TCBW C26

Chapter 26

 If it had been the usual Suhoe, he would have at least expressed thanks for the help he’d received, but this time the thought of saying it face to face seemed impossible—this wasn’t the kind of thing he could bring himself to talk about.

“I’ll be going now~.”

“…Y‑yes.”

While Suhoe lay buried in the bed, squirming in shame, Kim finished up his tasks and left.

It was the same the next day, and the day after that.

Around midday, Kim would arrive at the Balhwa‑dong residence, never once mentioning what had happened that day. He would simply, cheerfully, prepare Suhoe’s meals, tidy the house, and go home.

If they spoke at all, it would be only of trivial bits from Kim’s own daily life.

As the days passed like this, Suhoe too gradually forgot about that incident.

He no longer felt uncomfortable around Kim. In fact, he came to even look forward to the three or four hours a day Kim spent working there.

Once he’d recovered, he even rolled up his sleeves to help.

Though he had no experience with cleaning, laundry, or cooking, he naturally felt he should help someone who was working alone through such a big house, and so he offered to do whatever Kim needed. But each time, Kim refused.

“If I borrow Madam’s hands, then it’s not my work anymore.”

“But it must be hard, doing all this every day.”

“This is my joy, really. Please don’t mind me—just rest.”

After a few more attempts, the sight of Kim showing not the slightest sign of strain, and his polite yet firm attitude, kept Suhoe from bringing it up again.

So it was, until today.

“I told you I can’t come tomorrow, didn’t I? I’ll be back after the weekend, so in the meantime you must be sure to eat well. I’ve put some side dishes in the fridge—be sure to take them out.”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t eat, I’ll worry. Please eat.”

Now used to such solicitous reminders, Suhoe nodded.

Soon, Kim’s back disappeared past the front door and the door closed.

Silence instantly fell over the house, and Suhoe stayed there, unmoving, until the entryway light went out.

Only when the red of the evening sun spread through the living‑room windows to reach his pale toes did Suhoe finally turn and slowly head back inside.

“….”

The whole house was quiet—quiet enough that the faint scrape of his slippers on the marble floor sounded the loudest.

He dropped into the sofa by the window.

That, too, was part of his daily routine—sending Kim off at sunset, then sitting there staring out the window, half on the chance that Dowoon might come home.

Of course, not once had Dowoon appeared.

Today as well, he somehow felt this would be the case.

Since tomorrow would mark exactly seven days since the wedding night, he told himself it might actually be worth hoping for tomorrow.

He leaned his head back on the sofa—only to feel a tiny thunk on his forehead.

Catching it in his hand, he found a small black spider.

Having grown up in the countryside, seeing a spider wasn’t anything surprising.

What was strange was to see such a tiny creature here, in the middle of a forest of buildings, where not even a speck of dust would move without permission—let alone a living thing.

Cupping his hands gently so the spider wouldn’t escape or be frightened, Suhoe looked back out the window.

According to the saying, a spider that appears in the daytime brings a welcome guest; one at night, an unwelcome one.

Here now, at dusk—neither truly day nor night—he wondered who might come.

Truthfully, he hoped it would be Dowoon, whom he hadn’t seen in days.

The day he’d heard that he would not be coming, he had sighed in relief, thinking it would buy him time to recover. He hadn’t thought that he would end up waiting for him like this.

Least of all had he imagined being left on his own for so long, believing vaguely that living under the same roof meant they would be together.

When Kim had one day told him: “If the president works late, he sleeps at his place near the office.”—

“A place… near the office?”

“Ah, I see you didn’t know. He has a home near the company, where he stays if work runs late.”

For Suhoe, who had been assuming that Dowoon’s absence for several days meant nothing more than late nights at work, the revelation was a blow—because it meant these solitary days might continue indefinitely.

Life at the mountain shrine had not been bustling every moment, but there had always been people.

The constant murmur of prayers, the busy steps, the low whispers of the gatekeepers, and the eyes—wanted or not—always following him; these had been the background to every day.

Silence like this was utterly unfamiliar.

And when night fell in this silence, he could feel loneliness quietly seeping in.

It swelled so sharply day by day that it filled him enough to make him long for Dowoon, even if it meant enduring another night as hard as that first.

Like rippling water, it swallowed every other feeling inside him.

And more than that—it made him miss Dowoon, the one who would share the night with him, wholly.

Past midnight, in the Yongseong Finance Building, long since emptied after everyone else’s departure—

On the top floor, atop the desk marked “President Lee Dowoon,” sat a few examined files.

“So tell me, what exactly does that day’s incident have to do with me?”

Dowoon, pulling on his coat as he looked at them, spoke in a dry, indifferent tone.

“I thought it was something I should report. Madam said he was used to such things and had mistaken what he saw, but… he seemed far more frightened than that would explain.”

Haeeon was reporting the events of the last day he saw Suhoe.

He was only doing it now, six days later, because Dowoon had been too busy for him to pass on any updates.

“And… more importantly… I don’t think Madam knows about offering the child as a sacrifice. That day, he…”

Hesitating—perhaps from the awkwardness of the subject—Haeeon spoke.

He recalled Suhoe saying:

‘Still, it’s lucky—turns out those ghosts and things aren’t in Seoul.’

‘Yes, very lucky. After all, Dowoon‑ssi’s child will be living here too.’

‘…What?’

‘Ah, nothing. Just my own thought, it slipped out.’

‘No, it’s fine—please say it again.’

‘Just that I was reassured, thinking the child I’ll bear can live in this big, comfortable house without being involved with ghosts or gods.’

A stillness had fallen then, and Haeeon’s face had gone pale.

‘…Why that look?’

‘Ah, no… Yes, of course. Since you’ll be here too, you won’t have to worry about such things again.’

From that day on, Haeeon had carried the thought that this needed to be reported.

Dowoon only tossed the reviewed documents onto the desk, knowing Haeeon was looking at him with that overflowing pity.

“…And what exactly is the problem with that?”

“Sir?”

“You think she needs to know that?”

“…”

“You brought Madam here knowing she didn’t know?”

Dowoon said nothing.

Haeeon swallowed his shock down smoothly.

“I don’t know exactly how much she’s been told about the curse and the sacrifice. But you can tell by watching, can’t you?”

If this was the same child who had made such a fuss over protecting a tiny mountain bird, there was no way he’d have agreed to a marriage knowing his own child would be given as a sacrifice.

Freedom bought on the death of one’s own child—

There had been a moment, long ago, when Dowoon realized this, but he had decided it was not a significant problem.

“An omega who holds the family’s weakness, being given enough wealth and freedom to live without working for life—of course there will be a great price to pay.”

The cruelty in the even calm of his voice froze Haeeon’s tongue.

“Do you think an aegbaji needs to know such things?”

Emotion and business had nothing to do with each other.

With his final question, Dowoon discreetly reminded his sharp‑witted secretary not to say anything that might unsettle Suhoe.

Accustomed to this coldness, Haeeon swallowed.

Cruel as he might be—yes, this was the president he knew.