CHAPTER 40…………………………
.
“They took her to the third floor?”
Juran’s thick eyelashes fluttered. The elegantly powdered cheeks twitched. Inchon, standing nearby, quickly caught her before she could collapse.
Even as she gasped for air, Juran glared at the servant as if she would kill him. Under her cutting stare, the servant hunched his shoulders.
“You only saw them take her there?”
“It was the young master’s order, ma’am…”
Juran barely heard the shrinking reply. She clutched at her forehead, digging her nails into her scalp.
Ever since that girl had come along and Hyunha had practically driven her out, Juran hadn’t been able to set foot in the mansion again. Not that she ever wanted to—she hated the place—but not seeing Hyunha was unbearable.
To hear news of her son, she had to hire people. The servant she had bribed faithfully reported everything that happened in the house.
And all of it infuriated her. Yeongin’s name never failed to come up. This was dangerous. That girl, who’d once just been a thorn in her side, now occupied the master bedroom and had rooted herself in place.
“And after what her father did, things are already in chaos.”
Juran muttered to herself. Ever since that man had been found, she had been on the verge of fainting every minute of every day. Who knew how things might turn if this kept up. If Father found out, everything would be over. Everything she had built would crumble.
If Hyunha changed his mind even slightly—it would be over, too. The pressure was crushing her.
Juran dragged her nails across her cheek. Scratch, scratch. Red lines bloomed where she’d clawed her own skin.
“We’ll have to get her out of there.”
At first it came out as a weak murmur.
“Yes… that’s what we’ll do.”
Her muttering gained strength, turning into conviction.
Inchon and the servant exchanged nervous glances as they watched her.
“I was wrong, Inchon. Hyunha’s father was the same way. He ignored all those other tramps and asked me to marry him. It’s in the blood. I don’t know what’s gotten into him with that puny little girl…”
Juran lifted her chin as if making an important declaration, fanatical confidence gleaming in her eyes.
Inchon narrowed his gaze, sensing a chill of dread—but he knew better than to argue with her in this state.
“I’ve been thinking about this wrong. She’s the first girl Hyunha’s ever actually wanted. Then we should use her.”
How could she have missed such a perfect opportunity? Juran’s eyes finally came alive again.
Yes. She couldn’t go on like this forever.
The servant combed Yeongin’s hair. Another straightened the hem of her dress. In dead silence, three or four women worked to adorn her.
Yeongin sat still as a doll. The reflection in the mirror looked nearly complete now.
“Just a moment.”
One servant brought out a box. It was a familiar shape. Inside lay a necklace with a blue gem.
It was the necklace Yeongin had thrown away.
Now repaired as if new, it hung once again around her neck. Yeongin frowned; she knew exactly what Choi Hyunha meant by it.
She put on the dress, the jewels—dressed like a musician stepping onto the most important stage in the world.
Yeongin stared into the mirror. The paler version of herself stared back. From head to toe, she was dressed according to Choi Hyunha’s will.
As she walked toward his room, the servant followed behind. When the door opened, the servant stopped at the hallway. The only place she was ever unwatched was, ironically, right in front of Hyunha.
“It suits you.”
Choi Hyunha greeted her beside the piano.
Was he satisfied—seeing her covered in the things he had chosen? Whatever he told her to wear, she wore. Whatever he told her to play, she played.
Yeongin ignored his greeting and sank onto the piano bench. Hyunha didn’t stop her.
She placed her hands on the keys. At least she could choose the piece. She’d decided long before sitting down.
Schubert’s Erlkönig.
The famous song began beneath her fingers.
It opened ominously, growing only darker, more urgent with every measure. A father rides desperately through the night carrying his feverish son, while the boy cries that the Elf King is chasing him. Yeongin’s fingers struck the keys as if she, too, were being pursued.
Mist in the fields, branches clawing at each other like the Devil’s nails—the father spurred the horse forward, fleeing the Elf King’s grasp.
Listening, Hyunha wet his dry lips with his tongue.
Though it was only a piano solo, he could almost hear an orchestra swelling behind her, even a singer’s voice rising over the melody.
The hair on his arms stood on end. The breath that slipped between his lips was swallowed by the sound of the piano.
Baek Yeongin was a genius.
He had never lied about that.
Even before coming to the mansion, she’d gained attention at her high school performances—but compared to now, that was child’s play. It wasn’t that she had been mediocre before; it was that this was something beyond human.
If she had played like this then, patrons would have lined up not just to suggest studying abroad in Germany—they would have fought to send her there.
Even now, if she performed this once before an audience… if only someone could hear…
Hyunha stepped toward her. One step. Another. He was right behind her now, but Yeongin was lost in the music.
His hand hovered just above her hair. He could have grabbed it and yanked her head back.
Instead, he touched her nape—slowly curling his fingers, savoring her skin. Her already slender neck seemed even thinner.
Under his fingers, her pulse throbbed violently, like someone who’d just finished running. He pressed lightly where it beat, sliding his hand up beneath her chin.
Forced to tilt her head back, Yeongin met his eyes. From above, Hyunha lowered his head and kissed her—his lips meeting hers in a crooked, upside-down collision.
Held by the chin, she couldn’t turn away. Fear clouded her eyes.
Her whole body was aware of his touch; she couldn’t calm herself. Even though she’d finished the piece, she still heard the echo of that relentless gallop.
Was this a dream, or reality? She could no longer tell. She had dreamt nightmares like this many times.
And as always, the nightmare went on. Her crushed hand rose to the keys again. The monstrous hand that gripped her—stroked instead.
When she woke, she was lying in bed. The torn dress was gone; she was wearing a robe.
Yeongin sat up shakily. By now, waking up weak and aching after fainting was nothing new.
Even small movements exhausted her. Sensing what condition she was in, she dragged herself toward the bathroom.
It took forever to reach the bathtub. Warm water fell from the shower. As she watched the water mixed with fluids wash down the drain, one thought flashed through her mind:
When was my last period?
Her mind went white like she’d been struck by lightning. She tried to count the days but her memories were blurry—life had been a blur of chaos, and ordinary routines had long since shattered.
When she finally guessed the last time, her face turned deathly pale.
There’d been no period since last month.
Her cycle had always been irregular. The doctor had blamed stress and constitution.
Skipping a month or two wasn’t unheard of.
But this time felt different.
Even as she rinsed and wiped herself, the worry wouldn’t leave her head.
If he refused to use condoms, could she at least get birth control pills? Yeongin washed her hands under the running water, deep in thought.
But she’d have to ask Hyunha—and if he refused, there was no way to get them on her own.
And even if he did give her pills… could she trust them?
She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, leaning against the tub, until her body went cold and she began to shiver. She finally dried herself and left the bathroom. It was as hard to get out as it had been to go in.
She put on some clothes over her robe. Then, as in the bathroom, she lay on the floor for a long time, staring blankly at the ceiling. When she finally looked toward the window—
A leaf, shaken loose from a branch, fluttered down and stuck to the glass. Watching it, Yeongin suddenly sprang to her feet.
Every muscle screamed, but the shock drowned out the pain. She ran outside.
Each step down the stairs sent pain shooting through her soles. She could feel the servants’ eyes on her, but nothing else mattered.
The moment she passed through the door, cold, dry wind struck her face. She gulped down the air. The scenery spun around her.
A crushing realization hit her like a blow to the back of the head.
When did the seasons change?
She remembered the colors of spring—the flowers in bloom, the budding leaves—after graduation, after missing the start of the semester.
Now, the branches were shedding red leaves. They fluttered past her, tauntingly slow. Yeongin wrapped her arms around herself.
Cold. So cold.
