TCBW C69

Chapter 69

As Haeon had warned, the curse’s miasma burrowed deeper into Dowoon’s body with every passing day. The pain, the dulling sensation at his fingertips—each flare of numbness brought a flash of irritation.

But not today.

“It’s not because of that.”

Dowoon clipped out the reply and stepped inside the building.

Immediately, staff in black satin uniforms with polished name tags glided forward, stopping just short of him in perfect formation.

“Director Han has informed us she will be slightly delayed.”

He had not given his name, nor the identity of the person he was meeting. Yet the hotel staff behaved as though they knew everything already.

They ushered him toward the VIP elevator.

The elevator rose without pause to the topmost floor, opening into a panoramic restaurant suspended above the city lights. A space once flaunted on broadcast television—the very location a famous politician had used to propose, touted for its hundred-pyeong expanse and opulence.

A single table stood in the center of the vast marble floor, as though the entire room existed solely for it.

A pared-down chamber orchestra played softly on either side; every bow stroke and breath arranged for this moment.

Naturally, the performance was for the evening’s main guests.

Naturally, Dowoon felt nothing.

No appreciation—only a cold, creeping disgust toward Sara’s taste.

Lavish, oversized, glittering—she thought anything expensive was inherently superior.

A vulgar sensibility, uncanny in how perfectly it mirrored her father’s.

To call this brutish extravagance “luxury”—to obsess over the surface and yet arrive late without shame—yes, she was unmistakably her father’s daughter.

Though they had sent word she would be late, Sara still showed no sign of appearing. At first, the wait felt like a waste of time. But as it stretched, Dowoon found his thoughts drifting—inevitably—back to last night.

Back to Unhyo, the uninvited visitor to the Balhwa-dong residence.

Why had he come?

What urgent purpose had driven him?

Why the probing questions, the strange unease in his eyes?

Dowoon had no answers—only suspicion.

So he questioned Suhoe until dawn and swept the grounds, convinced Unhyo might have left something behind.

Nothing.

The next morning, he checked every place Unhyo had passed, beginning with the bedroom. Again, nothing.

So he traced the man’s movements. A taxi surely existed, and Balhwa-dong was saturated with CCTV and dashcams. It would not be difficult.

He was right—at first. The footage and recordings were obtained quickly.

For a fleeting moment, victory felt assured.

Until every record of the taxi driver evaporated into nothing.

No license information.

No affiliated cab company.

The license plate from that night—spoofed.

No trace before or after.

As though the driver had never existed at all.

A ghost, scrubbed clean from the world.

“Director Han will be approximately five more minutes. Shall we bring you a coffee while you wait?”

The same waiter addressed him. Dowoon checked his watch; the meeting time had long since passed.

He touched his forehead—an old habit, a way to steady himself when annoyance threatened to surface.

“No. That’s fine.”

He returned his gaze to the empty seat opposite him.

A woman who summoned him here to say something predictable.

It was time to decide what answer he would give.

Sara was the most valuable woman on the marriage market, and she knew it.

Dowoon, who had long eyed the acquisition of Yongseong Electronics, knew it even better.

He needed no reminder of her wealth, power, and alliances.

Ambition alone made a marriage between them sound.

In fact, he had always intended for this to happen.

Sara raising the subject first suited him perfectly—it only confirmed his leverage.

Marriage to her meant access to a major share of Yongseong Electronics. A contingency he had never abandoned, even after marrying Suhoe.

Especially now, when conception was not progressing smoothly.

Sara was stability. Sara was insurance. Sara was—logically—the correct move.

Yet something about this meeting felt wrong.

He had begun avoiding her. Dodging her expectations. The aversion had grown, subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.

It began after he brought Suhoe home.

Since then, he had grown tired of Sara.

Stopped concealing his irritation.

Even brushed off her marriage proposal by citing his grandmother’s funeral.

Sara must have sensed it.

That was why she chose a public venue—forcing a scene he could not quietly escape.

A meticulously planned pressure tactic.

And still—he had come.

He knew what this meeting meant, and he came anyway.

It could be the last perfect chance.

He knew this alliance was rational.

Strategic.

Optimal.

And yet…

He kept seeing Suhoe’s face from that morning—flushed, breathless, still warm from their bodies being entwined just hours earlier.

The memory clung to him, made the luxury around him feel cheap, made this room feel suffocating.

Irritation. Discomfort.

Frustration—directed not at her, but at himself.

Why hesitate?

Why feel anything at all?

Still, he could not simply stand and walk away. Ambition had not died—only complicated.

click—ding

The elevator doors opened.

“Heeey, how have you been? Feels like forever!”

Heels clicked brightly across marble. Sara swept toward him, her voice chirping, attempting intimacy. She positioned herself close enough to graze his arm.

Dowoon did not indulge her.

“Oh.”

A single syllable—sharp, frigid.

Every staff member in the room stiffened.

Sara’s assistants froze.

Even the orchestra seemed to falter for a heartbeat.

But Sara did not flinch.

She flashed a practiced, sugary grin, even pouting playfully.

“You’re mad I’m late? Aww, don’t be. Come on~ I booked this place just to treat you! Do you know how hard it is to make reservations here?”

She teased, feigning ignorance—despite knowing perfectly well whose family owned the hotel.

Then she signaled the waiter and sat with deliberate grace.

Only then did Dowoon look at her directly—but there was no warmth, no courtesy.

His expression was stripped bare of patience.

“You’ve been… extra prickly lately. Something bothering you?”

Her tone was sweet; her eyes, sharp. She had noticed everything.

Though he ignored it, she would not stop pressing.