.

“Where’s Seungjae?”

His younger brother, who had stubbornly refused to return from the family villa in Gangwon-do last week, finally came home only after their mother threatened to cut off his credit cards.

“He came back after lunch but hasn’t moved from his room. Refused dinner too — no idea what’s gotten into him.”

“Mother’s not home yet?”

“She’ll be a little late. Said she’ll be back before ten. You should go talk to him — he listens to you best.”

“Alright. Please bring something light to eat upstairs.”

“Will do.”

A look of relief spread across the housekeeper’s face.

Checking his watch, Seungwon headed up to the second floor. When he knocked on Seungjae’s door, a curt voice came from inside.

“What?”

“It’s me. I’m coming in.”

“Do whatever you want.”

Smiling faintly at the softened tone, Seungwon opened the door. Seungjae was lying on his side, arm under his head, staring out at the terrace.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah. Something came up.”

It was just past nine. Not that late — but Seungjae knew his older brother had been working from home more often lately. Approaching the bed, Seungwon’s voice was gentle.

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“Forget it.”

“Why are you sulking again?”

“I’m not! You think I’m always sulking? I’m twenty now, okay? An adult!”

Seungjae’s indignant shout was followed by Seungwon’s soft chuckle, making the younger brother spring upright.

“Get me a new art tutor! That last one didn’t quit because of me! Who could’ve guessed that crazy woman would go after you, huh? I really tried last time!”

“…”

“Hyung, I hate going to those art academies. Those idiots don’t know anything and act all superior judging my paintings. You know I’m more mature than them. Please, just get me a private tutor again. I’ll behave this time — as long as she’s not mean to you, I’ll put up with anything. Please, hyung.”

“Alright. I’ll find one.”

Seungjae blinked, caught off guard by the quick response.

“Really?”

“Yes. But this is the last time. If you make this teacher quit too, you’re going to that academy without complaint.”

“Okay, deal. But make sure she’s nice and… pretty—”

A knock on the door interrupted him. Seungwon stood to open it, and Chungsong-daek entered with a tray full of food.

She placed it on the round glass table on the terrace and glanced back at Seungwon.

“Your mother was worried about you. Eat, and when she gets home, go downstairs to greet her.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Then rest.”

Cheered up, Seungjae jumped off the bed and rushed to the terrace. Behind him came their muffled conversation.

“I made beef jeon — your favorite. I went to Majang Market at dawn just to get the best cuts.”

“You went yourself, Imo?”

“Of course. I picked the freshest one with my own eyes. Only the best for you. Come on, have a bite…”

Closing the door quietly, Seungwon stepped out. Since childhood, Seungjae had called the housekeeper Imo (aunt). Their mother had tried countless times to correct him, but his stubbornness never wavered.

Seungjae had been born two months premature — barely breathing. The doctor told their parents to prepare for the worst; their mother fainted, and their father dropped to his knees, begging to save the child.

He spent a year in an incubator, then years more in the pediatric ward with an oxygen mask, finally coming home at age three.

Born with weak lungs, Seungjae was frail, often ill, and constantly catching colds. During those years, when their parents were busy, it was Chungsong-daek and Seungwon who stayed by his side.

People said they spoiled him, but how could they not, when he’d almost died?

For Seungwon, just the fact that Seungjae survived and grew up was enough.

He’s alive — that’s all that matters. No need to ask for more.

The next morning, Yoon-ah hit the alarm and pulled the blanket over her head to block the sunlight seeping through the curtains. Then she peeked out with one eye open.

There really is no such thing as a free lunch. A cliché, but one she’d conveniently forgotten for a while.

She remembered how she’d marveled at the “class of the rich” when the lesson fee — and even bonuses — were transferred before the first class began. Now, she wanted to slap her past self.

“Yoon-ah, breakfast!”

Her mother’s voice echoed from outside the door, followed by her father’s laughter.

As she got up, a sharp pain flared across her back. Grimacing, she sat awkwardly before stepping off the bed.

Standing in front of the mirror, she lifted her pajama top — her back was swollen and discolored.

Dark bruises spread upward, with reddish scratches trailing all the way up her neck.

She brushed her hair aside to inspect the back of her neck; the skin there was raw and scraped.

She carefully turned her head — it hurt, but she could still move fine. Luckily, no bones seemed injured.

The bruising was bad, but with ointment and a few days of rest, it would heal.

And she wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere anyway.

Those sharp, amber eyes staring at me in the dark… and the way he said “Seven o’clock.”

The memory made goosebumps rise on her bare back. She quickly dropped her shirt.

He’d even come to her home at that hour — he must have been furious. But considering how he wanted to handle the Clara Baek situation quietly, that wasn’t surprising.

Sighing, she changed into a hoodie and let her hair fall over her neck to hide the marks.

Walking out, she saw her father on the sofa, talking on the phone. She caught words like “Seoho Group” and “donation.”

In the kitchen, she asked her mother:

“Mom, who’s Dad talking to?”

“Professor Im, head of the Lung Cancer Center. Apparently, Chairman Kwon Jung-hwan of Seoho Group just donated five billion won to the center. It’s been twenty years now.”

“Five billion?”

“Yep. He used to donate three billion every year, but starting this year, he increased it. He’s also making separate donations to the children’s ward. That professor was the one who treated Chairman Kwon’s second son when he was little.”

The second son — that was Yoon-ah’s soon-to-be student.

Listening to her mother talk about philanthropy and noblesse oblige, Yoon-ah sat down at the table.

“Apparently, the chairman’s eldest son is getting promoted to vice president soon — that’s what the donation commemorates. They say he’s brilliant at his job.”

“Ah… really?”

“Yes. You’ve met him, haven’t you? What’s he like? I heard he’s tall and incredibly handsome.”

“He is handsome, but…”

Yoon-ah trailed off.

Indeed, Kwon Seungwon was handsome — impossibly so. A face both masculine and beautiful, with a cool, refined air that drew the eye.

“What, bad personality?”

How did she know?

“No, it’s just…”

“Well, people that high up can’t always afford to be nice. Look at your dad — too soft for his own good. By the way, when does your lesson start?”

“Tomorrow.”

Her mother placed a boiling pot of soft tofu stew in the center of the table, then lightly patted Yoon-ah’s back as she passed.

“Ah!”

Yoon-ah nearly screamed but swallowed the sound, hunching her shoulders to hide the pain.